Page 116 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
He took the proffered sheet and read, while she pored over his longer article.
Then they proceeded to confirm every fact and every paragraph they thought should be in there, while she noted in the margins which points were, in their view, essential and which were details they could, if necessary, condense or skip over.
A tap on the door frame had them looking across to see Donaldson and Digby with prints in their hands and beaming smiles on their faces. “We thought you should see these immediately,” Donaldson said.
At her wave, the pair hurried in. She cleared a portion of her desk, and Donaldson carefully laid out the prints. Hennessy rose and came to stand on her other side and peer over her shoulder as Donaldson proudly pointed to the first print. “This is the shot I hoped to get—it’s an utter fluke. The briefcase exploding above the roof of the telegraph station.”
It was, indeed, a remarkable photograph, sharp enough that they could make out the tiles on the roof. Given the relatively dull light, the explosion stood out clearly against the canopies of the trees on the other side of the street.
After scrutinizing the print, Izzy glanced at Hennessy. “I say we put that on the front page, under a headline saying something like ‘Attack on the Dover Telegraph Station Foiled.’”
“‘Foreign Attack,’” Hennessy corrected. “No sense not playing to our deeply entrenched patriotism.”
“Indeed,” she agreed.
They continued examining and selecting prints to match the written article. Over the years, both she and also Digby had developed a good sense of what photographs reproduced best on the printed page.
Another tap on the door frame heralded Lipson and Maguire.
Lipson was wiping his hands on an oily rag. “We wondered if we could see.” Grinning, he tipped his head toward the workshop. “We’re all eaten up with curiosity.”
Izzy saw Donaldson and Digby looking at Lipson’s hands, and Maguire’s were obviously ink-stained. She pushed back from the desk. “Why don’t we lay out the photographs on the counter? Then everyone can see without touching, and Hennessy and I can point out which we think will fit best with the article, and we can discuss and make our final selections.”
That satisfied everyone. Donaldson and Digby ferried the precious prints to the counter and laid them along it, while the rest of the staff hurriedly gathered around. Everyone exclaimed over Donaldson’s fluke, and its position on the front page was supported by all.
After everyone had looked their fill, Izzy and Hennessy explained which prints they felt would best illustrate the main article.
“I’ll need to write a closing piece.” Izzy caught Hennessy’s eye. “To report the ultimate outcome with Duvall, at least as far as we know it by Wednesday.”
Hennessy asked about their deadlines.
Lipson and Maguire explained their preferences, and Hennessy promised to have his lead article in by the end of the day on Tuesday.
Then everyone returned to staring at the photographs, and the male staff asked about the army company, and Mary wanted to know about the little girl and her mother.
The lively exchange abruptly cut off as the door opened and everyone looked, but it was only Gray who, with a smile and a nod to everyone, entered. He saw the prints on the counter as he drew near. “What’s got you all in such fine fettle?”
Izzy grinned and allowed Hennessy, Donaldson, and Digby, ably assisted by the rest of the staff, to explain how they proposed to use the quite amazing collection of photographs.
Gray was duly impressed and said so.
Then Maguire told Digby, “We’ll need those prints blocked up.”
“I’d like to learn the process,” Donaldson said, and everyone dispersed to return to their chores.
With Hennessy and Gray, Izzy retreated to the office. She returned to her chair while Gray made for his usual seat. Izzy signaled Hennessy, the last through the door, to shut it. As he came to take the other chair before the desk, she fixed her gaze on Gray. “We realized we need to speak with Drake before we set anything in type. Can you arrange a meeting?”
Gray’s brows rose, but then his expression cleared, and he nodded. “Yes, of course.” He sat up and gestured. “Give me a piece of paper and a pen, and I’ll write a note now.”
He proceeded to do so. Signing, folding, then addressing the missive, he said, “I’m sending it to Wolverstone House and putting Louisa’s name on it as well. If Drake’s not there, she’ll read it and get it to him, wherever he may be.”
Izzy nodded. “Good thinking.” She held out a hand for the note and, when Gray gave it to her, rose and took it out for Lipson to arrange delivery.
When she returned, she found Hennessy waiting to catch her eye. “There’s not much more you and I can do until we get the go-ahead from Winchelsea. While we wait, I was wondering if now might not be a good time to discuss that proposition I mentioned on Saturday.”
Understanding he was asking if he could speak in front of Gray, she shut the door and returned to her chair. “That’s an excellent idea.” She tipped her head toward Gray. “It will help if his lordship can hear your proposal directly as well.”
Hennessy had clearly been expecting that answer. “Right, then. It’s like this. I’m well established in my current place, as lead writer forThe Courier. But I’ve been there for nigh on eight years now, and frankly, the work’s grown a bit stale. I’ve been casting about for something more.” He looked at them both. “For the next challenge, if you take my meaning.”
