Page 117 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Izzy and Gray assured him they understood the sentiment perfectly.
Heartened, Hennessy went on, “You see, there’s a big difference in writing for a daily and writing for a weekly. Even just over the past few days, I’ve seen and heard with my own eyes and ears that you, here atThe Crier, have a very different outlook and aim to what I’ve grown used to atThe Courierand even before that. I’ve worked dailies all my writing life.” He paused as if marshaling his thoughts.
Izzy and Gray waited patiently.
Eventually, Hennessy continued, “Writing for a daily is all about grabbing the readers’ attention with something sensational and lurid, day after day. That means you move on every day to the latest incident, and everything you write, almost by definition, remains superficial. You point out something, but you never have time to poke and pry. Writing for a daily, you never have the luxury of exploring a subject in any sort of depth. You report on what happened that day and move on.”
He looked at Izzy. “I’ve read what you write, and you’re a good storyteller. You have the knack. But if you don’t mind an old hand telling you what’s what, I think you could put your talents to even better use—and do a lot more good—if you aimed that pen of yours at some subject more serious than the social round. I’m not saying society reporting doesn’t sell papers—it does—but there’s no reason to limit yourself to that. You could do both—as you did with that Foundling House article, only in greater depth.”
Hennessy drew breath and barreled on, “Which brings us to the here and now. With the attention garnered by the hue and cry edition and, even more, what this week’s edition will generate with the news of us tracking and capturing Duvall and his arrest for murder and treasonous mayhem,The Crierwill have a much higher profile—at least for a little while.” He held Izzy’s gaze. “The question you need to consider is, having captured the attention of the masses, how are you going to keep it?”
Izzy studied his dogged expression. “I’ve a feeling your proposition will go some way toward answering that.”
Hennessy grinned. “Yes, well, that is my intention.” He glanced at Gray, then looked back at her. “So here it is, then. I’ve got a good bit put by. I never married, and I’ve no one to leave it to. If you’re willing, I’d like to buy intoThe Crier. Along with you, I’d become one of its two senior writers.” He tilted his head toward the workshop. “You have the makings of an excellent crew, and Donaldson’s taken the entire enterprise up a notch, as we’ve just seen. Using his talents in conjunction with mine and yours… I’m thinking that, every week, alongside the social column, we could run a piece examining”—he waved—“something of real interest to the wider public.”
She arched her brows. “Such as?”
He’d come prepared. “How about the Crystal Palace—where it is now, what is going to be done with it—and at the same time examine some of the benefits the nation got through running the exhibition. I’m sure a lot of captains of industry would like to get a mention, especially givenThe Crier’snew prominence, and would give us their inside stories and also allow us to take photographs.”
Gray stirred and sat up. “If I might make a suggestion, there’s the new chamber of the House of Commons. You could interview the architect about how it’s all been done and use that to see if you can get Donaldson inside.”
Izzy sat straighter. “Thatwouldbe a coup.”
“We’d still cover some crimes,” Hennessy said. “I’ll still have my snouts, but we could choose which crimes to showcase and go deeper than the surface reporting the dailies do.” Eagerly, he met her eyes. “We might even convince some of Baines’s colleagues to work with us—to use us as a mouthpiece sometimes, as with the hue and cry edition.”
She nodded in agreement and encouragement.
“Most of all,” Hennessy went on, “I think you need to seize the opportunity afforded by what happened with Quimby and Duvall to create a solid base forThe Crierto leverage upward from. Winchelsea would never have learned what Duvall was up to if it hadn’t been forThe Crierasking readers for help. That’s new—it’s something no other paper has done, not in such an open and definite way. And most importantly of all,The Crierdelivered the goods. If the story’s treated in the right way, the public will lap it up and stay engaged.”
She smiled. “I can see that.” She studied Hennessy for several seconds, then sat forward and clasped her hands on the desk. “Obviously, we’ll have to work out the details, but in principle, I’m in favor of your proposal. However, becoming a partner and senior writer here would mean being exclusive toThe Crier. You’d have to walk away from your position withThe London Courier. Are you prepared to do that?”
Hennessy drew in a deep breath and nodded decisively. “It’s time for me to move on to the next thing. You can’t live your life standing still.”
How true.“No, you can’t.” She discovered her mind was already made up. “Think about how much you’re willing to commit financially toThe Crier, and meanwhile, I’ll work out what seems fair to me, and we can meet here tomorrow morning and see if we can devise a mutually satisfactory arrangement.”
Hennessy’s smile was as bright as her own. “Excellent.”
“But”—she pinned him with a warning look—“our agreement regarding the article for this week’s edition stands.”
He chuckled and rose. “You’ll get no argument from me about that. Now I’ve seen Donaldson’s work, my piece will run better inThe Crierthan anywhere else.”
The door cracked open, and Mary looked in. “Sorry to interrupt, ma’am, but you have visitors.” Breathlessly, she confided, “The Marquess and Marchioness of Winchelsea.”
Mary stood back, and Louisa swept in, followed by Drake.
Already on his feet, Hennessy stepped around the desk and put his back to the wall—possibly in the hope of making himself invisible.
Louisa smiled brightly at him.
Izzy quickly intervened by standing and saying, “How delightful to see you, Louisa.”
After directing brief nods and pained looks at Izzy and Gray, Drake diverted to fetch one of the chairs from near the window.
Izzy extended her hand across the desk to Louisa, and they clasped fingers.
“Welcome to the home ofThe London Crier.” Izzy gestured at Hennessy. “This is Mr. Hennessy, who will be writing the lead article.” She waited while Hennessy bowed and received a gracious if curiosity-laden nod from Louisa, then waved Louisa to the vacant armchair. “Please—do sit.”
Gray had, of course, come to his feet. He nodded in greeting. “Louisa.”
