Page 118 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Drake set a chair beside his wife’s, and as both ladies subsided, he and Gray sat.
Izzy promptly took charge. “Now we have the preliminaries out of the way”—she looked inquiringly at Drake—“have you learned anything more from Duvall?”
Drake smiled the smile of a satisfied predator. “I spent most of yesterday interrogating him. He confirmed what we’d surmised about his mission regarding the Dover telegraph station and also divulged that he’d been working for Monsieur Roccard for the past eighteen months in various relatively minor ways. Destroying the cross-Channel telegraph was his first major mission.” His gaze flicking from Izzy to Hennessy, Drake paused, then, as if accepting their right to know, went on, “Even better, Duvall has agreed to trade his testimony implicating Monsieur Roccard and the criminal fraternities he represents for leniency in sentencing, which will amount to transportation rather than hanging.”
“So you have Roccard?” Gray asked.
Drake’s smile grew almost blissful. “We have.” After a second, he explained, “Others have been pursuing Roccard for some time—the Home Office, the Foreign Office, even the Board of Trade. But while they’ve suspected the man for several years, they’ve never found anyone—at least, not anyone alive—willing to testify against him, and as he’s a Belgian national, their hands have been tied. Duvall’s testimony has solved their problem, and I believe Roccard’s already gracing a cell in the Tower.”
Seeing how deeply pleased Drake was, Izzy decided the time to strike was now. “The reason we requested this meeting was to run past you what we wish to print in this week’s edition.” Concisely, she outlined the points she and Hennessy had agreed should be in the lead article, detailing the findings identifying Duvall as Quimby’s killer, the motive behind Duvall’s action, and consequently, Duvall’s attempt to carry out his mission and demolish the telegraph station at Dover, all to further the ends of foreign criminals.
Drake grew palpably cooler as Izzy’s points progressed. By the time she reached the triumphant end, his features had set. When she lowered the draft article and arched her brows at him, he said, “I have no quibble over publishing the details regarding the murder and Duvall’s actions connected to that. However, I do not believe it will be in the nation’s best interests for the source of his motive—namely, the involvement of a foreign gentleman acting on behalf of Continental crime families and their wish to sabotage the international telegraph links—to be made public.”
She’d expected as much and was prepared to argue her case. “Drake, there is no way to keep the attack on the Dover telegraph station from the public. Even if we don’t mention it, news of the explosion will seep out. Given that, I would have thought it would serve the nation best to use the incident to swing public sentiment behind the need for governments and—most pertinently—police forces on either side of the Channel to be able to swiftly communicate.”
Hennessy offered, “And surely the best way to ensure it doesn’t happen again would be to lay it all out and explain how dastardly foreign criminals had tried to attack a prime example of British inventiveness because it threatened their schemes—schemes that swindle money from the British public.”
Louisa had been unusually silent. Now, in the tone of one who had seen the light, she brightly said, “Ah—of course! If you explain the criminals’ ploy to hoodwink the public into imagining there was something dangerous about the telegraph—inflaming the public to act against their own best interests—that will render such an approach unusable in the future, because the public will be wise to manipulation of that ilk.”
She looked encouragingly at Drake.
“Exactly!” Izzy stated. “Explaining this incident to the public will alert them to the fact that there are foreign forces who behave like this, and that will put them on guard against such schemes in the future.”
“We could,” Hennessy suggested, “stress that—make it clear in a simple, easy to understand way.”
Louisa nodded. “The phrasing would be key.”
Hiding his amusement, Gray watched as Izzy and Louisa, aided by Hennessy, set about swaying a nobleman not given to being easily swayed.
Drake’s position reflected the commonly held view among those who ruled that the less the general population knew of such attacks, especially from foreign sources, the better. But times were changing; Gray suspected the increasing reach of newspapers was going to force a significant shift in such attitudes.
Izzy, Hennessy, and Louisa made an eloquent case, leaving Drake clearly uncertain, something Gray suspected Drake rarely was.
Nevertheless, Gray was surprised when Drake turned to him and asked, “You’ve sat there listening to all sides of the argument. How do you see this? Are they”—he waved at Hennessy, Izzy, and Louisa—“correct in predicting how the public will react?”
Gray nodded. “I believe they are. Times have changed and are still changing, and taking the population with you by allowing them sufficient information to understand what’s been going on will serve the nation better than clinging to the outmoded notion of keeping everyone in the dark. That might have worked in times past. It will not work in the future.”
Drake regarded Gray for half a minute, then grunted. “Can I second the push for you to stand for a seat in the Commons?” Then he turned his dark gaze on Izzy and nodded. “Very well. Explain the lot.”
Izzy and Hennessy were patently thrilled.
“But”—Drake held up a finger—“only if I get to see the articles before they’re typeset.”
Izzy assured him they would abide by that caveat.
Drake nodded, reached for Louisa’s hand, and drew her to her feet, bringing Gray and Izzy to theirs. “We must get on. I’ve several people I still need to report to regarding Duvall, Roccard, and the incident in Dover.”
With Izzy, Gray accompanied Drake and Louisa to the front door, with Louisa plainly intrigued by the fact that Gray was there. After seeing the pair out, Gray trailed an energized Izzy back to the office, noting the buzz of activity throughout the workshop as the staff prepared for the coming week.
He entered the office to find Izzy seated at her desk and Hennessy in the chair Louisa had vacated. Both were focused on the draft of the lead article, going over it line by line and adding snippets, polishing others—making the piece shine.
Izzy glanced at him. “Can you ask Donaldson, Digby, and Maguire to come in? And we’ll need the selected photographs, too.”
Gray smiled, swung around, and ambled into the workshop. He didn’t mind being a messenger boy; it was part and parcel of being a member of the team atThe Crier. That team had only grown stronger in the aftermath of Quimby’s murder and looked set to go on to greater things. Strength built through adversity; this was surely an example of that.
He delivered his message, then strolled back through the workshop, amazed at feeling so much at home in a world that, until ten days ago, he’d known nothing about.
Smiling to himself, he halted in the foyer. The more he rubbed shoulders with those who hadn’t been born to the privileges he had, the more clearly he understood the needs of the populace as a whole.The Crierwould help him with that.
