Page 20 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Her stride hitched, then she raised her chin and resumed her steady pace.
As she neared, she couldn’t resist observing, “I was under the impression that you—and indeed, your peers—never rise this early.”
He straightened from the wall and followed as she climbed the shallow steps and unlocked the door. “I got used to doing so during my time abroad.”
Opening the door, she glanced at him, conscious, again, of curiosity stirring, then led the way into the foyer.
Ignoring her inquisitive look, Gray shut his lips on the wordsFor most of the years I was away, I didn’t have anywhere to lay my head that remotely resembled a bedand followed. Along with all the rest of his acquaintance, she didn’t need to know anything about that time in his life.
He ambled in her wake and waited in the office doorway while she hung up her coat and bonnet. When she crossed to take the chair behind the desk, he went to the armchairs they’d used the previous evening, rearranged them before the desk, and sat in the one farther from the door.
She glanced up, saw what he was doing, and nodded. “Thank you.”
She’d barely re-sorted the papers on her desk when the bell above the door jangled and several men Gray vaguely recognized as staff came in.
They were all smiles and morning chatter. Those who noticed him were curious, but were more intent on shrugging off their coats and hats and hanging them on pegs on the other side of the office wall.
Gray heard Izzy sigh, then she rose and walked out.
He got to his feet and went after her. He halted in the doorway and, propping a shoulder against the frame, watched as she was greeted with good humor and smiles, which faded as the five men and one younger lad took in her somber expression.
She surveyed the group, then said, “I’m afraid I have some disturbing and rather bad news, but I’ll wait until Mary arrives.”
The two older men—one stocky and appearing as strong as a bull, the other tall and reedy—exchanged concerned glances, then the thin one volunteered, “She won’t be long. Just stopped for a quick word with our landlady. She should be on my heels.”
Izzy nodded.
The lad stood still as a statue, his face a mask of growing anxiety.
The three younger men shifted on their feet, then one asked, “Is it bad news forThe Crier, ma’am? Will we be stopping production?”
“Oh no,” Izzy assured them. “It’s nothing like that. It’s bad news, but not of that sort. In fact, I suspect our circulation will go up once the news gets out.”
That reassured but also puzzled everyone, then the bell rang again, and a fresh-faced young woman came hurrying inside.
She saw them all waiting, and her footsteps slowed. “Oh.” She scanned the faces. “Is something wrong?”
“In a way, yes, and I’m about to explain.” Izzy waved the girl—Mary, Gray surmised—to the counter, and she slipped past and went behind it and started to shrug off her coat.
“Now.” Her fingers twining, Izzy raised her head. “I’m sorry to have to tell you that Mr. Quimby was murdered last night.”
“What?”
“Never!”
“Where?”
“Oh, heavens,” Mary breathed. “Don’t say it was here!” Horrified, she looked toward the darkroom. “He was here when we left yesterday.”
“Was he?” Izzy paused, then admitted, “We weren’t sure if he’d arrived before you all left, but sadly, yes. He was stabbed in the darkroom.”
“Cor!” the young lad looked simultaneously horrified and fascinated.
“I know he could be a grumpy old sod, but whyever would anyone want to murder Quimby?” the thin man asked.
The stocky man stepped forward. “Was it you who found him, ma’am?”
Izzy’s fingers gripped tighter. “Unfortunately, yes.” She pulled her hands apart and gestured at Gray. “Luckily, Lord Child had dropped by to discuss a business matter, and he was leaving with me when I noticed the sign was still up on the darkroom door. We knocked and called, and when we got no response, we went in…and found him.”
