Page 40 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
Digby tipped his head toward the cabinets lining the wall between the office and the darkroom. “They’re in there.” He glanced at Izzy. “I could pull out some of last winter’s scenes and show you, and you can choose which to run.”
“That will do for now,” Izzy said. “At least until I can secure the services of a suitable photographer.”
Gray listened as the staff joined in a discussion of what articles should be written and run. All agreed that an obituary was called for as well as a lead story reporting Quimby’s strange murder.
“Might seem a bit crass,” Matthews observed, “but the readers will love it.”
All nodded their assent, and the meeting broke up, and everyone dispersed to their various tasks. Izzy started for the office, saw Gray, and halted, staring at him, then she swung around. “Gerry?”
The young man turned back. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Can you bring me seven clean sheets of printing paper, please?”
“’Course, ma’am. I’ll fetch them up for you right away.”
While Gerry strode off to the storeroom, Izzy swung about, waved Gray back, and walked into the office. She returned to her chair behind the desk, sat, and pulled several sheets of notes toward her.
Gray sank into his customary armchair as she stated, “I have to write the lead story and Quimby’s obituary, but first”—she glanced at him—“we’d better make a note of all those in the photographs we’ve already identified.”
Gerry arrived, bearing seven large sheets of blank printing paper. “Here you are, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Izzy received the sheets and laid them on her desk. She dismissed Gerry with a nod, and he left, hurrying back to his work.
Izzy wrestled her set of prints from her reticule, rummaged in a drawer and drew out several pins, and pinned the top photograph—the one of riders in Hyde Park—in the middle of the first sheet. “Right.” After setting the rest of the prints aside, she picked up a pencil and drew a line with an arrow indicating one of the riders. “I know who this gentleman is.”
As she wrote down the name, Gray dragged the armchair around, leaned over, and tapped another rider. “That, I’m told, is Lord Compton.”
“It is, indeed.” She noted that down.
They progressed through all seven photographs, pinning each to a blank sheet and noting all the names they’d gathered.
The last print they addressed was the one taken from London Bridge, for which they had only a few suggested identities, none of which were certain.
When Izzy sat back and frowned at their combined effort, Gray glanced at the clock and discovered the hour was already after ten. “Therese and Devlin suggested that we take the photographs and the story of Quimby’s murder to Drake Varisey.” He looked at Izzy and saw understanding dawn in her emerald eyes. “I take it you know about Drake’s…occupation?”
Calculation infusing her expression, she nodded.
“Devlin and Therese strongly recommend consulting him, but of course, that means his wife, Louisa, will likely learn about this as well. Indeed, I understand that she’s the best possible source for the identities of those in the photographs—those of the ton we’ve yet to name.” He paused, then said, “I left a note to be delivered to Wolverstone House at eight this morning, asking Drake for a meeting at ten-thirty. I didn’t mention your name orThe Crier, although the paper will obviously feature in what I tell Drake.”
He studied Izzy’s face, but her expression was now shuttered; he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “Do you want to come with me? I think it would be best if you did, but if you don’t wish Drake and Louisa to know your secret, I’ll do my best to avoid mentioning you other than as Mrs. Molyneaux.” His gaze on her face, he quietly said, “Your choice.”
After several moments, her gaze rose to meet his. He could see in her eyes that she was deeply reluctant to go; if Therese had been curious, it seemed Louisa would be even more so, and for Izzy, the more people who knew her secret, the greater the risk to all she’d built over the past years, and the greater the threat to her and her family’s security, both financial and in society.
Then her gaze sharpened, and her features firmed. She nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
She looked down at the sheets, each with the relevant photograph attached, and quickly and efficiently folded them into a packet, pushed back from the desk, retrieved her reticule, and carefully pushed the packet inside.
Then she looked across the desk, determination in every line of her face. “Catching Quimby’s murderer is too important not to do everything I can. Until we know why Quimby was murdered, we can’t be certain the killer won’t come back or that he doesn’t have some sort of twisted vendetta againstThe Crieritself and Quimby was only his first victim.”
Gray came to his feet as she did and followed her to the coatrack. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He helped her don her coat, then caught her eye. “And it’s a truly horrifying proposition.”
She threw him a speaking look and, settling her bonnet on her head, led the way out of the door.
Chapter 6
“How well do you know Drake and Louisa?” Gray asked as the hackney he’d hailed rattled south toward Grosvenor Square.
Seated beside him, Izzy stared at the passing streetscape. “I meet them socially, so we know each other in that way, and Louisa and I have always moved in similar circles, even if we’re not close.”
