Page 62 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
To everyone’s relief, Baines and Littlejohn appeared at ten o’clock on the dot.
Immediately, Izzy fetched the finalized articles and ushered the pair into her office, away from the interested eyes of those in the foyer who were waiting to speak with Lipson or Mary.
Gray followed and shut the office door.
Baines and Littlejohn were standing by the desk, with Baines already poring over the articles. Baines grunted, handed the one he’d finished to Littlejohn, and started on the next.
Gray ambled past and sank into his now-accustomed chair. Izzy was sitting behind her desk, her hands clasped on the blotter, the picture of assurance, but her gaze was hard and sharp as it rested on the policemen.
When Gray saw Baines approaching the end of the last article, he said, “I’ve read the articles as well. I think they’re excellent—they strike the right note and will accomplish what we need them to, namely, galvanize the public and recruit the entire readership in the hunt for Quimby’s killer.”
Baines looked up, then handed the article to Littlejohn. Baines glanced at Gray, then looked at Izzy and inclined his head. “I agree—they’re just what we need. Taken all together, especially with that reward, they’re certain to put the wind up the killer.”
Littlejohn raised his head, smiled at Izzy, and handed her the sheaf of pages. “They’re perfect. Couldn’t have done better myself.”
That last was said with a twinkle in his eye.
Izzy accepted the sheets with a mock repressive look, but she was pleased. “I’m relieved you agree. Our typesetters are waiting to finalize these.” Pages in hand, she rose, went to the door, flung it open, and headed straight for the typesetting table.
Baines and Littlejohn followed her out.
Gray followed more slowly. Even from the office doorway, he saw the relief in Maguire’s face as he eagerly took the pages Izzy offered and called Horner to help as Maguire and Matthews plainly set aside everything else and knuckled down to get all the articles typeset.
Meanwhile, Baines and Littlejohn were eying the small crowd about the counter in some puzzlement.
Gray murmured an explanation, and Baines grunted. “We’re surplus to requirements here—we’ll head off for now, but please tell Mrs. Molyneaux we’ll be back to see the final product later this afternoon.”
Gray remembered enough of the process to observe, “Only pages for final proofreading will be run today.”
Baines shrugged. “Regardless, I’d like to take a look and get some idea of the actual paper.”
Littlejohn simply looked eager.
Gray hid a smile as the pair made for the front door. It appeared they were genuinely curious about what the hue and cry edition would be like and, doubtless, even more interested in what it might lead to.
When the door closed behind Baines and Littlejohn, Gray ambled to where Izzy was hovering by the typesetting table, watching Maguire, Matthews, and Horner at work.
Finally, Lipson and Mary finished arranging the smaller advertisements and delivered the sheets with the details to Maguire. He barely glanced at them, grunted, and bent his head once more to his compositing stick.
Mary fetched an apron, donned it, sat on a stool, picked up a compositing stick, and set to work, translating the small advertisements into type.
Meanwhile, Lipson had joined his son, and the pair were working on the press, polishing plates and checking levers.
Gray noted the time and glanced at the staff. All had their heads down, working to get the edition ready to print. He tweaked Izzy’s sleeve and, when she glanced at him, bent his head and murmured, “Why don’t I fetch pies and pasties and cider for everyone?” He tipped his head toward the staff. “My treat—they need to keep their strength up.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I’m sure everyone will appreciate that.”
He nodded and went.
Izzy turned her head and watched him go. An offer to fetch sustenance for everyone was…nice. And he hadn’t thought about it; the offer had been spontaneous rather than calculated.
She faced forward and, gazing unseeing at the activity in the workshop, dredged her memories of him from long ago; she couldn’t recall any similar action, but he’d always been an easy touch for friends, a genially generous gentleman. It seemed that trait had matured and evolved to where he acted out of a pure and simple impulse to help people.
If he’s thinking of becoming a politician, that’s not a bad trait to have.
Maguire straightened and pointed at a word. “Is that ‘intentional’?”
Recalled to her purpose in remaining by the table, she stepped closer, read, and confirmed that it was.
