Page 70 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
She fought to stifle a grin. Doing her best to preserve an appropriately serious façade in the face of Donaldson’s enthusiasm, she pointed at his portfolio. “Take me through your work.”
He leapt to do so, and in evaluating what he placed before her, she concluded that Digby was, surprisingly, a master of understatement. Donaldson’s eye was nothing short of spectacular; he had a knack for capturing a moment at its most revelatory, and his subjects were not limited to the tried and true.
Finally closing the portfolio, she met his eyes. “This is—as I’m sure you’re aware—most impressive. The terms I’m willing to offer you are these.” Succinctly, she outlined the same arrangement she’d had with Quimby, then went on, “However, if you agree to remain exclusive toThe Crier, I’m willing to formally employ you and pay you a steady salary on the proviso you provide us with our usual three photographs every week, plus one other of your own choosing. If you come on board as our staff photographer, I’d like you to commence a feature along the lines of ‘What a Photograph Can Reveal that the Naked Eye Might Not See.’”
Donaldson’s eyes had grown wider and wider. He swallowed, seemed about to speak, then reined himself in and said, “That’s very tempting. Perhaps if I could see the darkroom?”
Izzy nodded and rose. “By all means. Come with me.”
He followed her to the darkroom.
She opened the door and waved him in, remaining in the doorway as he walked around, examining the fixtures. “Digby is our printer’s devil—our lad-of-all-work—but over the past months, Quimby had been training him in photography. If you’re willing to take on that training, I’d like to make him your assistant. I can hire another printer’s devil, but Digby seems to have a passion for photography, and if it hadn’t been for that and his quick thinking, we wouldn’t have any means of pursuing whoever killed Quimby. You’ll find Digby a very quick study, and his heart is already in this darkroom.”
Donaldson flashed her a grin. “I’ve already heard decent things about him from the other members of the society.” He returned to the door and nodded. “So yes, I’ll be happy to take him on as my assistant and train him up.”
“Excellent. Well, then, Mr. Donaldson, what do you consider a reasonable salary?”
He proposed a figure, and they embarked on a round of negotiations and ultimately shook hands on a deal that, Izzy suspected, they both felt was to their benefit.
“The job is yours, Mr. Donaldson, and this darkroom is now your domain.”
He smiled—a boyishly charming smile—but it faded as his gaze, turning shrewd again, went past her. “I’m curious over the police being here, more or less assisting your people in getting out the paper.”
“As to that”—she tipped her head toward her office—“let me show you the proofs of the edition.”
She led him back to the office and laid the proofs over her desk.
Donaldson pored over them.
Izzy heard the bell over the door tinkle, then Baines’s gruff voice speaking to Mary.
Donaldson tapped the proofs. “This is going to capture the attention of every Londoner.” He glanced at Izzy. “If this pans out and someone comes forward and you catch the killer, I could photograph the actual arrest. With the latest techniques, my exposure time is down to seconds, not minutes. And you could run those photographs in the next edition—you’d get an enormous boost in circulation from that!”
His enthusiasm was infectious. Izzy battled to hold back a smile. “I like the way you think, Mr. Donaldson.”
He grinned at her.
“Well, I’m not sure I do.”
She looked up as Baines came plodding into the office with Littlejohn, openly curious, trailing him.
“Who’s this, then?” Baines demanded. “And what’s this about photographing arrests?”
Izzy introduced Donaldson and, in what amounted to a trial by fire, left it to him to make the case for being allowed to photograph the capture of the killer.
Baines wasn’t convinced, but Littlejohn, who had followed with interest Donaldson’s explanation about what could be done with the latest inventions and who plainly had learned a thing or two about communicating with the public while knocking about the printing works, ventured to observe, “Sir, I can’t help but wonder if the brass wouldn’t go for it. You know they’re always on about getting positive coverage in the papers. Well, what could be more positive than us actually arresting a killer, all shown on the front page?”
After regarding Littlejohn for several silent moments, Baines returned his gaze to Donaldson and tipped his head Littlejohn’s way. “My sergeant’s right. The brass are always bending our ear about that. So”—Baines blew out a breath—“let’s see if we can’t work something out.”
“As long as I can be there,” Donaldson argued, “close enough to the action to take photographs, I swear I won’t get in your way.”
Baines humphed and asked several pertinent questions, which Donaldson answered with boyish openness.
Finally, Baines met Izzy’s eyes and nodded. “All right. We’ll try it and see.”
Izzy beamed at all three men. “Excellent!” She spied Mary hovering just beyond the doorway. “And now, gentlemen, if you’ll allow me to get back to our accounts?”
Littlejohn said to Baines, “You should come and see the press running, sir. It’s a real sight.”
