Page 73 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
By midday, it was all hands on deck at the printing works. Even Izzy had joined the small army bustling about the noisy, clanking, clattering press. Donaldson, Littlejohn, and his young constable had been conscripted into service. For once, they had enough hands for the process to flow seamlessly without interruption.
Izzy worked with Mary and Digby at the layout table, checking the sheets Lipson, assisted by Littlejohn and the constable, ferried from the typesetting table where Maguire and Jim laid the pages as they came off the press. At that point, the sheets were printed on one side only; although the press could print on both sides of a sheet in one double-pass, the drying time of the available ink made that impractical; too many pages ended smeared. Once sufficient sheets had been printed and had passed inspection, the forme in the press would be changed, and the sheets would have another two pages printed on their blank side.
The combined scent of hot machine oil and ink was pervasive, overlaying the sharper tang of the coal Gerry constantly fed into the boiler. The rattle of the thick woven belt that drove the huge drum was a constant rumble beneath the solid clanks and thuds as the iron gears moving the forme currently being printed constantly shifted, locked, then shifted again, first holding the inked forme in place for the huge drum to press a sheet to it—printing the sheet with two pages of text and pictures—then lowering the forme for the type to be reinked before relifting and locking it in place again for the drum to roll over it and print the next sheet.
Standing toward the rear of the press, Lipson kept an eagle eye on the rolling drum and frequently bent to check the reservoirs of ink below the machine. Maguire and Matthews, receiving the printed sheets, ran careful eyes over each as the machine pushed it out, checking for any smudging or uneven print.
After toting up all the likely orders and allowing for increased interest, Izzy and Lipson had decided on a first print run of five thousand copies, an increase of six hundred on their usual number. Time-wise, printing and assembling five thousand copies was going to stretch them, which was why even Izzy had donned a leather apron and was assisting as she could. They had to print three double-sided sheets, each side carrying two pages—making up the twelve pages of the special edition—then collate the sheets in the correct order and orientation before folding the stacked pages in half, creating each copy of the paper.
That wouldn’t be a small undertaking at any time, but today, with all the excitement, it was extra difficult for everyone to stop themselves from pausing and reading the sheets rather than simply ferrying them on.
After inspecting the press earlier, Baines had left. Izzy had locked the door behind him, a precaution they often took while the press was running, as they wouldn’t hear anyone coming through the door.
With the first double-sided sheet done and stacked in piles waiting on the counter, Izzy estimated that they were fast approaching the right number of sheets printed with the first side of the second double-sided sheet. On cue, Lipson called a temporary halt, stopping the press so that he, his son, Maguire, and Matthews could carefully switch out the current forme and replace it with the next. Everyone else seized the moment to eat a sandwich—which Izzy routinely ordered and Mary had brought in that morning—and find a drink of water. On print-run days, there was never time for a proper lunch break.
Izzy nibbled a sandwich and sipped water from a cup. She ran her eye over all those gathered and saw clear interest, a touch of excitement here and there, and beneath all else, an unwavering commitment to getting the hue and cry edition out and, through it, catching Quimby’s killer.
There was a sense of comradeship, not just among the printing works’ staff but including and embracing all those who were so readily lending their aid, even Littlejohn and the constable. It felt as if everyone there had banded together in common cause; she saw that reflected in the casual glances that tracked Lipson, waiting for his word that the press was ready to roll again.
She leant against the layout table and inwardly acknowledged that she couldn’t have accomplished this by herself. Some of it, yes, but without Louisa’s idea, Drake’s imprimatur, Baines’s tacit support, and Littlejohn’s enthusiasm, let alone the staff’s, the hue and cry edition wouldn’t have happened.
And with regard to Louisa’s, Drake’s, and Baines’s very necessary contributions, those had come about through Gray’s efforts, through his intercessions on her behalf.
The boiler started to chug again, and the belt rattled to life. Lipson called, and everyone set aside their crusts and cups and dove back into the fray.
At her station at the layout table, Izzy smiled wryly. In general, she had a rather low opinion of the value of gentlemen, but perhaps it was time to revise her stance and agree that some of the species might have their uses.
Gray arrived at Alverton Priory and found Devlin ensconced in his library. Gray had barely walked in, shaken hands, and sat in the armchair Devlin waved him to when Therese came bustling in.
“I heard you’d arrived.” She promptly sat in a chair facing him. “How goes the investigation? Do you have news?”
Gray smiled at her blatant inquisitiveness and obliged by describing all that had occurred. “Incidentally, thank you for the recommendation to consult Drake. Without his and Louisa’s contributions, I doubt we’d be where we are.”
“So,” Therese said, “with luck, you’ll start to get information in later tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure how quickly the distribution occurs, but I suppose that’s possible,” he allowed.
She glanced at the clock. “You will stay for luncheon, won’t you?”
When, brows raised, she looked at him, he smiled. “Thank you.”
“But what’s brought you this way?” Devlin asked.
“Indeed,” Therese said. “With events happening apace in London, this hardly seems a time you would choose to visit your parents.”
Gray grinned. “You know me so well.”
She nodded. “We do. So?”
“I came up this way to look at a house.”
“You did?” She blinked. “Where?”
Just then, Edwards arrived to announce, “My lady, my lords, luncheon is served.”
Therese bounced to her feet and, immediately Gray stood, looped her arm in his and towed him toward the door. “Come, sit, eat, and tell us all.”
He laughed and, with a fondly grinning Devlin following, allowed himself to be led to the dining room.
