Page 44 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
It appeared the haut ton had come to view as laudable, rather than as a matter for censure, Izzy’s decision not to marry and, instead, devote herself to protecting her mother and siblings and successfully guiding the family through the minefield of severely straitened circumstances to an easier time.
Of course, one of the talents members of the ton had historically excelled at was fully comprehending yet never referring to the reality of living in straitened circumstances. Within the ton, appearance was all, and he suspected, for ladies of Izzy’s rank, their instinctive reaction on viewing her situation would be along the lines of “there but for the grace of God go I.”
By the time they reached the end of the meal, all four had grown even more enamored of the notion of their modern-day hue and cry.
Rising from the table, Izzy caught Gray’s eye. “I need to return to the printing works to get things rolling for our hue and cry edition.”
He nodded, and Drake dispatched a footman to secure a hackney.
Together, they strolled into the front hall, and after promising to keep Louisa and Drake informed of any developments, Gray and Izzy took their leave, and he led her down the steps to the waiting hackney.
They set off, with Izzy apparently mentally planning her upcoming front page. Gray smiled to himself; he was entirely satisfied with the outcome of their morning. As for the rest of the day, he planned to stick to Izzy’s side and ensure nothing, as the Americans would say, threw a wrench in her works.
Gray held open the printing works door, and Izzy glided through, her gaze already focusing farther down the workshop.
“Lipson? Everyone? We have news and a change of plans.”
The staff looked up, then downed tools and came forward to gather in the usual spot.
Izzy walked into the office, set her reticule on the desk, then undid and removed her bonnet and shrugged off her coat. Gray took her coat and bonnet and hung them with his coat on the rack, then followed her out to where the staff were waiting.
“Before you start,” Lipson said, “you should know you just missed the police.”
“Oh.” Izzy looked from Lipson to Mary and Maguire. “What did they say? Anything to the point?”
The responses to that question were distinctly contemptuous. Gray, who had taken up his usual stance leaning against the office wall, concluded that the police had struggled to find sensible questions to ask and had retreated empty-handed and, if the staff were to be believed, empty-headed as well.
“They didn’t have a clue—not one,” Lipson said. “Just wasting their time and ours, they were.”
That seemed the general consensus.
“Well”—Izzy waved at Gray—“his lordship and I have just come from meeting with some others, people connected with the authorities, and it was suggested that we run what might be termed a hue and cry edition.”
She described what she envisaged, enthusing about the possibilities and verbally painting a graphic picture of what she wanted to achieve.
The staff, one and all, fell in love with the idea and readily threw themselves, minds, hearts, and hands, into its execution.
Eventually, the majority of the staff returned to preparing the press for action once the pieces were written and ready to set and print, while with Lipson and Mary, Izzy retreated to her office.
Gray lingered in the workshop long enough to be impressed by the staff’s commitment to the latest idea; he overheard Tom Lipson, helping Horner and Matthews clean the massive drum of the press, saying that getting out the upcoming edition and, through it, catching Quimby’s killer could be their parting gift to Quimby.
Maguire and Digby were sorting type like dervishes, their hands moving so fast they were almost a blur, all the while with grins on their faces.
Reassured, Gray ambled into the office to find Izzy, Mary, and Lipson gathered about the desk, leaning over it as they sketched, wrote, altered, and redrew, entirely absorbed with thrashing out ideas of how they would create a sensational front page.
For Gray’s money, the subject matter was all that would be needed to attract the public’s interest. As long as the word “murder” appeared, preferably in large capitals, the fickle public would flock to pick up the paper and read.
The banner headline of “Hue & Cry” was a forgone conclusion, but as Gray stood listening, debate raged over what to run below that. Lipson proposed featuring a picture of Quimby and a description of the crime, while Mary was all for the description, but felt that a picture of the deceased might be considered in poor taste, at least on the front page.
For her part, Izzy didn’t seem convinced by any of the suggestions; she stood with arms crossed, frowning down at the roughly sketched headline.
Gray cleared his throat. When the three looked at him, he offered, “A hue and cry doesn’t necessarily mean murder. You need to make that very clear. ‘Murder Most Foul’ run under the banner would do it. Then keep the words to a minimum on the front page—you want people to buy the paper to read more. Run Quimby’s picture by all means—that’ll help to make the victim real—but keep the rest simple. Just something along the lines of ‘Respected photographer stabbed to death in his darkroom. Help us find the killer!’”
Izzy’s eyes came alight, and she seized a pencil and started scribbling ferociously. “Oh yes! That will do nicely.”
Mary and Lipson smiled at him delightedly, then went back to conspiring with Izzy as she sketched in the elements for their front page.
Gray felt a warm glow over having made a contribution.
