She smiled brilliantly and squeezed his arm. “We’ll return to our recent discussions.”
“And bring them to an agreeable conclusion.”Such as a wedding date.
She noted his unwavering determination, and her smile softened. “Indeed.”
She gave him her hand, and he took it. With “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow,” he helped her into the carriage.
Gray stood back as Swan escorted Marietta to the carriage and assisted her up the steps.
After closing the door and nodding to Fields, Swan joined Gray on the pavement, and they watched the carriage rumble away.
Swan turned to Gray and offered his hand. “Thank you for the information you imparted earlier.”
Shaking Swan’s hand, with a smile, Gray inclined his head. “It seemed the least I could do.”
Both patently pleased with their evening, they established they were heading in opposite directions and parted with amiable nods.
As Swan strode off, Gray glanced at the Matcham House porch and found his aunt staring at him, suspicious and knowing at once.
Deciding that everything in his world was close to being perfect—possibly only one day away from him attaining all he most wished for—he allowed his welling enthusiasm for life to light his smile as he saluted his aunt and, with a spring in his step, walked on.
Chapter 13
Izzy and Gray didn’t dally over breakfast the next morning.
They arrived at the printing works at fifteen minutes before eight o’clock to find a line of people, mostly younger men, lined up outside the door. Some were delivery boys, including, at the head of the line, the three who had been too late to get their orders filled the day before, but others weren’t.
Izzy was grateful Gray was there to escort her up the steps and shield her as she unlocked the door. Those waiting seemed restless, but after Gray bent a warning glance on them and said, “The door opens for business at eight o’clock and not before,” all remained on the pavement, apparently resigned to more waiting.
Inside the printing works, they discovered that the Lipsons had also come in early. Lipson Senior reported, “No sign that anyone’s tried to break in.”
“That’s a relief.” She stripped off her gloves.
Lipson nodded toward the door. “We’ll have delivery boys coming in as well as those with information. Do we just deal with them one at a time, regardless of what they want?”
She considered, then cast a glance at Gray. “That might be best.”
He nodded. “Otherwise, you’ll get arguments over who’s been waiting longest and so on.”
Maguire and Mary appeared at the front door, and Tom Lipson went to let them in.
Izzy waved at the pair as they entered, then walked briskly into her office. After hanging up her coat and bonnet, she took her place behind the desk. Gray lounged in the chair before it, as had become his wont. Determined to get through the backlog of invoices, she buckled down.
The other staff arrived in a steady stream; she was distantly aware of the voices and greetings. From their tone, she deduced that everyone was eager to see what came from all their hard work.
She prayed that something would.
At precisely eight o’clock, Littlejohn called, “Ready?” When an agreeing rumble came in reply, he said, “Right, then. I’m opening the door.”
From where Izzy sat, she could see Baines hovering just outside the office. With him and Littlejohn in attendance, jostling in the queue that formed before the counter would be kept to a minimum.
Izzy paused in her scribing and, straining her ears, listened as Mary and Lipson dealt with the three delivery boys who were desperate to get their hands on more copies of the paper. Once the trio had been sent running back to their masters with their respective loads, several would-be informants fronted the counter, and the task of winnowing the grain from the chaff began. After listening for a minute and verifying that the early birds weren’t offering any worms worth considering, Izzy returned to her work.
The occasional clatter from deeper in the workshop confirmed that Lipson had the other staff busy with their usual chores of putting the boiler and press to rights, cleaning and oiling and getting the beasts ready to roll again next week, as well as cleaning and re-sorting all the used type.
After a while, Gray, who, from the comfort of the armchair, had been watching the activity in the foyer, reported, “You’ve had quite a few delivery lads wanting more papers turn up.”
“Hmm.” Having finished converting yesterday’s delivery slips into invoices, while waiting for Littlejohn to appear with some useful informant to be interrogated, Izzy distracted herself by updating her tally of copies sent out.
