Chapter 2

Lori woke up well past noon the day after the Avington betrothal ball. The weather was sunny and warm, and her employer had given her leave to take the day for herself, so she decided to enjoy a leisurely breakfast on the garden terrace.

She shared the house with Lady Winifred Sedgewick and normally ate her meals with Freddie, but her friend had already gone out by the time Lori woke up, so she nipped down to the kitchen and waited while Una, their cook, assembled a tray for her. Mrs. Brinkley, the housekeeper, disapproved of such casual manners, but there were only four servants, and Lori did not like to pull them from their duties to fetch and carry for her when she’d been the one to miss breakfast.

Armed with a pot of coffee and a plate heaped with bacon, eggs, and toast, she proceeded to the terrace, where her only companions were the resident pet turkeys, Mr. and Mrs. Vickers.

The birds had been scratching beneath the rose bushes when Lori came outside but they immediately and majestically drifted closer when they spied her tray of food.

Lori glanced around to make sure Mrs. Brinkley—who didn’t believe in giving fowl treats—wasn’t nearby before she tossed several small pieces of toast to the pair.

Mr. Vickers demonstrated his gratitude by fluffing up to three times his size and strutting to-and-fro for Lori’s entertainment. While the tom preened his less spectacular but wiser spouse speedily gobbled up the food. The turkeys lived in a large enclosure at the far end of the garden and were fed twice a day but never turned their beaks up at a little extra forage.

Lori poured herself a cup of strong black coffee and settled back in her chair before opening The Mercury , which she paid to have delivered every morning.

She had been awake until almost four o’clock helping David Parker, the owner and editor of The Mercury , pull the story about Lord Severn together. It was the first time an article of hers had made it to the front page. Not that David had given her any credit.

“This story isn’t really the fruit of your investigation, Lori. You only provided some of the fact checking,” he’d said when she asked why her name was nowhere to be seen. “ I will be the one to stitch it all together into a coherent article.”

“But I am the one who discovered the smuggling ring and brought it to your attention,” Lori pointed out.

“Fortunately, you had the intelligence to give the story to somebody wiser and more experienced. That is how one learns to be a journalist, Lori. It takes time; don’t get ahead of yourself and try to run before you can walk.” And then he’d smiled in a condescending way that had made her seethe. “Watch me and learn, my dear child. Watch me and learn. Oh, by the by,” he’d added once he was satisfied that she had been put in her place. “I am going to dinner with Mr. Merrow on Friday. He is looking for new and exciting work to publish and I shall be sure to mention your manuscript to him.”

David knew exactly what sort of hope to dangle in front of Lori to keep her compliant. It had physically pained her to keep her tongue between her teeth, but she’d swallowed her pride and fury, accepted the paltry payment for the story she’d delivered, and resigned herself to getting no credit for it.

As she read through the article today, she recognized more than a few of her sentences, verbatim.

“You thieving turd,” she muttered, angrily biting into a piece of toast.

It didn’t surprise her that Parker had stolen her work. What did surprise her was the liberties he’d taken with some of the information she had provided. Several of his accusations had no foundation in fact. At least not any facts that Lori knew of.

The more she read, the more agitated she became. By the time she reached the last paragraph her breathing was fast and ragged, and her skin prickled with perspiration.

Good Lord! David had taken the information she’d given him and distorted it almost beyond recognition.

Unless he had other information that he’d concealed from her? She couldn’t imagine why he would have done that, but surely it had to be the case because he would never dare to make such allegations without proof to support them.

Would he?

“Good morning, Lori.”

Lori jolted at the sound of Freddie’s voice. “Good morning,” she muttered absently, commencing to re-read the story, hoping it wasn’t as reckless as it seemed.

“Lori?”

She tore her gaze away from the paper and looked up to find Freddie holding a special edition of The London Times .

“What? Why are you—” she broke off with a squawk when the headline—in bold block letters—leapt out at her: Emory Wayne Arrested as Leader of Child Prostitution Ring!

“Emory Wayne?” she repeated faintly.

Freddie nodded. “It appears that one of England’s most respected religious leaders has been engaging in more than reform.” She gestured to the copy of The Mercury in Lori’s hands. “I read that earlier, before this extra became available. David Parker will be facing a libel suit. And losing it. I hope you didn’t have any part in this article, Lori.”

Lori wordlessly took the newspaper from Freddie.

“My God!” she gasped a moment later, having read only the first few paragraphs. “This says Lord Severn provided the information that led to Emory Wayne’s arrest—along with dozens of others. And this all happened last night!” Lori kept reading, her whimpers of shock turning to groans of despair by the time she reached the end. She flung the paper onto the table, buried her face in her hands, and moaned, “Dear Lord. This is a disaster.”

For a moment there was nothing but the distant sound of street traffic. And then Freddie spoke. “Lori?”

Lori dropped her hands and looked up.

“Is this”—Freddie gestured to the newspaper, “why you confronted Viscount Severn at the ball last night?”

Lori grimaced. “Oh, you noticed that?”

“I was not the only one who noticed.”

“My name was not on the story.” The excuse sounded lame even to her own ears.

“No, but I daresay that is because your Mr. Parker thought to steal all the glory for himself.”

“He’s not my Mr. Parker,” Lori retorted, uncomfortably reminded of Lord Severn’s accusation. She sighed. “But you’re right, Freddie. Only his greed saved me from making a terrible fool of myself.”

“I’ll be astounded if Severn does not bring suit against Parker.”

Lori nodded, too dispirited to speak.

Freddie gestured to the crumpled copy of The Mercury. “I cannot believe Lord Severn told you any of those lies.”

“He never told me anything.” Well, that wasn’t true. He had told her that she would be very sorry if the paper printed the story. And she was sorry, although not as sorry as Parker probably was.

“I know Mr. Parker has promised to help you get your manuscript published, Lori, but surely there must be a better way to go about it?” Freddie gave her a look of pained disapproval. “I did not object to the Miss Emily articles, but this”—Freddie broke off and shook her head. “Well, this sort of journalism is something else, entirely.” When Lori didn’t answer—because what could she say?—Freddie asked, “Are you sure you know what you are doing?”

“Don’t you think I’ve looked for a better way?” Lori demanded. “I have submitted the story to more than a dozen publishers. I have loitered for more afternoons than I can count at The Temple of the Muses,” she said, naming the famous bookstore which everyone said was the best place for a writer to find a publisher. “It was there that I became acquainted with Mr. Keats and Mr. Hazlitt, and they very kindly offered to show the manuscript to George Lackington.” At Freddie’s puzzled look Lori explained, “He’s the publisher who just released that marvelous story— The Modern Prometheus. ”

“You mean that monster story— Frankenstein ?”

Lori smiled. “It’s not really about a monster, Freddie. It’s an allegory for—” she broke off, not wanting to get into a literary debate. “Anyhow, Mr. Keats is friends with Mr. and Mrs. Shelley, and he claims that it was Mrs. Shelley who wrote the novel, if you can believe it.” The woman was scarcely more than a child! Lori had been both overjoyed to learn a woman had written the magnificent book and demoralized because she feared that she would never write anything even half so good. Or at least she hadn’t yet.

Freddie did not look impressed. “The Shelleys have cast themselves so far beyond the pale that they will never be readmitted to decent society.”

“I know they are outcasts, Freddie, but in the world of publishing Shelley is a force to be reckoned with. And evidently his wife, who is scarcely eight-and-ten, not only wrote this masterpiece, but she somehow managed to get it published. Lackington is one of the few publishers who will even consider a manuscript written by a female.”

“If Mr. Lackington will accept stories written by women, then why are you working for Mr. Parker?”

Lori bit back a groan of frustration. “It isn’t that simple, Freddie. I need help getting my manuscript in front of Lackington. Until that happens, I need to earn a living.”

“I have told you again and again that I would pay you to be my assistant.”

“You don’t need an assistant, and we both know it. You already don’t charge me enough for my room and board—”

“I feel dreadful accepting any money at all when you insist on living in the carriage house!”

“I like it out there.”

Freddie sighed but did not argue. Instead, she gestured to the paper in front of Lori, “What are you going—”

The French door opened and Mrs. Brinkley came onto the terrace, scowling at the sight of the turkeys. “Have you been feeding them?”

“No,” Lori lied. “Mr. Vickers just came over to cheer me up and Mrs. Vickers followed along to see what he was doing.”

Mrs. Brinkley rolled her eyes. Although she’d worked at the house for years—long enough to have seen at least five sets of turkeys come and go—she still considered them nuisances rather than pets.

She held out a small envelope. “This just came for you, Miss Lori.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brinkley.” She waited until the housekeeper went back inside before glancing down at the message and groaning at the familiar handwriting.

“Parker?” Freddie asked.

Lori nodded and gingerly unfolded the message, as if a live asp might leap out at her.

The words were worse than a venomous reptile.

I want to see you immediately . This story is your mess, and you will draft a retraction.

After you’ve done that, we will discuss whether you have a future at my newspaper.

She refolded the paper slowly and looked up to meet Freddie’s knowing gaze.

“Did he give you the sack?”

Lori smiled sickly. “Not yet. He has at least one more piece of work for me.”