Chapter 6

“Dear Mr Pennywithers,” Elizabeth read aloud. Her uncle looked up expectantly.

“Is this the letter Bowen marked with red wax?” he asked. They were in his study, he having recently given her a packet of materials for Pennywithers received from the publisher.

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth replied. “Which either means it is of especial interest, or he was paid good coin for it to be included in Pennywithers’s recollections. My guess is, it is the former.”

“Oh? Why do you think so?”

“Because it reads more like the author is interviewing me, than its opposite. I am certain it is from a female, more than likely someone youthful. There is a certain…lack of confidence in its tone and writing. It is not the manner of someone who knows how to influence the great London press.”

“Either way, you are under no obligation to print anything. Bowen can return the coin if he was paid to include it, and so I have made clear. It is always up to Pennywithers.”

Elizabeth nodded. “And I very much appreciate it. Some of what people wish to be published is so distasteful! Mr Pennywithers is a discerning fellow, and not some ha’penny gossip. I do not mind, for instance, reviewing the grandeur and magnificence of Lady Welton’s ball, because—although I am certain it was only half as elegant as she claimed—it harms no one and people love to hear of such events. I shall not, however, include a word about the supposed flirtation during the supper between Mr Hargreaves and Miss Pinkerton. The young lady is very nearly engaged to Sir Ivy, and Lady Welton is simply envious that none of her daughters managed to nab him.”

“It is part of why Pennywithers is so beloved,” Mr Gardiner agreed. “Amongst the many sour voices declaiming rubbish, he is a source of sense, reason, and refinement. It is good to know that the world is not completely lost to good conduct. But how do you know of Sir Ivy’s romance?”

“I have my sources,” Elizabeth said, smiling a little slyly. She paid several different people she had met in the last year for gossip—included among them, an astute lady’s maid and two seamstresses from competing houses. The shillings it cost her bought a wealth of news, assisted the underpaid, and honed her own judgment, although she was careful how she used the information. None had any idea why she was interested in the tittle-tattle, and she did not wish for any trail pointing back to her pseudonym.

“Dear Mr Pennywithers,” Elizabeth began again, reading aloud the missive the publisher thought so interesting.

It might be a dreadful mistake on my part to write to you, but the few columns of yours I have read lead me to hope you might be a gentleman of some honour. Is it true? Are you interested in honesty, in righting wrongs, in correcting misinformation reported so meanly by others? And how can I tell? I do not know. But I feel as though, if we were to have a real conversation, face to face, I might learn.

I know you wish to protect your identity, just as I wish to protect mine. Believe me when I say that I have as much to lose as you do, should it get about that we were seen together. Probably more. Please reply only if you are a man of integrity, and tell me if such a conversation is possible.

Sincerely,

Love is Blind

Uncle Gardiner’s brows rose. “A very unusual request. I do not like it.”

Elizabeth hesitated. There was something so desperate in the girl’s words, something that tugged at her.

“There is an address, a book shop on the Strand, where I may leave a reply.” The address, she noted, was in a different hand—a firmer, more confident, although still feminine hand. There were at least two involved in this affair, although she did not mention this observation to her uncle.

“A reply in the negative,” he said forcefully. “Lizzy, I have been lenient, but I am responsible for your reputation. ‘Love is Blind’ wants a meeting face to face. I will never agree to that.”

She sighed. “No, I suppose you will not. For that matter, if meeting me is a risk to her reputation, she would be foolish to do it as well. I must protect both of us, it seems.”

Her uncle heaved a sigh of relief. She knew he only cared for her welfare, and she ought never to resent it.

“However, I could suggest to her a meeting of…trusted representatives. She would expect a male. How would you feel about being mine?” She gave him her most hopeful, pleading expression.

“Do not look at me like that. Lizzy, this is a terrible idea! I could be traced back to you.”

“That is very unlikely. Equally unlikely is that anyone would ever believe that a female writes Mr Pennywithers’s columns. You are a solicitor, with a number of respectable clients. You could be representing nearly anyone.”

He tried to maintain his stern expression, but she knew that he was as curious as she was about the letter writer’s concern.

Finally he gave a short laugh. “Very well. Set up a meeting with the ‘trusted representative’ of this lady in distress, or possibly treacherous sneak. I shall do my best to play detective for you.”