A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,65
I asked as Gage waved the missive in the air to speed the drying.
“Because he never would have given me a straight answer, and then he would have been on his guard about any future questions I put to him on the topic. As you know, it’s always best to already know the answers to such questions before you ask them. And at the moment, we haven’t the slightest clue as to who the culprit is.” He folded the foolscap and then hollered for Peter, our footman, who was perched at the back of the carriage. Leaning through the doorway, he passed him the letter and then issued instructions on its delivery.
Once that task was completed, he put the lap desk aside and turned to me more fully. “Now, shall I deliver you home, or are you determined to accompany me to the businesses Mr. Heron visited yesterday on Rookwood’s behalf?”
I arched my eyebrows. “Must you ask?”
His mouth curled at the corners. “I figured it couldn’t hurt. Where to first, then?”
The chiming of the bells at nearby Trinity College Church drew my gaze toward New Town. “We’re only a short distance from the Theatre Royal. But will the proprietors be there at this hour?”
“I doubt it.”
“Then let’s visit the printer. This Mr. Lennox may know as much about Rookwood’s business as Mr. Heron, if not more.”
All trace of humor fled from Gage’s expression. “You heard Heron say that Lennox and Company Printers is located at the corner of Cowgate and Blackfriars.”
Which was a block south of High Street, just a short distance from our current location, but it plunged us into a very different world. Cowgate stretched to the west, connecting with Grassmarket, and hosted many of the poorest residents of Edinburgh, packed together in squalid tenements. We would be stepping up to the very edge of the area of the city hardest hit by the cholera morbus. It was only right that we should pause and evaluate the risk.
“I brought the Chantilly veil that matches this capote so I could drape it over my face if needed,” I told him, pulling the delicately folded lace from the pocket of my mantua. “That would offer some extra protection. And I can button my pelerine higher on my throat.” I clasped the small cape-like garment draped over my voluminous mantua together at the neck to illustrate.
Gage carefully considered these suggestions before guardedly adding, “I suppose we aren’t going to encounter a great deal of people gathered around a print shop. And the fumes from the equipment likely overpower any of the bad air that might waft over from the neighboring tenements.” His gaze assessed me once more before he sighed heavily and knocked on the ceiling of the carriage to issue instructions to our coachman.
As the carriage rumbled forward, I reached out to clasp Gage’s hand. Though he didn’t turn to look at me or speak, he did squeeze back, holding my hand tightly until we reached Cowgate. I buttoned my pelerine to the top and draped the veil over the brim of my capote bonnet before stepping down from the carriage beside Gage. The soot-stained gray stones of the stolid building before us were certainly nothing to look at, but I noted two or three hearty souls clustered around the broadsides posted on the side of the building as Gage hustled me toward the door. A tarnished bronze plaque attached to the wall next to it was all that proclaimed its proprietor.
Inside, we were assaulted by the acrid stench of hot ink and oil, and the click and whirl of the moving metal parts from a trio of steam printing presses. A pair of men stood at each press on either side of it, feeding paper onto the belts that pulled it under the cylinders, while a fourth pair of men stood conferring off to the side. Catching sight of us, the man dressed in gentlemen’s attire, sans his frock coat, the white sleeves of his linen shirt rolled up to reveal his forearms, dismissed the man in the leather apron to approach us.
“Mr. Lennox,” Gage called out as he neared, raising his voice to be heard above the noise. “My name is Sebastian Gage.” He nodded to me at his side. “Might my wife and I have a word with you?”
Lennox gestured broadly toward a door to our right, and we followed him into an office. On first glance, it appeared as if someone had stood in the center