Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
‘Mr Melrose,’ she nods. ‘I would offer a drink, but you already have one.’
‘I do. Where is Fleming?’
She looks over her shoulder to the entrance, as if she is wary of his arrival. ‘I expect he will be here imminently.’
‘What are you to him, Ruby?’ I ask outright, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Her head tilts, her smile small. ‘His whore, of course, Mr Melrose.’
I laugh under my breath as I take a sip of my Scotch. Ruby is pretending to be a whore. That much is clear, but what I want to know is why. She is an intelligent woman who has let her well-spoken tongue slip a few times too often.
My eyes fall to the top of her arm, and I spy a collection of bruises. She sees my direction of sight and covers the area with a palm, and I can’t avoid it, I am angry. So very angry. ‘Ruby, I do not mind having him––’
‘Melrose,’ Fleming booms, appearing behind her. ‘I trust you are here with the news I want.’
‘I am,’ I say, my eyes narrowing as I kick a foot up onto my knee, relaxing back, giving Ruby a look to suggest I am not done. ‘Today we have exceeded twenty thousand.’
‘Very good.’
‘Let us discuss the distribution,’ I go on. ‘Perhaps in private,’ I add, looking at Ruby, who starts to walk away but is stopped by Fleming’s fat fingers wrapped around her wrist. Tightly.
‘Nonsense.’ He wedges himself into a chair and yanks Ruby down onto his lap with unwarranted force. ‘Go on.’
I inhale some restraint, reminding myself that Fleming is a necessary evil. At least, for me. But for Ruby? What is her story, I think again, for surely she does not need to sustain this treatment? ‘With another printing machine on the fleet,’ I say, turning my eyes onto Fleming. ‘I anticipate we can double to forty thousand in a few short months. I will hire the best journalists to fill the pages, too, send them further afield to obtain breaking news from all over the country.’
‘Let us not get ahead of ourselves,’ Fleming says, flicking one of Ruby’s nipples so her chest concaves. It is painful, I see the discomfort fleetingly on her face, but she smiles at him anyway. ‘The name of the culprit who robbed me, what is it?’ he asks.
I shift, uncomfortable. ‘I am not privy to that information just yet,’ I say. ‘But be assured, I am very close.’
‘Very close isn’t close enough.’ Suddenly, he stands, setting Ruby on her feet. ‘The deal was twenty thousand and the identity of the highwaywoman.’ His roving eye drifts down Ruby’s front, and I come over all queasy on her behalf. Then his fat finger rises and the pad rests on her breastbone. ‘Bring me a drink,’ he orders, wobbling off to one of the quieter rooms at the back.
‘God damn it,’ I breathe, sagging in my chair. I told him I am very close. It may have been an embellishment. I need those distribution channels! It’s all well and good printing in excess of twenty thousand copies of The London Times, but it’s bloody pointless if we cannot sell them. We need further reach. God knows how long it will take me to discover the identity of the highwaywoman. I have machines to pay for in the meantime, and they are not cheap.
‘I will leave you in peace,’ Ruby says, moving away.
‘Wait,’ I call, making her stop and look back. Her bruises glow at me. ‘You do not have to go.’
‘Your concern is misplaced.’
‘How so?’
‘I am here because I deserve to be.’
‘What? You speak rubbish.’
‘He ruined me, Mr Melrose, and my family disowned me.’
I recoil, shocked, but also not, for I suspected there was more to Ruby than meets the eye. ‘You were important enough to be ruined?’ I ask, and she smiles, giving me my answer. ‘What was your name, Ruby?’ Her lips press into a straight line, as if she is desperate to tell me.
‘My name is Ruby, Mr Melrose.’ She steps closer. ‘I will say one thing to you, sir.’
‘And what is that?’
She looks around, nervous and wary. ‘He has no intention of meeting your deal.’
‘What?’ I step back. ‘Why?’
‘Because he cannot. He is on the verge of financial ruin, Mr Melrose. He simply wants the identity of the highwaymen so he may stop them ruining him completely.’
‘How have they ruined him?’
‘Because they have ambushed every one of his carriages in the past year, and word is spreading throughout the upper classes who pay for his services that he cannot be trusted, for many of them have had priceless family heirlooms stolen, jewels and gold. Not to mention, his boats are old, dilapidated, and sinking one by one as he has not the funds to repair or replace them while his services cannot be trusted.’ She smiles and wanders off, leaving too many blanks to be filled. Old, sinking boats? Almost all of his carriages? Call me suspicious, but this sounds like a personal vendetta.