Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Frank laughs. ‘They all say that.’
‘Are you saying he’s lying?’
‘I don’t know,’ Frank muses. ‘How else would he know that I was close enough to Winters to warrant a claim of mugging?’
‘We must stop Porter.’
‘And how do you propose we do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘But I do know that no one needs to be exposed. Except, perhaps, Porter and Lymington for being devious, immoral louts.’ What is their problem with Johnny?
‘That’s journalism, Eliza,’ Frank sighs, rubbing at his eye sockets. ‘And why Father will never allow you into the seedy world that’s made him fortunes. It’s no place for a lady.’
‘I’ve never been a damn lady.’
‘Fine. It’s no place for a female, and you’re definitely one of those, are you not?’
‘I will find a way,’ I assure him on a scowl, ‘to prove it.’
‘Well, please do come wake me when you’ve figured it out.’ He leaves the study, and I look back over my shoulder to the glass cabinet in which Father keeps one copy of every edition ever printed. Some have my stories in. There are no lies in my stories, and never will be. Integrity is key. My nose wrinkles, and I go back to the dining room and pour myself a fresh coffee. What does one do to stop a story being printed? I ask myself the question repeatedly while I drum my fingers on the table. And it comes to me. I inhale, my fingers stopping. One creates a better story. A bigger story. A more scandalous story.
One that is true.
That could be trickier than it should be, as nothing true is as engrossing as an over-embellished pile of nonsense. Unless, of course, I share my dalliances with Johnny Winters. That’s very true and would cause quite the scandal. I sigh.
And then out of nowhere, it comes to me. A solution. My brain works fast, my idea, frankly, genius! I shall do what I condemn Porter for doing. Embellish. Or, actually, completely fabricate something.
False news.
Perhaps integrity is not key, at least not on this occasion. And it’s for a good cause, so I am forgiving of myself. My God, this could be the story of the century! But how the heck am I going to pull it off? I should not underestimate myself. I am, if anything, determined.
And falling in love.
MILLINGDALE BANK RUMOURED TO CLOSE TOMORROW
Imagine if your fortune, every last shilling, was lost because of one bad business decision by the lord who owns the bank where it is stored. I have heard from quite the reliable source, that Lord Millingdale…
Chapter 12
The next morning, and for the first time in my existence, I intercept the delivery of our daily newspaper and breathe in deeply when I see the headline. Then I go to the window and look outside to see the residents of Belmore Square all flying out of their homes in a panic, some still pulling various items of clothing on, to head to Millingdale Bank and withdraw their money.
‘Oopsie,’ I whisper, straining so hard to keep the satisfied grin from my face.
‘Miss Melrose?’ Dalton asks from behind me, forcing me to work harder in my endeavours.
I turn towards his voice, only once I can be certain I do not look as guilty as I am, and cock my head in question. ‘Yes, Dalton?’
‘Would…’ He frowns and goes to the door, pulling it open and looking out onto the square. I see Countess Rose hurrying past. ‘What in the devil’s name is going on?’
‘No idea, Dalton,’ I say, going to the dining room, my grin now uncontainable, and flick through the rest of the paper, searching for the other story, and after a few advertisements, one ironically for Millingdale Bank, I find no disturbing tale of the mugging of Frank Melrose. Well, that’s all rather odd.
My confusion, however, is interrupted when I hear the high-pitched screech of my mother. I rush to the hallway and find her hands over her face. ‘Mama, what is it?’ I ask, concerned. Are there tears in her eyes? Oh no. I am about to assure her that there is nothing to worry about, that all of their new money is safe, but I am halted when I spy a smile past the hand over her mouth.
She gasps, sniffs, and rushes forward, presenting me with two vouchers. ‘I made it,’ she breathes. ‘I have been approved!’
I frown and look down at her hand. ‘What is it?’
‘A voucher for Almack’s signed by Lady Tillsbury!’
My shoulders drop, but I just manage to stop my eyeroll in its tracks. ‘I’m very glad your work stroking Lady Tillsbury’s ego has paid off, Mama.’ I have to hand it to her, she’s worked hard enough to secure herself entry into the sacred rooms, where only the most fashionable, wealthiest, most influential members of the ton will be seen. I pass her, my wondering regarding the absence of Porter’s mugging report back. Frank. I need to speak with Frank this minute. Pray do tell me I didn’t go to all the trouble of fabricating some false news and tricking Dalton into sending the story to the printworks under Papa’s instruction for nothing.