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)
‘Francis Melrose!’ Mama snaps, smacking me across the head. ‘We do not use such language.’
‘No, not these days, eh, Mama? Not now we are who we are with what we have. For the love of everything, when did you become so high in the instep?’
‘Yes, and those lovely coats you sport each day are a part of what we have.’ Eliza raises a brow, and I scowl in return.
‘So the new machine,’ I say. This might not be such a terribly bad thing. At least I will be suitably prepared for the inevitable extra load of copies we may need to print when I release my own story.
‘Johnny has it in hand,’ Eliza smiles brightly.
‘Yes,’ Papa confirms. ‘His Grace is in talks with the German manufacturer, who, understandably, has asked for proof of Johnny’s father’s invention.’ Ah. The invention – a small but significant part that made it possible to produce those wonderful revolutionary and obscenely expensive steam printing machines. Without them, our business would be limping along like the rest of the newspapers. That rat Lymington claimed the invention and sold it to the Germans. His crimes know no bounds.
‘Excellent,’ I agree. Now to broach the matter on my mind. ‘Papa,’ I say reaching into my inside pocket, feeling Eliza’s eyes on me. ‘As I said yesterday, I should like to start writing a––’
‘I have not seen Clara today.’ Papa frowns.
‘What?’
‘Clara.’ He stands, and I look out the corner of my eye to Eliza, as she looks out the corner of her eye to me. She shakes her head. I shake mine. Neither of us have seen her.
‘She isn’t with Governess?’ I ask, trying to sound casual.
‘No,’ Mama says. ‘Quite unfortunately, she broke out in a hideous rash which I fear is contagious.’ She whirls round. ‘Emma! Emma, have you seen Clara?’ She breezes out and Papa follows.
‘It must be your turn to find our wayward sister,’ I say to my sister, as Papa goes after Mama and my opportunity to plead my case goes too. God damn it.
‘I am busy, Frank.’ Eliza leaves the office, and I go after her.
‘I think our readers are ready for something new, sister.’
She whirls round, shocked. ‘But I am yet to conclude my story.’
‘Perhaps it is time.’
‘So I might make way for you?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’ She marches on, and I follow, chasing her heels.
‘Eliza, come now, let us be reasonable.’
‘You be reasonable, Frank. You have always basked in the glory of my words. Allow me to enjoy this newfound sense of pride.’
‘I do not want to bask in the glory of your words, Eliza. I should like to bask in the glory of mine. After all, you said they were rather good. Isn’t this best for the business?’
‘Since when have you cared about the family business?’
I skid to a stop, injured. My God, everyone is being so very brutal with their opinions on Frank Melrose this week. I cease chasing her. If there is one thing I know about Eliza Melrose, she is a stubborn mare. ‘I have always cared about business,’ I say to myself. Although, admittedly, it has been a while since I paid a visit to the printworks.
So, on that thought, I find a hackney coach and give the jarvey instructions to take me there, where I find Grant, who was recently promoted to oversee the workers on the factory floor. He’s a round man, with rosy cheeks and a charming twinkle in his eye, and has been working for Papa for many years. ‘Mr Melrose,’ he chimes, dropping a sack of something to the ground and dusting off his hands before approaching me. ‘What a lovely surprise.’
‘Good day to you, Grant,’ I say, casting my eye around the printworks, where men at every turn are run ragged trying to keep up with the speed of the printer, and the noise is piercing.
‘Her Grace paid a visit just yesterday morning. We are honoured – two Melroses in two days!’
‘Eliza was here?’ On her wedding day? My eyes narrow. Her commitment knows no bounds.
‘Yes, she wanted to be sure her story wasn’t interrupted.’ Grant starts to wander the factory floor, and I follow, as hot as a pig on a spit.
‘How very thorough of her,’ I muse, amused. Obsessed.
‘Indeed, Mr Melrose. Our new Editor-in-Chief is taking her role very seriously.’
I recoil. Editor-in-Chief? ‘Who is the new Editor-in-Chief?’ I ask. And why don’t I know?
Grant stops, looking back at me, apparently oblivious to my shock if his big grin is a measure to trust. ‘Why, Her Grace, sir. Your father sent word only yesterday. A wedding gift, I believe.’
What?
I stare at him, probably looking like a surprised goldfish. ‘My younger sister is the new Editor-in-Chief?’ Poor Grant suddenly registers my disposition, and he knows not where to look or what to say.
I do not believe this. I never dreamt I would begrudge my sister’s ambitions. I also never dreamt my own ambitions, albeit delayed in coming forth, would suffer as a consequence. ‘Good day to you, Grant.’ I tip my hat, he tips his in return, and I walk out of the printworks, feeling an incredible sense of hurt.