Chapter Thirty-Two #2
She stretched to the side, trying to work out the kinks that all this overthinking had caused.
Focus. Baskerville meowed. She looked at him; she looked at the pile of colored silk; she looked at the book in her lap.
She’d sold her other two editions of this novel to Charly.
Sigh. She gulped down another mouthful of terrible, sickly-sweet gin.
Her skirt was well creased by now. She should have changed as soon as she’d gotten home.
She located the point on the page where she’d left off at last time and tried to read.
Her eyes slipped to Baskerville, who was looking at her expectantly, as though he could see an answer she couldn’t.
She looked at the dresses that needed to be bundled up and the fonts that needed to be put in a trunk, and then took another gulp of her drink.
Surely, she had done enough for the evening?
She looked at the page in front of her, gave up trying to read, and closed the book, settling it in her lap. Her sage-colored skirt would need to be ironed or packed.
She sighed and looked at the book. There was no space in her brain for words. It was too cluttered with men and moving and making a living. She should get rid of the fonts. There would be even less space in her new room than there was in her head.
She should get rid of the dresses too. They were too small for her. She could not wear them. They could bring someone else joy. They had full skirts and lace trimmings, and some even had rosettes on the bodice that took up space. Her new wardrobe would be smaller. It would not fit a rainbow.
She poured another glass of gin and skipped the cordial this time.
She looked at the book; she looked at the dresses; she looked at the fonts.
There was so much to love about each. Her vision blurred.
It could have been the alcohol, or the tiredness, or the overwhelm.
As the room swam, everything melded together…
until it didn’t. Until her life was rendered in perfect clarity.
She lurched to her feet and discarded the drink. “Kitten, I know exactly what to do.”
“It has been an age,” Lillian said, plunking down on the picnic blanket Eleanor had set up by the river.
“Agreed. It’s been too long.” Eleanor was used to seeing her friends daily. They’d gone from spending sixty hours a week with each other to lunch on Sundays.
Lillian put a hand on Eleanor’s knee. “It will be better when you move into our building. We’ll see each other all the time. At least, we will when we are all working day shifts.”
Eleanor managed a smile and squeezed her friend’s hand. “My hours will be more regular soon. The end of the season is just a few weeks away.”
Then she would no longer be attending society balls until five in the morning, or garden parties, or picnics more elaborate than this one. Not only would her firsthand study of the aristocracy come to an end, but so would her opportunities to spend time with Peter.
Would they continue to see each other as friends when they were no longer at the same events? She couldn’t visit him at his Mayfair mansion and the women’s boarding rooms did not allow men to enter. Chance encounters in bookstores were hardly a strong foundation for friendships.
Any potential for future kissing was gone.
“You may be returning to normal hours, but mine are not regular,” Lillian said. “Last night, I worked from six in the evening to six in the morning with barely a break.”
Eleanor tilted her head, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she opened the wicker picnic basket. “Sophie started operating the press in the evening?” That seemed unlike her. The Linotype must have changed business practices dramatically for her to be working her staff that way.
Lillian paused, a wheel of cheese in each hand. “You don’t know! I no longer work for Sophie. Setting type was fine, I suppose, but I decided this was the perfect opportunity to pursue my passion.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrows. Lillian’s passion was… “You’re setting up your own private investigation firm? Or you’re becoming a professional locksmith?”
Lillian grinned. “Neither, though the first sounds fun. No, I have a job with the police. They write notes in their little books when they’re at a crime scene, and I type up their reports.”
Eleanor’s stomach dropped and breath caught in her throat.
She was happy for Lillian, but there had been a time when they knew everything the other did within hours of it happening.
Now Lillian was working a new job and Eleanor was only just finding out.
She tried to hide her sadness by forcing a smile and hoping that it didn’t crack.
“When did you learn to use a typewriter?”
Lillian flushed and busied herself by cutting an apple. “It was a recent development. Pass the orange. Mabel is late.”
Eleanor knew a diversion when she saw one. She held firm on the fruit as Lillian tried to take it. “It’s all right. You can talk about typewriters. I won’t dissolve into a puddle of tears and lost dreams.”
Lillian pursed her lips, twitching them from side to side as she debated whether to share whatever secret she was hiding. “I made a promise.” She huffed. “Though it is a stupid promise, and I don’t at all agree with it. But I did make a promise.”
Oh, good God. What scrape had Lillian gotten herself into and with who? “You didn’t steal a typewriter, did you? Or bribe your way into the job? I wouldn’t judge you.”
Lillian shook her head. “I did not steal. I have no idea if bribery was involved. It’s possible, but I have no confirmation of it, so I cannot be held responsible.”
Bloody hell. Eleanor looked about to ensure that no one was in earshot.
There was a governess and her charges playing with a ball by the lake, but otherwise they were alone.
She leaned forward. “For goodness’ sake, you must tell me now.
At least then I can provide a false witness statement.
” Though if Lillian’s secret keeper was bribing the police, they likely didn’t need Eleanor’s help.
Lillian sighed. “It was Zoo Man.”
Eleanor dropped the orange onto the plate full of apple slices, and it rolled off onto the rug. “Zoo Man? My Zoo Man?”
Lillian raised her eyebrows. “Your Zoo Man?”
Dash it, that slip of the tongue could cost her. “You know what I mean. Peter. The man who took our jobs from us.” Who was apparently finding them new ones.
Now that the secret had escaped, Lillian gave up all attempts at discretion. She shifted to get comfortable, clearly ready to gossip. “Yes, it was Peter. He opened a school to help compositors retrain so that they can continue to work in publishing or take jobs elsewhere.”
A school to help compositors. That was… generous, and kind, and a little deflating.
Not that she was disappointed for her colleagues.
Obviously, it was an excellent thing. She was happy for them; she was.
And she was grateful to him. It was just…
she’d thought she was special, that he was helping her move on because he had feelings for her, when really, he was helping everyone.
She tried not to let her disappointment show, but didn’t have the energy to straighten herself. “Why has he not mentioned it to me? Why did you not mention it?”
Lillian shrugged and pulled a wrapped loaf of bread from the basket. “I wasn’t sure that you’d want to hear about it, and you told him that he was a pox on society.”
She had said that. She’d been cruel and condescending, and yet he’d still spent hours helping her. Ugh. He was a better person than she’d wanted him to be. Just the fact that he’d asked Lillian to keep it a secret proved that he wasn’t helping others for Eleanor’s approval, either.
Eleanor shook her head to clear her thoughts and returned her focus to her friend. “How did this become police work?”
Lillian grimaced. “Also the duke, I’m afraid. Though I don’t know if the interview he set up with the commissioner was aboveboard or bribery.”
Something warm and comforting settled in her stomach. It felt almost like certainty. She’d struggled to work out who he was and what his motivations were for months, and now she knew. He was a good man making choices because they were the right things to do.
Did it matter if he’d bribed the commissioner? Lillian had been obsessed with solving crimes for as long as they had been friends. Working for the police was a dream come true for her, and Peter had made it happen.
Her heart twisted, and she leaned across the basket to awkwardly hug her friend. “I am happy for you.”
Lillian squeezed her back. “Thank you. I am happy too. Now we must focus on you.” She broke free of the hug and took Eleanor’s face in her hands, just as Mabel plopped onto the blanket.
“What did I miss?” Mabel asked. “The two of you look rather serious considering that it is a beautiful day and there is a man selling fresh lemonade just up the hill.” She held up a bottle.
Lillian took it and retrieved a corkscrew from the basket. Eleanor pulled out three glasses. “Lillian is working for the police force, apparently.”
Mabel looked guilty.
“You knew!”
Mabel huffed, taking a glass from Eleanor and the bottle from Lillian.
By pouring the drinks she avoided Eleanor’s outraged stare.
“We do share a room. It would be strange if I did not know. But at least now we all know and there are no more secrets between us.” She held out the lemonade as a peace offering.
But Eleanor did have a secret. Not that it was a real secret. She hadn’t hidden her growing relationship with Peter. She simply hadn’t seen her friends in order to tell them.