Page 9 of A Wicked Business

“Aye,” Doris said wistfully as she climbed out of the carriage, turning to point up at the sky. “And look there, do you see it?”

Belinda looked where Doris indicated, before she climbed down, puzzled. “No, what?”

“A flying pig.”

“Very droll,” Belinda replied, eyeing Doris, her expression deadpan. “I’m quite overcome with hysteria.”

“Don’t never say I didn’t warn you,” Doris remarked, wagging a finger. “Reckon I’ll start knitting some warm socks ready for our trip to the country so we can rot in comfort.”

“You can’t knit, Doris” Belinda reminded her impatiently, before sweeping past and into the print shop.

“I can learn!” Doris remarked. “It can’t be no harder than sewing.”

“You can’t sew either,” Belinda muttered, holding the door open for Doris, not for the first time, and shaking her head. Really, she was a dreadful servant. Doris walked into the shop, blithely unaware of her faux pas.

“Oh, lud, Doris! You never said Lady Keston was coming ‘ere!”

Belinda turned to regard a small but stocky young woman with ruddy pink cheeks and russet curls that were escaping a somewhat haphazard bun.

“I am addressed as Lady Belinda,” Belinda told the terrified looking woman with a smile. “My mother was Lady Keston, as she was the countess, which I am not. I beg you not to fret. Doris told me of your situation, and I intend to help you.”

“So she told me,” Miss Ludlow said, though she did not look as though she believed it. “But I can’t think why you would.”

“I told you why, Sarah,” Doris said impatiently.

“Aye, but that made no sense to me,” Miss Ludlow replied, folding her arms. “What would an earl’s daughter want with printing pamphlets and books, I ask you?”

“Do you think we might sit down and discuss the matter?” Belinda asked. “Whilst I am in earnest, I do not wish to do anything that you do not approve of. I have plans of my own which I must have your agreement to help me with. Not that I would not help you anyway,” she added hurriedly, realising that sounded a little like blackmail. “Only our arrangement would be different.”

“Well,” Miss Ludlow said, eyeing her sceptically. “If you ain’t afeared of getting that lovely frock mussed up, you can come through to the kitchen and I’ll make some tea. It won’t be what you’re used to, though,” she warned.

“That would be perfect, thank you,” Belinda said, smiling reassuringly.

Miss Ludlow shrugged, clearly thinking Belinda a very odd sort of lady, and showed them the way to the kitchen.

6th July 1850, Hosier Lane, City of London.

Felix regarded the print shop from across the street for a few minutes. It was well kept, the shop front was in good order, the paint fresh and the windows clean. On closer inspection, several satirical prints were on display, the usual digs at politicians and those in high places, but there were also books and periodicals, all exhibited with a certain flair. It appeared Miss Ludlow took a pride in her work and was not afraid to show it off.

There was no doubt that a well-run print shop could do good business if the owner was careful about the style and quality of what was produced.

Felix stood for a moment, massaging his temples and regretting the amount he’d drunk celebrating with Larkin the previous night. The last thing he needed now was a meeting with two females who had never negotiated a contract before. He only hoped they could come to an agreement before the end of the day, for he had far more pressing work that needed his attention.

Though he still thought her plans would bring her nothing but trouble, Felix had to admit Lady Belinda’s desire to do some good in the world impressed him. He had many female friends who were involved in such charitable affairs, they came from families of a type who encouraged their children, both male and female, to take an interest in the world and in how they might play their part in improving it. Felix did not doubt for a moment that Lady Belinda had been brought up, like many of their class, with the idea that they were superior to everyone else and those living in poverty did so either because they liked it, or because they were too lazy or stupid to do better. The idea that her father had instilled notions of philanthropy in his only daughter was ludicrous. He suspected Lord Keston was the kind to still expect small children to climb his chimneys despite the laws that forbade employing anyone younger than fourteen to do so. No doubt he was simply blind to the suffering of those who did not exist in his sphere.

Felix crossed the road and entered the print shop, immediately enveloped by the astringent scent of ink that lingered in the air. The bell above the door jangled, and he waited until a flustered looking young woman hurried into the shop. She gave him an assessing once over.

“You Mr Knight?”

“I am,” he agreed. “And you are Miss Ludlow.”

She nodded. “Well, I’ve never had so many fine people in my kitchen before, but if you ain’t too fancy for it, Lady Belinda is already there.”

Felix’s eyebrows rose, amused by the woman’s obvious chagrin, and he followed her down a gloomy, narrow corridor. It was so dark he felt a little disorientated and somewhat like a mole as he finally emerged into a small but far brighter kitchen to discover Lady Belinda and another woman he presumed to be her maid sitting at the table. Felix paused for a moment, understanding why Miss Ludlow had looked so bewildered. Seeing Lady Belinda in such surroundings was a little like viewing the crown jewels in a shop in Cheapside. They simply ought not to be there.

He suspected she had taken pains to dress down for the occasion. Her gown was in a rather drab green with no frills or fussiness, yet it had obviously been cut by a masterful hand for it hugged her splendid figure in all the best places and displayed her to marvellous advantage. There was no hiding its quality, or hers. A surge of pleasure raced through him upon seeing her again, the force of it taking him by surprise. To his dismay, he realised he had been looking forward to this moment far more than he ought.

Felix bowed. “Lady Belinda, Miss…?”