There was a settee and two stuffed chairs at one end set neatly around the fireplace. On the other side of the room sat a large maple desk underneath the window. This end of the room was opposite in appearance to the other. Where the seating area was tidy, its tables dust free and clear of clutter, the desk was piled high with stacks of papers, ledgers, and books. Around the floor were towering piles of newsprint, more books of all shapes and sizes stacked haphazardly, and three cats curled up on top of various piles dotted the scene.
A woman emerged from behind the desk. She gracefully picked her way through the mess and came to greet Caroline. “Welcome, Miss Aston. I am Elizabeth Sullivan.”
E. Sullivan. What a pleasant surprise. Some of the apprehension eased from Caroline’s gut as she studied the woman in front of her. A riot of brown curls framed a round face. Wide doe eyes and a pert turned up nose gave her face a sprightly youthfulness. But the wariness of her expression spoke more of a cynicism born from life experience.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”
The lady glanced over Caroline’s shoulder.
Caroline turned to William. “William, you can go wait with the carriage. I’ll be fine here with Mrs. Sullivan.”
“Mr. Holden, can you please show him out? And tell Mrs. James to bring in tea? I’ll come to check on your progress downstairs after I’m done here.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Please come sit down.” Mrs. Sullivan scooped up one of the cats as she moved toward the seating area. Her simple black skirt and white blouse spoke of practicality rather than any sort of fashion statement. Mrs. Sullivan sat in one of the chairs, settling the orange tabby on her lap. “Tell me what I can help you with, Miss Aston.”
Now that she was here, Caroline didn’t quite know how to begin. She smoothed her skirts. “I have some information for you. Something you could print in your gossip column.”
Mrs. Sullivan nodded. “I’m always looking for new information. Usually, my sources write to me with tidbits of interest. So you can imagine my surprise when you requested a meeting.”
“Well, I assumed, incorrectly, you were a man. I wanted to meet E. Sullivan myself and size him up before passing along this information. I needed to know that I could trust him to support what I am trying to accomplish.”
The lady raised one eyebrow. “Well, you’ve piqued my interest, Miss Aston. My name is purposefully vague, as anonymity is important. It’s difficult to be a woman working in a man’s world. My father, Edward, was the editor ofThe Spectatorfor years. It was his labor of love. When he passed, I took over the operation and kept the moniker, E. Sullivan. And it’s Miss Sullivan.” She smiled. “Please elaborate. What exactly are you trying to accomplish with my little scandal rag?”
The lady’s candor made Caroline relax. This was a woman that could perhaps understand her newfound purpose. She told her about Alice and how she had been sold to the brothel. “You see, when I went to fetch her, I couldn’t help but be angry. Not just for Alice, but for all the women who must sell their bodies to survive. I’m not judging, but simply wonder why the onlycommodity we are allowed is our bodies? And once we marry, even that we don’t own outright.”
Caroline leaned forward. “My aim is to publicly shame some of the high-profile men that frequent the many brothels in the city. Perhaps with the gossip, we can call attention to the issue of how many women are exploited in this city.”
Miss Sullivan leaned back in her chair. She was quiet for several moments as she petted her cat. “As much as I appreciate your sentiments, my cynicism leads me to believe this will be a hard sell to the upper class. They much prefer to bury their heads in the sand when it comes to social issues of the poor.”
Miss Sullivan’s comment was much in the same vein as Morgan’s remarks. But neither of them knew her well enough to understand that when she saw a problem, she would not be deterred. She just needed to be more persuasive. “True enough. But if we can stir up enough talk, perhaps I can get some of the more influential ladies to speak with their husbands and advocate for reforms. We, as women, know that great influence lies with the wives or mothers of powerful men.”
Miss Sullivan nodded her head. “Miss Aston, have you ever read my paper?”
Caroline glanced down at the teacup in her hands. The amber liquid rippled gently in the china cup. Best to be forthright. Miss Sullivan appeared too shrewd to fall for false flattery. “No, I have not. My mother does not approve of gossip ra—columns. She only reads the Times.” Caroline looked up to meet the editor’s gaze. “I have heard about your paper on many occasions from my friends. Its popularity is the reason I came to speak with you.”
“I appreciate your honesty. If you had read the paper, you would see that the gossip column is but a portion. In fact, most of the articles are focused on issues of the day that affect every man and woman in the city. I find that the Times only headlinesthe war and the society pages. My paper speaks to crime, the lack of clean water, I even have an employment section, the first of its kind. So you see, your idea is true to my paper’s mission.”
Caroline began to hope. She had made the right choice by coming here. Perhaps Miss Sullivan would be able to help her, after all.
The lady took a sip of tea before continuing. “The scandal page was my idea. I thought if I could procure the juiciest gossip, we could increase our readership. And if they kept reading through the rest of the paper, all the better. My father refused to consider my idea while he was the editor. But since I took over two years ago, I have quadrupled our readership.”
Impressive.Caroline set her cup and dish down on the table. “So does this mean you would be interested in printing my tidbits? I promise you the information is all firsthand. I have a lead about a party, a bacchanal, which will take place this weekend. I’ve heard from Alice that Mrs. Gwyn’s brothel is contracted to provide prostitutes for the party. And that Alice was meant to be some sort of virginal sacrifice to the highest bidder.”
Miss Sullivan nodded her head. “I’ve heard of Devonshire’s famous bacchanal.”
“You have?” Caroline exclaimed.
“Yes, he throws it every year. I’ve never been able to gain any information save the rumors though. A virgin sacrifice? That would certainly be gossip worth reporting. What I have heard is that it is always a masquerade. Masks promote a lowering of inhibitions.” Miss Sullivan explained. “The theme of the party varies from year to year. He pays the staff very well because since I first heard about it three years ago, I have not been able to bribe any information from the servants.”
“Does it take place here in town?” Caroline scooted to the edge of the settee. This was the kind of valuable information she needed.
“No, he has it as his estate north of the city. Only certain friends and their guests are allowed. I would dearly love to know who that entails.”
“Me too.” Caroline frowned. Devonshire always made her feel rather ill with his innuendo and roving eye. She had begun to think perhaps she was a bit too picky with her beaus. But now, she knew she should trust her instincts. “Well, I plan on attending. No virgins will be sacrificed on my watch,” she muttered. “I just need to procure an invitation.” Caroline waved a hand airily. She would figure that part out next.
“Who are you, Miss Aston? It’s clear you are a lady of some means. Your dress alone would pay my bills for a month. And no regular miss arrives with her own bodyguard.”
