But the Gazette was London’s most popular newspaper, consisting of four massive pages published on a daily basis!
She glanced down at today’s edition and inhaled a deep breath to calm the panic urging her to retreat. She would ask questions. She would learn.
She could do this. Because Reed’s life might be in danger—not to mention the other members of her family.
But before she could approach Mr. Wallace for any instructions, Mr. Black appeared on the landing.
From behind silver-rimmed spectacles, his emerald gaze immediately found her.
“Miss Smith,” he said, and Caroline glanced behind her before remembering they’d decided she wouldn’t go by her real name while at work.
“My—Mr. Black.” She’d nearly ‘my lorded’ him but he had corrected her the day before. He was not one of the prospective husbands her mother had pointed out and this wasn’t a morning garden party. She was here to work, and this man was her boss.
“Good morning.” She spoke politely.
He didn’t smile or return her greeting, but he didn’t ignore her either. And standing beside her table, he dropped today’s paper on the corner and then shuffled his feet. “I suppose you saw them,” he finally said.
“Them? You mean the errors?” Caroline’s thoughts jumped to the notes she’d taken while sipping her morning tea. “As a matter of fact, yes—seventeen to be exact—including punctuation.” And because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “At least the dates are correct.”
“There is that.” His mouth twitched.
Mr. Black’s tone wavered somewhere between irritation and amusement, reminding her of her oldest brother Randall. He used to sound just like that whenever Rupert would tease him, acting as though he merely tolerated their cousin’s antics. More than once, however, Caroline had caught him fighting back a smile.
Both of them were gone now, had been for over a year. Even after all this time, the grief could still take her by surprise, little reminders like physical blows she had to shake off.
The fire had robbed her family of nearly everything.
She couldn’t think about that now.
He pointed to the other tables. “There are two other reporters. You’ll meet them later.”
But… “Why aren’t the other reporters here yet?” she asked.
“They’re meeting with their sources—vetting today’s stories.”
“And where do they find these sources?” Caroline knew that she’d get her stories from society, but where did the other reporters find theirs?
“Mostly pubs. Michaels checks in at Scotland Yard.”
“Do they always frequent the same establishments?” Caroline’s pencil poised over her paper. “And how does that work, exactly? Do they just sit and wait…? Or—"
“You needn’t concern yourself,” he said. “I doubt Standish would appreciate me sending his eldest sister out to the worst of London’s pubs.” When she didn’t respond, he halted and slid her a wary glance. “Have you told him yet? Tell me you’ve told him.”
“I’m my own person.” She lifted her chin. She’d once kept her father appraised of her activities but that had been before the opium… and before the fire. “I haven’t been beholden to anyone for years. Besides, I explained this when you hired me, my brother is busy with his earlish duties, what with parliament and other… responsibilities.”
Mr. Black just stared at her. And then he sighed. “Has Wallace given you the tour yet?”
Her heart jumped. This. This was what she needed. “He has not. But I would very much appreciate—”
“I’ll take you about.” He nodded, as though agreeing with himself.
The shadows beneath his eyes were even darker than they’d been yesterday. And his hair was rumpled, springing out as though he’d run his hand through it multiple times.
She almost felt sorry for him.
“Do you work through the night?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Nature of the business.” He lifted both brows. “If you’re finished making yourself at home…” He spun little circles in the air with his right hand. Caroline pushed her chair out, and, making sure she had a pencil and paper, she shot up before he changed his mind.
