“Perhaps not this time. But it’s getting more and more difficult to know what the truth is. A problem only exacerbated by these ubiquitous mistakes in your paper, in particular. They aren’t isolated to the news, they’ve even found a way into your society section.” She cast a disappointed stare in her daughter’s direction.
“The society section?” Caroline all but whipped the paper out of her mother’s hands, a copy of the same paper Maxwell had folded and stuffed inside his jacket—with similar markings.
As she began reading, twin lines of worry formed in the center of her forehead, her eyes darkened with concern... “These weren’t here last night.” She was shaking her head. “I read through these five times. I would never…!”
“I know.” Maxwell scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m not blaming you. If it was a matter of a few clerical errors, we would have resolved them by now. This,” he shook his head, “Seems intentional.”
“It is intentional. At first I thought it was carelessness, but a person would have to be blind to miss these.” Mrs. Rutherford tapped her chin and then clapped her hands together. “You must compile a list of your enemies.”
“Why would Mr. Black have enemies?” Caroline swung around to admonish the older woman but she just as suddenly turned back to Maxwell, her mouth making an ‘o’, her eyes as bright as blue fire. “Have you? Many enemies, that is?”
“Everyone has enemies, darling. Lord Helton, perhaps, more than most. He is, after all, not only a member of the ton, but the publisher of a newspaper.” Mrs. Rutherford located paper and pencil in a drawer and gestured toward the settee. “Enough is enough. Let’s have a seat and see if we can put an end to these pranks.” The pencil hovered over pristine stationery as she lifted her gaze to Maxwell’s. “Who in London most wishes to see you fail?”
“Other than Reed,” Caroline added, watching Maxwell with a curious expression. Was she really so surprised? Honestly, it would be much more difficult not to ruffle a few feathers in his line of work..
“Well, of course, that goes without saying. Anyone with half a brain knows Reed wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Mrs. Rutherford straightened her back.
Maxwell didn’t know that actually, though it would perhaps be unwise of him to mention as much in present company. Even so, he had to admit that he wasn’t exactly inclined to suspect his employee’s brother anyhow, based on his few interactions with the man, so that was neither here nor there.
“If I were to read through my old issues of the paper, even considering the worst of the scandals, I imagine the possibilities are endless.” He’d learned early on that he wasn’t publishing a paper to make friends.
“There was the article about that teacher at Miss Primm’s girls’ school, where the paper misreported Viscount Bloodstone’s marriage. But they married anyway. You reported Dewberry’s demise before the fact.” She tapped her pencil against her chin. “But he did die eventually. I must admit, the Gazette manages to get about half the stories right.”
“More than that.” Maxwell felt compelled to defend himself. It cut, however, that her assertion wasn’t completely inaccurate.
The fact was, he had real enemies. Some in prison, some who’d eluded Malum’s efforts. Crossings came to mind, but so far, the duke had been impossible to pin down.
The trouble was, Maxwell couldn’t make a connection between their crimes and the sabotage to his paper.
Mrs. Rutherford donned a pair of spectacles and then removed two books from the end table beside her. “My daughter would do well to study these…”
Debrett’s and Burke’s Peerage. Maxwell pinched his mouth closed, exhaling through his nostrils, ignoring the familiar panic. Was Mrs. Rutherford going to look up his ancestors?
“I doubt whoever is out to ruin the Gazette is listed in either of those.” He sure as hell didn’t want Caroline or her mother studying the Black family line. Or anyone, really.
“My top guess is it’s one of the other newspaper publishers. They’d have the most to gain if the Gazette went under.” Listening to her mother, Caroline’s hands moved nervously in her lap—a habit he’d noticed when she’d joined the staff in the pressroom the night before. “Are you well-acquainted with any of them?”
Maxwell leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. He’d gone along with this conversation to placate Mrs. Rutherford. He hadn’t expected it to net any usable results. "I've had my disagreements with some of the other publishers, but nothing that would lead to this level of sabotage," he admitted. "Unless someone wants to buy the paper cheap.” Which, with the upgrades he'd made to his press, would be a travesty.
Caroline locked gazes with him. “But that wouldn’t be fair. Mr. Wallace says you’ve invested heavily.”
“Who is this Mr. Wallace?” Mrs. Rutherford asked.
“He is Mr. Black’s managing editor.”
“You trust this person?” The older woman’s expression was serious.
“Wallace was a fixture at the Gazette long before I took over.” Maxwell tilted his head and frowned. He’d given all his employees the benefit of the doubt. It seemed that might have been a naïve mistake on his part. “A week ago, my answer would have been an unwavering yes.”
“We mustn’t leave any stone unturned.” Mrs. Rutherford nibbled on her pen. "Start with everyone who has access and then consider the individuals or groups who have shown a vehement opposition to your newspaper's editorial positions."
Caroline’s elegant fingers scribbled across the paper as she made notes Maxwell couldn’t quite decipher. "We'll compile a list of possible adversaries and cross reference them and their associates with the Gazette’s employees.” She then listed the names of the pressmen, the compositors, reporters, and even Wallace.
Maxwell couldn't help but be impressed by such a workable strategy. She was proving herself to be an asset beyond her talents as a writer. "Easy enough," he said, his admiration evident in his tone.
Caroline’s mother closed her genealogy books and rose. Maxwell remembered his manners just in time to burst off the settee as well.
"With that settled, I'll leave you two to your… research.” She gathered the books and hugged them against her chest before making her exit—winking at her daughter, and then closing the door behind her.
