“And are there any in the back?” the countess asked.
“Only the plates,” Agatha replied. “We’ll fetch them for you.”
“Would you be willing to let one of us walk around to check that we have everything, ma’am?” the officer hurried to inquire.
Oh, suddenly it’s asking permission instead of barking orders?Agatha thought, but out loud she only said, “Sydney, please show the officer around the workroom. To prove to him we are holding nothing back.” She couldn’t leave while these men were here. She was rooted to the spot, heart racing.
Sydney’s eyes glittered dangerously.
Agatha tried to use her own eyes to transmit silent, urgent motherly messages.Please, she begged wordlessly,please don’t.
Her son came around the counter, looking grim. “This way, sir,” he said, and led the officer through the door into the workroom.
The two subordinates began gathering up the Wasp’s songs, piling the paper in a handcart they had brought with them. The countess moved to stand beside Agatha, a silent, supportive presence.
Agatha kept one hand relaxed at her side, but hid the other in her skirts, so as not to show the soldiers her clenched fist. Heavy hands grasped smooth pages, crinkling them. Chapbooks piled up in the handcart, covers bending, pages creasing, the rustling of all that paper being occasionally broken by the occasional sound of a single page tearing.
It made Agatha flinch every time.
One of the soldiers noticed, and broke into a grin.
Agatha took a slow, deep breath and prayed for endurance.
The countess cleared her throat pointedly, and the soldier returned to his task.
Hours or seconds later—Agatha found it impossible to tell—Sydney returned with the officer. Eliza followed them, eyes wide and cheeks pale.
“That appears to be everything,” the officer said, avoiding the Countess of Moth’s stern gaze. Instead he turned to Agatha. “I sincerely hope we won’t have cause to visit you again, Mrs. Griffin.”
His eye flicked to Sydney, and then back.
As a looming, unspoken threat it was wildly effective: Agatha felt the mettle of her soul buckle like cheap tin. Promises, apologies, defensive words bubbled up on her tongue like the froth from a dose of poison.
Before she could choose any of them to speak aloud and damn herself forever, the soldiers turned and marched out, carrying fifty pounds of Griffin’s most profitable stock with them.
The countess pressed one hand against Agatha’s arm. “I’m so sorry, my dear. Lord Sidmouth is determined to make trouble for everyone—the Polite Science Society has had more than a few lectures cancelled for lack of a permit, under the new laws. If they come again, send Eliza for me at once.” She nodded to the apprentice, and slipped out of the shop.
Agatha still couldn’t find her voice.
Sydney could. And did. He cursed, so loudly that beside him Eliza started and shook. “We can have another fifty broadsheets made up by this evening,” the young man began. “The chapbooks will take a little—”
“No!” Agatha cut him off. “Out of the question. We’re not selling any more of the Wasp’s work.”
“What?” Sydney yelped. “Why?”
“Did you miss what just happened?” Agatha snapped. “The King’s own soldiers came and took them all away. Do you take that as an encouragement tocontinueflouting the libel laws?”
Her voice was rising in pitch and volume, and through the open workroom door Agatha could see the apprentices and journeymen gathering around to listen.
Eliza’s eyes were wide and white at the edges. “Maybe we should’ve published ‘Lady Spranklin,’” she murmured.
Sydney’s jaw set mulishly. The dangerous glitter was back in his eyes. Maybe it had never left. It sparked like a knife blade against flint. “Soldiers means we’ve been noticed,” he said. “We’re speaking loudly enough that they had to react. That means what the Widow Wasp says matters. Why would you want us to stop just when we’re starting to get what we wanted?”
“Is this really what you wanted?” Agatha demanded. “What if the Countess of Moth hadn’t happened to be here? What if they’d destroyed the shop, smashed the presses, harassed our workmen? Or you, or Eliza? What if they decide to bring charges, and put us on trial?”
“They can’t jail all of us!”
“They don’t have to jail all of us,” Agatha shot back. “They only have to jail some of us, and frighten the rest.”
