In fact—Agatha rifled through her older files—ah, yes, Eliza’s apprenticeship had been set at five years, and would be complete at summer’s end. Most journeymen changed shops at such a time, either to return to hometowns closer to family, or to start a shop of their own, or simply to see a little more of the world. But Eliza’s father was in London, and she’d never mentioned wanting to start her own shop...
What if there was a shop ready and waiting for her? All it needed was for Agatha to step aside.
After all, like Penelope said: you couldn’t have two queens in a hive.
She shoved up from the desk and strode impatiently down the stairs.
Young Jane had a good few inches of the wooden block carved away already—not terribly quick, but she was being careful to be precise. Agatha approved: quickness would come in time, with practice. “Jane, could I ask you to run to the Queen’s Larder for a bottle of cider?”
Jane nodded eagerly at the reprieve and was off, summer sun winking brightly off the glass in the doorway as she departed.
“May I see you in my office, Miss Brinkworth?”
Once the door shut behind them, Eliza brushed her hands down her skirts and fidgeted in her chair. From the look on her face, she expected the worst.
Agatha could only grin, the anticipation getting the better of her. “My dear Eliza,” she said, leaning forward and resting her forearms on Thomas’s desk. “If you could change one thing about Griffin’s—the way we do business, the type of work we do—what would you change?”
Eliza’s eyes went wide, and she blinked several times, as if the sunlight had dazzled her vision. Then Agathasawher brain engage with the problem, all the gears lining up and the machinery beginning to turn.
Good god, but young folk were glorious.
“We’d produce a lot more sheet music,” Eliza said after a moment. “Regularly, both reprints and commissioned pieces, not merely the odd job or short run. More people are buying the new six-octave pianos, and the demand for music is growing. I’m good with music notation, and I enjoy it. We could afford to buy a font of type, if we were printing more of it. Also, Griffin’s has plenty of plates in the warehouse from past years—older pieces, a few practice books, even one or two popular arias—we could add something in to each issue of theMenagerie, just like we do with the silk samples. It would take a bit of time away from the broadsides and the jobbing, at least initially—but I think it’s a steadier market, and leaves us less open to...” she coughed “...certain legal complications.” She bit her lip. “I’m sure you’re going to ask what Sydney thinks about all this.”
“Let’s,” said Agatha, and went to fetch her son from his compositing.
Eliza explained her idea again, at Agatha’s request. Sydney’s eyes lit. “It seems a very solid plan to me—do I get a vote?”
“Do you want one?” Agatha returned. “What I mean is: Sydney, do you really want me to leave Griffin’s to you? Not just right now—but ever?” She took a bracing breath, as his eyes went wide with surprise. “I know we raised you with that expectation—Lord knows I’ve all but beat you over the head with it—but, well, I’d like to find a way to make you happy. Not just burden you with a duty that brings you no joy.”
“I...” He swallowed—and bless him, he took a moment to consider before he answered. “I think what’s been hard for me is the idea that I have to do it alone. You and Father had each other, and that seemed to work so well—but I...” He looked at Eliza, his heart in his eyes, then back at Agatha. “I can find us any number or kind of writers,” he said staunchly, “provided I have someone to decide what’s best to print. I have the energy—butshehas the vision.”
Agatha nodded. “I absolutely agree,” she said. “So: how would you two like to take over—as partners?”
“Partners?” Sydney said, brightening.
Eliza’s eyes went wide, and she gasped.
“Partners,” Agatha confirmed. “We can have something legal drawn up with very little trouble. A proper contract, official and dependable.” She tapped a finger on the counter meaningfully. “But something you could always dissolve later, if you two decide to—to part ways.”
It was not an easy thing for Agatha to say, but she knew it was the right thing, and that helped her get over the awkwardness of it all.My son, you have my blessingnotto get married.
Eliza’s mouth hung open for half a minute before she whispered, “But ma’am... are you... What would you be doing?”
Agatha pursed her lips to keep from smiling too broadly and giving the game away. “I find myself more and more intrigued by your suggestion about sheet music. We could probably open a whole second shop for that—maybe with a little poetry and broadsides as well. But London rents are so very expensive... Perhaps we should look at premises nearer the other press-works, so I can still check proofs and keep the queue moving.”
Light dawned in Eliza’s eyes, as she caught Agatha’s meaning. “Somewhere like Melliton, perhaps?”
Agatha nodded primly. “I know of a building near the high street that would do nicely.” Mr. Turner would be happy enough to sell at any price, she was sure.
Eliza’s grin had gone from a candle to a bonfire. “Do you think we could have it ready in time for Mrs. Turner’s next batch of ballads?”
“We can certainly try.”
Eliza squealed in pleasure, and clapped her hands over her mouth for a moment in sheer joy. She got hold of herself before too long, and schooled herself almost back to her usual semi-demure helpfulness. “Mrs. Flood will be happy to have you so close by, I’m sure.”
Agatha’s buoyant mood deflated a little. “I hope so. She asked me to—but I...” She paused, eyes narrowing at her soon-to-be-former apprentice. Who winked, the chit. “You know about Mrs. Flood and me?”
Eliza arched a knowing brow. “Did you two think you were being subtle?”
