She looked at the page in front of her, gave up trying to read, and closed the book, settling it in her lap. Her sage-colored skirt would need to be ironed or packed.
She sighed and looked at the book. There was no space in her brain for words. It was too cluttered with men and moving and making a living. She should get rid of the fonts. There would be even less space in her new room than there was in her head.
She should get rid of the dresses too. They were too small for her. She could not wear them. They could bring someone else joy. They had full skirts and lace trimmings, and some even had rosettes on the bodice that took up space. Her new wardrobe would be smaller. It would not fit a rainbow.
She poured another glass of gin and skipped the cordial this time. She looked at the book; she looked at the dresses; she looked at the fonts. There was so much to love about each. Her vision blurred. It could have been the alcohol, or the tiredness, or the overwhelm. As the room swam, everything melded together… until it didn’t. Until her life was rendered in perfect clarity.
She lurched to her feet and discarded the drink. “Kitten, I knowexactlywhat to do.”
“It has been anage,” Lillian said, plunking down on the picnic blanket Eleanor had set up by the river.
“Agreed. It’s been too long.” Eleanor was used to seeing her friends daily. They’d gone from spending sixty hours a week with each other to lunch on Sundays.
Lillian put a hand on Eleanor’s knee. “It will be better when you move into our building. We’ll see each other all the time. At least, we will when we are all working day shifts.”
Eleanor managed a smile and squeezed her friend’s hand. “My hours will be more regular soon. The end of the season is just a few weeks away.”
Then she would no longer be attending society balls until five in the morning, or garden parties, or picnics more elaborate than this one. Not only would her firsthand study of the aristocracy come to an end, but so would her opportunities to spend time with Peter.
Would they continue to see each other as friends when they were no longer at the same events? She couldn’t visit him at his Mayfair mansion and the women’s boarding rooms did not allow men to enter. Chance encounters in bookstores were hardly a strong foundation for friendships.
Any potential for future kissing was gone.
“You may be returning to normal hours, but mine arenotregular,” Lillian said. “Last night, I worked from six in the evening to six in the morning with barely a break.”
Eleanor tilted her head, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she opened the wicker picnic basket. “Sophie started operating the press in the evening?” That seemed unlike her. The Linotype must have changed business practices dramatically for her to be working her staff that way.
Lillian paused, a wheel of cheese in each hand. “You don’t know! I no longer work for Sophie. Setting type was fine, I suppose, but I decided this was the perfect opportunity to pursue my passion.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrows. Lillian’s passion was… “You’re setting up your own private investigation firm? Or you’re becoming a professional locksmith?”
Lillian grinned. “Neither, though the first sounds fun. No, Ihave a job with the police. They write notes in their little books when they’re at a crime scene, and I type up their reports.”
Eleanor’s stomach dropped and breath caught in her throat. Shewashappy for Lillian, but there had been a time when they knew everything the other did within hours of it happening. Now Lillian was working a new job and Eleanor was only just finding out. She tried to hide her sadness by forcing a smile and hoping that it didn’t crack. “When did you learn to use a typewriter?”
Lillian flushed and busied herself by cutting an apple. “It was a recent development. Pass the orange. Mabel islate.”
Eleanor knew a diversion when she saw one. She held firm on the fruit as Lillian tried to take it. “It’s all right. You can talk about typewriters. I won’t dissolve into a puddle of tears and lost dreams.”
Lillian pursed her lips, twitching them from side to side as she debated whether to share whatever secret she was hiding. “I made a promise.” She huffed. “Though it is a stupid promise, and I don’t at all agree with it. But Ididmake a promise.”
Oh, good God. What scrape had Lillian gotten herself into and with who? “You didn’tsteala typewriter, did you? Or bribe your way into the job? I wouldn’t judge you.”
Lillian shook her head. “I did not steal. I have no idea if bribery was involved. It’s possible, but I have no confirmation of it, so I cannot be held responsible.”
Bloody hell. Eleanor looked about to ensure that no one was in earshot. There was a governess and her charges playing with a ball by the lake, but otherwise they were alone. She leaned forward. “For goodness’ sake, you must tell me now. At least then I can provide a false witness statement.” Thoughif Lillian’s secret keeper was bribing the police, they likely didn’t need Eleanor’s help.
Lillian sighed. “It was Zoo Man.”
Eleanor dropped the orange onto the plate full of apple slices, and it rolled off onto the rug. “Zoo Man?MyZoo Man?”
Lillian raised her eyebrows. “YourZoo Man?”
Dash it, that slip of the tongue could cost her. “You know what I mean. Peter. The man who took our jobs from us.” Who was apparently finding them new ones.
Now that the secret had escaped, Lillian gave up all attempts at discretion. She shifted to get comfortable, clearly ready to gossip. “Yes, it was Peter. He opened a school to help compositors retrain so that they can continue to work in publishing or take jobs elsewhere.”
A school to help compositors. That was… generous, and kind, and a little deflating. Not that she was disappointed for her colleagues. Obviously, it was an excellent thing. She was happy for them; she was. And she was grateful to him. It was just… she’d thought she was special, that he was helping her move on because he had feelings for her, when really, he was helping everyone.
