She’d no idea and she did not care.
Not exactly true.
But sheshouldnot care, so she wouldn’t. Instead she would focus on her task, the wages she’d be receiving next week when the month drew to a close, and making sure her sister, Lucy, was properly fed and their rented room paid for on time.
That was what mattered. Not some incredibly tall and strikingly handsome man who somehow managed to make her forget time and place every time their paths crossed. Probably because he’d physically jolted her on both occasions. It was hard to keep one’s thoughts in order when one was being jostled about.
It certainly had nothing to do with the subtle smile he’d given her with his full lips or the warmth in his eyes when his gaze had met hers. She’d barely noticed his blonde hair curling from under the brim of his hat or the fact that his shoulders were almost as wide as the door.
Nor had it occurred to her that his clothes weren’t as flashy as they’d been the first time she’d seen him several days ago. She definitely did not wonder if he might have been on his way home from some fancy event on that particular morning.
No. She’d barely given the man any thought, she decided as she reached her destination. There was certainly little point in doing so since he would likely be gone from her place of employment by the time she returned. Which did make her wonder about his reason for visiting Hudson & Co. in the first place.
No matter.
It wasn’t any business of hers.
Satisfied that she’d concluded her musings where Mr. Anonymous was concerned, she returned to Hudson & Co. an hour later, entering through the back door since this took her straight to the printing room.
“I’ve got the title block,” she informed her colleagues, James, Matthew, and Oliver. James and Matthew took turns inking the type and providing the strength required to work the lever on the letterpress. Meanwhile, Oliver read the manuscript so she could set the type quicker. “Let’s finishThe Collapse of the Roman Empirenow so we can get ahead of schedule and start onScottish Wildflowerstomorrow.
“That’ll involve working late.” James leaned against a heavy wood table and crossed his legs at the ankles while sending her a steady look from behind a pair of serious eyes.
“Possibly, but wouldn’t you rather do that and try to earn a bonus than risk having your wages cut when Mr. Hudson decides we’re not efficient enough?”
“I could do with the extra blunt myself,” Matthew said. With his hands shoved into his grey trouser pockets, he punctuated the statement by spitting into a bin that stood on the floor.
“Same here,” said Oliver.
Turning to James, Harriet raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
He hesitated a moment, then muttered a curse. “Fine.”
“Let’s get started right away then.” Harriet set the parcel she’d collected on a shelf, then removed her jacket and hung it on a wall hook. Rolling up her sleeves, she crossed to the wide wall unit filled with drawers where she spent the most time. A shelf was set in the middle so she could collect the compositing sticks she needed and set them there while assembling the sorts—letters and punctuation marks.
Oliver perched himself on a nearby stool and picked up the manuscript. He read the next sentence and Harriet collected the sorts she required without having to check the labels on the drawers. She filled a series of compositing sticks, placed them in type galleys and transferred these to forms that would be used to create the page layouts. They were then set aside for James to collect so Matthew could ink them.
Her speed had improved tremendously during the time she’d worked here. When James had timed her last, she’d achieved an astonishing one thousand five hundred sorts per hour, which was one hundred more than what was considered the highest standard within the industry.
“We’re ready for the next form,” Matthew shouted, and Harriet swiftly added the punctuation mark she needed, placed the last compositing stick in the type galley, arranged the galleys in a form, and gave it to James when he appeared at her shoulder.
“Read faster,” Harriet told Oliver. They’d managed to get their momentum going. The papers were flying onto the press, the sorts she prepared getting inked and printed with admirable speed.
She swiped her brow and grabbed a new compositing stick. The heat in the room increased, causing sweat to gather at the nape of her neck and across her back. The smell of chemicals rolled up her nose, and she paused for a second to open another window up under the ceiling so more air could enter.
Behind her, James lowered the platen on the press, causing the familiar groan of machinery to fill the room. Harriet slid another completed form to the edge of her table and went to work on the next compositing stick while Oliver kept on reading.
“One more page and we’re done,” Oliver told everyone a couple of hours later.
Although she couldn’t relax yet, Harriet breathed a welcome sigh of relief. They were almost finished. “Time?”
“Nearing seven,” Matthew shouted.
Good. They’d be done a bit sooner than she’d expected. She prepared the last forms and handed them over, then sagged against the cabinet and allowed herself to savor their accomplishment. “Great job everyone.”
“You were right to press us,” James said as he cleaned up later. “It’s nice having this over and done with so we can begin the new project tomorrow.”
“Mr. Hudson will be pleased,” Matthew said.
