Take a footman who would report directly to her mother? No, she could not have that. She had only let Livia into her confidence reluctantly, and for two pins her sister would betray her and blab the truth.
“Really, there is no need. We’ll take a hackney.”
“No, you will not.” Her mother sucked in a breath. “A hackney indeed!”
Dru exchanged a glance with her sister.
Livia grinned back. “James would be a great help. Then we can walk. It’s a fine day,” she added, glancing out of the window. “And Dru is a cat on a hot bakestone these days. A walk would do her good.”
The marchioness agreed, and Dru could breathe freely again. She had a plan. She knew exactly how to deal with James.
Half an hour later, the contracts were signed. Despite Dru refusing to allow Oliver to accompany her to the dressmaker’s, he accepted her father’s invitation to return to celebrate the forthcoming marriage. With a fond smile, which for the first time she had to force, she left the building. With Livia by her side and James striding before them to clear the way, she walked the short distance to the mantua-maker’s. Although she usually used Celine’s, Dru had her riding costumes made by a specialist in the City. She had everything she needed, and she had no intention of staying at the mantua-makers.
She ordered poor James to carry on. “I intend to buy my betrothed a gift,” she said loftily. “A book. But I could hardly say that when he was there, could I?”
Livia giggled. Dru glared at her, but that did not help a great deal. Livia still grinned.
Many booksellers had stalls and small shops clustered around St. Paul’s at the bottom end of Ludgate Hill. Dru enjoyed the walk. They went down Fleet Street, past the coffeehouses and inns full of people—mostly men—discussing everything from literature to politics. Once Dru had longed to go there just to listen, but of course she could not. Her father guarded all his children most carefully. He’d have a fit if he knew what his eldest daughter was doing now. Dru shuddered at the very thought of him finding out her exploits today.
Her pockets weighed heavily under her gown. She’d scraped together every guinea she could find.
She found the bookseller and dived inside, followed closely by Livia. But she ordered James to stay outside. She’d chosen this one because it was full of narrow crammed shelves, with no room for all three of them. And because it had an exit on the other side of the shop. That wasn’t normal for the tiny establishments here, but the proprietor had met with a degree of success, and he’d used his good fortune to expand his premises.
In fact, Dru went there rather a lot. Pausing inside the front entrance, she took a deep breath of the musty, inky smell that she loved. It welcomed her. She felt like she was coming home.
“Lady Drusilla, I’m delighted to see you! We have your latest order ready.”
“Yes, thank you.” Fumbling in her pocket, she found a guinea and pushed it across the scarred oak counter to Mr. Pinker. “I need half an hour to myself,” she murmured. “My sister will accompany me, but I don’t want the footman outside to know.”
Mr. Pinker raised a bushy gray brow. “I will not ask, my lady, only that you take great care.”
“Thank you. When we return, we can load James with books and get a cab back.”
Mr. Pinker nodded. “But I will not be responsible if he finds you gone, my lady. I will disclaim all knowledge and help him raise the alarm.” Her father would ruin him if she was discovered and he was revealed as a coconspirator.
“But you won’t start the alarm yourself.”
He inclined his head. “As you say, my lady.”
She turned toward the small door at the back of the shop and then glanced back. “I’m looking for a gift for my betrothed. A beautiful atlas, perhaps.”
“I have just the thing.”
No doubt the book would be expensive and would cost her most of her next quarter’s pin money. Except she would command considerably more, come next quarter, but only if her plan worked. “Make sure it’s big and heavy,” she said over her shoulder as she and Livia headed for the back of the shop.
The door opened with a creak on to a narrow alley. Such places honeycombed London, sometimes hidden by later buildings. This example stank of piss and tobacco, and underfoot the stone floor was considerably sticky and muddy.
“Ugh,” Livia said, lifting her skirts high.
Dru followed suit, glad of her sturdy outdoor shoes, and carefully sidled out of the noxious place, only to come face to face with the glories of St. Paul’s Cathedral.
The great dome soared above. The walls had once been white, but thirty years of London coal fires had turned it to dull, furry black. Dru and Livia took care not to allow their skirts to brush against the limestone, tiptoeing past until they could walk clear.
Livia sighed. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” Dru snapped. “After all the scrapes you got into with Claudia, this is small beer. But if you feel you need to go back, just say so. But never call me sister again.”
Livia laughed, much to Dru’s irritation. “Do not be over-dramatic. If you insist on doing this, let’s get going.”
Dru had looked up the address on her father’s copy of the map of London, so she knew exactly where she was going, even with the bookstalls and other detritus piled up on all sides. Although the atmosphere was relatively quiet, that did not mean constant conversations, discussions, and the occasional raised voice didn’t go on around them. Dru took comfort in the sounds and smells of London. Nobody cared about her or what she was doing, bar the odd pickpocket. She kept her hand shoved through the slit in her skirts and into her pocket, where she clutched the purse holding her money.
Past St. Paul’s, more shops and offices awaited them. There, the Fire of London had raged hardest, so the buildings were relatively new, although not as modern as the house she lived in. They were crammed together, three and four stories high, some only a room wide.
Dru led the way to one of the establishments. A few dusty tomes were visible through the grimy cracked windowpanes. When she plied the iron knocker against the plate, the door shuddered, so she wondered if the bricks were held together by much more than spit and birds’ nests.
The door opened.
Dru lifted her chin. “A word with the owner of this establishment, if you please.” She put on her best aristocratic expression, all disdain and expectation.
After a minute, the man who had opened to them stood aside. He was tall and thin, dressed in a black coat that was turning green from age and over-laundering. He had a pair of pince-nez hanging from a cord around his neck.
He crossed the room, his feet clicking against the hard wooden floorboards. He must have nailed his shoes to save the soles for them to make that metallic, hollow sound. That spoke of careful economy on his part. He rapped on a door at the end, lifted the latch with a rattle and went in. Then came out. “You can go in,” he said, and without waiting for them, walked back to a tall desk and took his place behind it.
Glancing at Livia, Dru swept forward. If not for the urgency of the situation, she would have burst into laughter. This was precious. She would write about it when she got home. No, she wouldn’t. Changing her habits would mean more than the determination in her heart. She must stop thinking that way.
Or she’d end in exactly the same place doing the same thing.
“Mr. Wilkins.” She did not offer her hand.
Mr. Wilkins took his time getting to his feet. He wore shabby, faded clothing but of a perfectly respectable nature. He glared at them over a pair of glasses and then took them off and put them aside before he scraped his hard chair back and rose. He had a stoop, most likely from constantly leaning over a desk. “Madam. Who do I have the honor of addressing?”
Dru brushed his question aside with a careless wave. Behind her, Livia sneezed, no d
oubt because of the strong perfume of lavender rising from the pastille burner over the fireplace. “I want to make you an offer for the new three-volume novel.”
“It will be published on Monday. You may buy a copy then from any bookseller you care to name.”
“How much would it cost to stop it being published on Monday?” Dru sighed with frustration. She hadn’t meant to ask her question in that way. She wanted to make him an imperious offer and allow him to beat her up to the amount she had with her.
Wilkins’s eyes narrowed. “More than you have, I’ll be bound. That book will make my fortune.”
“And hurt a great many other people. Believe me. You will not appreciate the repercussions of publishing it.”
Wilkins was burlier than Dru had expected. Disturbingly so, if she were to admit it. Maybe she should have brought James, after all. But then her mother would hear of her transgression, and Dru could not bear her disappointment. He came out from behind his desk and took a step closer to her. Dru planted her heels firmly on the floor and stood her ground, but behind her Livia stumbled back.
A pity. She needed to show her resolve.
The publisher tilted his head to one side, like a great black bird, studying her. “How much? I will have people beating a path to my door for this book. Not only is it scandalous, it is well written. The story has merit, and it will keep people reading. I would like the author to come forward, so I might commission more work.” He tilted his head to one side. “Are you a maid? Do you know who wrote it?”
Dru ignored his question. Near to angry tears, Dru persisted, forcing the mask of calm. “If you sell this one to me, I will make it worth your while.”
“Young lady, I expect to make several hundred pounds from this book. Maybe more. And if the writer will not come forward…” Pausing, he swept her with a comprehensive gaze. “I’ll have to make the most of it. That book is mine, fair and square. I paid good money for it, so I mean to get that investment back.” A slow smile crept over his face. “And now I know who wrote it, I’ll make even more.” He glanced over her shoulder at Livia.
He knew. He’d guessed she was the author. Oh, God, what if he recognized her? Dru was not the most distinctive member of her family, but Livia, with her glowing complexion and silky red-gold hair, was far more memorable. The hair was pulled back, and Livia wore a relatively plain bergère hat over her locks, but that wasn’t enough to disguise her. And Dru’s twin sister was married to a prominent peer of the realm.
What had she done?
“I have a mind to continue the series,” Mr. Wilkins remarked, a savage smile curling his thin lips. “I will employ someone else to write them. Grub Street is full of struggling writers. I am sure I can find someone to produce another novel in a week.”
Horror rooted Dru to the spot, and Livia’s gasp told her she was not alone in her sentiments. She firmed her chin, which was threatening to wobble. “How much do you want?” He was driving up the price. That was all. Nothing else.
“How much do you have?”
Unfortunately, she had jingled the coins in her pocket, so he must know she had money with her. She didn’t like this man. She wouldn’t trust him, either, but she needed that book taken off sale. Desperately. “I need the copies you’ve made and the original manuscript. And the printing blocks dismantled.”
He raised both brows this time. “Thorough. But even if I wanted to, I could not stop production now.”
“I think you can.” Only Dru didn’t say that. Livia did, and she accompanied her words with an ominous metallic click.
Dru spun around, but she took care not to block her sister’s aim.
“Livia, put it away!”
Livia was a crack shot with a pistol. She’d practiced for hours when they were children, but Dru had never known her aim her weapon at a human being. “Give her what she wants,” she said now, perfectly steadily.
“Ah, as I was saying, dear young lady, I cannot.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Some books are at the shops, and I do not own those.”
“Don’t print any more.” Perhaps if only a few existed, they would sink without trace. “How much for that? And the manuscript?”
“Mostly destroyed,” he said. He glanced at Livia. “Is that enough?”
Dru took in the determination on Livia’s face. She wouldn’t have crossed her sister right now. “Yes.” It would have to be. At least without the manuscript they couldn’t publish any more.
“So we come to the price. Five hundred pounds.”
Dru gasped. “That’s extortion! One hundred.”
“Four.”
She got him down to two hundred, fortunate because that was all she had. Except she did not. She had to add the pearl necklace her grandmother had given her on the occasion of her come-out. They were worth more, but further haggling might lose her the arrangement. At least they were not family treasures.
Mr. Wilkins bit—bit!—a pearl or two before he agreed, but eventually he unlocked a drawer in his desk.
He crossed the room to where a safe stood in clear sight. Drawing out a key, he inserted it into the lock and then found another key for the smaller lock above. The door swung open, the hinges so well-oiled that it didn’t make a sound. Mr. Wilkins drew out a plain brown parcel done up with blue tape. He handed it over to Dru, giving Livia a wary look. Dru took it. Even now her manners prevailed and she thanked him. It felt right, the pile of papers the proper size, but she would not risk it.
She unfastened the tape and unwrapped the parcel. Pulling out a handful at random, she recognized her writing and the part of the story it depicted. She did it twice more and then refastened it and shoved the unruly bundle under her arm. “It’s the book,” she said to her sister. She nodded to Mr. Wilkins. “Thank you, sir. Do I have to watch you dismantle the types? I will stay here if I think it necessary.” Inwardly she quailed, because she could not stay here much longer. But she knew from Val the value of the bluff. In Val’s card playing days, he was known as a devil at the tables, and he’d taught his sisters how.
Dru met Wilkins’s eyes steadily. “Lead the way.”
Mr. Wilkins glanced at Livia again. “There’s no need.”
“If there is, I will come back,” Livia promised.
Outside the dank offices of Wilkins’ Publishing, Dru breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I never want to do that again. Do you think he will do as we say?”
“Without a doubt,” Livia said firmly, but she didn’t meet Dru’s eyes when she said it.
“I had no idea you had a weapon. What would we have gained from shooting Mr. Wilkins?”
Livia’s lips curved in a wicked smile. “I could have shot him in the arm, or hurt him.”
“But then he’d have had you taken up for attempted murder. Andrew Grey might be good, but he can’t work miracles every time one of us requests his services.”
Livia laughed. “The money was probably enough. A shame about Grandmother’s pearls, though.”
“Yes.” Dru gave the necklace one last lingering thought and firmly put it out of her mind.
Dru wasn’t sure, either, but at least she had her book back. She’d dispose of it as soon as possible, even if it meant ordering a fire in her room. No, she had a better idea.
She set a brisk pace back to the bookseller, no longer caring if her skirts brushed against the wall or not. Forde would have to cope with the results. That was all. Striding through the shop, she found the proprietor waiting for them, a couple of heavy tomes on the counter.
“One of these would serve your purpose, I believe.”
She glanced inside the first one. “I’ll take both, please.” She heaved the untidy parcel on top. “Wrap this with them, and we will take them with us.”
Nobody could see the way her heart beat so hard it took her breath. She worked not to let it show. She h
ad done it. She had her story back, and nobody would take it away from her again. She would destroy it herself, page by page, that very night.
James didn’t groan when the bookseller loaded the large parcel wrapped neatly in brown paper into his arms, but he did sag a little. Dru heard his sigh of relief when she announced they would take a hackney.
“Oh, they’re so dirty!” Livia exclaimed. “We could send James back to the house for the carriage.”
“That would take an hour or more,” Dru pointed out.
Livia lifted a shoulder. “Not if he runs. He can leave the books here.”
Dru was about to object, but then she had a thought. “Very well. We can wait in the shop. With the parcel.”
Livia nodded. The proprietor would give them some refreshment. True, they should really have a chaperone, but nobody would object. “We should have had two footmen.”
“Yes,” she said sweetly, and before Livia could argue out of her complaint, she led the way back into the shop.
Ten minutes later, Dru left with her parcel tucked under her arm. London Bridge must be twenty minutes’ walk, but she was fit and healthy. She walked much farther than that in the country. She wanted this unfortunate event dealt with here and now.
Although the establishments on Cheapside were not the most fashionable, the Strenshalls knew them. Similarly, she passed through familiar landmarks on Lombard Street. She scurried past a shop with silverware on proud display, catching the sun when it glinted through the clouds, temporarily dazzling her. Then Mercer’s Hall, grand and stately. The turn to Lombard Street signaled banks. Dru ducked her head, letting the broad brim of her hat shade her and praying all the way nobody would see her and recognize her. She wouldn’t walk back that way. When she reached Fish Street Hill, she breathed a sigh of relief but kept her head down.
London Bridge loomed before her, with the grim walls of the Tower of London on her right. She crossed the busy thoroughfare with a few other people. One or two men sent her sideways glances, but she refused to look at them.
Halfway across the bridge, she found a passage dividing two rickety houses and slipped between them to lean over the parapet. A chunk of stone tumbled to the river as she leaned over, the splash barely visible in the busy waters. A ferryman looked up at her and shook his fist, but nobody else took any notice. Hastily, she drew back and took her little fruit knife from her pocket, slicing through the tape and the brown paper that covered her book.
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