Read Online Lord Gray's List by Maggie Robinson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maggie Robinson
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might be in the process of doing so.
“You robbed a poor old man,” said a freckled youth, who looked much too young to read a newspaper.
Ben gritted his teeth. “I did no such thing. He was well-compensated for the sale of his enterprise. Ah, E— ’ere ’e is. At last. Would you kindly retract the fiction you printed in this morning’s paper?”
Evie was flanked by Severson on one side and a rather oily-looking fellow on the other. She was in trousers, a tartan scarf wrapped practically up to her nose. She had the grace to look ashamed, as well she should be.
“I tried to stop them,” she mumbled through the wool.
“Not very successfully. I thought we had an agreement, Mr . Ramsey.”
“You never said I couldn’t publish a farewell edition.”
“I never said you could . I suppose you have another key to the building.” Ben held out his hand. He wasn’t quite sure where his was, having had no interest in setting foot in the premises last week, or ever again, for that matter.
“I—I need to get back in to get the last of my things.” Her voice was not as husky as it might have been, and the oily fellow shot her a suspicious look.
“Then I’ll have the distinct pleasure of escorting you. The key, please. I seem to have misplaced mine. How convenient there’s another. You’ve saved me the trouble and expense of hiring a locksmith for my building.”
Evie dug into a pocket and handed over the heavy metal key with reluctance.
“See here, Ramsey. Don’t let him bully you.”
“It’s all right, Lord Fitzhugh. He’s fully within his rights.”
Fitzhugh. Ben had heard the name before, although the face was not familiar. Evie’s champion was slender, dark-haired, and had a neatly trimmed moustache over rather damp lips. His clothes were exquisite, and Ben had an urge to knock him into the sideboard and cover him with shirred eggs.
Fitzhugh spoke up, his voice plummy. “You are right. ‘He who fights and runs away will live to fight another day.’ With my backing, you won’t need this barbarian. We’ll establish an entirely new newspaper, something that will eclipse The London List and set all these good peoples’ grievances to rights.”
There was a murmur of approval from the little clot of people in the doorway. Even Severson looked pleased, damn him.
Ben felt an unaccustomed wave of something that felt a lot like fury. “Let me get this straight. You plan on founding another scandal sheet?”
Evie looked him in the eye, a martial gleam in hers. “Only if you refuse to resurrect The List . You don’t have to report on the gossip, but these people deserve an outlet for their needs.”
“Their needs? Just what might they be?” Ben asked, his voice arctic.
“I have been corresponding with a Mr. Jefferson through a box at the paper each week,” the little brown spinster said. “If there is no paper, there is no Mr. Jefferson. He has no way to find me, as I naturally did not use my real name in my correspondence. I’d like to get married, my lord.” She opened up her reticule, pulled out a scrap of well-worn newsprint, and began to read. “ ‘A respectable mature bachelor, intelligent and sober, is desirous of immediately marrying some neat, plain, economical woman, between the ages of thirty and fifty. Reply to Mr. Thaddeus Jefferson, Box 81.’ He seems like a most amiable gentleman, and I was just about to arrange to meet him at the British Museum. We share an interest in antiquities.”
Ben suppressed a snort. This Mr. Jefferson was probably an antiquity himself.
“I’d watch out, dearie,” said a vulgarly dressed woman in the back. “He probably wants to tie you up and cane you or some such thing. And when a man claims to be sober, you can bet he drinks like a fish every chance he gets.”
The spinster colored. “Well, I’ll never find out, will I? Lord Gray has ruined my life!”
“And mine,” said the freckle-faced boy. “I was this close to being hired by
“You robbed a poor old man,” said a freckled youth, who looked much too young to read a newspaper.
Ben gritted his teeth. “I did no such thing. He was well-compensated for the sale of his enterprise. Ah, E— ’ere ’e is. At last. Would you kindly retract the fiction you printed in this morning’s paper?”
Evie was flanked by Severson on one side and a rather oily-looking fellow on the other. She was in trousers, a tartan scarf wrapped practically up to her nose. She had the grace to look ashamed, as well she should be.
“I tried to stop them,” she mumbled through the wool.
“Not very successfully. I thought we had an agreement, Mr . Ramsey.”
“You never said I couldn’t publish a farewell edition.”
“I never said you could . I suppose you have another key to the building.” Ben held out his hand. He wasn’t quite sure where his was, having had no interest in setting foot in the premises last week, or ever again, for that matter.
“I—I need to get back in to get the last of my things.” Her voice was not as husky as it might have been, and the oily fellow shot her a suspicious look.
“Then I’ll have the distinct pleasure of escorting you. The key, please. I seem to have misplaced mine. How convenient there’s another. You’ve saved me the trouble and expense of hiring a locksmith for my building.”
Evie dug into a pocket and handed over the heavy metal key with reluctance.
“See here, Ramsey. Don’t let him bully you.”
“It’s all right, Lord Fitzhugh. He’s fully within his rights.”
Fitzhugh. Ben had heard the name before, although the face was not familiar. Evie’s champion was slender, dark-haired, and had a neatly trimmed moustache over rather damp lips. His clothes were exquisite, and Ben had an urge to knock him into the sideboard and cover him with shirred eggs.
Fitzhugh spoke up, his voice plummy. “You are right. ‘He who fights and runs away will live to fight another day.’ With my backing, you won’t need this barbarian. We’ll establish an entirely new newspaper, something that will eclipse The London List and set all these good peoples’ grievances to rights.”
There was a murmur of approval from the little clot of people in the doorway. Even Severson looked pleased, damn him.
Ben felt an unaccustomed wave of something that felt a lot like fury. “Let me get this straight. You plan on founding another scandal sheet?”
Evie looked him in the eye, a martial gleam in hers. “Only if you refuse to resurrect The List . You don’t have to report on the gossip, but these people deserve an outlet for their needs.”
“Their needs? Just what might they be?” Ben asked, his voice arctic.
“I have been corresponding with a Mr. Jefferson through a box at the paper each week,” the little brown spinster said. “If there is no paper, there is no Mr. Jefferson. He has no way to find me, as I naturally did not use my real name in my correspondence. I’d like to get married, my lord.” She opened up her reticule, pulled out a scrap of well-worn newsprint, and began to read. “ ‘A respectable mature bachelor, intelligent and sober, is desirous of immediately marrying some neat, plain, economical woman, between the ages of thirty and fifty. Reply to Mr. Thaddeus Jefferson, Box 81.’ He seems like a most amiable gentleman, and I was just about to arrange to meet him at the British Museum. We share an interest in antiquities.”
Ben suppressed a snort. This Mr. Jefferson was probably an antiquity himself.
“I’d watch out, dearie,” said a vulgarly dressed woman in the back. “He probably wants to tie you up and cane you or some such thing. And when a man claims to be sober, you can bet he drinks like a fish every chance he gets.”
The spinster colored. “Well, I’ll never find out, will I? Lord Gray has ruined my life!”
“And mine,” said the freckle-faced boy. “I was this close to being hired by
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