A Death Along the River Fleet Read Online Free PDF Page B

think so, Lucy. I have seen such hysterical women before. Her distress and terror are real. That woman has been through a trauma, of that I am sure. I must find a way to locate her family.” He was speaking now to himself rather than her. “I shall draw upon the authorities to assist me. After all, someone must be looking for the wretched woman. For now, I am going to start with Mr. Sheridan. I think he knows something about that woman, and I intend to find out what.”

 
    4
    Lucy regarded the blurred page, fresh from the printing press, with some irritation. This would make the fifth time she had adjusted the type that morning, and the print was still coming out smudged. Master Aubrey would be none too pleased when he saw the wasted paper. Lucy had learned the hard way that he would make them re-ink and reprint dozens of sheets, at a cost to their own wages, if he thought the print looked smeared or blurry. He’d be even less happy when he learned that his apprentice had not finished printing The True Account of a Most Barbaric Monster Who Did Push His Own Sister into a Boiling Pot, which he had intended to sell at St. Mary’s that afternoon. To make matters worse, she had developed a bad cold during the night and had awoken that morning sniffling and with a voice that came and went. Certainly, she would not be of much use selling if she could not speak.
    She was already a bit on the outs with Master Aubrey. After she had left Dr. Larimer’s yesterday and delivered the books, she had returned home rather later than expected and with a nearly full pack of broadsides left unpeddled. Truth be told, she could have just lied and said that few were in a buying spirit, but she had told Master Aubrey the truth of what had occurred. “Sounds like a demon was upon her,” he said. “Best be rid of the woman.” Thankfully, he was not the sort to whip his servants, but he did lightly box her ears for not doing as she was told.
    Now, Lucy stepped back and considered the printing press sternly. Ink was smudged all over her hands, and she suspected across her face as well.
    â€œKick it!” Lach recommended from the table. He was carefully setting type for another ballad. “Teach it who is the master.”
    Lucy rolled her eyes. “I suppose, Lach,” she said in her hoarse, painful voice, “that it never occurred to you that kicking the press may be why it’s not working properly now?” Surveying the machine, she added, “See, ’tis at a slant. It looks like it’s been jarred.” She began to push the press back into place, angry that she had wasted her voice on Lach.
    â€œWatch it!” Lach warned, as the box of metal type began to topple to the floor. Lucy managed to steady it, but not before twenty or so of the tiny metal letters flew out. She cried out, only to realize that her voice was completely gone.
    Lach crowed. “Hoo boy! You will be in for it now!”
    Lucy was about to throw something at him when they heard a quick tap at the door. Being closer, Lach opened the door, disclosing a young man in livery.
    â€œI have a message,” he said smartly, holding up a letter. “For Lucy Campion.”
    Lach shut the door behind him, so that the blustery April wind would not blow all their papers about, or bring dirt, feathers, and other debris from the street into the shop. “Is that so?” he asked.
    Lucy scrambled up from the floor, brushing her skirts. She held out her hand. “I am Lucy Campion,” she said. Or that was what she tried to say. What came out was an odd squeak. The little croak she had mustered before was now completely gone.
    The messenger looked doubtfully at her, taking in her smudged hands, mussed skirts, and tousled hair. Seeing this, Lach grinned broadly and stepped between them, before the man could hand her the letter. With a quick mocking look toward Lucy, Lach said, “I will make sure Miss