Lady Ines Scandalous Hobby-Chapter 138 - Hundred And Thirty Eight

The bell above the door of The Quill & Press chimed. It was a cheerful, tinny sound that did not match the heavy gray fog swirling in the street outside.

Parker looked up sharply from the counter. He had been wiping down the wooden counter for the last hour, rubbing at the same spot until the wood was nearly worn away.

He was nervous. His heart was beating against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Behind him, in the back room, the heavy rhythmic clank-clank-clank of the printing press could be heard. Mr. Hobbs was busy. Mr. Hobbs was a good man, but he was deaf to the world when the press was running. He wouldn’t hear a conversation in the front room. He wouldn’t see what Parker was about to do. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Parker stared at the door. A woman stood there.

It was Miss Gladys.

She stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind her to shut out the damp London air. She wore a simple brown cloak, the hood pulled up to hide most of her face, though Parker could see a few stray curls escaping.

She looked around the shop, her eyes darting to the corners as if she expected a constable to jump out from behind the paper stacks.

She looked terrified.

Parker felt a rush of excitement. Her fear meant one thing: she had brought it.

"Good afternoon, Miss Gladys," Parker said. He tried to make his voice sound normal, but it came out high and squeaky. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Good afternoon."

Gladys did not return the greeting. She didn’t even smile. Usually, she had a kind word for him or a small sweet hidden in her pocket. Today, she was all business. Her lips were pressed together in a thin, pale line.

She walked to the counter. Her steps were heavy. She held a bag close to her chest, hugging it with both arms as if it contained the Crown Jewels.

She reached into the bag. Parker leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

Slowly, reluctantly, Gladys pulled out a book.

It was not a stack of loose papers like usual. It was a book. It was bound in black leather, dark as midnight. There was no title on the cover. No gold lettering. Just black leather, tied shut with a thick black ribbon.

She placed it on the counter.

Thud.

The sound was heavy. It sounded like a stone hitting the bottom of a well.

Parker stared at it. His mouth went dry. This was it. This was the thing the lady with the blonde hair—Lady Priscilla—was paying a fortune for. This was the proof that would pay off his gambling debts and buy him a new suit.

"Is... is that it?" Parker asked. He reached out a hand, but he didn’t dare touch it yet.

Gladys kept her hand on top of the book. She looked at Parker. Her eyes were wide and filled with a strange mixture of sadness and warning.

"It is," Gladys whispered.

Parker licked his lips. "Why is it wrapped like that? Usually, Mr. Arthur sends loose pages for Mr. Hobbs to set."

Gladys sighed. It was a long, shuddering breath. She looked over her shoulder at the street, then leaned in closer to Parker.

"This is not a normal book, Parker," she said. Her voice was low, barely more than a scratchy whisper. "This is Mr. Arthur’s special edition."

"Special edition?" Parker repeated. The words tasted like gold coins.

"It is his final work," Gladys said. She tapped the leather cover with a shaking finger. "Mr. Arthur... he has put everything into this. Every scandalous endeavors. Every dark thought. He wrote it in a fever. He didn’t want anyone to see it, but I insisted."

Parker’s eyes widened. "Scandalous endeavors?"

"Yes," Gladys confirmed. She pulled her hand back as if the book had burned her. "You don’t want to know the things written in there, Parker."

Parker felt a thrill run down his spine. Scandalous endeavors. That was exactly what Lady Priscilla wanted. She wanted dirt. She wanted scandal. And by the look on Gladys’s face, this book was full of it.

"Mr. Hobbs is in the back," Parker said quickly, glancing toward the curtain that separated the rooms. "He is very busy with a large order of sermons. He won’t be able to look at this until next week."

This was a lie. Mr. Hobbs was waiting for this manuscript. But Parker needed time. He needed time to give the book to the buyer before Mr. Hobbs could print it.

Gladys nodded slowly. She didn’t seem surprised. In fact, she seemed relieved.

"That is fine," Gladys said. "Mr. Arthur does not want it printed quickly. He is... afraid of the reaction."

She adjusted her hood, pulling it lower over her face.

"I will leave it with you then," she said. "Guard it well, Parker. Do not let anyone open it. If the wrong person reads what is in there... well, heads will roll."

"I will put it in the safe," Parker promised. Another lie.

"I will be back in a week to collect the proofs," Gladys said. She took a step back toward the door. She looked at the black book one last time, a look of pure regret on her face.

"Say hello to Mr. Hobbs for me," she added softly.

"I will," Parker said. He was nodding his head rapidly, unable to hide his excitement now. "I definitely will. Goodbye, Miss Gladys."

Gladys turned and hurried out of the shop. The bell chimed again, a happy sound marking her departure.

Parker watched her go. He watched through the dusty front window until she turned the corner and vanished into the fog.

He was alone.

He looked at the curtain. The clank-clank of the press was still going. Mr. Hobbs was singing a hymn off-key. He wouldn’t come out for hours.

Parker looked down at the book.

The black leather seemed to absorb the light in the room. It looked dangerous. It looked valuable.

Parker reached out and touched the cover. The leather was cool and smooth. He ran a finger over the ribbon. He had a sudden, burning urge to untie it. He wanted to see what was inside. He wanted to know what kind of "story" was worth so much money.

He tugged at the bow.

Then, he stopped.

He remembered the lady with blonde hair. Lady Priscilla. She had been very clear. The manuscript must not be tampered with. She wanted to be the first one to open it. She wanted the pleasure of discovering the secrets herself. If he opened it, she might not pay him the full amount.

And Parker needed the full amount. He owed money to a man named One-Eyed Jack, and Jack was not a patient man.

Parker pulled his hand away.

"No peeking," he whispered to himself. "Just sell it. Get the money. Be free."

He looked around the shop for something to wrap it in. He found a sheet of brown butcher paper and a length of twine.

He worked quickly. His hands were shaking, but he managed to wrap the black book completely. He tied the twine in a knot that he hoped looked professional.

He grabbed a piece of charcoal and wrote on the outside of the paper. He wrote a single letter: P.

He smiled. It was a clever code, he thought. P for Priscilla.

He picked up the package. It felt heavy. It felt like he was holding a brick of solid gold.

He walked to the front door and flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. It was early, but he didn’t care. Mr. Hobbs would think he had gone to make a delivery.

Parker put on his coat and stuffed the package under his arm, hiding it beneath the fabric. He opened the door and stepped out into the gray afternoon.

The fog was thicker now. It swirled around his ankles. Parker pulled his cap down low. He began to walk, not toward the houses of the gentry, but toward a specific street corner near the park where a black carriage was waiting.

He walked fast, clutching the book to his side. He whistled a little tune. He thought he was the smartest boy in London. He thought he had fooled everyone.

He had no idea that the "story" inside the book was a trap. He had no idea that Mr. Vance, the Duke’s spy, was watching him from a rooftop across the street, tracking his every step.

Parker turned the corner, his heart full of greed, marching happily toward his own doom.