London in Chains by Gillian Bradshaw

Author:Gillian Bradshaw [Gillian Bradshaw]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers Ltd
Published: 2009-08-01T04:00:00+00:00

Nine

Lucy’s new employer arrived the very next day.

She’d decided to make the best of unemployment by finishing her gown, which had been half done for a long time now. She’d completed only one sleeve, however, when Uncle Thomas came in from the shop, escorting a stranger.

‘This is my niece, sir,’ Thomas said seriously. ‘Lucy, this is Mr Gilbert Mabbot, a friend of Mr Tew.’

Mr Mabbot was a big, pock-faced man somewhere under thirty; he wore a plain dark coat, none too clean, and had a sword by his side. He smiled broadly at Lucy, displaying crooked teeth. ‘Mistress Wentnor! You must be the prettiest typesetter in all London!’

Lucy set aside her lapful of fabric and stood, filled with hope and distrust. ‘You’re a friend of Mr Tew, sir?’

‘More acquaintance than friend,’ admitted Mabbot, ‘but certainly I esteem the gentleman. I need a typesetter, and my need is like to grow. I hope soon to start a newsbook of my own, though at present I’m but junior partner on A Perfect Diurnall. Nick Tew said you’d managed his press by yourself all the while he was in Newgate, that you kept good clear accounts and that you could manage all the business of supply.’

‘Aye, sir,’ Lucy agreed. ‘I’m glad he was pleased with what I did.’ A Perfect Diurnall! The most popular newsbook in London!

‘Nick said that your wages were sixpence a day.’

Lucy almost agreed, but something stopped her. Mabbot had appeared very quickly, and he’d sought her out at home, rather than sending her a message through Tew. She might be eager, but so was he.

‘Sixpence and my dinner, sir,’ she said impulsively. ‘If I must buy food at an ordinary, I’ll need another threepence.’

Mabbot grimaced. ‘Ah, I feared it was too good to be true! But how can I pay an unschooled countrygirl ninepence a day, when she must work with printers who served out a full apprenticeship before they earned so much? What would you say, Mistress, to a soldier’s wage?’

That, notoriously, was eightpence a day, and Lucy had no intention of paying threepence to eat at an ordinary, not when she could fix herself something at home much more cheaply. She pretended to ponder the offer, already determined to accept it.

‘Let it be understood,’ Uncle Thomas broke in anxiously, ‘that my niece is under no necessity of going out to work for strangers. She first took up printing to help my friend Will Browne after Mr Tew’s arrest. It shames me that she . . . that she ran into such danger under the Committee of Safety, and that . . . that is, I am determined that she will suffer no more insolent abuse!’

Mabbot smirked. ‘I can promise you, sir, that your niece will suffer no such difficulties as she did under that ill-famed Committee. Everything I cause to be printed will be properly licensed – for I myself am to become Licensor of the Press!’

‘You?’ said Uncle Thomas, startled.

Mabbot bowed. ‘The Army has been unhappy with the persecution meted out to its supporters in London.

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