“But I would like to hire you,” he said with a small, expectant smile.
Pippa stared at him all astonished. “Hire me?”
“Yes.” The man nodded eagerly, a glint appearing in his hazel eyes. “I am not currently seeking books and will not be for some time. But I am aiming to take the tattle section of my company to the next level. The public is eager, quite keen to read about happenings of the upper echelons. Gossip is what they care about! Not books. They hunger for stories such as the Worsley scandal and Sir Richards's afflictions. The public wants to read about their betters, about how flawed they are just like us regular folks. We want to know who is granting favors to rakes, who is running away to Gretna Green, who is marrying the footman and having an affair with the butler! The public wants the glitter—the parties, the shenanigans at masquerade balls, the fashion stars, and faux pas—and we also want the dirt. You are in a prime position to be the authoress of this tattling, Miss Beaver, and I will pay you handsomely for each story.”
Pippa stared at the man, beyond intrigued, the promise of handsome pay an allure. And to be the author of society’s scandal. The shame of it all! And also, the excitement she reluctantly conceded.
“How handsomely, Mr. Bell?” she asked for she could not forget how dire their finances were, and how melancholy her mother had been. For al
l intents and purposes, she'd already lost her father and might never see him again. Pippa could not afford to lose her mother too.
“I will pay you a pound and five shilling for every story.”
She drew herself up in the chair, lifting her chin. “You insult me, sir, with such a paltry offer.”
His owlish eyes blinked. “Two pounds.”
She sniffed disdainfully. “No less than ten pounds for each article I write.”
Mr. Bell spluttered. “Absolutely not,” he barked, assessing her with shrewd eyes. “Five pounds and not a penny more.”
Her heart was trembling with tentative hope, she held out her gloved hands. "Agreed. I want our agreement in writing, and I will only take bank notes, not a deposit. And with popularity, I shall expect a notable increase in pay.”
“Agreed, Miss Beaver," he said skeptically as if he suspected that was not her real identity. "I will, of course, teach you about journalistic integrity and all the tricks of the trade to protect your sources and reputation.”
He waited, drumming his fingers atop his desk.
“What tricks of the trade?”
This was a signal to bound from behind his desk, open the door and holler for a Miss Tilby. A few moments later, a woman of indeterminable years entered the office. She was dressed in a dark blue serviceable gown with a stiff collar. Her hair was pinned in a severe chignon, but it did not diminish the prettiness of her features. Instead, it highlighted her beauty. It was a pity her lips were so flat and unsmiling, and her brilliant green eyes so carefully guarded.
“Miss Tilby, please inform Miss Beaver who will be writing for us as…”
They both stared at her. She’d only thought of the one alias, but now she needed a moniker for the assumed name, well…ah!
“Lady W,” Pippa politely murmured. It was simple and mysterious, and it would indeed pique her interest to read an article signed with such a name. “I will pen my tattles as Lady W, and you may refer to me as such going forward.”
Miss Tilby’s eyes widened. “A genuine lady?” she asked, a bit skeptically.
Mr. Bell nodded happily. “Please inform Lady W of the necessary tricks of the trade. It will take gumption to learn them.”
Miss Tilby folded her arms beneath generous bosoms. “You’ll learn to dress like a lad and blend in with the crowd.”
Pippa gasped, an odd sort of excitement traveling through her. "Dress in trousers?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Bell with a smug smile. “It is easier to pass unnoticed as a boy when following someone for a story. Did you read of the affair Earl Dunham had with the governess while his wife was in confinement? It was Miss Tilby here who got that story and broke it, and she did it dressed as a lad.”
Pippa stared at her with newfound respect. “But you are a lady.”
Finally, Miss Tilby smiled. “That I am. I am also a darn good reporter. But it is hard for me to get the latest ondits as seeing I am not invited to certain places.”
Pippa stood clasping her hands before her. “What else will you teach me?”
Miss Tilby canted her head and assessed Pippa. “You’ll be taught how to pick a lock. Loose-lipped servants will become your best sources, and with a few coins here and there, they will happily tell you their masters’ and mistresses’ business.”
A startled laugh escaped Pippa. Surely, they jested. But she could see from the expressions they were entirely serious. "And this falls in the realm of journalistic integrity?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.