Jeffrey knockedon the door of 53 Fleet Street the next day at precisely two o’clock, and the grey-haired woman — Mrs. Ellis, if he remembered correctly from the day before — ushered him in. Her face was pleasant, but it certainly didn’t seem as though she were smiling at him, but rather was, perhaps, a bit anxious. Clearly, she didn’t believe his story from the other day of becoming a supporter of the paper, and nor did he blame her. He knew he wasn’t overly convincing.
She didn’t say much as she led him down the short corridor, stopping in front of the small room he had entered during his previous visit, the office being that of the publisher. Mrs. Ellis extended her arm, gesturing for him to enter the small office. There wasn’t much to look at, its owner clearly not having occupied it for long. A square window let some light in through the glass, which had obviously been scrubbed, though streaks remained, apparently resisting the effort. This time he noticed the ugliest chair he had ever seen in his life sitting behind the scarred oak desk, while a chair so rickety he didn’t dare chance it sat in front of the desk. An old, lopsided bookshelf in the corner held stacks of papers and a few odds and ends.
Mrs. Ellis caught his gaze and smiled slightly. “We haven’t been here long and this furniture remains from the previous tenants,” she said, slightly apologetically. “We are awaiting the new furnishings to arrive.”
He nodded in understanding.
“The publisher will be with you in just a few moments, my lord,” she said, then turned and continued down the hallway, her footsteps echoing behind her, and as Jeffrey waited, he contemplated what he was going to say. Initially, when he had begun this quest, he had been determined to shut down this damn paper. He still felt that it was somewhat of a nuisance, but between Phoebe and his sisters, he had become swayed toward the idea that perhaps it wasn’t entirely fair for him — or any man really — to take away the opportunity for women to have something of their own. As his sisters had pointed out, there were articles within the paper regarding fashion, advice, and other endeavors that gentlemen would hardly be interested in.
It was the articles that incited change, that suggested women should challenge the very fabric of society that had held them together for years, that bothered him somewhat. If he could reason with the publisher, convince her to be slightly less controversial, then all could co-exist peacefully, could they not?
Jeffrey stood waiting, his hands behind his back, as he heard footsteps advancing down the hall ever so slowly, and he waited impatiently. What was taking the woman so long? For he assumed the publisher was a woman.
The oak door, which Mrs. Ellis had left slightly ajar, was pushed open wide. And Jeffrey could only stare in surprise.