Never Too Late

Slowly, Honoria climbed to the third floor, her thoughts only for her bed and her clothing weighing her down more than usual because of her tiredness. In her mind, alongside the catalog of titles she’d ordered, tomes she’d repaired, and print jobs she’d completed, she cataloged the little pops and aches up and down her body that she hadn’t known in her youth. Tonight, her vertebrae and hips cracked with each step and ached from her stooped posture at the printing and binding machine. She caught herself as she tripped on the top stair. It was past midnight, and she wondered if she’d be able to scrub the ink stains off her hands. At least this week’s print run was complete. She would need to arrange some interviews as fodder for next week’s; the factory girl she’d intended to profile fell into a press and now no one would talk with her there.

Reliable Minnie, her only servant, really her only family along with Minnie’s brother, Erich, warmed a plate for her supper. To her exhausted mind, the beef was indistinguishable from the potatoes, except by texture.

Honoria needed to plan her time carefully. She’d drafted a new tract but needed time to edit it before setting and printing. Wednesday tended to be the quietest day in the shop so she should have some time available.

“Miss Honoria, this week is a bit busier than usual. The hospital today, as usual, then the orphanage on Tuesday, new inventory arrives Thursday, and the Needlework for the Needy this Thursday evening as well. I think there are a few visits due as well, to Mrs. Danson and the new Mrs. Leventon. And here are some calling cards you really need to return.”

The array of calling cards made her itch. Her largest group of customers was made up of upwardly mobile mothers, landed gentry, and newly rich wives of merchants seeking the key to marrying a peer of the realm. She certainly wasn’t an expert, but many such women were reluctant to show their eagerness by frequenting the shop. Instead, their requests for a visit were thinly veiled sales calls. Lots of talk about who was seen with whom and who would be at what party and which fine young woman would be best suited to which upstanding gentleman. Then which books had been recently recommended as the book to have on propriety and decorum and marriage. It rankled her. She had serious things to worry about here. At least the shop would be, as usual, a stabilizing influence amidst the social flurries. It also supplied reliable topics of conversation.

Dear Mrs. Malcolm Duchamp,

The pleasure of your company is requested at dinner this Thursday evening. My son informs me that you are knowledgeable about publishing, and I have several friends eager to meet you. I do hope you are able to attend.

Cordially yours,
Lady Rose Devin

“Why didn’t you give this to me earlier, Minnie?” God’s frogs! She looked at her assistant carefully. Minnie was always a diligent worker, but she seemed distracted lately. Even now, her clothes were a bit disheveled and her hair appeared hastily tucked into her cap, long strands poking out haphazardly.

“You were busy, Miss Honoria,” the girl responded matter-of-factly. Minnie and her brother were the only ones who still addressed her as they had in childhood, and she appreciated their rare familiarity.

Her mind raced as she reread the invitation. It had only been a few hours since she’d made Lord Devin’s acquaintance. Why would she be invited to something like this? What sense would it make to invite her? And how could she possibly accept? The prospect of wooing new clientele offered some little appeal, but the parallel prospect of trying to charm total strangers brought on a wave of nausea. It was exhausting. Of course, she couldn’t attend. The Needlework for the Needy Association had its regular meeting that evening, and she was expected. Easy enough. Sustenance secured and loose matters organized, she sent Minnie home and dropped onto her bed still fully clothed. A pair of jade green eyes floated in her mind as she drifted into sleep.