Free A Jane Austen Encounter by Donna Fletcher Crow

could get on a train and go into London. See a show. Or go to the seashore. How far was Brighton? Maybe—
    “Richard—” She came to her feet in one swift bounce. “It’s Edith’s letter. It has to be. Or the chest of papers she mentions. This proves there’s something to it. We’ve got to find them.” Her words shocked herself as much as they did her hearer.
    “Elizabeth, what are you saying? I was just going to suggest that we get out of here before something else goes wrong.”
    Elizabeth caught her breath. So they had been thinking exactly the same thing. But no, she was sure her reaction to flee was wrong. “We’re on to something. I know it. Let’s go find Arthur. I wonder who else he told about the letter. Or Muriel, or Gerri. Somebody let the cat out of the bag and now the lion hunters have moved in.”
    Richard barked a short laugh, really more just a release of tension. “What a quick-grown feline. But I think I agree. Let’s go back to the Centre. It seems to be the focus.”
    “I hope Arthur’s still there. I have a few questions for him. I wonder if the police thought to search his room. And Gerri—why was she so quick to implicate you? Was she protecting Arthur?” Now that Elizabeth started, she could think of quite a few questions she would like to ask a lot of people.
    But when they got back to 25 Gay Street and she stormed her way up the stairs to the office, she found more people than she had counted on. Indeed, she glimpsed Arthur on the far side of the room. But he was fully occupied in a struggle to protect the neat stacks of papers on his work table as what appeared to be a horde of people milled around the tiny space.
    As might be expected, Muriel Greystone was at the center of the hubbub. “All right, everyone. So good of you to come so quickly. But I knew the press would want to be in on the ground floor. Let me introduce you all.” She looked toward the door. “Ah, the doctors Spenser. Perfect. Now,” she indicated a tall, silver-haired man wearing a white turtleneck, “this is my old friend and publisher Paul Exeter from Albion Press and,” she turned to a jeans-clad woman with her long hair pulled back in a clip, “this is Beth from The Bath Chronicle . She’ll be able to get the story out right away. Isn’t that right, Robert?”
    The assistant director stood just outside the door, wringing his hands. “Really, Dr. Greystone, I don’t—that is, this is most premature . . .”
    Elizabeth moved so she could speak to Robert quietly. “What is she doing? Is this a press conference? A publisher? What’s to publish?”
    Robert shook his head. “She asked if she could use Claire’s office to talk to some friends. I had no idea. Claire will have a fit. She’s very careful that everything we release to the press be polished. The Centre has worked hard to build a reputation for excellence. Can you do anything with her?”
    Elizabeth laughed at the idea of anyone reining in Muriel Greystone. “I doubt it, but I’ll see what I can do.” Muriel was introducing the young blond newspaper reporter to Arthur and ordering him to answer her questions as Elizabeth edged her way to the tall, distinguished-looking man with his back to the bookcase. “You’re Muriel’s publisher?”
    “Paul Exeter, Albion Press.” He held out his hand.
    “Elizabeth Spenser,” she returned. She didn’t see any reason not to use a direct approach. “What are you doing here?”
    “I’m not sure. We’ve published Dr. Greystone for years, so when she rang and said she had a monumental find that would impact on her upcoming book . . .”
    Elizabeth smiled. “You thought it best not to argue.”
    He returned her grin. “That’s about the size of it. Our offices are in Bathwick, just across the river, and I thought it might be a good experience for our interns.” He indicated two young people in the corner behind Claire’s desk. “Jack and Polly. Keen to learn the publishing business.