25th April, 1894 — Whitby & Co. Printers

The bell rang from the shop counter downstairs again. “I know,” Tess said over the clanking of the machines, before the either of the men at the presses could give her the look again that said it was her turn to heed it, “I’m going.”

The others had been actually working on paid jobs for them, and her sisters were all still at their respective jobs, so she couldn’t argue about it. Tess, meanwhile, had stopped in the midst of cleaning and putting away the uppercase typeface from the last job to send the latest proof of a pamphlet through – the ink was still shining, but she plucked it up as she descended from the printing room to the counter, too excited to look it over to wait until she was back upstairs. She fluttered it about a little in the air to dry it as she came down the stairs, but set ‘The Angel of the House is Dead’ (another suffragist’s denunciation of woman’s entrapment in the domestic sphere) safely down on a pile of papers as she turned, slightly distracted, to the new customer instead.

“Good afternoon,” Tess said (she had been working since just before dawn so she felt close to yawning as she said it, though it couldn’t be after four, and she might keep going, if she could, until nine or ten tonight). “What can I do for you?”

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The move to Britain had admittedly not been everything Lorelei would have hoped it would be, but she hadn't lost her optimism. Difficulties were a natural part of life, after all. And there were definite points of progress.

She entered the print shop, a small stack of papers in her hands. "Hello," she said, smiling. "I was hoping to get some promotional materials printed." She set her papers on the counter. She'd drawn up some of her ideas for advertising her potions business, which was finally, finally ready to get off the ground.

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Bee is actual magic

The young woman looked vaguely familiar, although her accent stood out as a foreign note; Tess might have seen her about town, then, but she didn’t know her.

Regardless, her shoulders relaxed a fraction about the slightly incendiary pamphlet she’d brought down with her. (Certainly not all women were born suffragists, but working women were usually more sympathetic than most, and even if they didn’t agree with anti-traditionalists, they were more likely to forgive it than some of their male customers. So it was probably not the end of the world if she could crane her neck enough to read it sidelong on the counter.)

So for now her interest was entirely piqued by the other papers – the job before her. “Oh, potions?” Tess asked, glancing from the advertising ideas to the young woman. “Is it yours?” she asked, interested, of the business.

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"Yes," Lorelei said, smiling broadly. "I had a potions business back home in Australia, but I'm trying to build it up again here." Hence the need for advertising to be printed, of course.

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Bee is actual magic

There was much to marvel at in that short sentence (for instance: Australia! Tess had gone to hear a Australian suffragist’s talk some time ago, because the colonies were taking action too, and by the sounds of it better than here), but she settled for smiling back, which was – for Tess, properly, to her customers – something of a rarity.

“Well, I’m sure we can help,” Tess said warmly, beginning to sift through the promotional drafts. Trying to build up a business was rather the story of her life, herself. “What kind of potions do you usually brew?”

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"I dabble in most things, obviously," Lorelei said, because of course, she had to sometimes when a customer had a particular need that she didn't normally handle. "But most of my business would fall under housekeeping and other related household things."

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Bee is actual magic

“Oh, well,” Tess said brightly, although her mind was whirring like the rotary – because perhaps a potioneer starting out would have more competitive prices than their usual potions expenses, and so Tess could use this as a practical excuse to wilfully support another working woman in business for her own reasons (Fabian was always looking for ways to second-guess her decisions, she knew)?

“We could be in the market for a new supplier. We need all sorts of potions, cleaning solutions, the like. Ink, you know,” she said wryly, with a grin. “It gets everywhere.”

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"Oh, I can imagine." Lorelei said, laughing. She held up her hands--the tips of her fingers were still stained from her note-taking efforts, despite Lorelei's best efforts. "I imagine the problem is a hundred-fold for a print shop." She lowered her hands, still smiling wryly. "That said, potions much more effective at getting ink out of... well, most other things." Thankfully. They would all be in a great deal of trouble otherwise, she imagined.

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Bee is actual magic

Tess laughed at the familiar sight mirrored in her customer’s hands. “A thousand-fold, probably. It’s a mess,” she joked. “But I’d be happy to trial some of your potions, in exchange for a discount on the print job,” if her potions were any good, perhaps the advertising could be complimentary. “And – I can think of a few more potions we might need from time to time,” she said vaguely. (That she might find use for, really – Tess didn’t especially want to explain herself now, but if she was a good enough potioneer, perhaps she would find a reason to ask her eventually.)

It occurred to her that she hadn’t introduced herself, but had gone right into a proposal – so she gave a wry smile and added, “I’m Tess Whitby, by the way.”

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"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Whitby," Lorelei said. "I'm Lorelei Owens." She smiled. "I'm sure we could work something out. I have some potions at my workshop now that could be of use, actually." Her "workshop" was really just a room in the home she shared with her sister, but she didn't think that was relevant information.

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Bee is actual magic

Lorelei Owens. Tess brightened at Miss Owens’ next remark, because that was even more efficient than she had expected. “Perfect,” she agreed. “If you’re able to bring those by tomorrow, you can pick up your advertisements then – I’ll sort them now, and get them to print tonight.”

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wrap? and something new?

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   Henry Berkwood

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