That evening as we returned to Rothsfield I asked Mr. Harlow to take me to Dr. Blyth’s office so that I might deliver the good news. As the carriage neared the Doctor’s office, Mr. Harlow slowed to a stop. I exited, careful not to catch my dress on the carriage step, for a better look at the situation before us. Three men were outside the office, shouting loudly for the doctor. They did not seem pleased.

“Lady Fairfax?” Mr. Harlow asked with concern.

“I’ll be just moment,” I told him.

I approached the office listening to the three men yelling for Dr. Blyth to open the door and send out the machine. The largest of the men seemed to be leading the disturbance as he stepped up and pounded violently on the office door. His twisted face and hulking form made me think of the ogres from childhood stories. Which I supposed made the smaller two men his goblins.

“Are you in need of a doctor?” I shouted to them.

Ogre and his goblins ceased their cries and turned towards me.

“Nah,” Ogre grinned unpleasantly,” we jus’ want the machine.”

“I do not suspect he would be inclined to see you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“You don’t appear to be men of science; you seem rather unfriendly, and potentially hostile, given your treatment of that poor door. So all in all I’d say that is not a welcoming combination for an evening visit.”

Ogre looked confused for a moment and looked to his goblins for clarification. Their blank stares were apparently no help.

“It ‘asn’t got a choice,” Ogre declared finally, “but if you want unfrien’ly, we’ll show ya unfrien’ly, pretty girly.”

“Gentlemen,” I began and allowed an angry and scornful expression to take hold of my features, “I am Lady Abigail Fairfax of Clifton Manor and if you desire to retain any form of livelihood within this county I would advise you to reconsider how you address a woman, and, indeed, reconvene with your senses of which you clearly have taken your leave; then determine just how you ought to conduct yourselves before a Lady.”

I do not know whether it was the unexpected scorn in my voice or rather the sheer amount of verbiage with which I accosted them but regardless of what it was the end result was the same. They stopped and seemed to reevaluate the woman standing before them. It brought me no small measure of satisfaction.

We were interrupted then by the addition of a new voice, “I think it’s time to be moving along gents.”

I turned to see Constable Doake with Mr. Harlow standing beside him.

Ogre and his goblins took a moment to assess the situation and eventually decided the Constable’s advice was prudent.

“Lady Fairfax,” Constable Doake said, “perhaps its best you move along too. Those are not the sort of men a lady of your standing should associate with.”

“Thank you Constable, I believe that is sound advice. And thank you Mr. Harlow. Though I daresay I had the situation well in hand. ”

“Of course, m’Lady,” Mr. Harlow said. “Truth is I had found the good Constable monitoring the situation already.”

“I see. Tell me, if I had not intervened, when were you planning to act Constable?”

“Best be heading home, Lady Fairfax. What’s more those men are strangers recently come to Rothsfield. I’m not sure they care about your noble lineage. Best, I think, if you avoid any future interactions,” he suggested before walking back down the street.

“Are you all right, M’lady?” Mr. Harlow asked.

“Yes, though I wonder if we might keep this incident between you and I?”

“No need to worry your father over something that’s already over.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harlow.”

I returned home, pleased with my success at The Bristol Times and Echo and energized by my confrontation with the three men. I eagerly told my father and Thomas about my conversation with Mr. Wadsworth, though I left out the Ogre incident.

Father smiled proudly, “I suspect Mr. Wadsworth will not be the only resistance, but you’ve done a noble thing.”

“Noblesse oblige, father. You see? Look what you’ve inspired in your children,” Thomas said.

If he thought that was admirable, I wondered what he would say about Ogre and the rest of the story. I decided not to find out. Instead, I spent the rest of the night wondering how my letter would be received. The thought was both exciting and terrifying.

The following day I hurried to the study and found father sitting at his desk with The Times and Echo,which had arrived in the post, and Thomas reading over his shoulder. Their grim faces spoke volumes. I grabbed the paper and read the headline:

“Lady Fairfax backs Mechanical Devilry”

The article was written by none other than Mr. Wadsworth himself. My letter did not appear anywhere in paper, at least not intact. Selected quotes had been used out of context, wherever they could seemingly do the most damage. I was described as “a naïve girl who fancies herself a theologian and would challenge Father Joseph’s views on the abomination known as Peter Dowling. “ According to Wadsworth, I was a simple girl who did not understand my place as a woman. He suggested, “Lady Fairfax should be grateful she was born in such a progressive era. A woman speaking as she does in earlier centuries, no matter her station, would not have been permitted.

“I’m sorry,” my father said gravely. “This is an appalling article and I will be paying a visit to Mr. Wadsworth directly. Why, the mere suggestion-“

“No,” I insisted. “Don’t dignify this drivel with a response.”

“Surely, we must do something,” Thomas said.

“Help me find someone who will take a stand and print my letter. Failing that, perhaps I shall start my own newspaper and run the foolish Times and Echoout of business!”

That at least put a smile on my father’s face.

“What’s that they say about a woman scorned?”

“They destroy your livelihood and everything you hold dear?” Thomas suggested.

“Close enough, I suspect,” Father said. “Abigail, let me contact some acquaintances. We shall find a supportive newspaper. I may even have some connections in London.”

I fretted for the rest of the afternoon. I began preparing letters to send to every newspaper I could think of, explaining the situation and soliciting their support. Rothsfield may have been lost to mass ignorance, but perhaps there was hope in greater England.

I was editing my letters in the library when Thomas burst in followed by a man I had never met, who looked rather embarrassed.

“Abi! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Thomas exclaimed. “You’ll never believe what I’ve found!”

“You’ve found a stranger lurking in the garden,” I ventured with a smile and a nod to the abashed man.

“Yes! Wait, no! Not in the garden, in town!”

“I see. Regardless, I doubt father will let you keep him. He probably has a home of his own.”

“You’re impossible,” Thomas scolded. “Just let me finish! This is John Ridley, and do you know what he used to do? Don’t answer! He used to work as a printer for the London Times.”

“Did you now?” I asked. I was beginning to suspect the reason for my brother’s excitement and why he had brought a former printer home with him.

“Yes, Lady Fairfax,” he answered politely. “Thirteen years, before I moved out to Bristol. ”

“And what took you to Bristol, Mr. Ridley?” I enquired.

The Times… let me go actually. The new rotary press, you see, printed, severed the papers, brought them up… I mean, amazing machine, but The Times didn’t need us all. I’d hoped to start my own paper in Bristol,” finished Mr. Ridley. He had the odd habit of shuffling his feet as he spoke and carefully watching a spot just ahead of them on the floor.

“Better than that,” Thomas interrupted, “he purchased all the equipment necessary to start!”

“I did,” Ridley agreed. “I’d saved enough for the machinery, but unfortunately, I have lacked the capital thus far to print our first issue. My two sons are to help me. We’d planned to name it The Bristol Gazette”

Thomas was overjoyed, “Remember what you said about starting your own paper?”

“Yes, but that was me just getting carried away with myself, as I’m want to do. I wouldn’t know the first thing…”

“Mr. Ridley does! I’ve already hired him and his sons!”

“It’s true, M’Lady,” Ridley confirmed. “I signed a contract this afternoon. It seems we shall be printing The Rothsfield Gazette now.”

“You… already? Where did you…?”

“It was very informal,” Thomas said. “I wrote it up on the back of the last issue of the Times and Echo. Seemed fitting to write that rag’s death warrant upon itself.”

“But what shall we print it on? Or with? Having the machinery is one thing but-“

“It’s all set, M’Lady,” Ridley assured me. “I sent for all the necessary materials before we came here. Master Fairfax was kind enough to purchase them of course.”

“Thomas! You can’t afford to buy a newspaper!”

“I can and I did! Besides, I’ll make it all back. Everyone will be buying our first issue to hear what Lady Fairfax has to say!”

“I… I find myself at a loss for words. Thank you!”

“Well, that had better not be a state you find yourself in for long as you are going to need to fill no small number of pages with a great many words, rather soon I’m afraid,” Thomas said grinning like a loon all the while.

I hurried to Thomas and embraced him. I did the same to Mr. Ridley which made him look all the more uncomfortable, a feat I had not thought possible.

The next two days were a flurry of activity. Much to Mr. Ridley’s dismay, we renamed the paper again. After some discussion we settled upon: A Woman’s Voice. Thomas was convinced that would garner all variety of attention, good and bad. He believed any attention was good attention. Our first issue would be released into both Rothsfield and Bristol, hoping to garner more vocal support locally while also challenging our close-minded neighbors.

While we quietly worked on our little project, ever more strangers passed through Rothsfield as Mr. Dowling’s notoriety increased. Some came hoping to merely catch a glimpse of the good doctor’s work, while others sought to voice their disapproval. Not only was Dr. Blyth’s office a continued target, but his home soon became the site of increasingly violent protests. Rocks were thrown through his windows, doors were pounded on, and his horses were released into the night.

When father heard, he sent Mr. Harlow with the carriage to collect Dr. Blyth and Mr. Dowling. They were to become our permanent guests. Father always claimed I was my mother’s daughter, but as I watched his anger grow at the mistreatment and heard him curse the “damnable Luddites,” I realized we weren’t so different.