Chapter Fifteen

H elen sat next to her brother inside his new carriage. ‘I thought Nancy was my nursemaid today.'

Matthew nudged her with his elbow. Two-year-old Susie was happily sitting on his knee. ‘Alas, Susie and I had to fill in for her. She is feeling a little under the weather and, since I am the one who wrote your original contract with the publisher, Nancy thought that I would be a suitable replacement.'

Helen tweaked one of Susie's curls. ‘I do not mind you coming, Susie.'

The little girl grinned at her. She had the same freckled nose, dark curly hair and brilliant blue eyes as her mother. ‘I love you, Aunt Hellion.'

Matthew guffawed, bouncing his daughter up and down on his knee with his mirth.

Helen couldn't help but smile a little. ‘Actually, darling, it is Aunt Helen .'

‘I know that, Aunt Hellion.'

‘Correct her, Matthew.'

Her brother shook his head. ‘Never. That is the best wit any two-year-old has ever come up with. I knew I contributed more than just my good looks to my daughter.'

‘She's the spitting image of Nancy.'

Susie chose that particular moment to show her aunt and father how well she could spit. She pointed to the floor two feet away. ‘Look how far!'

‘Marvellous, my darling,' her father assured her. ‘Another skill you inherited from me.'

Helen couldn't help but giggle. ‘Very impressive. Just remember it's Aunt Helen . Sounds like melon.'

The carriage pulled in front of a narrow wooden building that would have been all the better for a fresh coat of paint. Preferably in a bright colour. The sign hanging above the door read ‘Gibbs and Thomas'. Matthew held Susie in one arm and opened the door with the other. Helen walked in and was met with the delicious smell of fresh paper. The second note her nose detected was leather. And the final note, a hint of ink. Now if this smell was a perfume, she would spend all her pin money on it.

She saw pages hanging on lines, like clothing. Machines with movable type. Tables where workers were painstakingly adding the letters in the correct order in a wooden frame to make the templates for the pages. There were clicks , clacks and the sound of metal pressing against paper. She could live in this habitat.

A clerk came to meet them. Doffing his hat, he bowed. ‘May I 'elp you, sir?'

Helen huffed. Why did strangers always address the male in the party?

Matthew gave a thin-lipped smile that was more menacing than friendly. ‘My lord, actually. I am Lord Trentham and I am here representing the interests of my client, Lady Helen Stringham, who sold a book to Mr Gibbs.'

The clerk bowed a second time, lower than before, his nose nearly to his knees. ‘I shall fetch Mr Gibbs at once, my lord.'

‘And ladies,' Matthew added.

Susie pointed her thumb at her chest. ‘I am Lady Susan.'

Helen couldn't help but mimic her niece. She touched her own chest. ‘And I am Lady Helen.'

‘Aunt Hellion.'

The clerk bowed again. ‘My ladies.'

He returned in less than a minute with an older man. Helen would have guessed he was in his fifties. Portly around the middle, hair receding on top, and a pair of rectangular spectacles perched on his nose. Like the clerk, he gave Matthew a brief nod. ‘My lord.'

Susie huffed, pointing her thumb at herself again. ‘I am Lady Susan.'

‘That's right, darling,' Matthew said. ‘Never let a man ignore you in a conversation. But perhaps Mr Gibbs was merely waiting for a proper introduction. Mr Gibbs, allow me to introduce you to my sister, Lady Helen Stringham, and my daughter, Lady Susan.'

Helen couldn't help but smile as Susie bowed her head, while still in her father's arms. Even at two, she knew exactly who she was and how she expected people to treat her. If only her diction was a bit better on pronouncing Helen .

Holding out her hand, Helen smiled. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you in person, sir. I am most excited to see the printing of my book.'

Instead of shaking her hand, Mr Gibbs bowed over it. Happily, he didn't kiss it. Susie held out her hand as well and the publisher bowed over it just as formally. Her niece giggled and jumped, kicking her father.

Matthew groaned. ‘The accuracy of your kicks is unparalleled, my darling.'

Helen snorted and couldn't help but smirk at him.

Mr Gibbs held out an arm. ‘If you would follow me this way, my lord and ladies. I shall show you the first set of proofs.'

He led them back to a windowless office, where Helen's book was in large broadsheets on the table. Each sheet held sixteen pages on it. The sheet of paper had not yet been cut into individual pages, but it was thrilling none the less. Helen walked towards the desk, pulling off her gloves. They might have fallen to the floor, but she didn't stop to see. She touched the paper, feeling the smooth, slight grain of the wood pressed into fresh pages. Leaning down, she inhaled the heady smell of fresh ink and wormwood. She would really have to talk to her mother about making a perfume with this intoxicating smell.

Turning to the publishers, Helen gave her most polite smile. ‘Mr Gibbs, I was wondering if you would be able to add six pages in the middle. Six beautiful illustrations of snakes. I've already commissioned them to be drawn. They should be available any day now.'

‘It'll cost extra to cut the wood blocks for the pictures.'

‘I'll happily pay it.'

‘And the additional expense of weaving extra pages into the centre of the book.'

‘Every single farthing.'

A slow smile spread over Mr Gibb's face. ‘In that case, my lady, it will be done.'

‘Good.'

As she turned back to the desk, her eyes roved the pages. Her words. Her painstakingly written and researched words were in beautiful, neat paragraphs, chapters and pages. Running her fingers over the dried ink, she felt the slight indentation of the printing press type. It was incredible that only twenty-six letters arranged in numerous ways could produce such a thing.

Lifting the large sheet, she saw that a clerk had marked a few mistakes on the next set of sixteen pages. There was punctuation missing on one page and a misspelled word on the other. She peeked at the last page. It was actually the beginning of her book. The top of the pile was the last chapter. She found the title page: A Guide to Snakes . Not the most thrilling name ever, but it accurately explained what her book was about. Then she looked for her name. She quickly found Stringham on the page beside it, but it was all wrong. It read: Mr H. Stringham .

She stepped back from the table.

‘It turned out rather well, Lady Helen,' Mr Gibbs said, looking at her over the rims of his spectacles. ‘As you see, only a few mistakes need to be corrected before the final printing and binding of your book.'

Helen cleared her throat. ‘Yes. I noticed one mistake myself. The name. You said that it was written by Mr H. Stringham... I am Helen Stringham. You are welcome to call me by my title, Lady Helen Stringham, or use my marital status, Miss Helen Stringham.'

Mr Gibbs shook his head. ‘I am afraid that is not possible, my lady. If this were a work of fiction, adding your real name to the title page would help sales enormously among the titled ladies and commoners. But our readers are well-educated men. They would not purchase a book written by a young woman.'

‘What about an old woman?' she asked pettishly.

The publisher shook his head again. ‘There are not many women who have written published books and, forgive me, the few women who have been are rarely vulgar enough to use their own name.'

Matthew let out a low whistle. Her brother was no doubt waiting for Helen to lose her temper and give Mr Gibbs a well-deserved set-down. If Helen had been a snake, she would have bitten the man, spreading poison slowly to his veins until it stopped his heart. But she was not a snake and she had no intention of making a scene. When she did, the event rarely went in her favour.

‘Why is it when a man publishes under his own name, it is not considered vulgar? Are you not perpetuating a seventeenth-century standard? One that Ben Jonson himself broke by publishing his works underneath his own name. Claiming one's own work is not vulgar.'

Mr Gibbs blinked at her from behind his spectacles. Matthew smiled. He of all people would appreciate a reference to the o' rare Ben Jonson. Matthew was a wordsmith of no equal, but he did not use his gift for fiction, but for contracts. And really detailed Parliamentary speeches that Nancy had to edit down for time.

‘Be that as it may, I am the publisher, Lady Helen. And I will not print your name on this book.'

‘Matthew, what about the contract?' she asked, appealing to him. ‘Is there anything that stipulates that Mr Gibbs has the power not to include my name?'

Her brother sighed. ‘It's a bit murky. The contract is mostly focused on the financial aspects, how much of percentage you'll receive from each sale. The only verbiage on content was that you agreed to make editorial changes recommended by the publisher. All changes have already been made. Whether or not Mr Gibbs has the authority to exclude or change your name in print is not directly specified. We could sue him, of course, but it would probably take the Chancery Court years to come to a decision. You'll probably have written your fifth book by then.'

Matthew thought that she would write more books. And why shouldn't she? Helen had loved penning the first one. Papa had read every page and given a little feedback, but most of the work, nay, all of the work had been her own. She didn't want the wrong name published. Or someone else's name. Or no name at all. It was just another way the males of the human race silenced the females. She would not stand for it.

Turning on her heel, she lifted her nose in the air. ‘Mr Gibbs, I shall pay the entire cost for the printing of the book as long as it has my name. My full name.'

The publisher's already pasty face turned a paler shade. ‘My partner would never agree to such terms, my lady. Publishing a woman's book would be the ruination of our company. We might as well sell the printing presses at once and declare bankruptcy.'

Helen sighed, her eyes focusing on Susie. How were humans ever to evolve to equal partnership between the sexes if brave women did not demand it? If they did not open themselves for ridicule and public scorn as they fought for change. For opportunity. For a voice. A female voice. For women who were free to speak, think and dream however they wished.

‘Why don't I save you some time, Mr Gibbs?' Helen said, with a smirk. ‘There is no need for you or your partner to declare bankruptcy. I shall purchase this building, the printing presses, all supplies, your employees, and your company. Name your price.'

‘This is most irregular.'

Matthew grinned. ‘You'll find that most Stringhams are irregular.'

Mr Gibbs grimaced, breathing hard. No doubt he was processing this very large decision. He was not a young man and if he asked enough for his company, he would never have to work again. The publisher opened his mouth and said a number.

Helen turned to Matthew. ‘Is that fair?'

He set down his daughter, shaking out his fingers. ‘Let's write up a contract, shall we? Do you have a pen, Mr Gibbs?'

Once they were back in the carriage, Susie rolled the ink blotter over her father's buckskin breeches leaving trails of black ink. She'd acquired it during the two hours they'd waited for Matthew to write the contract. Her niece had also wangled twenty-six type letters from the clerk. She'd used one of Helen's discarded gloves to hold them.

Her niece picked out a metal letter. ‘H for Hellion.'

Helen smiled. ‘Now find S for Susie.'

‘And a M for Money,' Matthew said. ‘Whose money are you spending, by the by?'

She looked at her elder brother hopefully. ‘Would you be willing to advance me the sum?'

He lifted his hands like the weights of a scale. ‘I am not unwilling, but I do charge a rather high interest rate.'

She touched her chest. ‘But I'm family. I should get a discount.'

‘I know and I just wrote the Hamlet of contracts for you without charging you a fee. It is a piece of art. The seminal achievement of my pen.'

Helen yawned. ‘Is that why it took you so long?'

‘Fifty-seven separate clauses to protect you and your future company. Once Gibbs gets his partner to sign it. And you come up with the ready, of course.'

Leaning against her elbow, she sighed. ‘Do you think Mama would lend me four thousand pounds?'

‘No,' Matthew said flatly.

‘What if I told her it was a part of my dowry?'

‘Still no.'

‘Papa?'

‘He'd only ask Mama for permission.'

Helen nodded. Papa had long ago learned not to commit himself to anything without asking their mother first. ‘And how much interest do you charge?'

‘I don't give fixed rates of interest, even to family. It would range between five to ten per cent depending on the market. It could potentially be even higher.'

‘Enough to eat up all the profits from my sales, no doubt.'

‘No doubt,' he agreed with a smile. ‘If I were you, which happily I am not, I would use my feminine charms to extort the money from quite a different relative.'

A smile spread on her lips. ‘Grandfather Stubbs.'

‘He'll probably make you a gift of the money and give you a lot of good advice on running your company. But you'd best not bring any snakes or rodents to the interview. You'll have to charm Grandmother Stubbs as well, which is slightly more difficult. She will expect you to be well behaved and a perfect young debutante.'

Helen elbowed her brother hard in the stomach.

Matthew gasped. ‘Almost as good of an aim as Susie.'

His daughter looked up from her letters at the mention of her name. ‘Ices?'

‘Yes. I'd almost forgotten. I bribed her with ices to come with me today.'

‘You bribed your two-year-old daughter?'

Her brother intertwined his fingers behind his head, leaning back against the seat. ‘She's very nearly three. And it's never too early to teach her sound financial principles.'

‘Such as bribery?'

‘Precisely. Bribery is essential in business to grease the wheels of a deal. Every company does it.'

Helen couldn't complain too much, because she enjoyed ices at Gunter's as much as her niece. Today, she picked a most interesting flavour: currant. Not her favourite, but she did enjoy it. Susie sat in the chair beside her and got as much ice on her face and dress as in her mouth.

Matthew handed his daughter a napkin. ‘Perhaps if you take smaller bites, darling, less will end up in your lap.'

Susie spooned up a heaping amount of ice.

‘Or not,' he said with a chuckle.

Helen set down her own spoon. ‘Would you mind if we stopped at Covent Garden for some flowers?'

‘More potted plants for Lord Inverness?'

Annoyingly, she felt the blood rush to her face. Her brother was much too perceptive for his own good. ‘He's been ill.'

Matthew smiled. ‘Which I am sure has nothing to do with your walk by the lake in the pouring rain, nor your hackney ride home.'

Helen stiffened in her seat and stuck out her chin. ‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

He turned to his daughter and smiled. ‘Susie, Papa is now going to teach you another business principle called leverage.'

‘You mean blackmail!'

Her brother shook his head. ‘Such an ugly word.'

‘What do you want?'

‘I shall happily purchase a dozen more potted plants for your Scottish Earl, in exchange for you holding Susie in the carriage on the way home.'

Helen looked at her adorable and very dirty niece. ‘She's all sticky.'

‘And you will be, too,' Matthew assured her.

‘But you're already dirty. Your buckskins are covered in ink.'

He held up both hands. ‘Ten potted plants and I don't mention my astute observations to Mama. My best and final offer.'

‘Blackmail.'

‘Leverage.'

‘Fine,' Helen said between clenched teeth, holding out her arms to her niece. ‘Come to Aunty Hellion, Susie. We are going with your papa to buy some potted plants. The most expensive ones we can find.'