The Worldly Widow (25 page)

"Annabelle, I haven
'
t an inkling of what you
'
re talking about. But don
'
t stop. I
'
m intrigued. How is it possible to make
money by selling the Bible piece by piece?
"

"Copyright,
"
she said, "as if you didn
'
t know.
"

He sat down in her chair, crossed one booted foot over the other, and made a steeple with his fingers. "I
'
m burning with curiosity,
"
he told her. "Sit down and explain it to me.
"

She did. "
There
'
s no copyright on the Bible. Hence, no author
'
s advances or royalties.
"

"I get it. Therefore, there are more profits to be made for the publishing house?
"

"Precisely.
"

"But who would want to buy a Bible? Surely every home has one already?
"

"Only the moneyed classes can afford to buy books. There
'
s a whole new reading public out there who are just beginning to show an interest. Only they haven
'
t the money. That
'
s the beauty of Kelly
'
s scheme, you see. They can
'
t afford to buy the Bible at one go. So he
'
s making it easy for them. They buy it piece by piece, and at a price they can afford.
"

"Fascinating. And there
'
s money to be made from this? Then why isn
'
t everybody doing it?
"

"We do, to a greater or lesser degree. But even supposing that we print the odd book where the copyright has run out— that
'
s twenty-eight years after first printing, by the way—our product is still too costly for most people.
"

"But Annabelle Jocelyn has figured a way to change all that. Am I right?
"

She looked, he thought, like Joan of Arc must have looked when she was tied to the stake. Her eyes burned with an almost fanatical light, her breathing quickened, and her skin took on a glow. When she opened her lips to speak, he half expected to hear the ringing tones of a preacher bent on
saving the world from damnation.

Her expression suddenly changed, and she said contritely, "I
'
ll only bore you,
"
then quickly sliced him an adorably eager look which invited him to contradict her.

He couldn
'
t resist that look. "Annabelle,
"
he said, "nothing about you could ever bore me. You could recite recipes for all I care and they would be as sweet to my ears as the sonnets
of Shakespeare.
"

"You
'
re sure you want to hear?
"

"Positively.
"
He sat back and watched her through the veil of half-lowered lashes. "Go on,
"
he encouraged.

"Earlier, you were asking me about those broadsheets and chapbooks.
"
She gestured to the table along the wall where an assortment of thin picture books and single-page broadsheets were set out.

"And you told me that these scurrilous bits of nonsense were a gold mine for their originators.
"

Frowning, she said, "Don
'
t
b
e so top-lofty about something you know nothing about. Chapbooks may not be for the man or woman of a more exalted palette, but
…
"

"Annabelle,
"
he scoffed, "I wouldn
'
t let a child get hold of that piffle.
"

Her lips thinned. "Oh? And what kind of books do you read, Lord Dalmar?
"

He shifted uncomfortably under her hard stare. "I haven
'
t had much time for reading lately,
"
he said cautiously.

"Mmm,
"
she mused, "another non-reader, and therefore a potential market for my product. But that
'
s another story. If you
'
re going to get into publishing, Dalmar, you
'
d better make it your business to learn a thing or two about your readers. I have, and I'll let you into a little secret: I don
'
t care if we
'
re talking about those who read the so-called scurrilous chapbooks or a leatherbound volume authored by Walter Scott, we readers are all captivated by the same thing, more or less.
"

Though he was not persuaded, he did not know enough to contradict her. He waited patiently as she rose and moved gracefully to the tabletop collection of chapbooks and broadsheets he had earlier perused. After a moment he joined her.

"
Look at these titles,
"
she said, "
'
The King and the Cobbler,
'
'
St. George and the Dragon,
'
'Jack the Giant-Killer.
'
Doesn
'
t that suggest something to you?
"

"What?
"

"The old myths and legends, that
'
s what! There
'
s something
about them which appeals to everyone. If you
'
re a literary type, you
'
ll go for the ones which are dressed up in a suit of new clothes, you know—Walter Scott
'
s romances, for instance. What do you think all these gothics which women read are? They
'
re the story of St. George and the Dragon, suitably disguised, of course.
"

"And what about this tripe?
"
he asked, waving a broadsheet under her nose. "I ask you, Annabelle, 'Shocking Rape and Murder of Two Lovers!
'
It
'
s a dreadful tale.
"

"Did you read it?
"

"Yes.
"

"Did you read any of the others?
"

"No.
"

"Aha! I
'
m onto you,
"
she said, like a cat pouncing on a mouse. "You
'
ve betrayed the myth that appeals to you most. I
'
ll wager the only books in your library which you read are those horrid, shocking tales of the old Greek dramatists. Am I right?
"

He
smiled ruefully. "Yes, but…
"

"In a broadsheet, these stories would have lurid titles— nothing subtle about them. Let
'
s see now. 'Medea
'
would be 'Mother Murders Two Innocent Children,
'
for 'Electra
'
read 'Dastardly Matricide in Royal Palace,
'
and for 'Iphigenia,
'
how about, 'Father Practices Child Sacrifice on Lonely Moor
'
? The sequel might easily be entitled 'A Mother
'
s Revenge.
'
"

He laughed. "You
'
ve made your point. But surely you
'
re not thinking of getting into chapbooks and broadsheets? I thought Bailey
'
s was a cut above that. Don
'
t you publish books of poetry and essays and so on?
"

"We do. But so does every other publisher. There
'
s slim pickings to be had there. Dalmar, let me give you a word of advice: don
'
t
t
ry to copy anyone. If Bailey
'
s was to try and become another Longmans, we
'
d fail miserably. They
'
re good at what they do. Find something that nobody else is doing, or a market that has yet to be tapped. As for chapbooks and broadsheets, I think they
'
ve had their day. No, the point I wish to make is this: there are two reasons why this form of literature is doing well. The first is that more people can afford
it. The second is that it is widely distributed.
"

"By street hawkers and peddlers.
"

"Yes. Quite an impracticable way to sell books. But believe me, Dalmar, for the publisher who comes up with a cheaper product and a better means of distribution than we have at present, the profits are likely to be enormous.
"

"And you think you have solved the problem?
"

"I may have.
"
Her smile was faintly self-congratulatory.

"And?
"

"Oh no! I'
m not telling you
all
my secrets until I know what you
'
re up to.
You might steal a march on me. I'
ve told you more than enough as it is.
"

His eyes dropped to the pages in his hand. "I would never do anything to hurt you,
"
he said quietly.

"Hurt me?
"
His words seemed to amuse her. "Dalmar, this is business.
"
She shook her head as if she could not quite believe that anyone could be so naive. "It
'
s not a question of hurting anyone. We
'
re competitors. You do your best; I
'
ll do mine. If you
'
re going to make a success in this business, you must
…
well
…
forget about the ties of friendship and so on. We
'
ve had this discussion before. I thought you understood. Hurting a competitor, even supposing that competitor is a friend, is not the same thing as betraying a friendship. In the marketplace, it
'
s every man for himself.
"

"Is that your philosophy? No quarter asked or given?
"

"Not generally, of course. But
…
"

"Yes, I know. Business is business.
"
He returned her hard, suspicious scrutiny with innocent eyes and a bland smile.

"I
'
d love to help you get started,
"
she said finally in a conciliatory tone. "If you
'
d only tell me a little more.
"

"Nothing
'
s settled, and I would not want a competitor to steal a march on me,
"
he returned suavely.

She tilted her head and looked up at him with reproach in her eyes. "David! I would never do anything unethical!
"

"
Wouldn
'
t you? What about this stuff?
"
he asked and he strode to her desk and held out the loose pages of Monique Dupres
'
s memoirs.

Annabelle snatched them out of his hands and clutched
them to her bosom. "You were eavesdropping!
"
she accused. "You overheard Lord Temple!
"

He did not deny it.

With color high on her cheekbones, she stalked to a large oak escritoire, unlocked the bottom drawer, and thrust the manuscript inside. She locked the drawer and pocketed the key. Only then did she turn to face him.

Before she could rail at him, he interjected, "Publish that particular work, and I can promise you a rash of lawsuits.
"

"Let them sue,
"
she said disparagingly. "It will more than triple the sales I
'
m expecting to make. But you
'
re wrong. They won
'
t take Bailey
'
s to court. They
'
d only lose, and they know it.
"

"There
'
s more at stake than Bailey
'
s Press. There
'
s your own reputation to consider. Publish that manuscript and every door in London will be closed to you.
"