Poachers in the Mist
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Desire And Despair: Book 3 Of Poacher's ProgressChapter 3: Publish And Be Sued free porn video
Becky and Zinnia had returned to Bloomsbury Square and my sole dining companion that evening was Matilde, and very fetching she looked in a gown exposing her fine shoulders and the upper slopes of her breasts. I remarked it was a dress wasted on a single male. She smiled at me from across at the table, leaning forward so I had an uninterrupted view of her cleavage.
"I'm displaying what you are forfeiting, Jacques; but Caroline is a worthy winner of your heart and I bear her no ill will. In any case many beaux will be calling on me, and I shall soon find another with whom to share a sausage."
Next morning I got dressed in uniform; buckled a sword belt around my waist with my broadsword in the scabbard, then set out to collect Becky and Zinnia to visit the publishers of 'Frankenstein'. I took a hackney cab to Bloomsbury Square, and only had to wait an hour before both females were ready. Fortunately the cabby was a former cavalry man, wounded during the Waterloo Campaign, and we exchanged military experiences while waiting.
Eventually we set off for the publishing firm of Lackington's, who conducted their business in Finsbury Square.
Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor, and Jones, to give them full and proper title, were not some fly-by-night street ballad sheet printer tucked away in some noisome alley off Fleet Street. They were a respectable, honest, well thought of enterprise, established in a building which demonstrated those virtues, and I considered it odd such a reputable business would even countenance publishing a plagiarised work.
On entering the lobby we were met by a stiff necked supercilious specimen of a clerk, the type that gets me itching to box their ears and kick their rump.
"I am Chief Secretary to Messrs Lackington, Hughes, Harding, Mavor and Jones. Authors will deposit their manuscripts with the clerks at that desk."
He pointed to a bunch of scribbling scribes ensconced at a huge desk in one corner of the lobby. "If you do not have an appointment with any of the partners please leave by the same door by which you entered."
I fixed him with a glare. "You will announce to Mister Lackington that Major Greenaway and the Misses Sharpe and Teazle are here to see him on important business."
The lackey gobbled like a turkey cock "You can't come in and demand..."
"NOW!" I used the voice I employed to give the order to fire over the din of battle. He withered before my blast; the girls shrieked in surprise, and the scribblers in the corner spilt ink over their manuscripts as they jumped with shock.
A terrified looking Chief Secretary showed us into Mr Lackington's office, the occupier of which stood up and ushered us into some cushioned chairs. "Milliband, please arrange for refreshments to be brought in directly, and we are not to be disturbed." He waved his hand in dismissal to his lackey.
"I apologise for my man's disrespect to you – he is an admirable secretary but lacks humour, humility and common sense." He gave a short laugh. "I suspect he will need a change of underwear after hearing you shout, Major Greenaway. Fact is I nearly unmanned myself at the sound as well."
I apologised for any distress caused to his staff, and to their washer women, and Lackington chortled with mirth. I warmed to the man, and thought it unlikely such a person would countenance plagiarism.
"I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before, Major, but I'm sure I've encountered the name 'Greenaway'." He beamed at Becky and Zinnia. " These two ladies are known to me, but until today only by reputation. I am delighted to finally make their acquaintance." He bowed to Becky. "Miss Sharpe's prose is of the highest quality, and I envy the publisher who is graced by her work."
He turned to Zinnia. "Miss Teazle is well known for her diligence in placing her friend's work before the public. Welcome ladies, and how can I be of assistance?"
Before Zinnia, who was the best equipped of the three of us to explain the reason for our visit, a comely young woman entered the room bearing a tray with a jug of some cordial concoction, and a plate of delicious looking Dundee cake. "Thank you Kate, please put the tray on the table by the desk." Lackington gave the lass an affectionate smile. "My wife's niece, Miss Catherine Gore. She is employed as an editor and reader of manuscripts. When Kate gives her approval to a manuscript I am minded to publish the work."
The girl smiled sweetly at us, and as she left I noticed she moved with the slinky sinuousness of a cat. I also noted Lackington had watched her departing with a similar appreciation to my own.
He went to the table and poured two glasses of the cordial and handed them to the girls. "Please help yourself to the cake, ladies, which is delicious, and comes from Mister Fortnum's provision store." He turned to me. "Actually, Major, I prefer a glass of Amontillado at this time of morning. Will you join me, or would you rather a glass of brandy or rum?"
"Amontillado will do admirably."
We held our glasses in hand, taking appreciative sips, as Zinnia began the tale of the plagiarised story. Lackington heard her to the end before speaking.
"As you are aware, Miss Teazle, plagiarism is a serious charge. Is there any evidence, written evidence that is, to support this accusation?" Zinnia shook her head. "So it would be your word and that of Miss Sharpe against the three others who were present at the alleged reading."
I bristled, and half rose from my chair. Lackington raised a hand. "I am using the terminology of the legal profession, Major, which is where such an accusation would lead, should you proceed with your allegation."
Zinnia started to speak. "I'm sure Mary..." Once again Lackington raised his hand. "I must stop you, Miss Teazle, from mentioning the name of any of the other three at the alleged reading. A publisher of a suspected plagiarised novel must be kept unaware of anything pertaining to the case until it has been dealt with in law." He looked at us with sympathetic eyes. "It may seem harsh and uncaring but I cannot help you in the case."
"Can you at least tell us who delivered the manuscript? His identity might allow us to track down the author; face to face we may be able to come to some arrangement regarding acknowledging Becky's, I mean Miss Sharpe's, authorship of the book?" I kept my voice as reasonable a tone as possible, but my anger was beginning to mount. If this man was shielding someone I would give him good reason for soiling his drawers. I had the feeling Lackington would like to ask what my interest was in the case, but my fierce disposition had made him wary of annoying me. I had not mentioned Becky was my sister and he may have assumed I had a romantic attachment to her, or to Zinnia, or to both.
After a moment's hesitation he said. "It was delivered by a courier, with no return address."
"So how do you know to whom pay the royalties?" Zinnia's question was uttered as soon as Lackington had finished speaking.
He looked at her in admiration. "I see your reputation for a quick wit is well earned Miss Teazle. Royalties from the novel in question are paid into a trust fund managed by a Mister William Godwin, as directed in a note enclosed with the manuscript."
"Perchance the same William Godwin to whom the preface was dedicated; written by his son-in-law, Percy Bysshe Shelley?" Zinnia's tone of voice would have sliced through steel.
Lackington looked uncomfortable. "Obviously, given the destination of the royalties, one can make an educated guess as to who the author of the manuscript might be. However, anonymity is afforded to authors to shield their privacy from the unwanted glare of scrutiny from both the readership and society at large. Many females write as 'anon', and taking the substance of this book into consideration the author may have decided to avail himself, or herself, of that protection. Several other publishers turned down the manuscript, but Kate, my niece Miss Catherine Gore, read it and advised me that it should be published. She said it had elements of Shelley's writing style, but the story itself displayed a more feminine directed ambience,"
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