Chapter 8: Stories from the Editorial Department

Chapter 8 Tales from the Editorial Office

Typically, a magazine has only one editor, usually the founder. For women's magazines, the founder’s wife often plays a significant role as well. They usually work from home, with submissions arriving via mail from contributors nationwide or by directly hiring critics, journalists, and columnists to provide content. The editor’s sole responsibility is to check for typos and content that could trigger censorship before handing the manuscripts over to the printer.

However, with the Duke's support, *Ladies' Monthly* employs three editors—two of them women—and even boasts a dedicated office and reading room.

At this moment, sunlight streams onto the office's white wallpaper with delicate light-green florals. A wall packed with books stands nearby, and above the fireplace in the center hangs a landscape oil painting. Opposite the fireplace stands a long mahogany desk where the three sit, poring over submissions.

"I have to say, the recent fiction submissions are all the same," sighed the young female editor, Lucy. "I've had enough of Cinderella stories. I mean, can't we get something fresh?"

"They wouldn’t send us anything new even if they had it," the male editor remarked self-deprecatingly. "After all, we've only been in circulation for six months. Lunneton’s full of dead magazines."

Editor-in-Chief Madam Auchter ignored them. Her brow furrowed, she held a silver-handled letter opener and slowly sliced open a large envelope. "When His Grace the Duke mentioned this to me, I never thought it’d show up. Does he truly believe his students can produce illustrations good enough to sell?"

"Just a teacher’s blind faith," the male editor commented. "But he did say we’d have the final say. Isn’t that asking too much—to expect *Ladies' Monthly*'s standard of engravings?"

"The only one who should worry is Lucy," Madam Auchter joked. "After all, the magazine’s illustrations have always been her responsibility."

Lucy managed a faint smile and waved her hand. "In front of you two, I’m merely a student."

By now, Madam Auchter had opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of drawings, along with a cream-colored manuscript placed on top.

"This must be the accompanying text for the illustrations," Madam Auchter said, picking up the cream-colored paper while distributing the drawings to the other two. She began reading curiously.

It opened with Helen, a girl who fell ill, curled up on a narrow bed, hoping her parents would help her. However, her mother, Mrs. Chris, insisted there wasn’t enough money to call a doctor and even demanded Helen wash the entire family’s laundry.

*Madam Auchter: ??? Well, I’m already angry.*

Helen sobbed that her earnings as a maid had been taken by her parents—how could there be no money? Yet her parents refused to summon a doctor, and her younger brother clapped and jeered, saying she was going to die.

Madam Auchter, who also had a younger brother, clenched her fists.

Just as Helen lay dying in bed, a noble family’s carriage from the Victors arrived outside. The housekeeper, seeing Helen’s dire condition, immediately called for the family physician. She slapped Helen’s mother and declared that if Helen died, the family would never survive in Lunneton.

This gave Madam Auchter a rush of satisfaction. "Unrealistic, but..."

Helen soon recovered, and only then did the housekeeper reveal the truth: Helen was actually of the Victors’ bloodline. Her mother, a maid in the Victor household, had switched Helen with the Victors’ real daughter during Lady Victor’s childbirth. In other words, Helen was the true Victor daughter, while the girl raised as their daughter was actually the maid’s child.

*Madam Auchter: ??? This is absurd!*

The manuscript devoted pages to detailing Helen’s miserable childhood. Though a member of the family, she was treated like a servant, doing all the household chores. Her parents would beat and scold her at the slightest provocation, neighborhood children mocked her, and she was forbidden from touching anything belonging to her brother. Despite having a home, she envied the children who lived on the streets.

[Starving, Helen picked up a leftover biscuit her brother had discarded and wolfed it down. But her brother saw her and clapped and jeered, "The trash ate my biscuit! The trash ate my biscuit!"

"It fell on the ground—you didn’t want it anymore," Helen tried to defend herself.

Mrs. Chris coldly grabbed her by the hair, dragged her into a tiny attic room, and locked the door without hesitation. "Stay here and reflect on what you’ve done."

That time, she was starved for two days. She gnawed at the bed frame, clutching it in desperation. As if drawn by the sound, a well-fed mouse curiously emerged from its hole and stared at her.

"Even a mouse can fill its belly," Helen muttered to herself. "I wish I were a mouse."]

"Why treat her like this? She’s just a child!" Madam Auchter fumed, her breath ragged with fury.

As a magazine editor, Madam Auchter had read countless women’s novels. She’d encountered many orphaned heroines, but while reading those stories, she’d always felt detached—after all, they were just fiction. Yet Helen’s story drew her in like nothing before. Seeing Helen humiliated made her own blood boil.

Upon learning she wasn’t truly the Chris family’s child, Helen was initially in disbelief.

["I’m Lord Victor’s daughter?" Helen stammered. "I’m… my own lady?"]

Helen was so envious of her young mistress—being able to learn piano and foreign languages from a governess. That sleek, ebony piano—she had merely touched it once, only to have her hand slapped by the head maid.

The youngest daughter of the Victor family had endless dresses to wear and jewelry to adorn herself with. Her parents and brother would embrace her, kiss her cheeks, and affectionately call her "little angel." Every time her father returned from a trip, he would bring small gifts to delight her. These were things Helen couldn’t even imagine for herself.

Yet all of this should have belonged to Helen.

Suddenly, Helen realized why her childhood had been so wretched. It turned out that the false parents, who had swapped the children, took out their frustrations from serving the Victor family on the actual child of the Victors. They even sent Helen to the Victors’ household as their own daughter’s maid, risking exposure, deriving perverse satisfaction from it.

["We treated her well," Mrs. Chris blurted out to the housekeeper, gripping Helen’s arm as the truth came to light. "We don’t know what’s happening—how could Helen suddenly be the Victors' child? Surely there’s been a mistake! Helen, tell them! Haven’t I been good to you?"

Helen flinched and shrank back from Mrs. Chris’s grasp. Seeing this, the housekeeper seized Helen’s other arm and pushed up her sleeve, revealing skin mottled with bruises—fresh wounds layered over old ones, a patchwork of blues and purples.

"They haven’t beaten me in two days," Helen quickly explained.]

A sharp *bang* made the male editor and Lucy, who had been reviewing the illustrations, look up. Madam Auchter, seething with rage, had slammed her hand on the desk—only to wince at the pain it caused her.

"Despicable! Scoundrels! As vile as toads!" Madam Auchter stormed around the office, the manuscript pages rustling violently in her grip. She wished she knew more curse words, forced to repeat the same few words. "I’ve never encountered such a wicked family! How evil! They belong in hell! Hell!!!"

The male editor and Lucy froze like startled rabbits, neither daring to speak up despite their burning curiosity.

When Madam Auchter finally calmed slightly, Lucy ventured, "Madam, what has upset you so?"

"That damned, vile family," Madam Auchter snapped, still fuming. "They dared to swap their own child with their masters’ daughter—and then abused the poor girl!"

"What?" Lucy’s eyes widened. "How could anyone do such a thing?"

"In this manuscript," Madam Auchter shook the pages with a rustle, "if you wish to read it, take it. I don’t even want to look at it now."

Lucy eagerly took the papers, adding, "I’ve finished reviewing the illustrations. Honestly, they’re quite good, but the accompanying text is confusing. For example—" She held up a sketch of a girl in a faded grayish-white cotton dress, her hair tucked under a white headscarf, holding a bouquet of violets. The caption read:

*"Helen is about to meet her birth parents. She wears her only dress without patches, washed until pale, and borrows money from the housekeeper to buy violets—symbolizing eternal love. She longs so desperately for their love."*

"Oh, poor Helen," Madam Auchter murmured, her fingers tracing the girl’s face on the paper. "Once you’re back with them, you’ll finally be happy."

Baffled, Lucy tilted her head—until she read a few lines of the manuscript and gasped in realization. "The sketches match the story! The story is about Helen, and the illustrations are based on her tale. Wow, what a brilliant idea!"

"No, according to His Grace the Duke," Madam Auchter said, her tone steadying, "the illustrations are meant for a kind of toy."

Though the Duke hadn’t requested secrecy, Madam Auchter’s professional integrity ensured she wouldn’t leak details about the new product.

As she examined the sketches, Madam Auchter noted that while the clothing designs were somewhat unrefined, they suited Helen’s character and the captions perfectly. Many only needed minor adjustments or added details.

What surprised her, however, were the color schemes. Red dresses were typically solid or paired with black; gold was another popular choice, with occasional white or plaid accents. Yet in one sketch, she saw a dress with dark green sleeves and skirt, paired with a pale red bodice. The bold contrast stopped her in her tracks—such daring color clashes were unheard of—and stunning.

"This could be its own spread," Madam Auchter mused, intrigued. "How did they think to print patterns on dresses like this?"

Elena kept her inspiration to herself—she had simply borrowed designs from future films and paired them with silhouettes from *Ladies' Monthly*. With the magazine’s oversight, she could go wild with ideas.

Just as Madam Auchter set aside a few sketches to share later, Lucy suddenly banged her fist on the desk and cried out, "How could they play favorites so shamelessly? That’s their own flesh and blood!"

"What?" Madam Auchter jerked her head up, her gaze sharp. "Favoritism? Their own child? What happened? What’s wrong with Helen?"