Chapter 9: The Bookstore Owner is Stocking Up

Chapter 9: The Bookstore Owner's Inventory

Regardless of the complaints from the magazine editorial department, after half a month of preparation, the new issue of *Lady's Monthly* was released, featuring the new serialized novel *Helen*. Due to limitations in color printing technology, the cards and paper dolls were not released simultaneously. However, the magazine included an image of a Helen doll and a set of clothing as preliminary promotion.

Fresh off the press, magazines were transported from the bindery to various locations in Luneton. Some were stocked at roadside bookstalls, others found homes in small bookstores at train stations, some were delivered to households with annual subscriptions, and some arrived at Luneton’s largest bookstore—the Temple of Muses Bookstore.

Ordinary bookstores weren’t just bookstores; they were stationers, offering a wide range of paper, stamps, envelopes, pens, books, magazines, and newspapers. Sometimes, they even functioned as libraries, where subscribers could borrow dozens of three-decker novels for an annual fee of 21 shillings, while purchasing a full set of a novel would cost 31 shillings—equivalent to half the weekly income of an average middle-class family.

But the Temple of Muses Bookstore was different. It resembled a modern bookstore, boasting a collection of over 500,000 books, with a lobby so spacious six horses could pass abreast. This single store alone brought its owner an annual income exceeding £5,000.

At that moment, its owner, James Henry, was in the lobby, cataloging the newly arrived books and magazines.

"Sir," a clerk reported to him, "the new issues of *Lady's Monthly*, *Lady's Magazine*, and *Lady's Assembly* have arrived."

"Put them in their usual place," James replied without looking up, busy marking entries in the book catalog.

The clerk hesitated for a moment before whispering, "I heard this issue of *Lady's Monthly* features a new serialized novel. Madam Auchter has a love-hate relationship with it. Since you’re considering expanding into publishing, I thought..."

The social circles in Luneton were small, and Madam Auchter was a well-known editor of women’s magazines. James had naturally heard of her. She and her late husband, Mr. Auchter, had co-founded *Lady’s Home*, a magazine that achieved remarkable sales. After her husband’s unexpected death, she struggled to keep the magazine afloat alone until she was eventually recruited by *Lady's Monthly*.

James looked up, pondered briefly, and said, "Bring me a copy."

He had long wanted to move into publishing. Since the opening of the Temple of Muses Bookstore, his success had drawn criticism and hostility from competitors. He needed to find a way to protect his reputation—after all, in Luneton, reputation was invaluable.

James had considered publishing his own biography, but publishing and selling were entirely different fields. Before entering an unfamiliar industry, it was best to find a collaborator.

He had already identified two potential works by anonymous authors. One was a serialized realist novel about the slums of Luneton’s West End in *The Cornell Magazine*. Though its sales might be underwhelming, James believed it could generate significant attention—though it might also end in total failure. Regardless, it was worth a gamble.

The other was a popular horror story serialized in *penny dreadfuls*, chronicling the legendary exploits of the infamous thief Dick.

*Penny dreadfuls* weren’t the names of magazines or newspapers but rather cheap fiction catering to the working class. These were small booklets of 8 to 16 pages, printed on inexpensive wood-pulp paper, with a half-page black-and-white illustration on the first page and sloppy typesetting. Priced at just a penny, they attracted a massive readership, with hundreds of publishers competing to produce them.

The story of Dick the Thief was a long-running hit in *penny dreadfuls*, serialized for over a year and still ongoing. If repackaged as a proper book, many readers would likely want to buy it for their collections.

Both candidate works targeted male readers. Of course, James also wanted to find works by female authors, but his own gender limited his understanding. He couldn’t comprehend how the popular women’s stories of the time became popular—to him, they seemed to belong to another world.

"Alright," James muttered to himself after finishing his tasks. He opened *Lady's Monthly* with the thought, *Let’s see if I can understand Madam Auchter’s taste*, and searched for the new serialized novel. "This must be it—the new serial, *Helen*."

As a "gentleman," James usually refrained from commenting on what he read. Even when he encountered the scene where Helen, burning with fever, pleaded for a doctor, he merely furrowed his brows and thought, *They must have their reasons for writing this,* and continued reading patiently.

But when he saw that Helen’s hard-earned money was taken by her parents, who then refused to spend it on her treatment, it hit too close to home.

Yes, James hadn’t always been wealthy. He wasn’t nobility—his fortune was built through years of hard work. The more he earned, the more he understood the difficulty of making money. In his youth, he would have fought anyone who tried to steal from him.

The helplessness and fury of having one’s money—meant for hospital bills—stolen by thieves flared in James’s chest, and it took him a while to calm down.

James also noticed that the pacing of this novel was unusually fast. Typically, novels were published in three-deckers: the first to hook readers, the second to develop the plot, and the third to deliver a satisfying conclusion. To fill three volumes, the plot was often stretched thin. But *Helen* opened with the protagonist bedridden by illness, and within the first 2,000 words, she was already in conflict with her parents—barreling forward like a steam locomotive.

Even three-decker novels didn’t introduce such intense conflict so quickly, and *penny dreadfuls*, known for their brisk pacing, wouldn’t deliver such dramatic twists in the first 2,000 words either.

When the housekeeper appeared and struck Helen’s parents, followed by the revelation of Helen’s true identity, it all unspooled effortlessly. By the time Helen recovered and borrowed money to meet her real parents, the story had only reached around 6,000 words.

Generally, three-decker novels ranged from 150,000 to 200,000 words. James couldn’t imagine how the story could continue after this. If this were another author’s work, the revelation of Helen’s true identity might have been saved for the final volume. But now that it was out in the open, what else was left to write?

As he read on in confusion, he discovered that when Helen nervously arrived at her biological parents’ estate—described in exhaustive detail over hundreds of words, along with the servants’ disdain—her parents weren’t even home. The reason? The false daughter, who had taken Helen’s place, was so distraught upon learning the truth that her parents had taken her on a vacation to console her.

Familiar anger flared in James’s chest—until he saw that Helen’s brother had stayed behind at the estate to wait for her, which slightly eased his frustration.

[*"So you’re my sister?"* Helen’s brother stood at the top of the staircase, sneering down at her, oozing contempt. *"Don’t dare claim what isn’t yours. I’ll not tolerate a country bumpkin for a sister."*]

James snapped the magazine shut, barely restraining the urge to punch something, taking several deep breaths as he muttered to himself, "Is there really such a foolish and malicious person in this world?"

He thought of the fools he had encountered on his life’s journey and couldn’t help but sigh, "Of course there is."

He didn’t need to worry about what would happen next, because just from the beginning, he could imagine that Helen’s days after returning home wouldn’t be easy, with such biased parents and a dim-witted brother.

James calmed himself, opened the magazine again, and was about to continue reading when he realized there was nothing more. This issue only contained ten thousand words.

"Only ten thousand words!" He couldn’t help but flip through the pages again, confirming that there were only so many words, "I thought I had read an entire volume."

After a moment’s thought, he took out the red leather notebook from his pocket, grabbed the short mechanical pencil from his belt, and wrote down his thoughts, "Just ten thousand words, yet they managed to stir my emotions and provoke an anger I can’t quite place. What an astonishing piece of literature. Some passages left me feeling oppressed, while others allowed me to vent. I was completely immersed in this story, sympathizing deeply with Helen, and harboring a strange hatred for her adoptive and biological parents—something I wasn’t easily moved by before."

"Could the story of 'Helen' happen in reality? I doubt it, but it feels as if somewhere in Luton, there truly exists a Helen suffering at the hands of her adoptive parents. And when she returns to her biological parents with hope, she faces another form of abuse—indifference, disdain, contempt. If this were real, I swear I would bring her hateful adoptive parents to court, to face judgment and public condemnation! And that despicable brother, joining the army would be the best choice for him."

Writing this, James couldn’t help but sigh. How he wished the story were true, at least then he could do something to save Helen in the story.

As he was about to put the magazine away, he noticed an illustration on the back page and read the text below it curiously, "Please cut out Helen and dress her in new clothes. Hmm, is this... a toy?"

"Would Nancy like it?" He thought for a moment, placed six pennies on the counter, and tucked the magazine under his arm, planning to take it home to show his wife that evening.

While James was still busy in the bookstore, his wife Nancy was preparing for her “At Home Day.”

Due to the severe pollution of the river near Luton, the city was enveloped in its stench during the summer months. Therefore, families who could afford it would try every means to escape Luton until after the Feast of the Divine, when the nobles would have to return to attend the council, staying until early summer of the following year.

This period evolved into an unofficial social season. During this time, the nobility and middle class spent their days visiting friends, attending balls, watching theatrical performances, and listening to concerts, among other activities.

The middle class had a complete set of social etiquette, and Nancy was one of its practitioners. After the social season began, she went out every day to visit neighbors, friends, and family, which was her duty. At the same time, she had to be at home for one or two days each month to receive visitors, which was her “At Home Day.”

She had to wear a reception gown at home, prepare tea and pastries, and entertain dozens, sometimes even more, female guests. If Nancy failed to treat all her guests well, she would be considered a negligent hostess, and fewer guests would come the next time, damaging her and her husband’s reputation.

The arrival of the first guest kicked off a hectic afternoon. The doorbell kept jingling, with scarves, hats, coats, and overcoats soon filling the entire hall. Some of the women played tunes on the piano, others spun around dancing, while a handful were sipping tea and chatting. Silver trays, bone china teacups, and cutlery were scattered everywhere.

"My dear, you're quite occupied," Mrs. Stephen, Nancy's close friend, called her over to rest.

Exhausted, Nancy flopped down next to Mrs. Stephen and took a swig of tea. "Apologies, what were you all discussing?"

Mrs. Stephen waved the magazine in her hand. "There's a new story in here that infuriated me. I've never come across a story this maddening—so I decided I simply must share it with all of you."

"Oh, you troublemaker," Nancy chided. "What kind of story is it?"

"You'll see for yourself," Mrs. Stephen kept the story under wraps. "The others have already read it. It's quite short. Pity you don't have time now, but you can save it for tonight—you know, story time."

Every evening when James returned home, the family would gather together, with his wife, daughter, or son reading aloud from some entertaining material. Though he had time to read outside, these nightly family reading sessions held a special significance.

Time flew, and as night fell, James, before heading home, reminded his employee, "Remember to order another two thousand copies of *Ladies' Monthly* tomorrow."

"Two thousand?" The employee scratched his head. "That makes five thousand in total. But last issue, we only ordered three thousand?"

"I have a feeling this issue will sell even better," James said with a laugh.

When he arrived home, he was surprised to find Nancy reading *Ladies' Monthly* by lamplight.

"Where did you get that?" He pulled out the copy he had brought home, grinning sheepishly.

"Our neighbor, Mrs. Stephen, lent it to me," Nancy smiled at him. "Today was my day to host. She and several other ladies visited this afternoon and insisted I read a particular story in here. She said she'd never encountered anything so infuriating, yet couldn't resist sharing it with us."

"Wow," James froze, scratching his head. "In that case, those extra two thousand copies might fly off the shelves."