Chapter 11: Playing with Paper Dolls

Chapter 11 Playing with Paper Dolls

The Duke of Berkeley was undoubtedly very generous, giving her a full £40 for her manuscript and even presenting her with a magazine as a keepsake.

"Helen dolls will be released this Saturday," His Grace said, resting his chin on his hand, his cheeks puffing out. "If you want one, just ask the butler to bring it for you."

"So soon?" Elena was surprised. "How many are prepared?"

The Duke blinked. "Take a guess?"

Elena expressionlessly pocketed the money and prepared to leave.

"Wow, you're so sensitive!" Berkeley retorted, puffing his cheeks. "Fine, don’t guess then. You’ll find out on Saturday anyway."

It seemed he intended to keep the suspense until the end. Elena gave an indifferent "Oh" and walked away without looking back.

Carrying the paper bag and her writing box, she headed to the writing room, where Vera and a new friend were waiting for her.

The new friend was named Grace—her name alone suggested she was the daughter of a religious family. She came from the middle class and had been on the brink of death during the cholera outbreak a few years prior. Her parents had exhausted their savings to save her, and they had temporarily moved here to escape the neighbors' gossip.

Since her family wasn’t well-off, she also contributed by submitting articles to magazines and helping clean rooms to earn points. The readers’ letters earlier had been brought up by her.

"You're back," Vera greeted her, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the magazine. "Did you buy this?"

"His Grace gave it to me," Elena said, opening the magazine to the page with the paper doll and taking out small scissors from her writing box. "Want to try it?"

Though the club purchased magazines, members rarely cut into them. Only now did she have the chance to play with one.

When the paper doll was first made, it was just a simple little paper cutout. You’d need candle wax to stick the clothes on, but then she remembered that most paper dolls she’d played with in the past had small tabs, and some even had tiny slits on the doll’s shoulders to insert the tabs from the clothes, securing them without the need for dangerous candle wax.

Making a slit was troublesome, but drawing two small tabs was easy. Elena cut out the Helen doll and its clothes, folded the clothing tabs, and fixed them onto the doll. Just like that, the outfit was changed.

"SR can include background images as scenes," she mused, examining the little paper figure in her hand. "A plain paper doll feels too basic."

Though modeled after modern dress-up games, there were still some differences due to the era. For instance, the paper doll had to wear a nightgown—no exposed midriffs allowed. Moreover, to promote feminine gentleness and humility, the butler had initially suggested drawing Helen’s eyes slightly downcast, avoiding direct eye contact with children.

Elena had vetoed that, of course. Even from a psychological standpoint, eye contact with the doll was important. Many model advertisements featured direct gazes to capture buyers' attention and establish an emotional connection.

"This looks fun," Vera said eagerly, itching to try it herself as she fiddled with the little paper figure. "When are you planning to release them? Can I pre-order?"

"Of course," Elena replied, tidying up the leftover paper scraps and placing the small scissors back into the writing box. "The exact release date depends on *Helen*, but it should be within the next few days."

"Honestly," Grace said hesitantly, "even without *Helen*, these little things would be very popular—I never had proper toys to play with."

Elena couldn’t help but ask curiously, "Oh? What interesting toys have you played with, then?"

"I only had one cloth doll," the new friend shook her head.

"I had several dolls," Vera chimpered, gesturing. "Some were porcelain, others wooden. I used to make clothes for them. They had their own little houses, tiny tables, small beds... Sometimes I envied them. Oh, and have you played the game of Grace?"

"Of course," Elena said. Girls didn’t have many games to play, and the game of Grace was relatively popular. It was simple—each holding two sticks and tossing a ring while another person tried to catch it with their sticks. It was elegant and provided a bit of physical activity. Elena used to play it often with her sister at home. "We can play together next time."

Grace looked at it enviously. "She’s so adorable. When I played with my cloth doll, I always wanted to change her clothes, but sewing a pretty dress was too hard."

Elena could relate. Sewing wasn’t as easy as modern people might think—hems, ruffles, rolled edges... Just the lacework alone was a headache.

"Paper doll clothes are much easier. They just need to be printed on paper, and changing them is easy. Hmm," Grace seemed to notice something. "Is that a mole under her eye?"

"Yes, to distinguish her from other dolls," Elena said simply, watching Vera hold the golden-haired, blue-eyed Helen doll, whose slightly downcast lashes gave her a melancholic gaze. "If others try to copy her, they might easily overlook this little mole, but I mentioned it more than once in *Helen*—it’s her defining feature."

"Wow, that's amazing," Vera also felt the charm of the mole. "When it's released, you must set aside a copy for me."

Elena readily agreed—worst case, she could ask the butler to set aside another copy.

After playing with the paper dolls, Elena noticed the paper bag containing readers' letters. She carefully opened the seal of wax with a letter opener from the writing desk.

Pulling out a letter, she hesitated for a moment before handing it to Vera. "Can you read this for me? I'm afraid they might be scolding me in the letter."

She was well aware of how maddening her stories were. Much like modern binge-worthy shorts, she was used to grabbing readers from the very beginning to keep their attention in an era drowning in entertainment options. The more aggravating the opening, the more viewers stuck around—even if they were just cursing the author.

With her modern sensibilities, Elena couldn’t help but worry about readers writing in to berate her.

Vera took the letter with amusement, read it from start to finish, then let out a drawn-out "Hmm..." "Well, they are definitely angry, but educated ladies wouldn’t just curse at you in a letter. They mostly just hope you’ll treat Helen better. Ah, poor Helen..."

Elena felt even guiltier. Better? That wasn’t happening—Helen’s "blessings" were yet to come.

"But," Grace faltered, "I’ve heard that many authors, once a certain type of story becomes popular, will start writing that kind too. It might affect your... creativity?"

Elena had considered this before, but she wasn’t bothered. "Let them write, then." Modern 'switched at birth' tropes were everywhere, with endless variations—the real heir tapping into mystic arts, the fake heir becoming the darling of the story, or even both heirs living harmoniously. The trend proved that trends couldn’t be stopped—they only fueled more creativity.

Besides, she found life deadly dull. Compared to the rich variety of novels, games, and short videos in modern times, her current existence wasn’t just boring—it was downright soul-crushing. If she were a true blue Lunden local, she might have endured the monotony, but with memories of an internet-glutted brain, reverting to this stone-age existence was agony.

Like someone stuck in the bathroom scrutinizing shampoo bottle labels out of sheer boredom, Elena couldn’t stand this soul-crushing boredom any longer.

"If they actually write something good," she thought, "something less 'melancholic' and 'preachy,' I’d even thank them. God knows this world needs a few more Dumas or Jane Austens."

Whether more Dumas would emerge remained to be seen, but Lunden’s magazines certainly wanted more Helens.

The renowned *Cassell Magazine* never expected that the month’s talk of the town wouldn’t be itself or its rival *The Strand Magazine*, but rather a niche women’s magazine that had stolen their thunder with a "surprise."

When a magazine with a circulation of only 15,000 suddenly doubled its sales, everyone wanted to know the secret behind its success.

"Yes, I admit I was furious reading this story too," the Editor-in-Chief said during an office meeting. "But it has not a shred of literary value."

Baffled, he continued, "I thought people read to learn something, not to be... bewitched by this kind of writing. Do they even know what they’re reading?"

His skepticism wasn’t unfounded. The middle class had long championed "rational leisure"—the idea that entertainment should be educational, not merely pleasurable. (Note: A 19th-century concept advocating for intellectual enrichment over pure enjoyment.)

This sentiment had widespread support, lingering well into the 2000s, where people often felt guilty about indulging in purely enjoyable pastimes.

Clearly, *Helen* didn’t teach anyone anything.

"But their sales doubled," a new editor murmured.

"That’s wrong," the Editor-in-Chief grew more resolute. "Writing that manipulates emotions shouldn’t dominate magazine fiction. How is this any different from penny dreadfuls?"

"But their sales doubled," the new editor repeated, slightly louder.

"We should condemn this kind of story!" the Editor-in-Chief glared. "As magazine editors, we’re responsible for public perception. We might be their only source of information."

"But their sales *doubled*," the new editor raised his voice further. "Ever since *Man and Wife* ended, our numbers have been dropping. *The Gold* couldn’t pick up the slack—this month, we only sold 50,000 copies. If this continues..."

What would happen next was clear to every editor in the room.

Magazines were already struggling. Lunden was littered with shuttered magazines. Yes, as public media, they bore social responsibility—but survival came first.

A heavy silence settled over the office, thick with tension.

"Let Wells try," an editor who had stayed quiet finally suggested. "Isn’t he working on a new book? If *Ladies' Monthly* can have a switched-at-birth noble lady, why can’t *Cassell Magazine* have a switched-at-birth lordling?"