Whispers from Behind the Fan
July 1814
‘It is an excellent story, Miss Brookes. Suspenseful, chilling and yet still filled with humanity.’ Mr Cooper steepled his fingers on his imposing ebony desk and smiled as he glanced down at the thick manuscript piled symbolically between them. ‘And despite your convoluted ruse to get me to read it...’ A ruse he had not taken well when she had first arrived for their appointment. ‘I would be delighted to publish it. There is a strong market for the Gothic at the moment and your story is without a doubt one of the best examples of the genre I have ever read.’
She beamed at him in elation, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion to have been deemed worthy enough for such an honour and relieved that she did indeed have a modicum of talent for something, and something she loved to boot. ‘Thank you, Mr Cooper!’ She couldn’t wait to tell Luke she was finally going to be in Hatchard’s. He had insisted on accompanying her here and was likely wearing away the pavement outside because she had refused him entry into the publisher’s office because she needed to do this for herself.
‘I’ll give you twenty guineas for the copyright.’ That knocked the wind out of her sails, as it took her precious manuscript completely out of her hands and then prevented her from earning any more money on it if the book became a success.
‘The copyright isn’t for sale, Mr Cooper.’ As tempting as it was to settle for thrilled that her work was finally going to be published, she had done her research. Years and years of research while she waited for this opportunity to finally knock. It was the main reason why she had been so determined to court Cooper and Sons in the first place. They were the biggest and best publishing house around, with a brilliant reputation, so they could afford to be choosy.
She knew that and he knew that, but only moments ago she had promised Luke faithfully she would hold firm. Do not sell yourself short, he had said repeatedly over the last week as he schooled her in the dark art of the business transaction, and never accept the first offer. In business, being able to look a man in the eye and negotiate as if you truly have something they want is the key to getting them to do exactly what you want. And as Luke seemed to be the master of getting people to bend over backwards to do exactly as he wanted, she was prepared to stick to his sage advice like glue. He wanted what was best for her andPhantasma. Mr Cooper wanted what was best for Cooper and Son.
‘While twenty guineas is a generous offer, and I am pleased to hear it, Mr Cooper, I am seeking a profit-sharing arrangement. I need no advance.’Phantasmawould stand on its own two feet. Deep down inside she believed the story had what it took. So did Luke who never stopped raving about it to anyone who would listen, so much so, even her parents were taking the time to read it and they never read. And clearly so did Mr Cooper else he wouldn’t be offering twenty guineas to own it lock, stock and barrel.
The publisher pondered this for several moments, his finger tapping his chin as he stared at her, no doubt waiting, exactly as Luke had cautioned, for her to crumble first. Then, when she didn’t, he begrudgingly nodded.
‘I would consider that. Your story is certainly appealing enough and fits the current appetite for the macabre perfectly. What sort of terms are you looking for?’
‘A tenth of each book sold.’ He didn’t baulk at that because she had done her research and knew that was within the realms of the going rate. It was reasonable but not outlandish. When he took out her share and the cost of printing, distribution and the bookseller’s cut, he would still earn a tidy profit. And profit, as Luke had also rightly pointed out, was every businessman’s true paramour. ‘And I want my name on the cover.’
Instantly his face changed. ‘As H. B. Rooke—yes. That pseudonym, it is a nod to your true identity but suitably vague not to raise undue alarm. As you doubtless already know, the general public find literature more palatable if they think it has come from a man’s pen.’
‘As most readers are female, I struggle to believe that, Mr Cooper.’ What he actually meant was that he found it more palatable. He and likely every other male publisher out there.
‘Yet there it is.’ He smiled, unapologetic. ‘If you’re desirous of seeing your name on the front, Miss Brookes, then perhaps one of the vanity presses are a better option for you to consider than Cooper and Son.’ Even though they both knew that it was also the least profitable route because not only would Hope have to pay all the costs herself, she would then also have to distribute it. Whereas, Cooper and Son were the most successful publishing house in the country and sold their books to hundreds of booksellers from Land’s End to John o’ Groats. IfPhantasmawas going to be a success, and if she was ever going to see it on the shelves in Hatchard’s, she needed a proper, experienced publisher behind her. ‘H. B. Rooke is practically your name anyway give or take a few handy spaces in the text, it seems petty to split hairs over a trifle.’
A trifle!
It was hardly a trifle when it meant the world to her!
She wanted to scream her frustration at the man and if she had had a real trifle handy, he would soon be wearing it.
‘Hold your fiery redhead’s temper, harridan! No matter what the provocation.’
Luke’s final words before she entered this office echoed in her ears.
‘Call his bluff instead. Business is a game, play it like you are a master. Show him you are prepared to walk away—and do it if you have to. N-E-G-O-T-I-A-T-E!’
The wretch had even spelled that last bit exactly like her mother purely to vex her.
‘Believe in yourself and your story, Hope, because I do.’
With her heart in her throat, and bravado firmly strapped in place, she shrugged in what she prayed appeared an unperturbed manner. ‘I think I shall wait to see what Longman’s offer is first before I take that route.’ It was a gamble choosing Mr Cooper’s biggest rival only two doors down on Paternoster Row, especially because she hadn’t heard a squeak out of them since she had sent them a copy of her book two weeks ago, one she hoped paid off as she gathered up the manuscript. She would certainly strangle Luke if it didn’t. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Cooper.’
She stood, turned and with a cold trickle of sweat dripping down her spine, walked with purpose to the door.
‘A hundred guineas for the copyright or a fifteenth of the profits.’ It was a staggering amount for a debut author and he knew it. ‘And that is my final offer, Miss Brookes. I really want that book.’
‘But I still do not get my name on the front, do I?’ She could see that as clear as crystal in his wily old eyes.
‘Correct...but...’ He sat back in his chair and stared at her levelly as if weighing her up. Then exhaled slowly. ‘I am confident enough in it that I will meet you halfway.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that you agree to be H. B. Rooke in the first instance, and in return I shall give you my word that if this book does as well as we both suspect it will, then Hope Brookes will be emblazoned across the second edition and upon every edition of any subsequent book you write for me.’
According to Luke, the best compromise should hurt you both equally.And at least this was a compromise. It still hurt, but she hadn’t lost and Mr Cooper was throwing her a bone. ‘Will that offer be written in the contract?’ She wouldn’t settle for an empty promise.
