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A FAITHFUL DESCRIPTION OF ROUTES AND PLACES

TO ASSIST WOMEN IN KNOWLEDGE OF THE METROPOLIS

WRITTEN BY LADY AURORA MELFORTH, THE TRAVELING VISCOUNTESS

LONDON: PUBLISHED BY DODSLEY & SON, 86 STRAND

AVAILABLE AT BOOKSELLERS IN ENGLAND, WALES, IRELAND, AND SCOTLAND

One had to look carefully. Title and type and layout all looked the same. Only a single line of the original seven was missing, the line with Viv’s name. Where her name had been there was a space. The gap looked intentional as if meant to separate the title and the author’s name from the lines about the publisher and the booksellers.

It could not be deliberate. It had to be a mistake. Dodsley had got it wrong, or thought Viv’s name unnecessary when Lady Melforth’s name alone was sufficient to sell books. Viv steadied herself. She must not jump to the conclusion that she had been deceived or used. She opened the book and paged through to the walk on Babylon Street. There were her words telling the story of having her purse with its false contents plucked from her arm. She had not been written out of the book. The title page must be in error.

Viv turned next to the preface and experienced a second, deeper shock. Lady Melforth wrote of being called upon by her public during an extended stay in London to give an account of traveling in the great metropolis. In response therefore, she had endeavored to describe from actual experience how a lady traveler whether native or foreign might safely navigate London’s streets. A brief sentence thanked those in her household and on her staff for their support and assistance. Viv had seen a very different version of the preface before the dinner party.

She jumped up and began to pace. With astonishing rapidity, scenes from the previous weeks flashed in her mind. Lady Melforth insisting they finish the book, her coldness at the dinner party, Sarah’s sitting at Lady Melforth’s side with pages in her lap, Lady Melforth’s sending Sarah, not Viv, to Dodsley with the final drafts, Newberry’s telling Viv he had read the front matter of the book, and Viv’s empty desk with Sarah’s note on it. Viv stopped dead, facing the empty desk and a most unwelcome conclusion. At some point, Lady Melforth had decided to treat the work as if it had been hers alone, as if Viv had had no part in it. That couldn’t be right, but what else could explain the changes? It was theft. Lady Melforth was willing to put her name to Viv’s words.

The idea devastated her, that her friend, the woman who had encouraged her, the woman she’d laughed with, could serve her such a turn. Viv had urged Lady Melforth to keep writing even though her hand shook and she couldn’t get around in the way she was used to travel. Together they had planned the walks. Lady Melforth had encouraged each of Viv’s outings and together they had strategized on everything from which points of interest to include to the best words to describe a scene. In every case Lady Melforth had encouraged Viv. Those times had been full of laughter.

But the laughter had stopped. Viv could see that now. She had offended her ladyship or disappointed her. She recalled the dinner party and her aunt’s cheerful assumption that Viv was very much a partner in the writing of the book, and Lady Melforth’s cold response. Now Viv’s cheeks stung with mortification. She had done something wrong. She had made her ladyship feel that Viv was using her, taking advantage of the Traveling Viscountess to gain a reputation of her own. She shuddered to think that she appeared to her ladyship like the clinging Strydes, that she had missed the hints to remain in her place.

She opened her desk drawer. There was the Toby pistol, her ladyship’s gun, one she had used long ago in Italy against bandits. She had lent it freely to Viv that day, sending Viv out into London’s streets to become an intrepid female traveler. And Viv had done it. She pushed the gun aside and reached for her pencils. She would not remain in her place, where she was invisible, where she had no prospects. She had come to London to escape her place, to learn, to establish herself as a writer, to win her independence. She could not go back to the house of her mother and stepfather.

There had to be a compromise. Without Lady Melforth there would be no publisher, no curious public, but without Viv there would be no words on the page, no stories of pickpockets or shopping or the river. Viv had contributed to their guide, and she would have recognition for her part in it.

She would correct the proofs and take them to Dodsley in the morning. She would sit at her desk and light her lamp and take up her pencil. She opened the book. At once she saw a new difficulty. Her drafts were gone, carried to Dodsley by Sarah. Viv had only her notebooks with jottings from each of the expeditions. She would begin with those, make as many changes as she remembered if she had to work all night.