“Imagine people writing all these books,” she had exclaimed. “And people actually read them!”
“Good heavens, but she is refreshing,” Mr. Warren commented with genuine enthusiasm. “Perhaps a companion for Miss Emma Fortescue’s future adventures?”
“Good heavens” might be polite understatement, I thought, as I watched her pull a book from a nearby shelf, her nose wrinkling as she attempted to read it.
I smiled as I recognized that particular book by Jane Austen. A good place to start, I thought, then move on to Emma Fortescue.
“The manager of the shop has more than enough copies of your book,” Mr. Warren was saying, “and the earlier ones as well for new readers.” Then he added, “Thank you for agreeing to be here. I do believe that it will be most exciting for your readers.”
He turned to leave, with a smile for those waiting. “Thank you again,Emma Fortescue,” he said in parting.
I had no idea how many people, if any, might attend the afternoon tea and book signing event and had braced myself for those who might make disparaging comments. I had encountered those before. Mr. Warren had cautioned that the books came with a certainnotoriety, as he put it.
I hadn’t written that first book, the second one, or even the more recent ones with that in mind. I had simply written them about a young Englishwoman’s adventures as she traveled to foreign places.
The notoriety they created had come later as women, according to my sister, could be found secretly reading them. My friend, Templeton, somewhat notorious herself, would love that.
Breaking down barriers, Mr. Warren had called it, often put those breaking them on the firing line, so to speak. There were always those who were critical simply to be critical, or those who were either frightened or resistant to change.
Onward, I thought as the first of the shop’s customers stepped up to the table. A woman, very near my aunt’s age. She smiled sweetly.
“I’ve read all your Emma books,” she said with a giggle. She handed me the latest one to sign the inside page.
“I’ve heard that she resembles yourself perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” I replied.
“How I would have loved to do as she has,” she said as I finished signing. “I suppose that I’m too old now.”
“I know someone very near eighty-five years old,” I confided. “She is planning on going on safari to Africa.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Or possibly the Greek Islands?” she suggested.
“The water is incredible,” I replied as I handed the book back to her.
“Greek Islands?” Lily asked as she returned from her wanderings about the shop. “I’ve heard of them from one of the ladies in Edinburgh. She said that’s where men keep company with men.” She wrinkled her nose in that way I was quickly beginning to realize accompanied something she either didn’t understand or didn’t like.
“Well, not according to my own experience,” I replied.
“What about Mr. Brodie?” she asked as I took the book from the next lady and opened it to sign.
Oh, yes. What about Mr. Brodie?
“That was before I knew him,” I explained.
The nose wrinkle was still there. “I canna imagine he would approve of that.”
I didn’t bother to explain the rest of it, that he had in fact been there although it wasn’t something I had remembered at the time. There was a great deal of ouzo involved. When in Greece…
Brodie had been quite assertive when it came to finding, then retrieving, a young woman whose aunt had sent him to find her after receiving several communications from other travelers about her behavior. But that was also a conversation for another day.
Tea was served for those who wished to stay at the shop for a while and explore other books available. It was a mix of young women, very near my own age when I first began my adventures,some older women such as the woman who was concerned about her age and the possibility of her own adventures.
An older man, quite scholarly, approached the table. A student had suggested my books as opposed to the“boring”texts that were required reading in his class.
“Not precisely on the same level with Greek or Roman studies of my students,” he quipped. He clearly considered my books beneath him.
“Have you read one of my other books?” I asked, quite curious at his statement.
