‘No, my lord. In fact, the publishers are over in Finsbury Square. Lackington and Co. They’ve asked where you’ve heard about the novel. They’re quite curious about it, as Mrs Shelley is still making some last-minute changes before it goes to print.’
She heard Max groan slightly as Higgins continued, ‘They are concerned it will not take. I imagine your enquiry will be quite reassuring.’
‘Reserve me a copy, then, Higgins. And if you will, reserve a copy for Miss Bainbridge, chalked up to my account. I imagine she’ll enjoy it, too.’
Could they be talking aboutFrankenstein? When had she mentioned that?
Oh yes, back in the cellar, when Charlie had her strapped into that chair like an experiment gone wrong. Oops. Would this alter the fabric of time and space or something?
The floorboards creaked as Max and Mr Higgins reappeared from the room behind the counter.
Etta felt the smooth leather covers of her pile of elegant books and smiled. ‘You won’tbelievewhat I’ve found! First editions ofseveralof Jane Austen’s books! Fiona didn’t think she had any, did you, Fiona? But we found them in a stock room out back. And so many other first editions! I don’t know how on earth I’m going to carry them all!’ Then Etta had a crushing, sudden realisation, as she looked at the piles in front of her. ‘Oh! And I don’t even know if I have enough money, actually.’
Etta hadn’t earned a big salary at her job in 2023 and she’d had to budget carefully, but still, she’d had her own money. She made the choices on how she’d spend it. Her new Regency family were certainly richer than Etta had ever been, but she realised now that she didn’t have any financial independence whatsoever. It was a strange feeling. Strange, and deeply unpleasant.
‘Higgins, you might as well chalk this lot up to my account, too,’ said Max.
Etta was appalled. ‘You can’t do that! There must be hundreds of pounds’ worth of books here, even in old money.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Miss Bainbridge. I’ll stand the nonsense. Send them round to Bainbridge House in St Peter’s Square, Higgins. But perhaps you might get your man to deliver them anonymously.’
‘Very well, your lordship.’ Higgins picked up a pile of books and took them through to the back room.
‘Anonymously, Max?’
‘Lord Stanhope,’ he corrected her, smiling. ‘And yes. I’m not sure I’d like your parents knowing you’ve just managed to persuade me to buy up half of Higgins’ bookshop.’
He laughed at her obvious dismay, but she was horrified by his generosity. Back in 2023, she felt bad even when a date bought her drinks. ‘Then perhaps don’t buy up half of the bookshop!’ she said. ‘I’m sure I can always come back for them later, once I’ve saved up or something.’
‘Books are really quite expensive nowadays, you know, Miss Bainbridge. It might take you a while. Better let me get them. Call it a gift to the little sister of an old friend.’
Little sister? She wasn’t sure she liked that.
‘Well, okay then,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘But only because I really, really, really need the books. You can’t even begin to imagine what they’ll be worth in— well, one day. In the future. Thank you.’
They left the shop and Max led Etta back towards home. ‘In the future, you say. At which date do you feel they’ll reach maximum profitability?’
She thought fast, or at least tried to. ‘Um, I dunno. In, well, about two hundred years, maybe. If, you know, these authors become incredibly famous and well known and studied in schools and universities across the world. Which they could be.’
‘Yes, I suppose they could well. And what might they be worth then, do you think?’
‘Oh, thousands of pounds. Without a doubt. If we look after them.’
Max let out a strangled cough.
‘Well, that would be quite something, looking at the size of that pile. We shall be millionaires.’
‘Surely you’re already a millionaire? You own a house in Central London, I bet. Even for a one-bed flat, you must have at least a million quid.’
Max looked gobsmacked. She was clearly going to have to google the price of things – oh god, no. Maybe she could ask Bessie.
She looked back at Max, biting her lip. ‘Oops! Did I say millions? Gosh, that’s a lot now, isn’t it? Um, thousands? Hundreds? Yes, that’s right. Or maybe dozens? Of … of shillings?’
He seemed to be trying to take it all in.Oh god.
‘Ices.’ She cut through his confusion with a sudden, determined statement. ‘You promised me an ice.’
Relief flooded his face; ices were safe territory.
