Broke and in debt.
He placed a hand against his topcoat to ensure his purse was still in his waistcoat pocket.
Although it held only a few coins he had found in his mother’s nightstand drawer—she had hidden blunt in a number of places throughout the townhouse—he intended to procure a few novels before he returned home.
Chapter Six
One Proposal, Three Pounds
Meanwhile, at the Temple of the Muses, No. 32 Finsbury Place South, London
Catherine stood infront of the one-hundred-and-forty-foot-wide façade of the bookshop known as the Temple of the Muses and read the plaque over the entrance.
Cheapest Bookstore in the World.
Another sign claimed:
Two Hundred Thousand Volumes upon an Average are constantly on Sale.
She had to grin, for there were some who claimed there were over a million volumes in stock.
The six-story building featured the largest collection of books for sale in London. If it had been a circulating library, it would surely be the most popular simply for its variety of books.
She knew exactly why it was so popular, for her own father had contributed to its success in a roundabout way. Long ago, the original owner, James Lackington, had adopted a business model that had proven rather successful. He stocked his store with remaindered books—the unsold stock of publishers’ print runs—and sold them at very low prices. He’d also purchased entire libraries, then resold the individual used books at a hefty profit.
She had learned from her father that there were times Lackington had even published authors’ manuscripts so he could sell them exclusively at the shop. How many of the those manuscripts had Cornelius Kingston declined to publish before they reached Lackington’s desk? How many remaindered volumes from Kingston Publishing had been sold over the years?
Perhaps Lackington’s most effective business strategy was to accept only cash for transactions. He never extended credit, not even to aristocrats, and he refused to haggle. The price marked on the book was the final price.
With his death the year before, James had left the business to his third cousin, George Lackington.
Catherine entered the shop and paused a moment. Despite having been there every week of her life since it had opened, she still thought of it as a shrine to books. Besides the massive circular desk in the middle of the ground floor, there were antique paintings decorating the walls, and marble busts and classical knickknacks were displayed throughout the store.
A wide staircase led to lounging rooms, and beyond them, there were four floors featuring galleries of bookshelves. The higher the floor, the more tattered the books, which also meant they were cheaper in price.
At the moment, only men staffed the positions inside the circular desk, their jobs requiring them to write receipts, total the amounts due for each sale, and collect the cash payments. Another man on the ground floor was charged with unpacking boxes of new books, adding a slip of paper with the price written on it inside each volume, and arranging the books for sale, either in bookshelves or in stacks atop caryatids.
Catherine knew from her many visits that there were such men on every floor, sometimes more than one, preparing books for sale. On the upper floors, the prices were written in ink on the back of the books, especially if they were used.
The only women she had ever seen working in the establishment were those who cleaned the lounging rooms or dusted the bookshelves.
“Back again so soon?”
Catherine gave a start at the appearance of a gentleman she recognized as one of the bookshop’s managers. “Mr. Allen, it’s so good to see you again. You’re just the person I was looking for,” she replied. She held out her right hand. “Miss Catherine Kingston.”
The stocky man bowed his head and displayed a look of surprise as he shook her hand. “It’s good to finally meet you. I see you here in the shop…”
“Every week,” she finished for him.
“Kingston,” he stated. “Are you a relation to the publisher, perhaps?”
About to answer in the affirmative, Catherine experienced a moment of spite. “Apparently not,” she replied. “However, I do love books. In fact, I am so familiar with your shop, I can find what I’m looking for in a matter of…” she waved a gloved hand, “half an hour,” she said.
A look of confusion crossed the man’s face. “Well, you could ask one of our clerks,” he suggested, indicating the four young men who staffed the circular desk.
“Oh, I do,” she replied. “However, if you were to employ me for the purpose of arranging your stock to make it easier for your customers to find what they’re looking for, they could do so within minutes.”
Mr. Allen furrowed his gray brows. “But… our customers tend to browse,” he countered. “They like to… to linger, and take time to read.”
