Anne Barbour Read Online Free Page B

Town Bronze .”
    Tally felt a stirring of eagerness. She could do this! She knew her fingers contained the talent to bring to life all the silliness, the artificiality, yes, even the cruelty of the denizens of London, from the lowest chimney sweep right up to the Prince Regent, if necessary.
    Mr. Mapes was sunk in another thoughtful pause, his fingers steepled in front of him. Tally watched him expectantly, and at last he spoke again.
    “We cannot pay you a great deal, Miss Burnside. It was my father’s stipulation that if we were to venture into “trumpery satire,” as he put it, we would expend very little money, at least until it becomes a proven success. The author of the book has agreed to work for next to nothing. He is...” Mr. Mapes appeared to be groping for words, “a, um, peer. A wealthy man who writes for enjoyment. It is his stipulation that his name not be revealed as the author of Town Bronze.”
    Tally’s eyes widened. The lines scrawled on the viscount’s vellum page leaped to her mind. “I say, Cliffie, what do you say to a toddle in the Park?” Chelmsford must be the author of Town Bronze ! That’s why he had insisted on seeing Mr. Mapes ahead of her. He had recognized in her just the sort of mouse who could be bullied into selling her talent for a pittance.
    Tally sighed inwardly. She would dearly have liked to show him that he was very much in error, but she was in no position to dictate terms. She desperately needed to get her foot in the door of the publishing world, and, yes, she would work for a pittance. At first, anyway.
    She straightened in her chair and faced Mr. Mapes squarely.
    “Sir, I will be frank with you. First of all, I must assume that the author of Town Bronze is Lord Chelmsford.”
    The young publisher’s response was an audible gasp. “But how—that is to say—what a ludicrous idea, Miss Burnside.”
    “I think not, Mr. Mapes. But,” she continued in a kind tone, “you need not fear a lack of discretion on my part. You see…” and here her eyes fell to her lap, where she had begun to twist a small ring she wore. “I, too, wish to remain anonymous. I have my reasons,” she finished, as she observed Mr. Mapes’s expression change to one of guarded curiosity.
    “Of course, Miss Burnside,” he answered smoothly. “That is quite commonplace among female scriveners. As you may know, the author of Sense and Sensibility is featured on her book covers simply as, ‘a lady.’ There is little or no precedence for a female caricaturist, but I should imagine the same arrangement would suffice.”
    “No.” Tally’s response was abrupt. “I have decided to produce my work under a pseudonym. My drawings will be signed simply ‘Mouse.’ “ She continued quickly. “It was a pet name my father used for me when I was very small.”
    Accustomed to the foibles of the literary world, Mr. Mapes merely smiled briefly.
    “Very well then, Miss Burnside. Lord Chelmsford, by the by, has, chosen to be known as ‘Dash.’ ”
    “Yes. Well,” Tally rushed on, determined now to conceal nothing from the man who was about to become her employer, “I am not really Miss Burnside.”
    This produced another gasp from Mr. Mapes.
    “I mean, well, of course, Burnside is my family name, but I am called Lady Talitha Burnside, my father being the Earl of Bamfield.”
    George Mapes’s countenance now took on the expression of one who has been granted a heavenly vision. His plan for what he contemplated would be the runaway success of Town Bronze counted heavily on the discreet rumor he planned to circulate that its author was an unidentified peer. And here, dropped into his lap, lay additional grist for his mill. The paltry sum he had been about to offer in remuneration was quickly revised upward.
    To his pleasure, Miss Burnside, or rather Lady Talitha, agreed to the amount, with the stipulation that she be accorded a small percentage of the book’s sales. Mr. Mapes smilingly agreed, and