‘Nonetheless, we publishers like to know something of our authors, sir.’
‘Then I have to tell you that I come from a good family and was privately educated.’
‘Go on.’
It would probably not be of advantage to bring up naval service again, Renzi decided. ‘I’ve had the good fortune to travel a great deal, and to curious and remote lands upon which I gathered much first-hand data.’
‘Ah. A travel piece! I can assure you, sir, that since the late Captain Cook’s voyages to the South Seas the public are insatiable in their curiosity concerning outlandish and romantic parts.’
‘Not, as you might say, a travel piece, Mr Murray.’ He leaned forward. ‘No, sir. Rather, from this data I have converged upon postulates of a causative nature that conjoins ethnical imperatives with those of strictly economic concern.’ Renzi drew a deep breath and confided, ‘This work, sir, is in fact an exhaustive discourse in which I am in pursuit of an hypothesis of consequential response as mediated by culture.’
Murray sat back, blinking.
‘Oh, I can assure you, sir,’ Renzi went on hastily, ‘that in my many appendices there will be sufficient evidence to persuade even the most doubting.’
‘Not a travel book.’
‘No, sir – yet of some interest to those who hold Rousseau to be—’
‘Let me be frank, Mr Renzi.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘I do believe you are more than you seem, sir. I’m a judge of character and in you I perceive one who has seen more of this world than most. Sir, in fine, you have a story to tell. Which is why I do not dismiss you summarily and am prepared to spend time on you.’
‘Why, sir, I—’
‘Consider. Our readership today values the novel before all else – in the Gothic fancy and tremulous with romance. These do sell in their thousands, and even with the barbarous margins booksellers demand, it affords us a flow of revenue sufficient to fund other authors.
‘Your work, however, is of more interest to the scientificals and they will never pay more than a few shillings. Where, then, is the profit to be obtained from a run of just a hundred copies that will cover the printing outgoings?’
Murray leaned back and fiddled with a quill. ‘There are those who will be published on a subscription basis but this I cannot advise unless your acquaintance with the literati is wider than I suspect it is. Others see salvation in a part-book treatment but this, I fear, is not to be contemplated in your case.’
He straightened in his chair. ‘Could you conceive perhaps of a reworking, a different standpoint – say, to appeal more to the worthies of self-help and improvement? Or, better yet, a moral tome for children? Or, best of all, a tale of exotics and adventure such that—’
‘I really cannot see that this will be possible, sir,’ Renzi said, with a pained expression.
‘Then it will be hard to see how you will succeed, Mr Renzi.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Of course, your chief difficulty is that you are as yet unknown to the world. Should your name be more before the public then it would be a different matter. Those in possession of a name may write whatever they will and be assured of an audience.
‘I should start by placing one or two modest articles on your interest in the popular magazines – the
Renzi gave a half-smile and stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Murray, and you have made your position abundantly clear. I shall not trouble you further.’
Murray offered his hand. ‘I’m desolated to find that I’m unable to offer you any pecuniary encouragement, sir, but urge you not to abandon your endeavours on my account.’
‘When the manuscript is finished—’
‘Then perhaps we will look at it together. Good day to you, Mr Renzi.’
Cecilia stopped in the street and turned to Jane Mullins. ‘My dear, as we’re passing by, I think I’ll pop in and see how my brother does. Do run along and take another look at that blue bonnet – I shall join you presently.’
It had been five days since last she had spoken to Nicholas. Had he news for her? Her heart beat faster as she tapped the door-knocker and waited for Tysoe to answer.
‘Good morning, Miss Cecilia. I’m afraid Mr Kydd is not here.’
‘Oh – then is Mr Renzi at home, perhaps?’
‘Yes, miss. ’
Renzi was stretched out in an armchair in the drawing room, moodily staring at the fire. He rose guiltily. ‘Why, my dear . . .’
‘Jane and I were passing and I just thought that I’d visit to see how Thomas is with his new ship. Have you heard from him at all, Nicholas?’
‘Not – not recently.’
‘No matter, he’s probably very busy learning all about her. The frigate, that is.’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
She sat demurely. ‘By the way, Nicholas, have you consulted your publisher yet?’
‘I – er, no, not yet.’
