Lady Lightfingers Read Free Page B

alley with quick, sure pencil marks.
    She lowered her gaze when he gave her a quick glance and her eyes fell on a book in the window. ‘ Robinson Crusoe ,’ she whispered, her eyes shining as she wondered if she should duck through the door and grab up a copy. But there was a barrier made of wire across the back of the display.
    â€˜I beg your pardon, young lady. Did you say something?’
    â€˜ Robinson Crusoe .’ She pointed to the book. ‘See, it’s there. Four shillings and nine pence. Who would have thought words would cost so much?’
    â€˜It’s good value, because when you’ve learned them the words are yours to keep and do what you like with. People who arrange words into stories earn money from them. Also, the publisher who makes the book earns money, and so does the shopkeeper who sells the book.’
    â€˜So if I wrote a book and it sold for four shillings, I would only earn about . . .’ She stopped to count it on her fingers . . . ‘One shilling and four pence. That’s very little for all that work.’
    â€˜If it was accepted by a proper publisher and displayed in a bookseller’s window, I’d expect more than one person to buy it.’
    â€˜Ten perhaps?’
    â€˜Easily . . . more . . . one hundred copies perhaps.’
    Her eyes widened. ‘That many; would you buy a copy?’
    He smiled at her. ‘If it was well written, most certainly I would. Such enterprise would need rewarding.’
    â€˜Then I’ll write a book, and it will be a good one. I’ll write down my life story.’
    â€˜An autobiography?’
    â€˜Yes, an autobiography.’
    He gave her a faint, and rather superior smile. ‘You’re rather young to have accumulated enough adventures with which to write an autobiography. Do you know what it is?’
    She shrugged as she threw at him, ‘Of course. My mother made me read all the words in the dictionary. I learned their meaning and how to spell them. She promised to buy me Robinson Crusoe when I’d learned them all. I thought she’d forgotten, because she didn’t keep her promise; but it must have been because she couldn’t afford it. She used to be a teacher before she met my pa, you know. He turned out to be a trickster of ill repute. She’s frightened that I’ll take after him.’
    His smile was one of amused indulgence. ‘And will you?’
    She laughed at his question and shrugged. If only he knew!
    â€˜You’ve evaded my question, and now you tell me you can read all the words in the dictionary?’
    â€˜No, I didn’t evade it, and yes, I do know what an autobiography is. It’s an account of someone’s life as written by the subject herself . . . or himself, whichever the case may be.’
    â€˜My goodness, you’ve been educated in letters with a vengeance. Like a little parrot you repeat back the words you’ve been fed.’
    Her hands went to her hips. ‘There’s no need to mock me.’
    â€˜Indeed, I’m not mocking you. I’m lost in admiration that one so young could display such a retentive mind. The dictionary, no less?’
    There were little red dents at each side of his nose where his spectacles pinched. ‘It’s the only book we have at home.’
    â€˜Samuel Johnson’s edition one would hope. Your mother has indeed been industrious on your behalf. Tell me, what are you going to do with all those words now you have them at your disposal?’
    â€˜I’m going to write an autobiography.’
    â€˜Ah yes, my dear,’ and his pencil flew over the page. ‘I believe we’ve already established that. Because it’s fact, you must be careful what you put in it, since it could land you in trouble, especially if you’d done something wrong, or blackened somebody else’s name.’
    â€˜Like stealing, you mean?’
    He nodded. ‘I’m not