Armand’s First Letter. Amelia’s First Letter.

7 February 1019
Former’s Guild House, Mont-Havre

Dear Armand,

I have done it! I have completed the final draft of A Gentleman’s Guide to Mont-Havre, and made two fair copies, one for me and one for M. Fournier.

Yes, your friend M. Fournier, the bookseller! One of his acquaintances, a printer of broadsheets, has a new press and has chosen to add a bookbindery to his establishment. There are several printers of broadsheets in Mont-Havre, at least one for each faction in Le Grand Parlement, but M. Tétrault is the most forward thinking, and M. Fournier wishes to become not just a seller of books, but a publisher of them as well.

I had intended to send my manuscript to Cumbria to be published there by a friend of His Lordship’s; but this is an opportunity to be seized, for it will get the book into print and into the hands of visitors to Mont-Havre as soon as maybe.

Delightfully, this means that my guide will be the first book to be published here in Mont-Havre!

I would wish to make the guide available in Yorke as well, for sale to Cumbrian gentlemen en route to Armorica; and printing standards in York would be higher and we could command a higher price. But we are only just starting, and the most essential thing is that copies of the guide should be available at the harbor-side and in select establishments in town, and that right speedily.

And then, a guide such as this is not something one writes once and then rests! A city, even a small provincial city such as Mont-Havre, is constantly changing. The guide must be constantly updated—once a year at a minimum, and ideally once a quarter. Speedy, and above all cheap, printing is therefore a necessity.

Cheap because short-lived, but also because the writing is dear. Or, not the writing, precisely, but the roaming about town, trying different restaurants and cafes and patronizing different establishments. This is the thing that takes the most time; and, I fear, the most money. One cannot walk into it a fine haberdasher’s dressed like a pauper and ask for service—not unless one has much bright coin to throw around. One must dress like a gentleman. One cannot sample a restaurant’s offerings and then refuse to pay. Otherwise, one will be remembered; and this, I have determined, is fatal.

I adopted anonymity in the beginning simply because I am still socially outcast even here in Mont-Havre, and though most establishments will serve me at this time, I do not get the kind of service I see being lavished on more acceptable custom. That is a damned nuisance, but I put it to the side; they have their reasons, even if those reasons are ill-founded. I can still see how they treat those not under a shadow, and that’s what matters.

But it has come to me over the past few months that even were I lionized rather than outcast I should still need to keep my authorship of the guide a secret—for how can I judge how an establishment will treat a newly arrived gentleman if the proprietor is making much of me in hopes of getting a positive mention?

But back to my expenditures, loathsome subject though they are. To wit, Armand, I have exhausted my funds in pursuit of my goal.

My wants just at present are few. I have the wardrobe I need for making my rounds; and I need do no more writing until after the current draft has been made available. I propose to live a simple and humble life here in the Guild Hall until the proceeds begin flowing in.

But Armand, I must have food and drink, even if it is of the simplest. Neither M. Fournier nor M. Suprenant would allow me to starve, if I applied to them; but I should much rather apply to you: for I know you would gladly have me with you in Bois-de-Bas. (I cannot come; M. Fournier wants me to have me on hand, should questions arise during publication.)

To do him credit, M. Fournier has offered to supply me a sum in anticipation of future sales, but I prefer not to take it: he and M. Tétrault are already taking rather more of a risk than I am in this.

So please, Armand, I beg, do send me a modicum of funds, there’s a good chap. I don’t promise to pay it back; but I do promise to let your daughters tug on my mustache without wincing, and that at the earliest opportunity.

Your hungry cousin,

Jack

Next letter

____

Photo by Wesual Click on Unsplash