The Wordmongers' Shop
St. Nicholas' Day
Mary leafed through her third newspaper that morning.
Richard had ordered that Grantham House receive a copy every day of every one of his newspapers.
Most of them were not fit to wrap fish but she had nothing better to do. It was too foggy and dreary to venture out shopping. She had no calls to make and no one was scheduled to call. She could not concentrate enough to read a novel. She could not nap.
Mary leafed through her fourth newspaper that morning.
She sighed . What was she looking for anyway? Inspiration maybe. Christmas at Downton Abbey was coming. Richard would be there. And on New Year's Eve he wanted to make an announcement. He wanted to announce the date of their wedding. She could stall him no more. What was she to do?
An advertisement in the newspaper caught her eye:
Cannot finish your storey? We can help.
Henry, Vollam & Morton, Wordmongers
Horseneedle Street, London
She had seen something like it before. She found it in the second newspaper she had read that morning:
Writer's block? We can help.
Henry, Vollam & Morton, Wordmongers
Horseneedle Street, London
She had her inspiration.
-0-
Mary got out of the cab. The cab drove off leaving her standing in front of a small shopfront. The lettering on the window read:
Henry, Vollam & Morton
Wordmongers
She had no idea where she was. Horseneedle Street was somewhere in the City she supposed. She had not been able to follow the route the cabbie had taken in the early December fog.
Mary was about to open the door of the shop when she felt something bumping up against her leg. She looked down. There was a ginger coloured tabby bumping up against her.
"Shoo cat, shoo!" Mary tried to chase the cat away. It meowed at her but it did not run away. Mary shrugged and opened the door. The cat entered the shop before she could.
A bell attached to the door announced her. The ginger tabby jumped up onto the counter and regarded her with green eyes. After a minute or so a small old man, older than her father but not as old as her grandmother, came out to greet her.
"I see you have already met 'Purity'" he said indicating the cat. "My name is Morton. How may I help you Miss?"
"I understand that you can finish my storey?"
"Yes we can do that. If you indicate the general direction you wish the storey to take we can provide an appropriate ending for you."
"I would like my storey to have a happy ending"
This request did not seem to faze Morton. He reached under the counter and took a large manila envelope and a receipt book. "May I have your name Miss?"
Mary paused. Her reluctance was apparent to Morton who said "Many authors prefer to maintain their anonymity. We will assign you a codename" He again reached under the counter and this time took out a large square of cardboard. There was a grid on the cardboard with the alphabet printed across the top and along the left side. Almost half the boxes in the grid were crossed out. "I see we have just started the 'Ms' so your codename is "MC'". He printed 'MC' on the envelope and on the receipt "May I have your manuscript please?"
Mary took out her diary and slid it into the envelope. Morton handed her the receipt.
"Please follow me. I will introduce you to our happy ending specialist."
Mary followed Morton down several hallways and up stairs and down stairs. The cat Purity followed them both. The heights and widths of the halls varied and Mary got the impression that the shop had expanded into the adjoining buildings. Several of the doors had signs attached, one long hall was devoted to letters: 'Application Letters', 'Reference Letters', Rejection Letters', 'Condolence Letters', 'Love Letters'... They turned a corner. As they were going past a door marked 'Sad Endings' they heard gales of laughter. Seeing Mary's appalled reaction Morton explained "They must have thought of a new way to kill off the hero or heroine." Seeing that Mary was not mollified he said "They must maintain a certain distance from their subject". Seeing that she was still not satisfied he shrugged his shoulders and continued down the hall.
At last they arrived at the door marked 'Happy Endings'. Morton knocked, there was a mumbled reply, and Morton opened the door. He ushered Mary in.
Morton introduced Mary. "Small Lake this is MC. She would like a happy ending to her storey" He handed the envelope to Small Lake, nodded at Mary and left, closing the door behind him.
Small Lake indicated that Mary should be seated in the chair in front of the desk. She sat down. Purity the cat jumped up on the desk and regarded her. A medium sized black and white dog came around the desk and looked at her. She held out her hand and the dog came and sniffed it. It then went and laid down on a rug in the corner.
"I see you have met Wolf" the dog lifted its head at the sound of its name.
"It does not look like a ..."
Small Lake held up his hand "Please let him have his illusions, he is a border collie with the heart of a ...Anyway let us take a look at your storey." He took the diary out of the envelope and started glancing through it.
Mary looked around the office. It was lined with books to the ceiling. The window sill was covered with books. She expected to see dust and cobwebs but the place was spotless.
She considered Small Lake as he read. He was short, as short as Morton and as old. Where Morton was bald Small Lake had bushy unruly grey hair, on his head, eye brows and ears. He wore the thickest glasses Mary had ever seen. He frowned as he read. His countenance defined the word 'dour'.
Small Lake put the diary down on his desk. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked at Mary. .He had cold green grey eyes, the colour of granite. He cleaned his glasses and put them back on.
"Miss"
"It's Lady" Mary blurted out.
Small Lake started over. "My Lady, the diary format is very difficult for any author to attempt let alone a beginner. It requires the author to be absolutely honest with the reader, The reader is relying solely upon the author's observations as recorded in the diary to understand what is going on. In a real diary the diarist can omit details because he or she knows them but an author cannot do that with a fictional diary" He opened the diary and turned it around so it faced Mary. "Details like names" He pointed at the page "You have used M, R, S, E, F, G, I, C, H etc. With just a cursory examination I have already discovered that you have used M for the diarist's mother and one of her love interests. You cannot do that to a reader. Why don't you rewrite your storey as a third person narrative over the winter and if you haven't figured out a happy ending by then come back and see me in the spring."
Mary hung her head. "I cannot"
"The worst thing an author can do is fall in love with her storey. The secret to success is rewriting and then rewriting again"
"Can you do anything with what is there?"
"What kind of happy ending do you wish? One where the hero and heroine kiss 'The End' and you and the reader both know that in real life they would be at each others throats inside of two months? Or do you want a 'And they lived happily ever after'?"
"The latter. And what has been written cannot be rewritten"
"Very well, leave it with me. Have a good Christmas and then come see me the end of January"
"I don't have that much time. I'm leaving London in ten days"
Small Lake stared at her. The thickness of his glasses magnified the coldness of his eyes. "I am going to give you three options. You can pick any two. You can have the job done fast. You can have it done right. And you can have it done cheap. Which two do you choose?"
Mary had no choice "Fast and right".
"Come back in a week, same day, same time. Bring two hundred pounds with you." He stood up. "I will walk you to the corner, you will have a better chance of catching a cab there. Come Wolf"
Purity accompanied them to the front door. Wolf lead Mary and Small Lake through the fog to the corner. They did not talk. Mary got the impression that Small Lake could walk the length of Britain without making small talk with his companions. As soon as they arrived at the corner he was able to hail a cab for her. He handed her into the cab
"Good night my Lady" and then he and his dog were gone in the fog.