Excerpts

1 Mary had just finished nursing her daughter and returned the infant to her carriage, making sure she was warm enough for the cold weather outside. Born on March 4, 1896, to Mary Handley Lloyd and her husband, Harper, Josephine George Lloyd was now almost nine months old. Of course, her name had caused immediate controversy with Mary's mother, Elizabeth, whom Mary had long ago dubbed "the source of all controversy." Elizabeth was perfectly content with Josephine, Harper's mother's name, even though she would have preferred Kathryn, which was her mother's name. She did, however, have strong objections to her granddaughter having a masculine middle name. Mary had named her after her deceased father, Jeffrey, whose middle name was George. What clinched that decision was that Mary was also a big fan of the writer George Sand, whom she admired for her independent spirit and rebellious streak. Elizabeth argued that George Sand was a pseudonym and meant to sound masculine in order to hide the author's gender. In the long run, it didn't matter, because the so-­called controversy didn't last long. Everyone, including Mary, naturally gravitated to calling her Josie. Sometimes babies have a way of defining themselves, and so it was with Josie. Elizabeth insisted on calling her Josephine, but even she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Mary had made an important decision about her career. While Josie was still too young for school, she refused to take any cases that she knew would consume a great deal of time. That wasn't always easy to determine, but Mary did the best she could. Of course, it meant a serious hit to her income, but Josie was worth it. Mary would often bring Josie to work if she didn't have any client meetings scheduled, or when Harper, a journalist, was rushing toward a deadline, or even just to get out of the house for a change of scenery. Her office was in the back of Lazlo's Books, and when the store wasn't busy, she and Lazlo would continue their intellectual jousts, an activity of which neither of them ever seemed to tire. On this particular day, business was indeed slow. As she entered the store wheeling Josie in her carriage, Lazlo was immersed in a conversation with a man who looked to be in his sixties. He was well dressed, had gray hair, and sported muttonchop sideburns. He looked familiar to her, but she couldn't quite place him. "That's one of my favorites!" exclaimed Lazlo. "The wordplay is simply brilliant." " 'Brilliant,' " responded the well-­dressed man in a refined British accent. "I'll accept that as an accurate description." The two men laughed as Mary approached. "Lazlo," said Mary, "glad to see you're having such a jolly time in spite of the eerie quiet that permeates your store." "It's all ebb and flow. This too shall pass." "Taking a Zen approach to business, are we?" "It's called experience. If you want religion, there's a fantasy section in the back." "I say, Lazlo," said the well-­dressed man, "are you an atheist?" Mary decided to answer. "More like an agnostic waiting for proof." "Ah, a foot in each world. That way if you die and there is no God, you were right. If there is one, you can tell him you've been searching for him all your life. Not a bad strategy." "A strategy that can only end in my death," said Lazlo. "I opt for remaining uninformed." Josie began to cry. Mary took her out of her carriage and held her. "All this talk of other worlds and death has upset Josie." "She couldn't possibly have understood--­wait. She's your daughter. It is possible." Lazlo turned to the well-­dressed man. "I'd like you to meet Mary Handley. Mary, this is William Gilbert." Still holding Josie, who had quieted almost as soon as she was in her mother's arms, Mary nodded to Gilbert, who nodded back. Suddenly, it hit her. "Are you by any chance W. S. Gilbert of--­" "Gilbert and Sullivan? Yes." "I thought so. I have seen your photograph, and though I was able to recognize you, might I say that it doesn't do you justice?" "Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear. Might I have a word with you?" "I forgot to mention it, Mary," Lazlo interceded. "Mr. Gilbert--­" "William," Gilbert interrupted, correcting Lazlo. "I'm honored, sir," said Lazlo, bowing his head slightly, then turning to Mary. "William is here to see you, not me." "Andrew Carnegie gave you the highest recommendation," said Gilbert. "That's lovely of Mr. Carnegie. To be honest, he wasn't always a fan of mine." "But he is now, very much so." "Well then," said Mary, "let's step into my office. We really shouldn't discuss private matters in front of Lazlo. He's a horrible gossip." With that, Mary handed Josie to Lazlo, who took her with considerable trepidation, holding her out in front of him. "Josie, you can play with Grandpa Lazlo while Mommy works." As she and Gilbert headed for her office, Lazlo lightly rebuked her, "Mary, how many times do I have to tell you that I reject the label of grandpa, and not on an age basis but rather on a philosophical one?" "Then you can be one of Josie's chums . . . philosophically speaking, that is." Josie started to cry again. He turned to Mary, who had already disappeared into her office with Gilbert. After a moment or two of complete helplessness, Lazlo leaned her against his chest. When that didn't work, he began pacing with her in his arms, humming "A Wandering Minstrel I" from Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado, hoping that something would work. * Mary had redone her office, upgrading some furniture but mostly to accommodate Josie. There was a bassinet in the far corner, away from the window and any possible drafts. A few baby toys, dolls, and rattles had been placed in the bassinet and in different strategic spots. "It appears you're a full-­service company," said Gilbert as he sat down facing Mary, who followed by sitting at her desk. "Nurturing and hunting down the nefarious. Interesting combination." "If it concerns you at all, Mr. Gilbert, I only bring my daughter when no appointments are scheduled. Your presence is a surprise--­a happy one no doubt, but if I had known, I would never have brought Josie." "I apologize for barging in on you." "It is my pleasure, sir. I have enjoyed your witty turns of phrase for years." "Thank you. In a way, that is why I'm here." Gilbert went on to explain that he had come to New York to mount a production of his and Sullivan's latest play, The Grand Duke. "Two renegade producers have been staging our plays and making a fortune, which should be rightfully ours." "Edward Albee and B. F. Keith?" "Yes, you know them?" "Not personally, but I'm sure it won't delight you that I have attended several of their productions." "It doesn't," said Gilbert, who winced as if she had kicked him. "Your hard-­earned money should have gone into my pocket instead of theirs." "I'm not sure how I can help you. I understand your frustration, but there is no international copyright protection of which I am aware. The unfortunate truth is that they're not breaking any laws, except for possibly a moral one, which is hardly enforceable." "Yes, many a lawyer has advised me of the same. It pains me to think how much I could have saved in fees if I had just come to you." "I must admit I'm a bit confused. What do you want me to do?" "I apologize. Every time I think of why I am in New York, my anger gets the best of me. Actually, the reason I've come to you has nothing to do with Albee, Keith, or The Grand Duke, and you must keep what I am about to tell you in complete secrecy." "You have my word." Gilbert stared at Mary for a moment, as if ascertaining whether he could trust her, and then continued. "I'm a fairly organized man, Mrs. Handley." "It's Mrs. Lloyd. I've kept my maiden name for business purposes only, and I'm not sure why I'm telling you this. It defeats my whole purpose." "So what should I call you?" "Sorry for the needless complication. Mary will be fine. Go ahead, Mr. Gilbert." "William." After Mary nodded her assent, he continued. "Let me first correct myself. I am not fairly organized. I'm extremely organized. I keep all my play notes and any work in progress in a leather-­bound folder which I always carry with me. You never know when an interesting idea might pop into your head." "I've heard of writers doing that." "I had just finished my most recent play and hadn't yet sent it for copies when that folder disappeared. I want you to get it back for me." Excerpted from Near Prospect Park: A Mary Handley Mystery by Lawrence H. Levy All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.