Page 27 of A Wicked Game

She moved her finger to the center left of the map, over Mayfair. Morgan spied Hyde Park and his own house in Hanover Square.

“Sometimes the streets we add are completely nonexistent,” Harriet continued, “but since that might hinder useful navigation, more often we do something less extreme,like add an extra bend to a street, or show a wide road as a narrow lane, without changing its location.”

“That makes sense.”

She found the neat rectangle of Grosvenor Square. “Here’s Maddie’s house. Andhere’sproof that my maps are being copied.” Her neat, oval fingernail indicated the Duke of Evesham’s property. In the space behind the house and garden was an enclosed square, with a tiny emblem of a tree in the center.

Morgan squinted to read the tiny letters. “Paradise Court.”

“Exactly. That walled area probably contains nothing more than a stable yard and mews, but I’ve drawn it as a fictional courtyard. Which means if Paradise Court shows up on someone else’s map, they’ve copied it from this one.”

“That’s rather ingenious.”

“Thank you.”

Morgan sent her a sidelong smile. “Making things up seems to be quite a habit with you. Fake courtyards. Coral reefs in the wrong place.”

She rolled her eyes at his dry teasing. “That was different. We were at war with France. Counterespionage is perfectly acceptable at times like that.” She jabbed her finger down on the map. “Thisis to prevent plain stealing. That copyist is taking away my livelihood.”

“Surely there are laws that protect you in cases like this?”

“There are. William Hogarth, the engraver, helped create them over seventy years ago.” She sent him a faux-innocent look. “I’m sure you’re aware of his series of prints entitledThe Rake’s Progress. They’re a cautionary tale.”

“I’ve seen them,” Morgan agreed.

“Well, Hogarth’s prints were so heavily plagiarized that he lobbied for legal protection from what he called ‘piratical imitations.’ He gathered together a group of artists and engravers and brought a petition before the House of Commons. The result was the Engraving Copyright Act, which grants the artist sole publishing rights of any original work for a period of fourteen years. After Hogarth died his widow, Jane, successfully petitioned to have the law changed so she could keep the sole rights to reprinting all of his artworks fortwentyyears.”

“She sounds like a formidable woman.”

“Indeed.”

Morgan frowned. “So if you have the law on your side, what’s the problem? Take this person to court, demand that he destroy the prints he’s already made, make him hand over the printing plate so he can’t make any more copies, and pay you damages for loss of earnings.”

“Court cases cost both time and money. Father thinks we should engage an attorney to argue our case, but it will take months to go to court and even longer to settle the case. Lawyers are fiercely expensive: They’re really the only ones who win. I don’t think we should waste our money.”

“You can’t just let this person get away with it,” Morgan said. “Do you know who it is?”

“I have a suspicion. There are only two or three other mapmakers in London who could make such good copies. I think it’s a man named John Heron. He has a shop over in St. James’s.”

“Why do you think it’s him?”

“All mapmakers have little stylistic traits. Our maps, for example, are known for their decorative cartouches.” She pointed to the circular plaque in the corner of the map that bore her name. It was surrounded by a series of interlaced scrolls and vignettes of London landmarks, such as the Tower and Old London Bridge.

“Heron always writes the lettersF,K, andRwith a distinctive little swish at the bottom of the main stroke. It’s there on the copies I’ve seen.”

Morgan straightened. “Well then. Justice clearly needs to be served, and if you don’t want to go through the courts, I say you should take matters into your own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

“You should go to this Heron and demand the prints and printing plate yourself.”

Harriet’s face was the picture of scorn. “Oh, that’s a fine idea. I’m sure he’ll be quaking in his boots when one small woman and her half-blind father barge into his shop. I bet he confesses everything,andgives us an extra hundred pounds.”

Morgan tried not to laugh at her delightful sarcasm. “I didn’t say you should do it alone.”

“You think I should hire some dangerous-looking thugs to accompany me, do you? I’ll just pop over to Seven Dials or Limehouse and get myself robbed and killed—”

Morgan suppressed a snort. God, he loved her fire. Her eyes were flashing with irritation and her cheeks were becomingly flushed.

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