Respectable Trade (30 page)

“You
are
my slave,” Frances said, as if to remind them both. “I can call you what I wish.”

“Yes.”

“Then I shall call you Cicero. It is a lovely name.”

Mehuru rose to his feet and Frances took an involuntary step backward.

“Very well.”

He waited before her, his hands by his sides, his eyes on her face. The plain dark green livery that Frances had chosen enhanced the darkness of his skin and the blue tattoos around his mouth and eyes.

Frances’s color flowed into her cheeks and drained away again. She put her hand out to him.

“I
shall
call you Cicero,” she repeated. It was as if she were asking some kind of permission from him.

Her finger touched the inside of his palm. He did not respond at all. Frances looked down and saw the contrast of her white hand against the smooth darkness of his skin.

“Cicero,” she whispered.

His hand did not clasp hers, he moved no closer. He stood
like a rock before her, and though she took a step, a tiny half step, toward him, he did not respond at all. He did not even look at her but stared over her head at the blankness of the wall, as if he were trying to see the open, free plains of his home in the silk wall covering.

Frances turned away from him and went to the window. “You can go, Cicero,” she said abruptly.

He went toward the door without looking back.

“We will have another lesson tomorrow,” Frances continued, trying to make him acknowledge her. “Cicero? You will come to another lesson tomorrow.”

Mehuru bowed his head and went silently from the room.

J
OSIAH TOOK THE FERRY
back to the north bank after he had seen his ship slip away downriver, but he did not go home for breakfast. Instead he went to the coffeehouse where the traders met. Although it was early, the place was already crowded. Josiah glanced around for a friendly face and started to make his way to his usual table.

“Josiah Cole! Hey! Josiah!”

He turned. At the top table, Stephen Waring nodded to him and George Woolwick beckoned him. “There’s a place for you here!” he called.

Josiah, his heart swelling, nodded casually to his friends at his old table and strolled as nonchalantly as he could manage through the busy room to the best table in the coffee shop: the table laid with white linen, the table served first and served with the very best of things.

“Cousin, this is Josiah Cole,” George Woolwick said to his neighbor. “Josiah, this is my cousin, John Shore. You met his wife at your wife’s tea table the other day.”

“Of course.” Josiah nodded to the man, who moved his chair over to make space for Josiah.

“Mrs. Shore told me all about it,” John Shore said. “She had her eye on that house—I have not heard the last of it I know. She said that your wife had some very fine furniture and would I ask you where she got it.”

“The Chinese pieces?”

John Shore frowned slightly. “No, she didn’t mention Chinese. I thought she said old stuff. But I wasn’t properly listening.”

“Oh.” Josiah thought fondly of Frances’s resistance to Chinese. “I think the best pieces come from Whiteleaze. My wife was a Miss Scott of Whiteleaze, and she has some pretty things.”

“No chance of buying them, then?” John asked gloomily.

Josiah shook his head. “They’re heirlooms,” he said. “Priceless, I should think. You know what these old families are like, priceless heirlooms with the Scott crest on them.”

“Well, I shall tell Mrs. Shore that we can’t buy that,” John Shore said with finality. “But she won’t thank me for it!”

Josiah managed a commiserating smile. “The ladies like to have things just so,” he said. “Mrs. Cole would have the ordering of her house whatever I might say to her.”

“And it’s a devil of a house to run,” Stephen Waring interrupted. “Have you had to take on many new servants?”

“Not a one,” Josiah said smugly. “I imported some niggers for domestic work a little while ago, and my wife has been training them. They are doing the work to perfection.”

“By jove, that’s a good idea!” Stephen Waring exclaimed. “But I thought your maid was English?”

“Oh, I have kept her on for now,” Josiah said airily. “But if my wife has her way, we will employ none but slaves. They are quick and obedient, and if they are well trained, they are better than English girls.”

“What race are they?” George Woolwick asked. “I always think that men from Dahomey are very unruly.”

“Bonny slaves
will
kill themselves,” Stephen Waring said. “They get melancholy and just die, just lie down and die.”

“These are handpicked, mostly Yoruban, two Fulani women, a Mandinko, and a Wolof,” Josiah said. “But the skill is in their education. They are not melancholy, and they are not suicidal because they have been continually trained in England by my wife. They’ve never seen a plantation; they’ve no idea of
anything but the way we do things here. These plantation house servants are spoiled by the time they come to England. But my slaves are fresh from the coast; they have been broken as I want them.”

“And you say your wife trains them?” Stephen Waring confirmed.

Josiah hesitated. Frances had coached him in what he had to say until he was able to sound convincing. She had warned him never to mention her period of work as a governess. “She has had the ordering of very large houses,” he explained easily. “At Whiteleaze, and at her father’s rectory. She is experienced in handling a large number of servants. A dozen slaves are no difficulty at all to her.”

Stephen Waring nodded, and the other men looked impressed. Josiah glanced around and signaled to the waiter to bring him a pint of small beer and a plate of bread, ham, and beef for his breakfast.

“And will you keep these slaves for your personal use?” George Woolwick asked.

“I shall sell most of them,” Josiah said. “When we are established in the new house, and when they are completely trained, I shall sell them as English servants. The men will be footmen, or even butlers. The women can serve as upper servants or ladies’ maids.”

“Mrs. Shore would want one,” John Shore said hastily. “Please reserve your best manservant for her. I know that she would want one.”

Josiah nodded. “I will make a note of it,” he said. “The best one is to be called Cicero, I think. I will reserve him for you.”

“Any children?” Stephen Waring asked.

“Two little boys, two youths of about seven and fifteen, and three girls,” Josiah replied.

“I’ll take one of the little boys,” Stephen Waring said. “My wife wants a little playmate for our children, and when he grows, he can be a page boy.”

“One of them is a very pretty child,” Josiah said.

“No diseases?”

Josiah shook his head. “They have been in my house for more than a quarter,” he said. “By the time they are ready for sale, they will be as fit as English children. As I say, bringing them from the coast and training them in my house, I can vet them before I sell them on.”

“By God! It’s a pretty piece of business,” John Shore said enthusiastically. “How much are you charging, Cole? I did not think to ask.”

“One hundred and ten each.” Josiah named Frances’s astronomic price.

There was a stunned silence. “Good God,” said Stephen Waring. “Where did you get that price from, man?”

“From my wife,” Josiah confessed simply. “She tells me that is what Lady Scott expects to pay for the slave we are training for her. These are the best prices for the very best slaves.” He hesitated, measuring their eagerness. “Each is, in every respect, an English servant; but one which never asks for wages, or time off, or can move to another employer. Think what you pay in wages to your servants—and how they behave! Then think what value a slave is!” He paused and shrugged lightly. “But if you wish to cancel your orders, gentlemen, there will be no hard feelings. I can sell them over and over again, as you will imagine. The London ladies are wild for them.”

“No, Mrs. Shore is bound to want one,” John Shore said with even greater certainty. “If Lady Scott herself has ordered one, you say?”

“Yes.” The waiter put a mug of ale before Josiah and brought the joint of beef to the table and started to carve succulent, pink-hearted slices and arrange them, fanned out on the plate. Josiah glanced past him to the table where he used to sit. His old friends were gazing at him in his new elevated position. Josiah grinned at them.

“And Mrs. Waring must have her page boy,” Stephen Waring agreed. “One hundred and ten, I think you said?”

“Guineas.” Josiah took a gulp from his ale and smiled over the top of the mug at Stephen Waring. “Guineas, if you please.”

“You are an astute businessman,” Stephen said pleasantly. “I wonder if you would be interested in a venture I am proposing. I want to sink a deep shaft at my colliery at Bedminster, and I need some extra capital to finance the work. It would be a loan at, say, four percent over two years.”

Josiah accepted his plate from the waiter and bent over it to hide his elated face. “Possibly,” he said. “What sort of capital sum?”

Stephen shrugged. “Not more than five thousand pounds. I don’t know if you have that sort of sum by you?”

Josiah lifted his head, and his expression was calm. “I could have,” he said steadily. “It would depend on the project, of course.”

“Indeed!” Stephen nodded. “Perhaps you would like to ride out with me and see the mine. It’s good-quality coal, if we can get down to reach it. Are you at liberty this afternoon?”

Josiah buttered a slice of bread and loaded it with meat. “Perfectly, Mr. Waring. I should be glad to come out and see it.”

“Very well,” Stephen Waring said. “And now let us have a look at these figures for the port charges. The town clerk suggests that we raise the harbor dues to amass some capital to build a floating dock. Of course we have needed a floating dock for years, but nothing has yet been done. Here are the plans.” He pulled a sheet of paper from a roll beside his chair. “It will mean that the port charges have to go up again—”

“But not for us,” John Shore added rapidly. “Not for Merchant Venturers.”

“Not for us,” Stephen Waring confirmed. “The smaller men can carry the cost. There will be no additional charges for us.”

J
OSIAH CAME HOME AT
midday to change into his riding coat and breeches. Frances had ordered a horse to be waiting for him at the livery stables, and she saw him off from the front door.

“I shall not invest,” Josiah said. Frances handed him his gloves and held his hat. “Unless it is very advantageous indeed. I would have to borrow it all, and I doubt I could get a rate to make it worthwhile.”

“Don’t say one way or another,” Frances advised him. She did not understand about interest rates, but she knew that it was wise not to disappoint a new acquaintance. “Leave it until he has made you a member of the Venturers. Leave it until your supper party and then see which way the wind is blowing.”

“I do not have the capital,” Josiah said. “I would have to borrow to invest it with him. But I have not said that. I spoke as if I had thousands sitting under my bed.”

“That is the way to do it,” Frances said encouragingly.

“I wish you could have seen me in the coffeehouse.” Josiah grinned. “Sitting at the top table and taking my breakfast with them all. And then I saw the plan for the new dock and discussed port charges with them. And selling the slaves—why, I made more than two hundred guineas this morning before breakfast!”

Frances smiled, catching his enthusiasm. “We are on our way,” she assured him. “But do not spend your two hundred guineas before you have it!”

“It is your two hundred,” he said fairly. “They were bought with your dowry, and they have been trained by you. You are their owner. They are Miss Scott’s slaves.”

“Then keep my two hundred guineas safe for me! I am not sure that I want a mine shaft!”

“Anyway, I do not think it would pay. I would not want us to be overstretched. And he was a fast customer over this house. I will not forget that. I heard today that there are two other houses coming up for sale on this square. I would have done a better deal if I had waited.”

“Two more houses for sale?” Frances was instantly on the alert. “Why?”

“Oh, different reasons. There is nothing wrong with the buildings, my dear, never fear.”

“No, I did not think that there was. But why are the other houses for sale?”

“One family is moving to Clifton, and the other is building off Park Street, I think.”

Frances looked thoughtful. Josiah took his hat from her. “They are foolish,” he said easily. “This will always be Bristol’s best address. Clifton is too far away and the Park Street houses are a jumble of designs. There is no elegant square like this one.”

“No,” Frances agreed politely. Then she saw a shadow of self-doubt pass over his face. Josiah was not always as confident as he seemed, and he trusted in her judgment more and more. “I know you are right,” she reassured him. “And this is a beautiful house! I would not live anywhere else!”

“It
is
the best,” Josiah repeated. “The biggest and best on the square. There is not another of better proportions. It is a very good investment.”