Authors: Philippa Gregory
Frances nodded. “I know it.”
Josiah opened the door and nodded his farewell. “I’ll be back before dusk,” he said. “By five.”
“We will dine late, then. Enjoy your ride.” Frances waved him off and went indoors to sit in the best parlor.
Sarah was seated at the table with the book for
Daisy
’s accounts laid out before her. Frances hesitated in the doorway, but Sarah looked up. “Come in,” she said. “I wanted to speak with you.” Sarah closed the book and waited while Frances pulled out a chair and sat, rather nervously, opposite her.
“I am about to start the afternoon lesson,” Frances began defensively.
“It’s not that.”
“Is it still the tea party?”
“No, it’s more important than that.”
There was a little silence.
“You are a powerful influence on my brother,” Sarah started. “Since we moved to this house especially. He admires your taste; he takes your advice.”
Frances nodded, saying nothing.
“You should be aware of our situation,” Sarah said.
“Is it no better?”
“How can it be, when we have trebled and quadrupled our expenses by moving to this house and our earnings have remained the same?”
“Is it very much more expensive here?”
Sarah bit her lip to contain her temper. “Instead of one fire burning during the day, we have four,” she said. “You have bought curtains and wall hangings for five rooms. You have bought chinaware—those Chinese vases and the porcelain dragons—and much furniture. I am aware that you brought many of your own things to furnish the house, but even so the carters had to be paid. Today Josiah has hired a horse; three times this week you have hired a carriage. I imagine that soon you will want to buy a carriage, and then we shall have to buy horses and set up stables and pay a coachman to drive them for you.”
“Josiah hired the horse to ride to Mr. Waring’s coal mines to look at an investment,” Frances observed. “We are not wasting money, sister. We are keeping a house in the style that Josiah’s station in life demands.”
Sarah folded her lips together and placed her hands gently in her lap. She was determined not to lose her temper. “I am aware of my brother’s ambition,” she said quietly. “And I know that you support him. But I must remind you, Frances, that we do not have the money to spend on high living. The housekeeping bills have more than doubled. Your dressmaker’s bill arrived today. You have spent more in a month than I spend in a year. The business cannot support this kind of spending.”
“Josiah has taken two orders for the slaves only today,” Frances countered. “From men who were at my tea party. At one hundred and ten guineas each!”
“Then let them be sold at once. And let us have the two hundred and twenty guineas without delay. I have bills at the chandler’s for
Daisy
’s stores and a bill at the sailmaker for her sails which I cannot meet.”
Frances shook her head. “They are not ready,” she said reluctantly. “They can do simple tasks, but only Mehuru—Cicero—is fluent.”
“They must be sold as soon as possible,” Sarah said. “All but two women. Now we have such a large house, we will have to keep two of the women to do our work. After Easter, I shall let Brown and the scullery maid go. We cannot afford a staff of so many.”
“Yes.” Frances suddenly thought of Mehuru’s hand, the warmth of his palm under her finger, the fascinating tracery of brown lines against the paler skin of his palm, the turn of his head, and that charged moment between them when he had snatched her hand. “I wish . . .”
“What?”
“I wish we could keep them longer. There is so much that they will have to learn. It is such a strange world to them.”
“You are not teaching them for their convenience,” Sarah said. “You are teaching them to increase their value. And
Daisy
will bring you a dozen more on her return.”
“It won’t be the same,” Frances murmured, half to herself.
“You have not forgotten that they are slaves?” Sarah reminded her sharply. “They are trade goods, sister, the same as sugar or brass kettles.”
“I have not forgotten,” Frances said quickly. “I am not likely to forget my place with them. I have commanded servants all my life.”
“These are not servants. These are goods.”
“I don’t forget it,” Frances said.
J
OSIAH STOOD WITH HIS
hands thrust deep into the pockets of his new winter coat and watched his ship, the
Lily,
sail into port on the last day of February.
It was a cold, raw day, but nothing could shift the beaming smile from Josiah’s round face. The rowboats brought her carefully to the side, the quayside workers fended her off and caught the ropes to make her fast. The gangplank came down, and Josiah strolled on board.
“You made good time,” he said to the captain.
“We did,” the captain replied. “And a good profit also. Slave prices are high in the West Indies again; for a couple of the best of them, I got seventy pounds!”
Josiah’s grin broadened even further. “And the sugar price? And tobacco?”
“Fair,” the man said. “I think you will be pleased. I have the books to hand.”
“Do you carry much gold?”
The captain nodded to his cabin. “I have three hundred pounds’ worth in my strongbox. It’s all accounted for.”
“Unload it now,” Josiah said. “I’ll have it at once.”
“There’s the crew to pay, and the bonuses,” the man demurred.
“Pay them tomorrow,” Josiah said. “I’ll see to it. You’ll get your share, don’t worry.” He whistled for one of the sailors, and the captain let him take the strongbox down the gangplank to the old empty warehouse.
“I’ve never seen him do that before,” the captain said to himself. “Usually it’s the books or the cargo he wants. I’ve never seen him rush the strongbox ashore before he’s even tasted the tobacco.”
He shrugged his shoulders and yelled to the crew to start the unloading. They lashed a wheel to the mast and began to haul the heavy hogsheads of tobacco out of the hold and onto
the dock. The hold was foul with the stink of slaves; the men wore their scarves pulled up over their mouths. Not even the powerful scent of new tobacco and the rich, heavy smell of molasses could overcome it.
Josiah in his office was counting the money and setting it into heaps of coins balanced on bills. He had not yet settled all the
Daisy
’s bills, though she was more than a week out of port. He owed the carpenter and the plasterer for the Queens Square house. He owed the sweep, and he had not yet paid for the new curtains and carpets. The profits of
Lily
’s voyage—which usually paid for her refitting and victualing—would be spread among Josiah’s debtors, and he would seek extra partners for her next trip to meet her costs.
“Damnation!” Josiah had rung a coin on his desk and found it to be false. It did not ring true. It was lightweight base metal, gilded to look like gold. He was only a guinea short, the strongbox held more than three hundred pounds, and his ship was well loaded with sugar and tobacco, but for a moment, knowing himself to have been cheated, Josiah looked absolutely afraid.
Scott House,
London.
Friday 20th March 1789
My dear niece,
This letter is to bring you my very Best compliments and to inform you that the Family will be arriving at Whiteleaze at the end of May.
You will be pleased to hear that your Sir Charles Fairley and Miss Honoria presented their Cards to Lady Scott and—as you asked—were invited to our Ball. Despite some little roughness of tone, they Acquitted themselves Moderately well, and Sir Charles in particular Endeared himself to my guests by Losing heavily at Piquet.
I have introduced him to my Club, where his inability to Win makes him a Constant favorite.
On a more Serious note, he tells me that he is considering Cole and Sons as his agent, and I have Promised him that I will make myself Busy in seeking out a Suitable house for him and Consult with you. He has described to me the size of Establishment and the Extent of land, and I am Certain that I can Find him such a place—and under terms which are Advantageous to all of us. I am Delighted to find that you have Become such a shrewd Woman of Business—since Your destiny has called you to be such. In Sir Charles you have a Customer to be Proud of, generous and, Indeed, feckless. I think we will all benefit from the Association. He is Extremely wealthy.
Forgive my speaking plainly, but I know you will not Take offense. You have done your husband a good turn Indeed by winning Sir Charles’s fortune to your Trading house. I am happy to do all I can to help Yourselves—and indeed to help
Myself
to the Benefits of such an association. That Sir Charles benefits also Cannot be in Doubt. I will keep you Informed of all opportunities of Investment which come my way and of which you should be Informed. My favorite project at the moment is a building scheme in London of Which I shall reserve a Share for Cole and Sons, if I think fit. Also, there is a New scheme for Wet Docks at Liverpool which is seeking investors. I will keep you informed.
Forgive me this Odd mixture of Business and family Matters, but I am anxious that you and your Husband continue to Prosper. I imagine that it Would help your standing with your New neighbors if Lady Scott were to Drive over for Tea? I will take the Liberty of promising her Attendance on you as soon as she is in the Country.
You will have heard that the Abolitionists, headed by Mr. Wilberforce, are planning to bring a Bill before Parliament in this session to Abolish the Trading of Slaves. I am assured that he will Fail. There are Too many men in the House whose fortunes depend on the Trade. However, for the Future you would be well Advised to move Some of your Business away from shipping Slaves. A Law to
limit the Numbers of Niggers packed into the Holds is almost Certain to pass, which must make Shipping less profitable. If you could find Another such as Sir Charles you could move your Business from Shipping to Agenting—The movement of Money, my dear, is So much Easier than that of Goods, or even people!
I Trust you are well Established in your new House and that the furniture all Arrived safely. I think of you Often, and your Happiness and Prospects are always Dear to my heart.
Your loving Uncle,
Scott of Whiteleaze.
Frances put down the letter and looked into the red embers of the fire. Josiah was home late. It was a supper party of the Bristol merchants; they rarely finished before midnight, and Josiah was rarely home sober. The excesses of the corporation were legendary even in a hard-drinking city. Josiah would return red-faced and smelling of strong roast meat and sweet rum, hoarse from singing bawdy songs and shouting jests.
Sarah might be tight-lipped with disapproval at breakfast, but Frances believed that Josiah was carousing his way into the very inner circle of the Bristol Corporation and Merchant Venturer power—the unholy alliance that ruled Bristol completely. Besides, however drunk Josiah had been the night before, he was never late to work. He was always on the quayside at the usual time, before any other trader. He was always last in the coffeehouse for breakfast, always alert and ready for the small sale, for the little investor with a bandbox of money.
Frances looked at her uncle’s letter again. If he was right, and if their business could develop, then Josiah’s scramble for the capital of small men might be over. The ceaseless worry of insurance and ships, of storms and broken masts, might be replaced by the easy transition of capital from one moneymaking scheme to another. She shook her head. Nothing would wholly wean the Coles away from trade, nothing would make them feel as secure as their bond house full of tobacco, their storeroom
full of barrels of rum, of sugar. The handling of notes of hand was too distant for them. They liked goods they could taste and wealth they could weigh.
The rest of Bristol had moved away from the slave trade—abandoned it to the quicker, more efficient Liverpool ships. But the Coles had clung to it, and clung to it still. Even Josiah’s dream of buying the Hot Well was not to replace his main business as a trader but to supplement it.
Sir Charles’s money left with them for safekeeping when he had gone to London had not been fully used. If Josiah had had his own way, he would have stowed it all securely in a locked chest under his bed, bought only those goods Sir Charles required, paid Sir Charles’s bills from it, and kept it safe for him. He would have invested only on his own ships, borrowed from it with his own note of hand. It was Frances who insisted that it be used to buy a share in a ship leaving for the Americas for cotton, and Josiah had watched unhappily as another trader left port with Sir Charles’s money invested in a rival voyage.
Josiah was as jealous of Sir Charles’s capital as of his own. But Frances would be proved right. The good ship
Endeavour
would show a profit of more than 50 percent and a handsome 40 percent of that could go straight into the coffers of Cole and Sons.
Frances heard Josiah’s knock on the front door and Kbara going wearily down the hall to open it.
“Mrs. Cole is there,” Kbara said.
Josiah came down the hall and put his head around the parlor door. “My dear,” he said, blinking owlishly at the light. “I am so glad you are still awake. I am obliged.” He nodded. “Obliged to you.”
Frances stifled a giggle. “I think, husband, you have been drinking well.”
“A little punch,” he said seriously. “And port, and wine, and sherry, and a good deal of my own excellent rum, and a little brandy as well.”
“Would you like tea?”
“Certainly not,” he said. “I fear it would give me a headache tomorrow.”
Frances laughed aloud. “You are cautious.”
“As a Methodist,” he confirmed. “Now, madam, cease laughing at a poor man. I have news for you which will make you wish to drink my health many times over, too.”
Frances half rose from her chair. “The Venturers?” she asked. “You are invited to be a member?”