Princess of the 19th Century Department Store - Chapter 37

Before dawn on Dorothy Street, the sky remained dark and the neighborhood silent, with only a sliver of light trembling on the eastern horizon.

Small shopkeepers carried gas lamps into the bitter wind, struggled to push open their doors, and set metal stops against them. Wind howled through the narrow, veinlike streets, funneled hard enough to billow the cooks’ cotton smocks like dandelion heads.

Shopkeepers and clerks along Dorothy Street noticed sheets of paper slipping from cracks beneath their doors. They picked them up and discovered handbills announcing the opening of the new Nash Grocery.

Most had received a small gift the previous evening. Remembering that courtesy, they intended to return it by visiting the store. They carried the handbills into their kitchens and studied them beneath the lamps, looking for the most economical thing they might buy.

The promotions were explained with remarkable clarity.

First came registered prepaid credit. Deposit one pound and receive an extra shilling; five pounds brought eight extra shillings; ten pounds brought two extra pounds; and thirty pounds brought six extra pounds. Thirty pounds was the limit. The more a customer deposited, the greater the reward, and each tier differed. Only fifty places were available.

Anyone who prepaid automatically qualified for the next two promotions.

The merchants could see this was intended for larger customers with regular purchasing plans. They continued reading.

The second offer was a paid membership. Three shillings purchased a month of registered membership, including a free gift every Monday and ten percent off all purchases during the membership period.

Third was a prize drawing: anyone spending three pounds could draw for a fine gift, ranging from cigars to wine unavailable for ordinary sale.

The final offer was a one-penny add-on. Spend five shillings, ten shillings, or one pound, then choose an item from a designated shelf for a penny.

Beneath the offers, the handbill listed more than a dozen discounted products. Familiar Old Actor Soap cost one penny a bar or two pence for three. Small packets from the Three-Farthing Section came with one free for every ten and three free for every twenty.

The reverse showed a complete catalog of the shop’s goods. The selection was far broader than before and more interesting than that of an ordinary little grocery.

Any purchase of five shillings or more qualified for free delivery. Customers merely had to leave an address and wait.

The first hundred customers today could draw a lucky slip for a chance at a discount or a free purchase. The first three through the door would receive a free broth pudding.

As dawn spread across the east, residents of the nearby lanes woke before the bells, and smoke rose from the rooftops.

The same handbill waited in the letter boxes of large shops, small factories, and hotels along Jude Road. Nine out of ten people gave it only a glance—then looked again and read with curiosity.

Soon the old clock tower behind Jude Road rang with solemn dignity, and daylight fully arrived.

At No. 6 Dorothy Street, the doors remained closed and the wooden sign still read *Resting*, but customers had already begun to gather.

Inside, Mary and Daisy gave the merchandise a final dusting. Mr. Nash and Fred adjusted their clothes in small mirrors.

When the last echo of the bell faded, they opened the doors, removed the sign, and welcomed the crowd with broad smiles.

Delaney, carrying an empty plate, rushed first toward the wide counter. She had come for the free pudding.

Unfortunately, so had many others. A crush formed at the counter and nearly became a fight before Delaney finally defended her place at the head of the line.

Behind the counter, Daisy calmly shook a tin to make sure the pudding would release cleanly.

With a few words, she quieted the restless crowd and named the first three old neighbors.

“The puddings are reserved for you. There’s no need to push.

“Look around and see what else you need. You can settle everything together.”

She pointed to the handbills posted on the walls. “Every offer printed there is genuine.”

The crowd dispersed, following the path created by the low displays.

Delaney lifted her skirts as she moved through the packed shop. Uninterested in liquor or cigars, she pushed toward the food and household shelves.

Mr. Nash carried a bundle of string shopping nets for customers. He greeted her politely and offered her one.

Unable to refuse such hospitality, Delaney accepted it. Remembering her mother’s list, she selected pickled olives and jam. Then she recalled the one-penny add-on for spending five shillings and continued browsing until she had sixty pence of goods.

In one corner, she found inexpensive cloth items. After a moment’s thought, she took a pair of sleeve protectors and a handful of three-penny buttons.

When she returned to queue, she noticed wooden boxes in niches behind the counter. They held samples of rice, flour, grain, and oil, as well as eggs, smoked sausages, dried shrimp, and dried scallops. A basket of apples and pears stood nearby.

Everything had a price. Goods were weighed and wrapped on the spot; only the eggs were sold individually, at three farthings apiece.

Delaney was surprised. She usually bought such things at the market, not a grocery.

“You even sell eggs? Are they discounted too?”

While totaling another customer’s purchases, Daisy replied, “Of course. Thirty eggs bought separately cost twenty-two pence. A full box costs twenty.

“We can deliver them, and if any break on the way, the loss is ours.”

Delaney nodded eagerly. “I’ll take a box, twenty pounds of flour, a smoked sausage, and four loaves of garlic bread.

“When can the bread and eggs be delivered?”

“Everything for delivery will arrive today. Nothing will be left overnight.”

Satisfied, Delaney handed over her shopping net. While Daisy checked the contents, she added three-farthing packets of cocoa, sweets, and tea.

A little casual shopping had become several shillings. Delaney carried home the things she needed immediately, along with her free pudding, while Daisy recorded the delivery items.

In three or four hours, Fred would return from his large Camden orders, tear each slip from the book, load the goods, and deliver them throughout the nearby streets. If an order belonged to a close neighbor, Mr. Nash could cross it off and make the delivery himself when the shop was quiet.

All morning, Daisy managed the till, Mr. Nash guided customers, Mary cooked prepared foods in the central kitchen, and Fred delivered farther away.

Even Lisa helped, sitting on the bedroom sofa with pen and paper to calculate costs and profits for several batches of food.

Now and then, she looked outside with satisfaction.

The fierce wind at dawn had scattered the heavy clouds above London. Sunlight gilded the neighborhood.

What fine weather.

After another month or so of rest, Lisa could begin moving freely again, supporting herself as she practiced walking. She no longer felt anxious. In fact, she had begun to consider spending the rest of her life lying down and living off the younger generation.

Lisa had to admit that education was useful. Even if it had not caught her a respectable grandson-in-law, it had certainly made Daisy excellent at business.

As the sun climbed, the morning rush on Dorothy Street gradually eased.

The small proprietors who had spent the morning busy in their own shops finally removed their aprons, wiped the sweat from their faces, straightened their clothes, tucked the Nash handbill under an arm, and set out.

Everyone had seen the crowd at dawn.

They had imagined they were coming to contribute a little popularity as a neighborly favor. Now their mouths twitched. The new shop had already surpassed Lobit’s old grocery. It hardly needed their support.

Curiosity still itched.

It was only a grocery shop. The promotions were clever enough, but could Daisy make flowers bloom from the floorboards?

Joel was one of them. He approached Nash Grocery with a merchant’s critical eye.

Local residents came to enjoy the excitement and buy necessities at good prices. Mr. Joel, who ran a business himself, believed he could see what lay beneath the spectacle.

He did not enter immediately. First he studied the frontage.

The door had been repaired rather than replaced and finished with clear oil. The windows, however, had been thoroughly refurbished and fitted with adjustable wooden blinds.

Under the little portico hung the name *Nash Grocery* in spotless brass letters that caught the sunlight. Every pit and crack in the decorative plaster had been filled.

Wooden umbrella stands and a narrow resting bench stood on either side, surrounded by potted camellias of uncertain origin.

The door bore an *Open* sign and a brass bell, with a new letter box beside it.

Closer in, Joel caught a light citrus fragrance mingled with coffee. It was welcoming.

As a neighboring competitor, he found nothing to criticize. That made him frown as he entered.

Everything suggested an operator attentive to detail, with a clear position and a taste that ordinary customers would enjoy.

Other local proprietors were circling the shop just as he was, chatting with Mr. Nash while missing nothing.

Joel had felt uneasy at first. When he saw every competitor wearing the same expression, it seemed less alarming.

He accepted tea from Mr. Nash and wandered around. The sheer variety left him baffled.

Needles and thread were expected. Prepared foods and hardware, cloth goods and dry ingredients, fruit and writing materials were not.

There was tooth powder and small tins of lanolin face cream. More surprising still, there were iodine tincture, cotton swabs, and rolls of gauze bandage—things usually sold at clinics. Technically they were not medicines, so the shop needed no additional category on its permit.

But who had thought of putting all these things under one roof?

It was shameless.

They meant to steal the business of every shop on the street.

Fortunately, there were only a few basic varieties in each category. Their coffee could never compare with his.

Twenty or thirty customers packed the floor, drawing prizes and adding goods to reach spending thresholds.

After watching, Joel shook his head. This method could not possibly be sustained.

Still, he wanted to see what Nash Grocery did next.

“Mr. Nash, I’d like the three-shilling membership. What’s this week’s gift?”

Before Mr. Nash could answer, Daisy spoke.

“This time, the gift is a cigar from a new supplier. We chose it so our members could judge the quality for themselves.”

With perfect respect and a flattering smile, she accepted Joel’s money, opened a cigar box, and took out a newly sealed cigar.

“It comes from Key West, Florida. No one else on Dorothy Street has ever carried it.

“Mr. Joel, everyone knows you have refined taste. Why not try it now and give us amateurs your opinion?”

Daisy had noticed his bloodshot envy the moment he entered.

Unlike Lobit, however, Joel was not a direct competitor. He merely sold coffee. He had spent ages secretly studying Diamond Cookies without successfully baking a single one.

Better a harmless neighboring merchant than another enemy.

Joel could hardly strike a smiling face. He shrugged and agreed.

Daisy clipped the cigar, struck a match, toasted the end evenly, shook out the red ember, and presented it with both hands.

Joel took a draw and sent smoke curling into the air.

After two puffs, his expression changed.

Daisy had selected these cigars because, during an industry seminar in the twenty-first century, she had heard of Vicente Martínez Ybor.

Eleven years ago, the cigar maker had left Cuba and opened a tobacco factory in Florida. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, he would help create America’s cigar capital.

One day a city would bear his surname, and he would become one of the great tobacco magnates of the American South.

At this point in Daisy’s world, however, the future tycoon was only beginning to emerge. His Prince of Wales tobacco had not yet achieved its later fame.

But later generations’ praise proved his craft was already exceptional. Finding his goods among a dozen offerings from the cigar importer had been extraordinary luck.

Joel savored the distinctive flavor and could not stop himself from asking the price.

“Not expensive at all,” Daisy said. “A box of twenty costs six shillings—less than four pence each.

“The full box comes in the original Spanish cedar case, with a soft lining and metal clasp. Wrap it in waxed cloth and it makes a fine gift.

“It may look understated, but once the recipient uses it, he’ll understand the thought behind it.”

She turned to the other customers watching the cigar or considering membership.

“If a knowledgeable gentleman like Mr. Joel is satisfied, I doubt there’s much reason for anyone else to hesitate.”

Joel smiled stiffly. He could not give her the stage by praising it, but criticizing it in public would make him look like a grown man quarreling with a cheerful girl.

So he remained rooted to the floor and smoked in silence.

Onlookers assumed the cigar was so good it had placed him in a trance.

“Give me two boxes. I want a membership too. Does the discount apply immediately?”

“Of course. May I have your name and address?”

“Martin Barrenby. I live north of the street at Gerlin Hat Factory.”

Daisy entered his name at the top of the B page in the membership ledger and stamped the date.

As she packed two boxes, she said, “I’ve included two sheets of waxed cloth to protect them from damp.”

“Besides cigars, we carry London dry gin and whisky at discounted prices. Have a look. If your purchases reach three pounds, you’ll qualify for the grand-prize drawing.

“You’ve already spent twelve shillings. If you don’t wish to reach three pounds, another eight shillings will bring you to one pound and let you choose anything from this display for a penny.”

Daisy indicated the nearest shelves, filled with cups, plates, vases, knives, and forks.

The pieces came in metal, ceramic, glass, and wood. Their shapes were simple and clean, suitable for any table. At that price, taking one was irresistible.

Barrenby counted on his fingers for a long time, then added several bottles and packets of Diamond Cookies until he finally reached a pound.

At the counter, he began asking careful questions about registered prepaid credit.

“What if someone pretends to be me and spends the money I’ve deposited?

“And what if I pay in advance, then your shop raises its prices and refuses to return my money?”

Daisy answered patiently while the other customers listened.

“Registered prepaid credit is very secure. You receive a paper card, and I keep a ledger.

“Every purchase is marked with the time and date. Both halves receive a matching seal, and you add your fingerprint and signature.

“We only have the capacity to accept fifty long-term accounts. Someone carrying your card alone cannot spend from it.

“We compare the fingerprint to confirm your identity, the matching seals to verify how much was used, and even the color of the signature ink has meaning. There will be no confusion.

“As for price increases, did you see the complete catalog on the back of the handbill?

“Prices for everything printed there will remain fixed. Goods outside the catalog may rise or fall with the market.

“The only inconvenience is that no one but you can use the money—not even your family.”

Barrenby could find no disadvantage at all.

The protections seemed stricter than those of a private bank.

He immediately took out his checkbook, wrote a Post Office Savings Bank check for thirty pounds, and handed it over.

“Put thirty pounds on my account. I won’t use it today; I’ll pay cash for these goods.”

After Barrenby drew a prize, chose his gift, and left his delivery address, the other customers whose doubts had been answered approached the counter one after another.

Daisy was busy building a base of high-spending regulars while Mr. Nash served ordinary shoppers, totaling purchases and wrapping goods.

The neighboring merchants looked, bought, and learned a basketful of business methods.

They had no choice but to admit defeat.

When Joel finished his cigar, he shook his head and left, silently considering how his coffee shop might imitate the system.

Perhaps a prepaid coffee card?

Near noon, Daisy straightened the accounts behind the counter.

Ten large prepaid accounts had sold, bringing in one hundred and fifty pounds directly, quite apart from ordinary sales.

The profit hidden within those deposits was almost beside the point. Once the money entered her hands, not a single penny would escape. A little operation here and there would make money breed money and bring the entire cash chain to life.

Fred returned from Camden to Dorothy Street near noon and began delivering orders around the nearby streets.

He had assumed the first day would be quiet. Instead, the string of delivery slips looked long enough to tie him up.

Marveling, he rolled up his sleeves, collected stock from the warehouse, loaded the tricycle, and set off from house to house.

When the lunch hour arrived and the shop finally emptied, the family hung up the sign and closed for half an hour.

At the Clark Street house, even the old display cases had been sold secondhand, leaving the front room wide and empty.

Now it contained a long table surrounded by broad armchairs. A cloth covered the tabletop, laid with elaborate mats, cups, and complete place settings.

Fred half carried, half supported Lisa downstairs and settled her at the table.

Mary had spent the whole day baking bread and biscuits for sale. With money now in hand, she leisurely purchased several boxed dishes from a nearby Italian restaurant: bone-marrow risotto, lasagna with tomato and meat sauce, and more.

Daisy was delighted. There was risotto—rice! She had craved it for ages.

After a full meal, the heavy drowsiness of carbohydrates settled over the afternoon. Sunlight weakened behind the clouds, and a breeze teased at her hair.

Daisy drank a cup of strong tea and returned to the store.

She counted the gaps on the shelves, brought down fresh stock to refill them, then wrote to four or five manufacturers asking for another delivery in two days.

Clearly, profit existed in the darker reaches of human nature.

…