Princess of the 19th Century Department Store - Chapter 38

Late at night, Dorothy Street had settled into quiet, far removed from the glittering evening lights of the City of London.

The sky hung low. Street lamps cast a dull yellow glow, and only a few figures remained in the little shops.

Apart from the public houses, every establishment had begun sweeping its entrance, washing dishes, and wiping tables.

Mr. Nash removed his coat for the work. In an old orange jumper and cotton apron, he seemed determined to scrub the shop from end to end.

He carried a basin to the entrance, carefully splashed the steps, and began sweeping with a soft, steady rustle.

Fred was restocking a corner. He carried a wicker basket containing several dozen tins and filled the gaps on the shelves. Remembering the rules, he checked the batch numbers and moved the older goods to the front.

When he finished, he took a cloth from the basket and wiped the counter. Even when no dust was visible, it had to be cleaned regularly; waiting until dirt could be seen was already too late.

Fred worked with particular care to avoid another lecture from his father.

Behind the counter, Daisy bent over the accounts, listening to the quiet movements around the store.

Her father and grandfather had mastered the work. Without reminders, they followed every procedure in order.

Several heart-shaped ink bottles stood beside her. Two or three quills and steel-nib pens rested on a pen rack. The open ledger recorded the day’s customer traffic and receipts.

The many opening promotions had attracted more curious customers than usual.

Approximately eight hundred people entered the store. Six hundred and forty bought something.

Excluding the ten prepaid-account customers, one hundred spent more than five shillings per transaction. The remaining five hundred and thirty spent around twenty pence each.

Retail revenue reached sixty pounds. Prepaid accounts brought in another hundred and fifty, for a total of two hundred and ten pounds.

Her margin remained thirty percent: sixty-three pounds of profit.

Only a small part of that came from honestly selling goods.

Most came from selling the habit of spending tomorrow’s money today.

The figures looked dry, yet Daisy could read a great deal from them: the conversion rate of the handbills, the rate at which visitors became buyers, and the spending power of different customer groups.

Around thirty percent of the one or two thousand handbills had converted—an excellent result when the printed materials cost only a few pounds.

The purchase conversion rate was eighty percent, exceptional for a self-service shop. It confirmed that the atmosphere, price bands, and merchandise selection formed a coherent whole.

Workers, the middle class, and wealthier small proprietors from the surrounding area were all willing to spend there.

Real market data never lied.

If she could not obtain the finest goods, she would compensate through everything within her control.

Daisy tied the dense mass of coins in the drawer into rolls and stacked them like firewood. After counting each with her fingertips, she placed them in a locked chest until it was full.

The day’s sales had bitten deeply into the inventory. A little over a hundred bottles of liquor remained, along with one case of cigars, while two barrels of tea had sold.

Once the factories received her letters tomorrow morning, they would probably replenish the stock that afternoon.

First thing tomorrow, Daisy and Fred would visit the bank, cash the day’s only check, and deposit all the currency.

Most of the money would remain in the account until their inventory credit came due and payments were transferred to the suppliers.

Two hundred pounds sounded enormous, but it would not linger in their hands.

Of the sixty-three pounds in profit, half had to return to merchandise.

Around thirty pounds remained for family expenses, ordinary consumption, and the cost of a more respectable standard of living.

If sales followed the cycle she had forecast, the monthly profit would be between a hundred and fifty and two hundred pounds. After saving half, sixty or seventy pounds could go entirely toward living expenses. By London standards, that was a thoroughly middle-class household.

Even when Nash Grocery was small, the family had lived a little better than their neighbors. They did not all crowd into a single room and had a private lavatory and kitchen.

Daisy and Penny’s room overflowed with little possessions. What girl on Clark Street enjoyed such conditions?

It proved that, before the family’s labor shortage, their life had not been poor.

Apart from the two girls, however, the Nashes lived simply and had no taste for refined consumerism.

It was time Daisy taught them how to spend money correctly and develop an appropriate attitude toward wealth.

Spending well was an art that tested one’s judgment.

It could command better treatment, open doors into other circles, and help build authority. Spent on productive ends, money multiplied. Spent unwisely, it became a trap that turned the spender into someone else’s prey.

Daisy finished the accounts, stood, and stretched.

Mary entered carrying the last of her everyday belongings. She and Fred would move into one of the third-floor bedrooms, both to guard the valuable stock and to open the store easily each morning.

The couple owned little. Two hours of packing after dinner had been enough.

Mary saw the ledgers and came over curiously. When she learned how much they had earned, she stared in a daze and checked the result several times.

“How can that be? Sixty pounds’ profit in one day? I can’t believe our family could ever earn that much.”

Daisy reassured her calmly.

“Most came from long-term prepaid accounts, and today’s promotions concentrated the casual customers.

“Under normal conditions, daily profit will probably be only six to ten pounds.

“That’s business. We might make sixty pounds today and only six pounds—or six shillings—tomorrow. It means nothing.”

“Six pounds in a day is still a fortune! I never earned six pounds in a month.”

Mary shook her head, as though both feet had stepped into the clouds.

Daisy knew that after completing primitive accumulation and making their first great sum, people often found large amounts of money unreal.

Without a steady will, that moment produced extremes. Some surrendered to luxury, some became addicted to gambling, and others retreated at the first peak and retired.

In the end, everything they had earned returned by the path it came.

Daisy decided to use this opportunity to teach the family the most important economic lesson of their lives.

“In the distant East, there’s a plant called bamboo. It grows in a peculiar way.

“For years before it breaks the soil, the underground rhizomes and shoots develop in darkness. They detour around rocks and face danger from insects and snakes.

“But once the shoot reaches the surface, it needs only a few days to rise several stories high, joint by joint, towering over the forest.”

The others fell silent, each considering the meaning in a different way.

Mr. Nash looked melancholy, perhaps remembering the rises and falls of his own life. He swept as though clearing dust from his heart.

Fred had little obsession with money. Good business pleased him, but if the shop failed, he could return to ordinary work and life. He continued straightening tins.

Mary was more direct. She patted Daisy’s cheek.

“You’re right. We worked hard for a long time. We deserve this.”

Daisy smiled and lowered her mother’s hand.

“Exactly. So, dear Mother, let us enjoy the fruits of money and hire someone for the kitchen.”

Mary did not understand the connection.

“Why hire anyone? I can keep up by myself. An employee only adds costs. What a waste.

“And what if she learns our recipes?”

Daisy did not hurry to argue. She poured two cups of tea, drank from one, and handed the other to Mary.

The fact that Mary considered such practical problems was already progress.

“You’re right. Those risks are real.

“We can’t stop people from learning or copying. We can only raise our standards, train customers to become more demanding, and let the market eliminate the inferior.

“Employees cost money and may reveal secrets. We can’t avoid that either. We protect ourselves through the law.”

Daisy took out the solicitor’s letter and passed it to Mary.

Mary scanned the pages and froze.

“You want to patent Diamond Cookies?”

The letter described the process and fees for applying.

“Should someone refuse to drink water because she’s afraid she’ll need the lavatory?” Daisy asked.

“Don’t you want your biscuits sold throughout the country—even overseas?

“Whenever people eat them, they’ll remember the woman who created and perfected them. They may forget the present prime minister, but they’ll remember you, Mary Nash.

“You brought that delicious thing into the world.

“All it takes is a patent.”

Mary thought gravely. She was an ordinary housewife. How had eternal fame suddenly drawn so close?

But Daisy’s words were remarkably persuasive.

“We must expand production and hire people to work for us.

“We also need to develop the ability to manage subordinates and preserve their loyalty.

“Risk is something to control, not hide from. Otherwise, we would never have rented this shop.”

Mary absorbed the argument and nodded.

“I understand. Leave it to me. I’ll think carefully about who would be suitable.”

She became solemn, no longer treating employment as a trivial cost-saving question.

Mr. Nash and Fred felt strangely stirred as well and worked with renewed energy.

Daisy saw that the morale boost had taken hold and nodded in satisfaction.

“The kitchen isn’t the only place that needs staff. The shop needs one or two honest, reliable general hands for deliveries and cleaning.”

Such productive spending would gradually free the core family members from physical labor.

Later, Daisy intended to enroll them in advanced paid accounting courses and let them taste the hardship of improving themselves.

…