Princess of the 19th Century Department Store - Chapter 39

Fine rain fell through the morning mist. Dorothy Street was filled with people hurrying beneath umbrellas.

By the third day after opening, the frantic excitement had subsided into orderly routine. Mr. Nash and Fred already looked like practiced hands.

After the morning rush, Daisy returned to Clark Street beneath an umbrella and climbed into the attic.

She found cardboard boxes and potato sacks and began sorting the room’s old contents. With Penny away, she could throw out what should be discarded, sell what still had value, clean what they needed, and replace the rest.

During the preparations for opening, she had already cleared many accumulated objects from corners of the house: a wooden doll missing an arm, a misshapen wool cap, a trunk with a broken lock, bottles without stoppers, a short ladder with a broken leg, and a tablecloth eaten by moths.

It felt wasteful to throw them away, yet they were useless and difficult to repair. They occupied most of the living space and burdened every action.

Better to discard them all.

With Fred and Mary now living above the new store, the house was roomier. Lisa no longer needed to worry about tripping over clutter. She stood in the second-floor corridor on two crutches and watched the rain.

She desperately wanted to see the new shop, but the family would not allow it. Like a beast returned to its cage, she looked dissatisfied and impatient to recover.

Hearing Daisy clear the sisters’ trivial old belongings from the attic, Lisa felt a little regret, then admitted it was necessary.

Their family was different now.

With the old shop, they had been small merchants, only one step above street vendors. They earned a few shillings a day and lived plainly among customers even poorer than themselves.

Even at its best under Daisy, the old business had averaged only three pounds in daily profit.

Those earnings, combined with years of savings, produced the initial capital for expansion: the rent and renovation of the new premises.

Now, as spring approached, time had quietly transformed everything. The family had gritted its teeth and opened a proper grocery shop, and the opening was a success.

Average daily income had doubled. Six or ten pounds came readily, and shipments of quality goods entered the store.

Lisa naturally thought they could call themselves a respectable merchant household.

Her wretched old husband had once worn stinking boots for years without washing them. Whenever she complained, he claimed exhaustion and went to sleep.

Now he had become clean and even rose before dawn to polish his shoes by lamplight.

One creature always subdued another. Lisa could not manage him, but Daisy had trained the old dog perfectly. He was terrified his granddaughter might criticize him and leave him out.

Lisa snorted with amusement and returned to her room. She sat on the sofa, picked up the steel-nib pen from the desk, and resumed calculating for the shop.

The Scotch whisky came from Allutson, the same supplier as Piero’s Grocery.

It cost twenty-six pence per bottle, plus one penny in liquor duty and another in credit interest. The normal retail price was forty pence, or thirty-six for members.

Piero sold his version for thirty-seven pence.

In three days, Nash Grocery had sold a hundred and sixty-two bottles, earning more than five pounds in net profit from that product alone.

Daisy had said Piero’s purchase price was lower. According to his employees, it was barely over twenty pence.

The girl was trying to bypass the salesman and regional manager and contact Allutson’s owner directly.

Lisa privately thought that impossible.

Allutson Spirits Company might not dominate London’s whisky trade, but it held a significant share of Whitechapel. Why would its owner concern himself with tiny shopkeepers?

Daisy had probably spoken idly.

Up in the dim attic, rain rattled against the roof, and the smell of damp wood refused to disperse.

Taking advantage of the slow rainy day, Daisy spent an hour sorting everything. She threw away a great deal, filled two potato sacks with old clothes and objects, and sold them to a secondhand dealer for a few coins.

Then she carried a box of things she wished to keep into the bedroom Fred and Mary had vacated.

It was hers now.

The room was a little over ten square meters. Its wallpaper was yellowed and mottled, the floorboards curled, and the narrow window had wooden blinds.

A simple carved bed stood by the window, with a wardrobe at its foot and a small table near the door.

The clean simplicity pleased Daisy. At least rain would no longer keep her awake.

She arranged her clothes and bedding, sat at the desk, and wrote a long shopping list with a quill.

That evening, she planned to close the shop an hour early and take everyone in the family who could still get about to the West End.

They would raid ready-made clothing stores, grocers, hat shops, and gift shops.

Buying was secondary. The real purpose was to train their eyes—to teach them what to buy and wear for their present status and circumstances.

If her estimate was correct, Allutson’s reply had arrived.

Daisy tucked the list into her pocket, raised her umbrella, and returned to the shop.

The weather was gloomy and the nearby streets nearly empty. At the entrance, she closed the umbrella, shook off the rain, and placed it in the stand.

Inside, a well-dressed couple strolled around, apparently looking for snacks.

Daisy sat behind the counter.

After Mr. Nash finished serving the previous customer, he took a handful of letters from the drawer.

“The postman just delivered these. I haven’t read them.”

Seeing Daisy’s calm expression, he assumed they were unimportant and began recording the last transaction.

Daisy opened the envelopes and stacked the pages.

“Is Father back?”

“Soon. Why? Do you need the tricycle?”

“I do have something in mind.”

Without reading the letters, Daisy handed them all to her grandfather.

There were four replies.

The first came from the solicitor. Registration of the trademark at the Patent Office was almost complete, and the certificate should arrive in half a month.

He had received the technical documents for the biscuit patent and was preparing the application. If the Patent Office found no problem, it would be approved.

The solicitor also hinted that the examiner habitually demanded favors. If the Nashes knew no influential person, they should prepare an appropriate gift and deliver it to the mistress of the household at the address written on the final line.

That would secure the certificate within half a month. If they could not afford the favor, they would have to wait another month or two while the solicitor pestered the examiner until it passed.

Mr. Nash shrugged and handed the letter to Daisy before opening the next.

It came from Lawtons Insurance Company, confirming a combined policy in a manager’s own hand, addressed to the esteemed Mr. Nash.

Nash Grocery had paid its first premium of six pounds. It now carried employers’ liability insurance and fire insurance on two or three hundred pounds’ worth of merchandise.

The third letter came from another prominent insurer. For four pounds, the shop had obtained burglary and plate-glass coverage.

Both premiums were payable quarterly. Altogether, forty pounds a year covered the store from every direction. Even if several accidents occurred at once, the combined compensation could fully recover the losses.

To Daisy, this was money well spent.

She had investigated the foundations and backers of both insurers.

The esteemed Mr. Nash was learning for the first time how much insurance his own shop carried. He rubbed his chin, unable to imagine when Daisy had studied clauses so incomprehensible that a single glance produced a headache—coverage limits, proportional indemnity, loss-adjustment agreements, warranties.

He opened the final letter.

It came from Allutson Spirits Company.

The secretary wrote that Mr. Allutson had received the letters from Mr. Nash and the younger Mr. Nash yesterday morning. After careful consideration, he agreed to meet both gentlemen at afternoon tea next Saturday.

They were to arrive punctually at Allutson Spirits Company. He had only half an hour.

“What?”

Mr. Nash looked up in astonishment and pointed at himself.

“Me?”

He stared at the architect of the whole affair.

“Fred and I are to meet Mr. Allutson? Why would we meet an owner like that? We’ve always dealt with salesmen. If there’s a problem, shouldn’t the regional manager be enough?”

Daisy gave him an unfathomable smile.

The doorbell rang. Fred entered, removed his hat, and drank a glass of water at the counter.

Once he caught his breath, he looked from his silent father to Daisy’s strange smile.

“What happened?”

Mr. Nash passed him the letter. Fred read it and fell silent too.

Daisy blinked.

“I want you to meet Allutson and persuade him to supply us with first-grade whisky—the same first-grade product Piero’s Grocery receives.

“Don’t worry. You only need to memorize what I teach you and repeat it at the meeting.

“He will probably agree. Even if he doesn’t, we lose nothing. It won’t cost us a piece of flesh.”

Fred and Mr. Nash exchanged open-mouthed looks. Daisy’s confidence made the arrangement seem reliable, and her logic was sound.

They nodded and agreed. They might as well try. They had begged favors often enough when they were poor.

With that settled, Daisy drew out the solicitor’s letter as though she had known exactly what it would say.

“After dinner, the four of us will hire a carriage to Westminster. We’ll visit Penny and shop around Oxford Street.

“Meeting an owner like this is different from meeting a solicitor or bank manager.

“This transaction takes place in a seller’s market, not a buyer’s.

“As buyers, we need to pay greater attention to every detail. At the very least, we should cater to his tastes and prepare a gift.

“Besides better clothes and gifts, we’ll see what Oxford Street has to teach us—and buy a few cheese balls for the rats.”

An outing should not be wasted. Everyone would keep their eyes open and learn from excellent merchants.

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