Respectable Trade Read online

  “I have sent it in,” the man said. “Twice. I would trouble you for the money now. It is thirty guineas.”

  Josiah twitched his sleeve from the man’s grasp. “D’you think I settle my bills at my breakfast?” he demanded. “Come to my warehouse at noon, and I will pay you then.”

  “I knew you when you paid your bills at breakfast and when you touted for business at dinner,” the man replied angrily. “And I have been to your warehouse twice yesterday and once today, and there was no one there to give me satisfaction. If it’s no trouble to you, Josiah, I’ll take my thirty guineas now.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Josiah exclaimed. He plunged his hand into the big pocket of his cape and drew out a leather purse, which he tossed at the man. “Take that, and if it is not enough, I will settle up with you later. It is all I have on me. Unless you would like the buttons off my coat? They are solid brass.”

  The man stood his ground. “I am sorry if I offend you, Josiah, but it has been a long time. I cannot give you more credit. I dare not take the risk.”

  “I do not trade on credit!” Josiah exclaimed, goaded beyond endurance. “I am not a bad risk.”

  The man said nothing. The whole coffee shop was silent, listening to the exchange. Josiah glared around, and the men, who had been staring, at once turned to each other and chattered noisily or applied themselves to their breakfast plates. They all recognized the anger of a man cornered, whose luck is running out.

  “I bid you good day,” Josiah muttered, and strode to the top table.

  The man turned and rejoined his friends. Under cover of the table, he tipped the contents of Josiah’s purse out into his hand. There was £23.10s.8d. He counted it quickly, returned it to the purse, and tucked it in his pocket.

  “It’s not the full amount,” he said quietly to his neighbor. “But I think it’s the most I’m going to get.”

  “He owes me for some stores,” the man replied uneasily. “I had not thought to press my bill.” He glanced up at the top table. “And there’s nothing to be had from him now. You’ve picked the bones clean this morning, Tobias.”

  The man nodded. “Catch him another morning. It’s the only way you will get your bills met, I believe. There will be no more credit for Cole and Sons from my business. Take my word for it: He’s going down.”

  CHAPTER

  34

  FRANCES CHANGED INTO HER driving gown and waited at her bedroom window for the hired carriage to come ’round to the door. When she heard the rattle of the wheels and the ring of the horses’ metal-shod hooves in the street, she ran downstairs. Sarah was in the hall. “You hired the carriage?” she demanded, outraged.

  “I wanted to drive out,” Frances said.

  “We cannot afford your extravagance,” Sarah said bitterly. “Do you know how much we owe the stable already?”

  “I won’t do it again.” Frances pulled on her gloves and would not meet Sarah’s accusing stare. “Just this time, Sarah.”

  “This time, and then another time, and then another. We cannot afford it,” Sarah maintained. “Do you not understand? We have no money to pay for such luxuries. We cannot afford it. You must send it back.”

  Mehuru came into the hall and opened the front door for Frances.

  “Wait!” Sarah snapped at him.

  “I have to go!” Frances breathed, and slipped out the door and down the steps before Sarah could catch her.

  Mehuru bowed to Sarah and swiftly followed Frances to the carriage and handed her into the driving seat.

  “Sit beside me,” Frances said breathlessly. Mehuru nodded to the lad from the stables to let the horses go and swung himself up beside her. “You must fold your arms and sit very straight,” she said. He gave a wry smile and did as he was bid. Frances flicked the reins to make the horses go forward.

  When they were clear of the square, she relaxed a bit. “I thought she would stop me.” She gave a quavery little laugh. “I thought she would lock me in my room rather than see me spend money.”

  “They are getting desperate,” Mehuru observed.

  “I would have insisted, however angry she was.” Frances flicked out her whip and feathered it neatly back. “Shall we drive up to the Downs?” she asked.

  “Anywhere,” he said. “Let’s drive to Africa.”

  She caught her breath on a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You know I wish I could,” she said.

  He nodded. “This is our last time together, Frances. I will not ask, and you need not refuse. Let us just be together for this afternoon. At least we have these hours, and the sun is warm, and you are well, and I am going to be free.”

  “Perhaps we can be happy just for this afternoon,” she said doubtfully.

  “Yes, we can.”

  She steadied the horses over the little bridge and then let them walk up the steep hill of Park Street. Even in the short time since they had last ridden out, more building work had started, and foundations were outlined where new houses would rise.

  The workmen were stripped down to their breeches and torn ragged shirts in the cold November sunshine. Mehuru looked at their skinny, muscled backs and weary faces. “It is a cruel country,” he said. “I have yet to see a workingman or -woman who looks properly fed and rested.”

  Frances did not turn her eyes from the road between the jogging ears of the offside horse.

  “Do you not see?” he asked.

  “There is much hardship,” she conceded, but still she did not look ’round.

  “I am talking about these men,” Mehuru prompted her again. “These, working here, digging this trench.”

  Still she did not look ’round.

  “Will you not look at them?” he demanded.

  She glanced at him, and he could see that her face was pink with embarrassment. “They are half naked, Mehuru!” she said with quiet indignation. “I cannot stare at them!”

  He gave a shout of laughter. “Oh, Frances!” he exclaimed. “If I live here until I am an old man, I will never understand. You are a married woman—you see Josiah, don’t you? You saw me.”

  Frances caught her breath. The memory of Mehuru in her bedroom with the moonlight cascading down the darkness of his body was too vivid.

  “Why cannot you look at some poor workingman in his breeches?”

  “Because I am a lady,” Frances snapped, goaded to reply. “There are things I should not see. There are things I should not discuss—even with you.”

  “I wish I could hold you,” he said softly. “And kiss this nonsense from you.”

  At once her face softened. “I wish it, too,” she whispered.

  He smiled at her profile. “Sometimes I think you are two women, not one,” he said. “The stiff, cold lady with her strict manners and rules, and sometimes you are my love, my little love, and as natural and easy as an African woman.”

  She nodded. “I have been brought up to be an English lady. I think it is too late to change now.”

  “I don’t think so,” he muttered stubbornly under his breath. But she just shook her head and would not say any more.

  At the top of Park Street, the buildings petered out into rough yards and the road became a mud track through the fields. Frances took the left-hand fork for Clifton, skirting the round mound of Brandon Hill. High up on the hillside, washerwomen were spreading out their linen to dry on the grass.

  Frances clicked to the horses, and they went forward at a brisk trot.

  “These are good horses,” she said approvingly. “Josiah promised to buy me a pair and a carriage of my own when the trade mends—if the trade mends.”

  “Why did you ever marry him?” Mehuru demanded.

  Frances was silent for a moment. “I don’t know if I can explain it to you,” she said. She slowed the horses and pulled them over to let a wagon pass by that was carrying glass bottles carefully packed in straw. Ahead of them they could see the pretty hills and valleys of the approach to Clifton. On their left was the boggy groun