Respectable Trade Read online

  They could not call on her in that dreadful little house on the dockside. The drive to the front door alone was more than most of the ladies could stomach. They sent their footmen to leave their cards, but they did not call in person, and Frances, reading the signs quite correctly, knew that she must wait until they moved into the big house in Queens Square.

  At the end of the week, Josiah decided to take a gamble. He would send Rose out with insurance only for goods. No insurer would cover him for shipping slaves. Josiah was too desperate for profits to wait. He threw down his hat, took Captain Smedley by the arm as they walked along the quayside, and thrust him toward the ship.

  “Go!” he exclaimed. “And sail her as if she were your own. I tell you honestly, Captain Smedley, we have to see a mighty profit on this sailing, and we are taking a mighty risk.”

  The captain nodded. “I am ready. I will join her at the Kingsroad, when the pilot has brought her down the channel. I will do my best for you, Mr. Cole, as I always have done.”

  “There will be a note for you in your cabin.” Josiah’s face was hungry. “We may need to bend the law a little on this voyage, Captain Smedley. You would have no difficulty with that, I take it.”

  “As long as the ship and my crew are safe . . .”

  Josiah nodded. “Keep the ship safe, whatever you do. I will see her set sail on the tide at dawn tomorrow. And your orders will be on your chart table in your cabin.”

  The captain stooped and picked up Josiah’s hat and returned it to him with a smile. “Cover your head, Mr. Cole, I shall see you in the Merchant Venturers’ Company yet.”

  Josiah bared his brown teeth. “Please God,” he said tightly.

  NEXT MORNING JOSIAH WAS up early waiting on the quayside in thick cold fog. Rose was loading her final stores, extra boxes of trade goods carried swiftly and efficiently from Josiah’s warehouse: crate after crate of Birmingham muskets with flints and shot and gunpowder. Josiah was pouring munitions into Africa, to feed their need of guns.

  Captain Smedley was not aboard; he would join the ship at Kingsroad anchorage, when the pilot had guided her down the Avon Gorge, with the rowboats towing her. Josiah wrote one final letter of instructions to him and left it in his cabin.

  4th September 1788

  On this Trip above all Others, I must stress that we have to show a Profit. To this End select the Very best Negroes you can find; but do not Delay too long off Africa. Ship Women and young children and Pack them very Close. I want you to carry as many as Six Hundred. The Extra deaths in passage will be paid for by the Extra profit in taking So many.

  On this voyage, on this one Voyage only, you are to Go straight to the Spanish colonies and sell the slaves There, for Bullion. The papers to cover this Voyage make No mention of the Spanish colonies, and you will Destroy this letter when you have Read it. I know that this is Smuggling, and you will see a Bonus on your Return. This will be the only Time I will ask you to Trade with the Spanish, and I will Reward your Success. Buy what Sugar they offer, provided it is of Good quality, but take No notes of Credit. I want nothing but Gold and Sugar. Do not Fail me, Captain Smedley—Ship as many as you can find, and Pack them Tight!

  The Rose was rocking temptingly on the tide, the waves slapping the quayside. The pilot came aboard as Josiah watched the barges attaching their lines.

  “Take care, now,” Josiah said under his breath. The ship was uninsured for the middle voyage and would be perilously overloaded. He dared not tell Sarah; he hardly dared acknowledge to himself what he was doing.

  The dockers slipped Rose’s moorings, and the rope snaked through the green water and was hauled up to the ship. The rowboats moved slowly forward, and the towing ropes sprang out of the water and quivered tautly, shedding drops of liquid silver along their length. There was the silent, precious moment when the ship hesitated, as if she could not believe that she were free, freely in her element after weeks of being tied to land; then slowly, almost reluctantly, the Rose moved away from the dockside and gathered speed as she glided down the channel toward the heights of the Avon gorge.

  “Godspeed,” Josiah said under his breath. She was undercapitalized on this trip. She was financed by himself and only three other small partners. He had taken three shares to himself, and the others had only one share each. He had borrowed to buy the extra trade goods; he owed more than a thousand pounds on her. She was undercapitalized and underinsured. Josiah had no choice but to send her outside the law to sell to the Spanish plantations. It was a risk he had never taken before, but the Spanish would pay highly and in bullion. Josiah was sailing very close to the wind. “Godspeed,” he said.

  AS IF TO JUSTIFY JOSIAH’S belief in his luck, that very day, when the sun had risen, showing red through the smoke from the lead-shot tower, Mr. Waring took breakfast with his wife and finally decided to sell the house in Queens Square to the Coles. Mrs. Waring had heard from the bishop’s wife herself that the new Mrs. Cole was the daughter of the Reverend John Scott, who had held the living at Claverton Down. Stephen Waring was frankly incredulous that a Miss Scott should marry a man such as Josiah and sleep above a sugar store, but Mrs. Waring was more acute. “I daresay if Josiah Cole is good enough for Lord Scott, he is good enough to buy our house,” she remarked archly. “And I daresay, Mr. Waring, that you can name your price if Mr. Cole has to provide a good house for his new wife.”

  Mr. Waring said nothing, but when he retreated to his office, he wrote a note to Josiah naming a price for the house that was high enough to discourage any but the most eager.

  If Josiah had been a regular at the top table of the coffee shop, he would have known that other houses in Queens Square were about to come on the market. If Josiah had been acquainted with the wealthy men of the city, he would have been in no hurry to snap up 29 Queens Square when 18 and 31 would be on the market within the month. The richest merchants were moving from the square; the city center was becoming too noisy, too dirty, and too crowded for them. Their wives had ambitions to be ladies of leisure; they did not want a parlor that also did service as an office.

  Park Street was paved almost to the crown of the hill, and on either side of the street elegant town houses in pale honey stone were springing up. The first few houses in Great George Street had been sold, and others were planned. The astute men were buying up land all around Great George Street and on either side of Park Street, and architects were drawing plans for elegant terraces to rise one above the other all the way up the hill. Mr. Waring was discreetly negotiating, through an agent, for land even farther from the dockside. He did not share Josiah’s love of the city center. Mr. Waring was interested in Clifton.

  Queens Square was falling from fashion, and the prices would slide as soon as it became apparent. Mr. Waring opened the paper again and added a note along the bottom.

  I can Offer you this house at This price for a Week Only, Mr. Cole. I have had a Pressing enquiry from Another man to Whom I must reply within Eight days.

  He folded the paper over, dropped red wax on it, and pressed his seal on it.

  Thoughtfully, he took up another page.

  Dear Tom,

  Oblige me by Keeping your house Off the market for a Week. I have a Buyer for mine, and I do not want him Distracted.

  He scrawled his initial and sprinkled sand over the note, rang for a footman to deliver them both, and went through to the parlor.

  “I think you should call on Mrs. Cole, my dear,” he said to his wife. “Warehouse or no warehouse, I think she would reward an acquaintance. And certainly I shall be happy to do business with her husband.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  WE HAVE TO RISE,” Josiah said to Sarah, Stephen Waring’s note in his hand. “We have to move in the circles where capital is available. The little men are growing wary of risk, and the bigger men want only large investments. You are right: The trade is in a temporary decline. It will boom again—we have seen it come and go—and we have to ride out these doldrums