Jake White The BeginningChapter 8
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Edited by Old Rotorhead
Jake was sitting in his office with several large ledgers in front of him. After studying them for some time he sat back and relaxed. There was no doubt that the business, or rather businesses, were in good shape. He had some time ago decided that each division should be accounted separately in order that he could keep an eye on how they were performing. There were profits showing from all the divisions, although some were better than others. The difference was that the chandlery and the wholesale grocery business had a more or less steady income throughout the year, as did the two schooners. The steamships on the other hand provided large profits, but at irregular intervals. He had little doubt that Amelia would be very pleased with those results. The exception was Victoria’s Secrets which was run entirely separately, and although it was doing well, the figures were not included here.
Thinking of Amelia reminded him that he had to write to her. Her last letter came from northern Italy where she had found a small house to rent. She was well and nearing her confinement.
There was a very timid knock on his door.
“Come in, Anthony,” Jake called out.
A small boy, whom he knew to be just fourteen, entered. He was carrying a large parcel which almost dwarfed him.
“And what have you got there?” asked Jake.
“A, a, parcel, sir. From Boston, sir,” Anthony replied.
Jake took it from him.
“How are you getting on?” he asked. “You’ve been with us what, a month?”
“Yes, sir. Very well, I think sir,” the boy replied.
“Good! Off you go then,” said Jake, starting to undo the string around the parcel.
Jake spent the next hours examining the proposals that Mr Cattermole had sent him. There was no doubt that they were very thorough, there was an assessment of the estate as it stood, and all the work that would be required was detailed and costed, new barns, a new dairy, various other buildings to be built or renovated, new cottages for workers, and a rather large range of stables. Jake remembered Mr Cattermole’s suggestion of breeding race horses, to which end he had called on Jonathon several days previously.
The stables for the wholesale delivery round had been in the charge of a Bert Wiggins, but when he was taken ill, Jake suspected due to imbibing large quantities of alcohol, Jonathon had been promoted. It had been a good move, because although one or two of the men objected to working under a ‘blackie’, the stables were now clean and smart and the horses always well turned out.
“Sir Jacob, it is good to see you, sir,” Jonathon greeted him in his deep baritone. “How may I help?”
Jake was a little surprised, Jonathon’s speech pattern had certainly changed, almost as though he had had lessons. It was intriguing.
“I usually visit all the parts of my business when I can, and I wanted to see how you were getting on. Whenever I see one of our vans out on the road it always seems to be pulled by a fine animal, and yet when I look at the figures we don’t seem to be spending that much.”
“I had to get rid of a few of the old nags,” Jonathon grinned showing a remarkable even set of white teeth. “And then I’ve done a bit of dealing, and set the boys to work on them. I know you like everything to look good, sir.”
“Thank you, I do. How are you getting on with the men?”
“A couple decided they wanted to leave, sir, but the rest seem happy enough,” Jonathon replied.
“Excellent!” said Jake. “Now tell me, what do you know about race horses?”
“I know there’s a difference between American and English race horses, but not enough to worry about. You have to train them for the distance they’ll run. The racing stable was one of the places I worked on the plantation. I really enjoyed doing that. Nowhere right for them here though, sir,” Jonathon averred.
“Tell me, Jonathon, have you had lessons in how to speak?” Jake decided to ask.
There was that big grin again.
“Yus, massa,”said Jonathon. He became serious. “I lodge with a widow lady, Mrs Elsworth. I managed to persuade her that I don’t eat little old ladies, and she was happy to take me in. She said I ought to speak better, so she has been teaching me. Proper table manners too! Do I sound all right, sir?”
“Indeed you do, Jonathon,” Jake laughed. “I’ve a feeling you may sound better than me!” Jake was aware that he still had the remnants of his South Devon accent.
Beatrice’s portrait of her father with Victoria turned out very well, Lord Kingswood standing straight and tall, and Victoria smiling and looking quite prim and proper. Clearly the camera could lie! Having complied with his daughter’s wishes, Lord Kingswood left them. He would return later to collect Beatrice and take her home.
“Do you know about Gina’s gallery?” Beatrice asked Victoria.
“Gina’s gallery?” Victoria looked puzzled. “No, I don’t think I do.”
“I’ll show you,” said Bea, and led the way into the darkroom.
Victoria followed with an uneasy feeling.
Bea opened a door and went into a rather gloomy room. The not very large window, facing north to another wall about four or five feet away, let in little light. It was, however, quite sufficient to show that the walls were lined with pictures.
Victoria’s worst fears were realized. She had wondered where all Gina’s photos of naked women were, and now she knew. And so did Bea.
“This is amazing, isn’t it? I know some of these women, but it is quite difficult to recognise them without clothes! But look at these two, and the ones with striped bums!” Bea was thoroughly enjoying the display. “And this is you, Victoria! You are beautiful. I’ll bet Papa would like that one!” she laughed.
Victoria stood with her hand over her eyes, breathing deeply and slowly shaking her head.
“Why Victoria, whatever is the matter?” asked Bea.
“You shouldn’t have seen this. I had wondered where Gina had put all these. I suppose I should have remembered that the room was here, but it seems so long ago now, and so much has happened.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bea, “perhaps I shouldn’t have shown you.”
“No!” said Victoria. “You shouldn’t have found it! Now we’ll lock the door and leave it. I’ll think about what we’ll do about it. No, I’ll take the key,” she went on as Bea went to put it in a drawer. “Now, do not mention this to anyone. It will be our secret.”
“Yes Victoria. I’ve forgotten all about it already,” Bea giggled. After all, she hadn’t locked the door, she had flicked the key to get a click and then removed it.
“I have work to do,” said Victoria. “Will you be all right up here?”
“Yes, I have plenty that I want to do,” said Bea.
Part of which was, of course, a closer examination of Gina’s ‘gallery’.
Just before her father was due to pick her up, Bea came down to see Victoria.
“I need to order some materials,” she told Victoria. “We are running low on almost everything. And there are better cameras available now, and I’d like to buy one.”
“How much will all this cost?” asked Victoria.
“I shall pay for it,” said Bea. “But it would be easier if you would do the ordering for me.”
“No,” said Victoria, “it is a business expense. If you are going to take photographs for us, then we will pay for the materials. If you make a list of materials and suppliers I will see to it. Do you think your father will agree to you doing this?”
“Oh yes,” Bea replied. “I shall tell him that you want me to do it.”
“Lady Beatrice Hatherley!” Victoria addressed her sharply. “You will do no such thing. You must tell your father the truth. That you want to do it.
Beatrice’s face fell and a tear formed.
“You know he won’t let me if you’re not going to help me.”
Victoria came round her desk and hugged her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be so sharp. Of course I will help you. But you must stand up for yourself and tell your father the truth. Tell him that the fashion business is exciting and you want to be part of it. That taking photographs is something you really want to do. Not something I want you to do.”
Victoria let go of her and uncrossed her fingers.
Jake finished his examination of the proposals for the Wraxall estate. The next thing would be to prepare a business plan; it was necessary to establish what the cash flow would be, although experience told him that if reality resembled the forecast it would be a first. Mr Cattermole had suggested that rather than supply raw milk, something that was already well covered in the area, making cheese might be better. A slower return, but greater because of the added value. Decisions to be made. Likewise, slaughtering the pigs and curing bacon would mean that they could spread the income. Perhaps it would be a good idea to establish Wraxall as a quality brand. He settled down with paper and pen, many hours of work ahead of him.
Several days later Jake ‘borrowed’ the computer from the accounts department, a middle aged lady who could sit and work through to check all his calculations. After he had explained what he wanted to her, he left on the afternoon express for London. His intention was to take Hermione out to supper and then return to the completed work the next morning. With any alterations made, he would then submit the plan to his bank. But first, of course, he would discuss it with Lord Kingswood.
Hermione was delighted to see Jake, pulling his head down into a toe-curling kiss as she kicked her apartment door closed.
“Phew! Hermione if you greet me like that when we are married I shall whisk you off to bed and you’ll be permanently having babies!”
“Married, Jake? Aren’t you being a little presumptuous? I don’t recall accepting your proposal.” said Hermione. “Would you, for instance, be able to support me in a style to which I have become accustomed? I have to assume that both my aunt and uncle have asked you this question, but I have heard nothing of it.”
“That,” replied Jake, “is because neither your aunt nor uncle asked me this question. Rather the opposite. It was a case of for heavens sake will you take her off our hands. Your aunt particularly felt that with the number of times I have rescued you that I should just claim ownership. I suppose it is rather like if you win a horse race three times you get to keep the cup.”
“How can you compare me to a horse race? How cold and unfeeling! I cannot imagine that my dear aunt said anything of the kind! Did she really?” Hermione pouted. “No I cannot believe it! She wouldn’t be that cruel! Oh! I am really lost! But my uncle...”
“No good appealing there, I’m afraid, Hermione. He is almost at the point of offering me money.”
“I am really lost! I suppose I shall have to accept. How much am I worth?”
“Worth? Oh we haven’t got that far. Yet. But I seem to have become a little lost, Hermione. What are you going to accept?”
“Why your proposal of marriage of course.”
“Did I propose? My memory doesn’t seem to be as good as it was once,” said Jake, grinning.
“Oh! How typical of what I have been told to expect of a man. Exploiting the tender sensibilities of an innocent young girl! Taking advantage of her, ruining her.” said Hermione.
“Innocent. An interesting concept. But are you familiar with the meaning?” asked Jake.
Hermione feigned tears.
“Now,” she said. “I’ve got theatre tickets. We must get going,”
“Are you sure?” asked Jake, catching her around the waist.
“Yes, I don’t want to miss the start. Unhand me!”
Jake laughed, picked up her stole and placed it around her shoulders.
“Just as well I got the cab to wait.”
The play was by someone Jake had never heard of, but was nevertheless very amusing, and it was in good humour that he took Hermione to supper.
“Has anything happened about Wraxall?” asked Hermione when they had ordered.
“I’ve to go and see your uncle when I return to Bristol in the morning.” Jake told Hermione. “I have the surveyor’s report, and I’ve worked out the business side of it. It will be expensive, but worthwhile, I think.”
“Can you afford it?” asked Hermione, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Can I?” asked Jake. “Had you considered it as an investment yourself? It will, after all, be yours one day.”
“Oh! But I’ve a mere five thousand a year. Barely enough to keep clothes on my back!” exclaimed Hermione.
“No, I can see that,” said Jake. “But Victoria’s fashions are excellent and very inexpensive if you are in need.”
“I’ll have you know this gown is a...” Hermione paused, she could see that Jake could barely contain his mirth. “ ... an old rag. I suppose I shall just have to slum it. Don’t you usually pay for Mary’s dresses?”
“I never seem to get a choice over that,” replied Jake, with a grimace. “Hopefully Fitz will take care of it in future. But I shall not hold my breath.”
“How are they getting on?” asked Hermione.
“I’m not sure,” said Jake. “He compares it to riding a tiger, never knows when she’ll turn and bite him.”
“You should be thankful that I’m not like that!”
Jake raised an eyebrow but made no comment. With age comes wisdom.
A little later a cab dropped them at Hermione’s apartment. Jake bent to kiss her goodnight, but she stepped back.
“Pay the man, Jake.” she said and turned.
Jake hastily paid the cabby who grinned and made an exaggerated wink. He shook the reins and drove off. Jake hurried after Hermione.
When they entered her apartment Hermione carried out a rerun of her previous kiss.
“Well,” said Jake as they broke apart. “For an innocent young woman you certainly do know how to kiss!”
“I’m sure it comes naturally,” Hermione coloured slightly.
“I suppose you would call Victoria completely natural,” Jake smiled.
“Jacob White, you are no gentleman. Fancy accusing me of such a thing,” Hermione was now blushing brightly.
“I did wonder. She usually gets what she wants,” said Jake, pulling Hermione to him again.
A little later Jake checked and found that the marks from the caning had disappeared completely, and Hermione’s figure was back to true perfection. Jake worshipped that perfection several times but still refused to fully consummate their relationship.
“When we are married,” Jake told a pouting Hermione.
Jake caught the early train back to Bristol, found a table in the dining car, and was able to enjoy a couple of kippers for his breakfast.
Victoria was once again in her office. A secretary would, she thought, be a better idea than having to do all of the routine paperwork herself. At the moment she was leaning back to consider what to do about it, when there was a knock at the door and Becky showed Lord Kingswood in.
“Good morning, Peter. Are you alone?” Victoria greeted him
“Good morning, Victoria. Yes, I wanted a word about Beatrice. She tells me she wants to work here as a photographer. I am rather in two minds about it. On the one hand I am not happy with the idea of her working. It doesn’t seem to be the sort of thing a lady should do. On the other, I do worry about her mental health. Her ordeal still weighs heavily on my mind, and if she stays at home she may dwell on it. I thought I should seek your advice.”
“I trust that you do not consider me any less ladylike because I work?” asked Victoria.
“Oh! No, no, of course not,” Peter replied.
“I run this business because I enjoy it,” Victoria told him. “Fashion may be a trade, but it is exciting, and building a business is exciting too. I know that Bea enjoys taking photographs and I know she has enjoyed her brief brush with the girls designing dresses. I am sure she would like more. I understand your reservations, both from the standpoint of what society will think, and her health too. But there is really no reason why she should not make a career with photography, and she will be perfectly safe here with me. And if it helps her, why not?”
“You are right, of course, Victoria,” said Peter. “I shall allow her to pursue her career. But I shall keep a close eye on her, as I hope you will.”
“Of course,” Victoria confirmed.
“Now, I have agreed with Jake that we will go to my sister the Duchess’s place, Wraxall Old Hall, next weekend so that we may discuss getting the estate running again. It has been allowed to fall into disrepair since the old duke died. I wondered if you would care to accompany Beatrice and me? I have no doubt that Hermione will be there too.”
“I should be delighted,” said Victoria, smiling.
She was also delighted that she would have a new photographer for what she was building into a fashion house. A far cry from Jake’s original idea of economically priced dresses. That would still remain of course, but a new brand would be required for it.
The meeting in Jake’s office had worked its way through the progress of the various aspects of the business. Dennis had reported on the chandlery and the wholesale grocery, proposing various ideas for expanding.
“We’ve made no headway with supplying the city centre shops,” he told Jake. “They are either big enough to source their own merchandise or there is a London wholesaler who is able to supply by train. Unless we cut our profit to the bone they won’t buy from us, and I see little point in that.” Jake nodded agreement and Dennis went on. “I wondered whether it would be an idea to open our own shop. There are empty premises that I’ve had a look at which would be ideal. We can easily compete on both price and quality.”
Jake looked at Angelica. Her area of expertise was in supplying the ships in the harbour, together with the generally running of their own ships, but she worked closely with Dennis, and Jake valued her opinion.
“It would tread on a few toes,” she opined. “But it makes a lot of sense. I feel we should aim for quality, the carriage trade is where the money is.”
“That’s true,” replied Dennis, “but working on the same principle as the fashion business, there are a lot more people at the bottom end, and they all need to eat. Stack it up and sell it cheap!”
“Interesting,” said Jake thoughtfully. “Both have merits. Perhaps we should do both. We started Victoria’s with no competition to speak of, but with little experience of the business. We’ve really no experience of retail grocery, so we’d have to bring someone in. I shall give it some thought. Now, any further thoughts? Angelica?”
“Sam Vimes is sitting for his master’s certificate next week. George seems to think that he should pass, so that will give us a spare skipper. Instead of yourself that is,” she grinned. “I was wondering when the new steam ship was arriving?”
“New steam ship?” asked Jake. “What new steam ship?”
“Umm ... Fitz told me you were buying one,” Angelica replied, looking a little miffed. “I was a little surprised that you hadn’t told me yourself.”
“I hadn’t told you because ... Oh! I remember, when I was lunching with him, I asked him if he could sail one. No commitment to purchase. Although we certainly could use one,” Jake mused.
“One other thing,” Angelica went on. “There’s talk of a consignment of mining equipment for shipment to San Fransisco. It might suit ‘Rigel’, she’s nearly ready to go, although I have to say that Captain Kirk wasn’t looking too good when I saw him the other day. Consignee is an American.”
“Last time I got involved in shipping machinery for an American it turned out to be guns,” Jake grimaced. “We survived that, but it could have been a lot worse. I’d want to know a lot more before we took it on.”
“I’ll see what I can find out,” said Angelica.
“I shall be away for the rest of this week, and I’ll not be back until after the weekend. I’ll be in Lincolnshire, Wraxall Old Hall. It belongs to the Duchess of Skegness, Lady Russington’s aunt. We are looking at reviving the estate there, and when I think about it, it could well provide us with our own produce, so returning to your idea, Dennis, it may well all fit together.”
It was late on Thursday afternoon when Jake arrived at Wraxall Old Hall. Brightman opened the door.
“Sir Jacob! Good to see you again, sir. The Duchess is in her sitting room. She said for you to join her. I expect you’d appreciate a cup of tea after your journey, sir.”
“Thank you, Brightman, I would,” Jake replied, and made his way to the Duchess’s sitting room.
“Jacob! Did you have a pleasant journey?” asked the Duchess.
“Thank you, Aunt Edith. It was tolerable,” Jake replied. “fortunately all the trains were running to time.”
Jake bent and kissed his new ‘aunt’ on the cheek. The reaction was more that of a young girl than a middle aged widow. Her complexion had coloured and she fanned her face with her hand as Jake stood back and then sat down.
“Oh my,” said Aunt Edith. “I think I may enjoy having you as my son-in-law ... I take it that Hermione has told you about...”
“Yes, Aunt Edith. I think she was trying to get used to the idea, get it straight in her own mind as it were, and explained it all to me. I think she was a little shocked.”
“I’m sure she was. You have parents living, Jacob?”
“My mother, but she has remarried. Her new husband is a sea captain and a partner in of one of our ships trading with Portugal. She often travels with him, so I haven’t seen her for several weeks.”
Conversation, or, being honest, interrogation, paused as Brightman brought tea.
“The maid will show you to your room when you are ready, Sir Jacob,” Brightman told him.
“And you are a widower, Jacob?” Aunt Edith went on relentlessly.
“Yes, and I have four children. The girl who was to become my second wife was killed in a road accident,” Jacob told her whilst he could still make sure that the information came out as he wanted.
“Oh dear!” said Aunt Edith. “That is most unfortunate, losing two seems ... You will take care of Hermione, I hope.”
“That must be the reason I am always rescuing her,” Jake replied with a smile.
“Yes,” said Aunt Edith nodding agreement. “That must be it. Now, how are the plans for the estate proceeding?”
Jake explained that he would look over the land on the morrow, and then the surveyor, Mr Cattermole would be there on Saturday, and the three of them would go through everything. After that Jake and Lord Kingswood would decide on how to proceed.
“We will, of course, keep you informed of what is going on,” he told her.
The next day dawned bright and clear and Jake was up bathed and dressed early. With his usual efficiency Brightman met him when he entered the dining room.
Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning Brightman. Don’t make too much fuss, but a couple of eggs and some sausage would be good, some toast and I remember cook makes an excellent marmalade.”
“She does, sir. Right away, sir.”
Jake got out the map and papers that he would require for the day and familiarised himself with them. It was his intention to cover as much of the estate as he could manage, and make sure that he understood the proposals on the ground. He could then ask about any points he required clarification on when Mr Cattermole was there on Saturday.
His breakfast arrived after a few minutes, and comprised not just eggs and sausages, but some excellent bacon too. It was followed by hot buttered toast, with marmalade that was easily the best he had ever tasted, washed down with two cups of coffee, and he was fortified ready to face the day. Nevertheless, by lunch time, with lots of walking plus some very fresh air he was hungry again. He retired to the inn to consume a pint of ale and a meat pie.
He had discovered many things, not the least of which was that the estate owned the village, and obviously what income there was came from the rents. It looked to be a pretty poor place and he was aware that the income was not that great. After his lunch he continued. He approached the group of cottages, one of which was occupied by Mrs Waterford and her granddaughter Mary. Theirs was the least derelict, but little better than the others which didn’t look fit to house cattle. The door opened and Mary came flying out. There wasn’t a lot of her, she must be mid-teens, he thought, a pretty girl, but not well nourished, and the way in which she flew into the attack made him think of Mary Kelly, but with a mass of brown curls as opposed to red.
“You’re going to throw granny and me out of our house!” she spat at him.
Mrs Waterford appeared at the door.
“Don’t talk to the gen’leman like that, Mary!” she scolded the girl.
“Why not? He’s going to throw us out, why shouldn’t I tell him what I think of him?”
“Well,” Jake began. “For a start because I’m not going to throw you out of your home.”
“Oh, you’ll get someone else to do it,” Mary snarled. “Not much of a man are you? One old woman and...”
“Hold it right there,” Jake raised his voice.
Mary looked at him.
“No one is going to throw you out,” said Jake, forcefully. “Do you understand? Not me, and not someone I tell to do it.”
“And what if someone else tells you to do it?” Mary still didn’t believe him.
“Sir, please. She’s only worried for me, sir,” Mrs Waterford pleaded.
“Mrs Waterford, you have nothing to worry about. Mary, no one else can tell me to throw you out of your home. No one can tell me what to do.”
“The man what came round said...” Mary tailed off.
“Said what, Mary?”
“That we’d have to leave because you were going to make the houses better.”
“Well that’s right, but when it is improved then you can return to it. We’ll find somewhere for you whilst it is being done,” Jake told her.
“What about rent? “ Mary asked. “You’ll want more rent and we ain’t got no money. And there ain’t no jobs round here.”
“There will be jobs. What can you do?”
Mary looked sullen.
“Horses, sir. She loves horses,” said Mrs Waterford. “Wouldn’t be no good as a maid, not with that mouth on her. Number of times I’ve...”
“Don’t worry, Mrs Waterford,” Jake stopped her. “In my businesses people are looked after, and it will be no different here. Now I’ll wish you a good day.”
As Jake walked on he could hear the old woman say to the girl, ‘There now. What did I tell you?’ to which the reply was, ‘Nothin’. You dint tell me nothin’.”
Jake had difficulty not laughing out loud.
Jake finally arrived back at the house, weary and dusty and ready for a bath before dinner. He found that the others arrived. Having exchanged greetings, he excused himself, at which point Hermione grabbed his arm.
“Jake, I need to have a word with you,” she said, somewhat imperiously. “In private. Come into the library.”
Jake followed her into the library wondering what she had on her mind. He found out when he closed the door and she threw herself into his arms and delivered yet another toe curling kiss. When she put him down, and although he was taller than her it certainly felt that way, she stood back and looked at him.
“I missed you,” she said.
“And I missed you too,”said Jake. “But I think that unless you change that dress before anyone else sees you, they will all be aware of that.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, and then looked down at herself. “Oh! Where did all that dust come from?”
“Me,” said Jake with a grin.
“You horrible man! You should have warned me!”
“Next time I’ll remember to,” said Jake, attempting to brush off the front of Hermione’s dress.
Hermione jumped back.
“As if there’ll be a next time! What do you think you are doing? A gentleman wouldn’t molest a lady like that. Besides you’ll only make it worse!”
Jake managed to close his mouth as the door closed behind her. Fitz said he had a tiger; Jake wasn’t too sure what he had. Time for a bath, he thought.
The next time Jake saw Hermione she had removed the dress.
At some point in comparatively recent times Wraxall Old Hall had had an update to its plumbing system. Jake assumed it must have been whilst the Duke was still alive, although how it had been paid for, supposing it had, was a mystery. The old tin baths filled with buckets of hot water by struggling maids had been replaced by built in porcelain tubs supplied with hot water from a central boiler. Some rooms, and there appeared to Jake to be hundreds of them, had had adjacent rooms converted into bathrooms and dressing rooms, and in some the bathrooms had been made accessible to two rooms, being situated between them, and with others, obviously for lesser guests, you had to walk to a bathroom used by several rooms.
Jake was soaking in hot water, easing out the aches and pains accumulated by the days exercise when the second door to his bathroom opened, and Hermione, clad in, well, no more than the grin on her face, entered.
“What the...” Jake spluttered. “Hermione! What the devil are you doing?”
“Using the bathroom, Jake,” Hermione giggled. “It is supposed to be shared you know.”
“Yes, but not at the same time. Besides, I was told that the adjoining room was empty.”
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