Suki, p.10
Suki, page 10
‘What is to be done?’ he repeated. He was limp with distress, flopping into his own chair and turning his face to the fire. ‘We must forego the slave trade now that our slaver is gone, must we not?’
Sir George took command. It was time to put the poor feller out of his misery. On his hideous journey he’d rehearsed all the difficulties Frederick might raise and thought of an answer to almost every one. Now, as the brandy and water was borne quietly into the room and set carefully before them, he outlined his plan.
‘Quite the reverse, brother,’ he said. ‘We must buy another trader, as soon as we can find one to suit.’
Frederick’s eyebrows disappeared into his wig. ‘I doubt the wisdom of such an action,’ he said worriedly. ‘What if ’twere an omen? A sign to desist? Perhaps we should consider it so. ’Tis an uncertain trade at the best of times. Negroes are uncommon poor cattle. Think how many of ’em die.’
‘We must take the hazard, brother,’ Sir George said, drawing his pipe from his pocket and helping himself to some of his brother’s excellent tobacco. ‘That’s the fact of the matter here. Beggars can’t be choosers. If we limit our trade to sugar, we shall cut our profits by a good two-thirds and all hope of growth what’s more.’
That was true and had to be admitted. ‘But think of the cost of a new ship,’ Frederick went on. ‘We are fully stretched at this time of year, as I need hardly point out. Would the expense not prove a difficulty?’
‘Not an insurmountable one,’ his brother said, easily. ‘There will be monies from the assurance company.’
Frederick wasn’t cheered. ‘If you can persuade ’em to pay.’
‘Oh, I’ll persuade ’em,’ Sir George said with cheerful certainty. ‘I’ve uncommon powers of persuasion. The premium was high enough, in all conscience, and certainly high enough to preclude argument.’
‘But ’twill take time. ’Tain’t a matter to be rushed.’
‘Agreed, but meantime there is the cargo to sell which you will doubtless have examined.’
Frederick had, and even in his present pessimistic humour allowed that it was fair. ‘But that will take time too. ’Twill be a month at least before ’tis through the manufactory and we cannot assume that the price of sugar will remain stable.’
‘It might rise.’
‘A fall is the more likely.’
‘Well, rise or fall,’ Sir George said, tetchily, ‘’twill earn a return eventually.’
‘But not in time, brother, not in time. That is my point precisely. Even if we find a ship to suit, which is doubtful, ’twill be a month or more before ’tis fit to sail, which takes us to November, and we must allow two months or more at sea, which takes us into February or March, and if we’re to catch the trade winds the ship must sail again before May. ’Twill cut too fine. Much too fine, if you want my opinion of it.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I doubt it can be done.’
‘We shall do it,’ Sir George said, heavily determined.
‘I do not see how,’ Frederick said, ‘without capital.’
‘We will raise a loan.’
Frederick’s face wrinkled with increased concern. ‘Think of the risk.’
‘Hermione will stand guarantor,’ George said. ‘Her name’s good for a thousand or two.’
‘We shall need a deal more than that,’ Frederick said. ‘The ship alone will cost at least four thousand, at today’s prices. Then there’s the matter of supplies and a new crew, to say nothing of a new master.’ The complications seemed so extreme his mouth was bowed with worry.
His excessive pessimism was beginning to irritate Sir George. ‘Then we will take Mr Smith into the company.’
Frederick’s eyebrows disappeared into his wig. ‘Is that wise?’ Ebenezer Smith was a minor banker with ambitions and had been eager to join the company for several years. ‘I’ve never liked the man, as you well know.’
‘He’s mercenary, I’ll grant you that. And slippery. And pernickety. But he’s got ready money, which is what we need.’
‘He ain’t to be trusted,’ Frederick warned him. ‘I ain’t forgot the matter of the trust fund last year. If he’s to join us I hope you will set limits. Two years at the very most.’
‘Leave all to me,’ Sir George said. ‘I will undertake to raise the capital, if you will hire the crew and buy in supplies and suchlike. Courage, man. We ain’t beat yet. Between us we shall work wonders. Look on the bright side.’
But Frederick sagged into his chair and wouldn’t brighten.
‘’Tis in my nature to foresee difficulties,’ he confessed.
‘And in mine to forestall ’em,’ his brother said. ‘I shall have a ship by noon a Saturday, or my name ain’t George Bradbury. We will start first thing tomorrow morning.’
They set off on their search extremely early, after a sustaining breakfast had been silently served to them and Frederick had given his housekeeper the most careful instructions as to their exact requirements for dinner.
‘Meals are the lynchpin of the day,’ he explained to his brother as they left the house and walked down the hill towards the buzz and pulse of the harbour and the forest of masts that filled Broad Quay. ‘If we are nourished by good food, our quest will not appear so arduous.’
But well-fed or not, it was a lengthy process, for Sir George had a merchantman’s approach to buying and selling and examined every ship on offer from figurehead to bowsprit, hull timbers, deck timbers, masts, sails, rudder, rigging and all, working on the cynical assumption that he was sure to be cheated if he were not excessively cautious; while Frederick, methodical as always, kept a pencil behind his ear and wrote a precis in his pocket notebook of everything that was discussed.
The first ship, which they found at the head of Broad Quay, was trim enough but too small to carry the size of cargo they needed to make a profit. The second was a three-masted frigate called the Yorick. She was in excellent order and capacious, with an impressive array of canvas, but the asking price of £3,700 was beyond their range.
‘I’ve a mind to put a reserve on her, notwithstanding,’ Sir George said, as he and his brother took a stroll to consider. ‘She could be just the vessel for the consortium and they could withstand the cost. What think ’ee?’
Frederick muttered and was unconvinced. ‘We’ve expense enough, in all conscience. Tell him we’ll consider and let him know our minds in a day or two. That should suffice. There are other ships to see.’
But the third on offer was a scruffy, ill-kempt hulk and not seaworthy, although its owner did his best to persuade them that all could be ‘made good’ with the application of ‘a little tar’.
‘Does he take us for fools?’ Frederick said, as they clomped across the cobbles.
‘The feller’s either a rogue or a villain,’ Sir George growled. ‘It don’t compare with the Yorick and that you will allow.’
By this time the sun was up and the day’s business well under way, the quayside lively with merchants come to oversee their own cargoes and to survey the prospects of their competitors, and the road busy with innumerable horse-drawn sleds, laden with rum barrels and rolls of cotton.
The Bradbury brothers were hailed on every side as they made their way through the bustle. The noise was as loud as a manufactory, as barrels were rolled on to the quayside, carts racketed over the cobbles, men swore and spat, factors yelled instructions, and innumerable dogs, who’d come to sniff out a possible meal, yelped and howled as they were kicked away from the action.
Above the river, the green slopes of Brandon Hill rose invitingly, their fine new houses clean and quiet above the cacophony of the quay.
‘’Twill soon be dinner time, I think,’ Frederick suggested, gazing up at his own house, longingly.
But Sir George was eager to go on. According to an advertisement on the quayside, there was another likely ship down on the Frome, a three-masted brig, called the Bonny Beaufoy, newly back from the Indies. ‘We’ve sufficient time to inspect her before we dine. We’ll take a ferryboat. ‘Twill be easier than pushing through the streets.’
‘You may be right, brother,’ Frederick tried to remonstrate, ‘but would it not be more politic… The backs can be uncommon noisome in summer…’
He was wasting his breath, for Sir George had already found a ferryman. There was nothing for it but to take his place in the stem of the boat and make shift to protect himself from the stench by covering his nose and mouth with his linen kerchief.
It was exceptionally bad that morning, for it was neap tide and the waters of the Frome were low. As they passed the long rows of rickety shacks that backed on to the river, they could see and smell that the wooden privies that protruded from every ramshackle gallery were so high above the waterline that they hadn’t been washed out for a very long time. Frederick burrowed his nose deep into the scented folds of his kerchief but it was no use. Within seconds he was retching.
‘Have the goodness to make better speed,’ he begged the ferryman.
‘We’re here sir, ain’t please you,’ the ferryman said. ‘That’s the Bonny Beaufoy, over there.’
It was a rather smaller ship than they’d expected and directly downwind of the shanties.
‘Should we not defer our examination until a more propitious time,’ Frederick said hopefully. ‘It grows late. We shall be expected for dinner.’ And when George made a grimace at him. ‘I must be mindful of my constitution. I ain’t as young as I was.’
‘You may be as old as you like,’ Sir George teased him, paying the ferryman, ‘I ain’t turning back now. Not when we’ve come so far. She’s a sturdy vessel.’
‘She ain’t got the capacity, if you want my opinion of it.’
And so it proved, although, after an interminable inspection, it passed muster in every other respect. A price of £2,400 was suggested and bartered down to £2,150. Then the Bradburys announced that they would ‘think on it’ and retired to the first hostelry beyond the stench, so that Frederick could calm his stomach with a glass of Hollands.
He was still unsure about the purchase. ‘If we take a full complement of negroes,’ he warned, ‘there will be inadequate space for supplies.’
‘That is a problem capable of resolution,’ Sir George said. ‘Ten per cent will die on the crossing. They are poor cattle. You said so yourself. So we will cut supplies by twelve per cent, instruct the master to adjust their rations according and wait for nature to do the rest.’
‘How if more survive?’
‘Then they’ll survive lean. We can fatten ’em up for market when they get to the other side.’ And when his brother grimaced. ‘They’re only savages, dammit. They don’t feel pain like civilised men. Would a farmer waste good hay on sick stock? They’d be off to the slaughterhouse within the hour, or to the knacker’s yard, depend on it.’
‘’Tis a risky stratagem, in all conscience.’
‘Not a bit of it,’ Sir George said, forcefully. ‘With a good master ‘’twill present no problems at all.’
‘Well, well,’ Frederick said, returning to his gin, ‘you may be right. Howsomever, there is still the capital to raise and that will present problems I fear.’
‘’Tis as good as done,’ Sir George bragged.
In fact it took him until late on Saturday afternoon to persuade the Merstham Assurance Company to agree that a settlement would be proper and possible and might even be payable within the month, and well into the evening to coax the bankers to provide the sum he needed for the initial deposit. And there was still the matter of the crew’s wages, and the initial cargo of guns and cloth and so forth, which could run them into total costs of over £27,000. There was nothing for it but to approach Mr Smith.
The two men met by the nails on Sunday morning and it was an even more difficult meeting than Sir George had anticipated, for the banker moved into the attack with his opening words.
‘I hear commiserations are in order, sir,’ he said. ‘You lost a slaver to the Frenchies, I’m told.’
Sir George countered boldness with boldness. ‘Plague on ’em, so I did sir. But there’s another bought and commissioned.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ the banker said, his expression sour.
No class at all, Sir George thought, looking at the man’s sharp face, his cheap black suit, his brown wig tied with a bombazine ribbon, besides being untrustworthy. ‘As a matter of fact, sir, we are looking to expand. Might take on another partner, don’tcher know. We’re testin’ the water.’
The offer had been made, as they both realised.
‘Well, as to that, I’ve a deal on hand at the moment,’ the banker said.
The conversation embarked on its familiar carousel, both men pretending scant interest, both sharply aware of the potential hazards and the potential profits.
‘I’ve had a mind to enter the slave trade for some months,’ Mr Smith said after five minutes, ‘as you and your brother are aware. Were I to do so now, however, I should need some particular inducements, given the parlous state of seas around the sugar islands vis-a-vis French intervention and suchlike.’
‘We are men of business, sir,’ Sir George assured him. ‘We can come to some arrangement.’
What they came to, after more than an hour’s bargaining, was an agreement that Mr Smith was to become a member of the company for the next two years, was to fund one-third of the enterprise in exchange for one-third of the profits and was, in addition, to be allowed to sail on the Bonny Beaufoy as its purser with full control of all monies while he was on board and to be given his choice of three slaves at the time of their purchase.
Sir George demurred at that, for if the purser were to be offered three slaves the master would expect the same number. ‘Two is customary,’ he pointed out, ‘and would be more appropriate.’
Mr Smith persisted, narrowing his eyes and tightening his lips. ‘I would expect three.’
‘Then, sir, we must make some alteration of your percentage profit in lieu. Bait the hook with money and the fish will leap.’
Mr Smith considered. Having won on all points so far, he could afford to back down. Sir George, sensing a possible victor, pressed on. ‘All expenditure is known aboard ship,’ he said. ‘A balance has to be maintained, as I’m sure you can appreciate.’ And waited.
‘Two slaves and the profits to remain as agreed,’ the banker decided at last.
So the bargain was struck on the nail and the two men shook hands, both having saved sufficient face to claim themselves the victory.
Then there was nothing more for Sir George to do except meet the vendor, this time outside the Exchange in Corn Street and this time with money in his pocket. It was another hard bargain but at last the price was agreed, the capital provided and paid on the self-same nail, and the matter was settled.
When the Bradburys sat down to dinner that Sunday afternoon, Frederick fresh from church, George smug from the Exchange, they were the new owners of the Bonny Beaufoy. They had an unwanted purser, which didn’t please Frederick, and they’d signed away a third of their profits, but providing they could find fittings and victuals and a new crew and a competent master in good time, there was no reason why they should miss the trade on the Slave Coast that autumn.
‘We’ve earned our dinner, damme,’ Sir George said, tucking his napkin into his stock.
It was an excellent meal, cooked to perfection, served in silence and eaten at leisure. For the first time in more weeks than he could remember, Sir George cleared his plate without suffering from indigestion.
‘’Od’s teeth, brother,’ he said appreciatively, undoing another button on his waistcoat. ‘You keep an excellent table. Excellent, damme.’
Frederick glanced at the waistcoat with approval. ‘Obliged to ’ee,’ he said, accepting the compliment, gracefully.
‘Our cook is a dab hand at pastries,’ Sir George said, picking his teeth, ‘but she ain’t a patch on your Mrs Thurston, that she ain’t.’
‘I will see that she gets your message,’ his brother promised.
Sir George glanced towards the window where a knot garden sloped towards the river in a succession of neat terraces, each herb bush trimmed and graded into proportions that would please the eye. At the river’s edge a line of conifers stood to attention like troops on parade, all exactly the same height and exactly the same thickness. There was even symmetry on the river, where two traders were returning to port, side by side, eased and controlled by their little pilot boats, the long line of oars catching the sunlight. It was soothing and reassuring, for everywhere he looked, both inside and outside the house, a perfect balance had been achieved. The dining room was a triumph of design and good taste. Six fine paintings, two to each wall, and the pair opposite the windows exactly the same height and shape as the central panes; two candelabra to each side table, three to the sideboard, and four set at regular intervals down the polished length of the dining table itself; two high-backed chairs beside the fire, even two fire screens beside the chairs, for although there were no ladies in the house to avail themselves of protection, their presence was necessary to balance the view of the fireplace. It was an admirable, peaceful room, the apotheosis of classical taste, organised proof that by the power of reason man could achieve supremacy over the disorganised world of nature. A fitting place for men who could turn the disaster of loss into the potential of gain and all within three short days.
‘You’re a lucky dog, Frederick,’ Sir George said, ‘to have a home like this. Best house in the city, damme if it ain’t. Shan’t want to leave tomorrow and that’s the truth.’
‘You are welcome to stay,’ Frederick told him.
Sir George sighed. ‘Can’t be done. I’ve to be in London by Monday.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Frederick said remembering. ‘The consortium.’
‘That and to find a husband for Ariadne.’
‘Oh dear!’
‘Hermione insists upon it,’ Sir George sighed again. ‘I’d leave well alone myself but you know what women are.’
‘Put in this world to plague us,’ Frederick said sympathetically. ‘They ain’t capable of reason, that’s the truth of it. Different breed altogether. Given to passion and gossip and suchlike extravagances. What can you expect? I never knew any trouble in my life, but there wasn’t a woman at the bottom of it. Different breed altogether. A man’s better without ’em. That’s the truth of the matter.’
