by Val Wood
Annie called Polly downstairs to mop the floor and she went up to her room to sit down and talk to Henry, but the little boy was engrossed in a game of soldiers and didn’t need her attention and so she sat, quietly watching and reflecting. Presently she got up and satisfying herself that the child was still occupied she went downstairs again.
‘Mr Sampson – Aaron,’ She was in the habit, at his request, of using his first name when there were no clients around, ‘I’ve been thinking.’ Polly was still there, idly swishing the mop around the floor and gazing out of the window and she motioned her to go back upstairs to Henry. ‘About these overdue accounts.’
Aaron sighed. ‘It’s not as if these people can’t afford to pay,’ he said. ‘It’s just that they don’t want to.’
‘That’s just what I thought. Most of these ladies are married to rich merchants, the tradesmen’s wives always pay on time because you trade with them and pay them promptly. But these wealthy customers have no incentive to pay – they know that you won’t press them for fear of losing their custom.’
‘That’s true,’ he nodded. ‘But think of the stock I could buy if they settled.’
‘Quite right,’ Annie grew quite animated. ‘So this is what I suggest. Offer them an incentive. Offer them a discount, quite a large one, say, ten per cent, if they will settle their existing account within a month; and on any future business, a smaller discount, maybe two-and-a-half per cent if they pay on a monthly basis.’
‘It sounds a good idea,’ he said slowly, ‘but won’t they then delay the paynent of future business so that they get the larger discount.’
‘No,’ she answered briskly. ‘Say that this is a special once only arrangement, designed in order to release money for a new consignment of stock which you are expecting for the autumn.’
She felt exhilarated as she watched her employer’s face become wreathed in smiles. She loved bargaining, it was part of her character, born of necessity so many years ago. Yet she was amazed at herself, at how quickly she had learned to add and subtract, better in her head than on paper, and, although she often spelled a word wrongly when she was writing, she could read as well as most.
‘Annie, you’re a wonder. How ever did I manage without you?’
‘Perfectly well. I’m the one to be grateful,’ she smiled back at him, feeling a tearful lump in her throat. ‘But you’re too nice a man to be in trade – people take advantage of your good nature. I’ve always had to fend for myself, to be one step ahead.’
‘Yes, you’re like my wife used to be. Nobody got past her. She was as sharp as a blade.’ He took Annie’s hand and patted it. ‘I’m grateful, Annie. We’ll work something out together in the morning, and then get the printer to set it up.’
He said then that he was tired and would go home if Annie could manage the last two hours alone. ‘Shut up shop early if you want, we’ve had a good day.’ He put on a caped greatcoat and picked up his cane, but before walking off to his lodgings he stood for a moment looking at the display in the window, and then lifted his head to look at Annie as she stood behind the counter. As she smiled a goodbye he touched his hat with his cane and gave her a small formal bow and walked briskly away.
* * *
She always took a walk in the evening after the shop was closed, no matter what the weather. The air was warm and sultry tonight as she took Henry’s hand and made her way towards the river. Henry hadn’t wanted to come, being busy still with his soldiers, but she insisted, it was the only time she felt that she had the child to herself without the company of others. She liked to show him the ships that were on the river, and tell him what they were carrying and where they had probably come from or were going.
York was a pleasant and beautiful city, she had decided that on first arriving. It had a magnificent cathedral, noble churches, elegant houses and pleasant gardens and many ancient crumbling monuments. Mr Sampson had told her that it was once a Roman colony and the seat of Roman emperors.
There were good families living here and much lavish entertainment for them, with theatres and grand balls, and music in the Assembly Rooms, while for the ordinary citizen there were travelling entertainers, tumblers and tightrope walkers, wild animals which had been taught to do tricks, and, of course, the inevitable cockfights, set on a raised circular stage which were held in various parts of the city and advertised on posters displayed on the city walls.
Annie always averted her eyes if by chance she should pass a building when a fight was in progress, for she never could abide the thought of the two creatures locked in battle, their silver spurs flashing as they fought to the death, neither did she like the shouts of the crowd as they watched the bloody spectacle.
She did like to stand and watch the specatacle of the gentry arriving at the Assembly Rooms for a concert. They came in their carriages and sedan chairs, in elegant gowns and flowing capes, and she watched eagerly to see if any of the fashionable ladies were wearing silks and satins from Mr Sampson’s drapery. She gazed, her eyes misty as they entered the portals and saw through the window the flickering candles of the candelabras, and thought of the magical time when she too had worn a a ballgown and listened to the strains of music with the man she loved at her side.
Her reason for coming to York had been a simple one. It was the only town accessible enough from Hessle of which she had any knowledge. Once she had lied to Toby that it was her home town and he had questioned her familiarity of the strange sounding streets. Now she had traversed the lanes and alleys, the snickets and ginnels of which he had spoken: Hornpot Lane, Whip-Ma-Whop-Ma Gate, Jubbergate, Lady Row. She knew Micklegate which was the old road to London, with its mixture of merchants’ houses and shops; she watched the builders working on its timber-framed buildings which were being rebuilt and refaced in the modern style and the earth floors being replaced with stone flags.
But, above all, her decision to take the long arduous track across the Wolds towards the city of York, was because she didn’t want to cross the Humber. She was afraid of taking the ferry into Lincolnshire, the ancient line of communication towards the south of England. A great fear had shaken her to the core as she’d hesitated on the river bank when she had finally left the cottage, for she felt that once she had paid the ferryman and traversed the waters, then she could never return.
So she had turned her back, comforted by the fact that she was still on the Humber’s northern shores. Now she was secure in the knowledge that in this city of white stone and hidden courtyards and gabled roofs, which, though welcoming her, she could never call her own, there ran two rivers, the Ouse and the Foss, which linked with the Humber in their run to the sea.
‘Tell me again about my father,’ Henry tugged at her hand. She lifted him up and sat him on a bollard by the Ouse.
‘He sails in a ship, bigger than any of those.’ She pointed down at the yawls and ketches and single-masted cutters lying in the water.
‘And is he still very brave, like you said?’ The child looked up at her eagerly.
‘Oh yes, very brave and strong and very handsome.’
‘And when will he come to see us?’
It was a question Henry always asked, ever since she had told him about Matt, when he had asked was Mr Sampson his father.
‘He’ll come when he can. He may be fighting the enemy.’
She wondered about Matt all the time. Was he alive or dead? Was he captured and languishing in gaol or still trying the patience of the customs men?
‘James has a father and a grandfayther, they all live together and he sees them all the time.’
James was the son of a baker, and Henry sometimes played with him when he was out walking with Polly.
‘Then James is very lucky,’ she said, lifting him down to continue with their walk before bedtime.
‘Why haven’t I got a grandfayther?’ He started to whine. ‘Is Uncle Sampson my grandfayther?’
‘No,’ she gently admonished. ‘I told you, Uncle Sampson is a
very dear friend, but not your grandfather.’
She started to laugh. ‘But you do have a grandfather, Henry. He lives a long way from here. Your grandfather, my little peazan, is a Squire!’
30
The letters and leaflets to the draper’s customers were printed and sent and money started to come in, slowly at first and then in a steady flow, even from those notorious for delay. Annie had suggested that they sent an enthusiastic account of the new cloths and materials due in from the manufacturing towns in the West Riding and the Brussels lace and silks expected from the Continent.
Already, ladies started to appear, anxious to be the first to buy and to put in their orders with the dressmakers. Annie visited some of these busy sewing women, and persuaded them that if they recommended Mr Sampson’s establishment to their ladies, then there would be a considerable saving to themselves in their purchase of needle pins, sewing cottons and ribbons. ‘We can help each other,’ she explained. ‘These are hard times.’
A tall, stooped gentleman, a beaver hat on his greying hair, came in to the shop one day and asked, ‘Mrs Hope?’
‘Yes sir.’ She bobbed her knee. ‘Can I assist you?’
‘I wished to speak to Mr Sampson, but I have just this moment seen him hurrying across the street. Perhaps you would permit me to wait?’
She brought him a chair to sit on and then busied herself making up stock and straightening the rolls of cloth. He looked vaguely familiar and she thought that he had been in the shop at some other time. Perhaps he was the husband of a client, come to discuss his wife’s spending.
‘You keep busy, Mrs Hope, you obviously enjoy your work here?’
‘Yes indeed. Mr Sampson is a good employer and the work is interesting. I love handling cloth.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘If you’ll beg my pardon, sir; you know my name, but I regret I can’t recall yours, perhaps your wife is a client of ours?’
‘Not at all. I have no wife. I’m a bachelor; always have been, always will. I have no small talk for ladies, they find me very dull.’
He rose to his feet. ‘Forgive me for hot introducing myself, another reason for my not marrying, I forget the niceties when speaking to the fairer sex.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Where was I? I was going to say something.’
She gave him a broad smile. ‘You were about to tell me your name, sir.’
‘Ah yes, of course. Marcus Blythe, of Blythe and Green, solicitors of law, though there is no Green any more, no, just myself and then nobody. It’s a pity, don’t you think, when there’s no line to carry on a profession or business that’s been worked for?’
‘But you choose surely, sir, to indulge in a business or a profession for your own satisfaction, not just for the pleasure of handing it on; and perhaps a son or other relative may not have the same gratification or sense of achievement that the originator had.’
‘My word, I believe you’re right. You’re a thinking woman, I can tell. Not one to sit around gossiping about the theatre and the latest novels and such!’
Her smile faded, she felt exposed and vulnerable. Was he laughing at her? He could surely tell what kind of woman she was? Why else would she be working for a living? It was pure luck on her part that she was nicely dressed and employed in a shop and not working as a drudge in a big house, or washing clothes in the wash-house, or even, as she had once done, sorting fish in the fish-houses.
But she spoke politely in answer. ‘I might well gossip about the theatre, given the opportunity, and I’d like to read, given the time, but my hours are taken with my work and my small son, so there’s little chance and certainly no money to do either of those things.’
‘Ah.’ He appeared a little confused. ‘Of course, I was forgetting. You have a son. Henry, isn’t it? Yes, indeed. Mr Sampson has spoken of him, he’s quite taken with him. Children never did appeal to me, I fear.’ He walked up and down the shop, swinging his cane. ‘Never felt the urge to beget them. The ones I know have generally been noisy and a veritable nuisance. But I expect yours isn’t? Mothers are usually very indulgent.’
What a strange man, she thought; and why should Aaron discuss Henry with his lawyer?
When Aaron came back he ushered Mr Blythe into his sanctum at the back of the shop and closed the door. Annie shrugged and got on with serving two ladies who came in, but she could hear Mr Blythe’s voice quite clearly. ‘I quite agree,’ he said. ‘If that’s what you wish, but it may well kill you off dear fellow; mark my words, if you’re here to remember them, at your time of life it can’t be good.’
At the end of the day, Aaron sent Polly off and locking the door behind her, he pulled down the blind. ‘Another day over, Annie. I feel quite tired, I must say. The days seem to be getting longer.’
‘You ought to take more rest, Aaron. It’s too much for you standing on your feet all day.’ She surveyed him thoughtfully. ‘Could you afford more staff? An apprentice perhaps? It would be a good idea, you know. A young man could handle the heavy fabrics and lift down the bales and so save you the effort.’
Annie was strong and often lifted the bales of cloth herself rather than ask Mr Sampson, but if he was there, then he would insist on lifting them himself and she had noticed recently how taxing it was for him.
‘Perhaps I might consider it,’ he said. ‘I have been slightly unwell lately, not quite myself.’ He coughed, putting his hand to his mouth. ‘That is why, Annie, Mr Blythe called. I have consulted him in his chambers, but being the man he is, he wanted to see the erm – that is, he wanted to visit the shop to see who, erm I mean, how, we conduct our business.’
‘Surely he knew that already? I remember you saying that you had had the same family lawyer for years!’
‘Ah, yes, but you see, things are different now.’ He nodded enthusiastically. ‘Improving, I might even say, especially under your organization. So – erm, I needed his advice about something rather important.’
Annie nodded. ‘I see,’ and turned away.
‘No, don’t go, Annie, I need to talk to you. This does concern you – and Henry.’
She turned back in some surprise, his face was flushed and he fingered the stiffened stock around his neck.
‘As you know, my sister and her son have been hankering after joining me in this business, and I know my weaknesses only too well. They would soon be taking over, lock, stock and barrel.’
‘I said, didn’t I, that you were too soft-hearted,’ Annie interrupted. ‘Your wife wouldn’t have let them get away with anything, I’ll be bound.’
‘Indeed she wouldn’t, not her.’ He took a deep breath, ‘and neither would you Annie, would you, if you were in charge?’
She laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have them over the doorstep, Mr Sampson, even though they are your relatives.’
‘Exactly. So Annie, what about it? Will you join me here and make a partnership – a proper one I mean – oh dear, I’m not doing this very well and I’ve been rehearsing what to say for weeks. I mean my dear, will you become the next Mrs Sampson?’
Annie drew in a breath, for once she was lost for words.
‘I wouldn’t expect – what I mean is – I’m an old man, you wouldn’t be afraid that I’d force you to do anything that was disagreable to you. Women, I know have much to put up with; although my wife never complained, but I’m older now and couldn’t—.’ He paused, his cheeks pink. ‘But in any case even if you didn’t want to – marry, I mean, I still intend to leave the business to you and Henry, when I’m gone.’
Annie sank down onto a chair quite bewildered. That Aaron Sampson was fond of her and Henry had always been apparent. He had been so kind, especially during those first few weeks when she had felt lost and lonely in a strange city, endeavouring to put on a brave face and manner as she faced the customers in the shop, yet feeling that her life no longer had any meaning.
Not until she had felt the child stir within her had she realized that she did have some reminder of Matt, someone she could love and who would love her
in return. Aaron had seemed to sense the turmoil she was going through and had been patient and understanding. He would make a good husband and father to Henry if she should consider it. She’d want for nothing, and the business would be hers, hers and Henry’s to do with as they wished.
‘Aaron,’ she began. ‘I’m proud to have your regard and affection, and you know, don’t you, that you have mine in return?’
He nodded, his face lighting up eagerly.
‘But, you also know that I love Henry’s father. How can you ask me to marry you knowing that?’
‘My dear girl, you are still so innocent, in spite of the life you have led.’ He took her hand in a fatherly fashion. ‘Don’t you know that in most marriages there is no love? Even in my own, which lasted many years, we married because we made a suitable arrangement satisfactory to both parties – we came to care for each other but only over time, we became comfortable together.’
‘I’ve been married once,’ she said dully as she remembered her life with Alan. ‘But that was like some other life. There was no love there or comfort.’
‘I’m not asking for an answer now,’ he said patiently. ‘But will you think about it?’
She squeezed his hand. ‘You’re a dear man. Yes, I’ll think about it.’
Yet the more she thought about it, the more she realized that she couldn’t marry him. She considered him more as a father-figure – the father she might have wished for – rather than a husband. But if I don’t marry him, then he might change his mind about leaving the business to Henry and me, she thought. And then when he’s gone, God willing it won’t be for a long time, then Henry and I must move on again.
In her own room she bent her head and wept a few tears. She could survive alone, she didn’t care how, but for Henry she wanted a good life, she didn’t want to risk losing him in poverty and hardship the way she had lost Lizzie and Ted and Jimmy.
