by Jane Jackson
‘Good morning, Miss Laity,’ she greeted a short, plump woman dressed in blue with a white gauze kerchief about her shoulders, her hair covered by a neat cap.
‘Come in, Miss Trevanion.’ Louise Laity bobbed a curtsy and opened the lower half of the door. ‘Tis good of you to come so quick.’
‘Your note implied some urgency.’ Seeing Louise’s gaze flick to her hat, Jenefer smiled. ‘It looks well, does it not? And is so comfortable. I’m sure all your customers are equally delighted.’
Following Louise into the room that had once been a parlour and now served as shop, display and workroom, Jenefer pulled off her gloves. She noted three chairs carefully placed to allow anyone wishing to sit room to do so without hindering others who preferred to walk round the centre table. Two earthenware chills, shaped like heavy candlesticks stood at either end of the mantelpiece. But as there was no lingering smell of burned train, the oil from pressed pilchards, Jenefer realized they were no longer used.
‘How do you manage for light in the dark evenings?’ she asked.
‘I don’t do no sewing by night, miss. I catch up on baking and ironing, jobs like that. Then by time I got Mother up over stairs and settled, I’m ready for bed myself.’
‘I’ve always thought this an excellent idea.’ Jenefer indicated a small table spread with a white cloth beneath the window. On it a bonnet of black velvet and rose pink satin was nearing completion. An elaborate trim of matching pink ribbon had been made into a large multi-looped bow in front. Another pink bow, partly completed, lay next to a black ostrich plume. ‘It allows customers to see the different stages of creation.’
Louise rubbed her hands. ‘I don’t know that everyone like it. I did think about putting up a curtain to cut the room in half. But with only the one window …’ She shrugged, then said quietly, ‘I tried working in the kitchen. But if a customer called and we come in here, Mother couldn’t resist putting in a few stitches. She didn’t mean no harm. She just wanted to help. But I’d have to unpick it all and she’d get upset.’ Louise rolled her eyes. ‘So in the end ’twas easier for me to keep everything in here. I keep popping through to make sure she’s all right. And if she need me she only got to shout.’
‘I think you have it exceptionally well arranged,’ Jenefer said. To one side of the worktable stood a sewing box, the lid raised to reveal a tray of multi-hued silks and cottons. Beside it, in the open top drawer of a small chest, a rainbow of ribbons and braids lay in neat rows. But a swift glance told Jenefer that both tray and drawer were missing several colours, and of others there was little left on the reel. She turned to the centre table.
‘I see you have a new display stand.’
Louise beamed. ‘’Tis just three shallow wooden boxes Eddy Barnicoat made up for me. With them set crossways on top of each other like that, each bonnet got its own triangle of space. I keep the top for something special.’
‘The pale-blue velvet makes a beautiful backdrop.’
‘A bargain it was, ’cos one edge had a water stain. I trimmed off the worst and with the folds arranged like that you’d never know.’
‘It’s very impressive, Miss Laity, and shows great artistry.’
Louise blushed deep rose. ‘Good of you to say so, miss.’
Jenefer leaned forward to look more closely at a turban of fluted silver gauze over midnight satin. ‘This is both striking and elegant. Are those egret feathers?’
Louise nodded, indicating a neat pile of magazines. ‘I keep up with all the new fashions so my customers can have exactly the same as the ladies up London.’ She twisted her hands. ‘See, what it is, why I asked you to stop by, I got plenty of orders. Truth is, I can’t keep up with them all. I’d like to take on a girl apprentice. But the way things are I haven’t got the money to pay her.’
Jenefer knew then that her assumption on receiving Louise’s note had been correct.
‘Like I say, I got enough work for two. But when it come to paying …’ She sighed and clicked her tongue. ‘I send out accounts at the end of each month. But half just ignore them. One lady come in and ordered another bonnet, promising to pay the whole lot when ’tis ready.’ Her opinion of that tactic was plain. ‘I don’t want to lose custom, but I can’t go on like this. I need stock: velvet, satin, lace, silk flowers, feathers, ribbons and braid.’ She ticked them off on her fingers. ‘Will Prowse said he can get me fine French lace for half the price I’d pay in Helston or Penzance. Trouble is, he want money up front. But until I get these here accounts settled I can’t pay ’n ’cos I haven’t got it.’
‘I see.’ Jenefer understood only too well. She remembered being unable to pay bills because her father had drunk the housekeeping money. She quickly learned to hide it. Soon after that he had allowed her to take charge, first of the domestic accounts, then his smuggling investments. In return, he demanded a keg of brandy from each cargo, deaf to the doctor’s warnings and her pleas. He had been drunk on the night of the fire, unconscious in his bed, unaware of the wall of flames that had prevented Treeve reaching him while she carried Betsy down the back stairs.
When she first set up her bookkeeping business, two customers delayed paying her for work she had done, money she needed to buy food and fuel. In desperation she threatened to make their behaviour public as a warning to others. Furious, they had paid up and she had refused to work for them again. Yes, she understood.
Louise opened the bottom drawer of the chest and drew out two ledgers. ‘Here’s my books, miss. You see for yourself. Every penny accounted for. I’m very partic’lar like that.’ She held them out.
Opening the top ledger halfway through, Jenefer turned several pages, noting the careful copperplate handwriting, dates and details of materials purchased, and prices paid. Closing it she opened the second one, saw pages showing the name of each customer, details of what they had bought, the price and the date the item was collected. But where settlement dates should have been entered there were too many spaces. Convinced Louise Laity was as painstaking with her books as she was in creating her hats, Jenefer handed the ledgers back. ‘So what you are seeking is a short-term loan with which to buy materials?’
Louise’s shoulders dropped in relief as she clasped the books to her gauze-covered bosom. ‘Oh, miss. I’d be some grateful. At my wits’ end I am.’
‘I’ll be happy to advance you what you need, Miss Laity, but that only solves half of the problem. We also need to settle the other half. I don’t suppose you have a list of—?’
Opening the cover of top ledger Louise removed a sheet of paper and offered it. ‘I put down the name, what they bought, the price agreed, and the date they took delivery.’
Jenefer smiled at her. ‘I wish all my clients were as well-organized.’ As Louise’s blush deepened, Jenefer read down the list, noting the amounts owed by Mrs Penkivell, wife of the notary, and Mrs Avers. ‘I don’t see Mrs Casvellan’s name on here.’
Shock rounded Louise’s eyes. ‘Nor will you, miss. Like you, Mrs Casvellan is. She don’t even wait till the end of the month. Always pay the week she take delivery. Most partic’lar about it.’
Jenefer nodded. Though she’d never had cause to doubt Louise’s honesty, she’d needed to be sure. Now she was. Having known terrible poverty herself, Roz never kept any tradesman or woman waiting for payment.
‘Then with your permission I shall write to everyone whose account is more than two months overdue.’
Louise’s face lit up. ‘Take some load off my mind that would, Miss, and that’s God’s honest truth.’ She chewed her lip. Wanting to say something, she was clearly wary of doing so, anxious not to offend. Jenefer guessed what was troubling her.
‘Please don’t be concerned, Miss Laity. I am the soul of discretion.’
‘I didn’t mean no offence.’
‘I know you didn’t. You may be more comfortable if I tell you what I intend. In my letter I shall explain that as you are so overwhelmed with orders you have asked me temporarily to take o
ver the bookkeeping side of your business. As I already perform this service for a number of village businesses no one will think it at all strange. I shall then politely point out that the account is overdue by however long. Immediate settlement would be greatly appreciated and should be sent directly to me. I think we may be confident my signature will ensure a reasonably swift response. You have my word that only I, you, and the recipient of each letter will be aware of its content.’
Louise’s relief widened her smile as she bobbed a curtsy. ‘I should’ve known you’d do it right. God bless ’ee, Miss Trevanion. I’m some grateful.’
Folding the list, Jenefer tucked it deep into her basket, then lifted out a stocking purse that clinked. ‘Here is five pounds. When you prepare your list, will you also make a copy for me? Our merchant in Guernsey appreciates detailed accounts. And may I suggest you start interviewing prospective apprentices?’
‘Oh, miss!’ Louise breathed. ‘You don’t know how much this mean to me.’
‘It’s my pleasure, Miss Laity.’ After they had agreed terms, Jenefer drew on her gloves.
‘How’s your sister, miss?’ Louise asked as they walked to the door. ‘And that dear baby of hers?’
‘They are very well, thank you. I’ll tell her you asked.’
Edward Barton paced his office, mopping his face with a handkerchief already damp. His gut churned. ‘More money? What does he need it for?’
Seated in his father’s chair, behind his father’s desk, John Barton shrugged. ‘I’ d guess it’s taking longer and costing more than expected to pump the mine out. But Kestle is certain the copper is there. Once the new lode is found all the money can be paid back with no one any the wiser.’
‘He’s been saying that for weeks. I’m not happy about it, John.’
‘Nor am I. But what choice do we have? We’re in too deep and have risked too much to stop now. And what about the money we’ve already taken? How would we explain the discrepancies?’
Edward Barton grimaced and pressed his fingers to his stomach as pain stabbed. He turned a haggard face to his son. ‘What have we done?’
‘What was necessary.’ Rising from the chair, John Barton came round the desk and draped an arm over his father’s shoulders. ‘Courage, Father. Since the Anglesea mines failed, the price of Cornish copper has been steadily rising. It’s almost double what it was ten years ago. And we’re so close. A week or two more to finish pumping out, that’s all. As for the money—’
‘It’s hundreds of pounds, John.’
The younger man’s gesture was careless, dismissive. ‘A pittance compared to what we stand to make. Look, we haven’t stolen anything. We’ve simply borrowed it. Money that just was sitting there, doing nothing. Who’s to know? Besides, isn’t this what banks are for?’
Edward Barton would not allow himself to think about trust betrayed, integrity forfeited, honour lost. He wiped his upper lip, trying to convince himself there had been no alternative. John was right. They had come too far to stop now. ‘If by some misfortune an alarm is raised—’
‘It won’t be.’
‘I would need to put it all back before an audit could—’
‘And you will.’
‘How? Where can I possibly—?’
‘Be quiet!’ John’s voice was harsh, his expression threatening. ‘Enough of this guilt and anxiety. Pull yourself together, Father. Unless you want to see everything we’ve worked for slip through our fingers. The mine is sound. The copper is there and Kestle will find it. This time next week we’ ll be celebrating.’
Edward Barton nodded. ‘Yes. You’re right.’ Perhaps if he said it often enough he would believe it. He glanced at the Dutch clock on the wall. ‘You should go. I’m expecting Charles Polgray.’
‘From Kerrow & Polgray? Have we drawn—?’
‘No. Not yet.’ Closing his eyes, Edward Barton swallowed audibly. ‘And I’ d prefer we didn’t.’
‘With luck we won’t need to,’ John comforted. ‘But if it’s necessary, the money will be repaid within a week or two and everything will be as it was.’ John picked up his hat from the table. ‘Still, it would be better if he didn’t see me. Remember, Father, all that’s occurred is a temporary transfer of assets, an emergency business transaction. It’s done all the time.’
‘Yes. Yes.’ Edward Barton stood straighter, adjusted his cuffs. If he viewed it like that— He bit his lip as pain pierced his gut like a shard of glass.
Removing his hat and gloves, Charles followed the clerk into Edward Barton’s office. Brown furniture, ochre walls, a cluttered desk and dusty window, it looked unchanged from his last visit. And yet there was something in the atmosphere.
Rising from his leather chair behind the desk, Barton bowed. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Polgray. Mr Vincent sent word that I might expect you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Do sit down.’ A smile came and fled. ‘How may I be of service?’ He resumed his own chair.
Charles laid copies of the documents signed by Samson on the desk, then sat. ‘I am setting up a new company and need funds transferred from Kerrow & Polgray’s reserve account—’ He broke off as the banker gave a violent start.
‘I beg your pardon, Mr Polgray,’ Barton said bending sideways to massage his calf. ‘A sudden cramp. Do forgive me.’ He straightened up, his face pallid, eyes glassy. ‘You were saying?’
‘To a new account in the name of Porthinnis Harbour Company,’ Charles continued. ‘With myself and my attorney Steven Vincent as co-signatories.’
He watched Barton draw the documents towards him with unsteady hands.
‘Will’ – the banker cleared his throat − ‘will Kerrow & Polgray be the sole source of funds for this new venture?’ He turned pages, his head bent.
‘No, I shall be applying to other sources.’
Glancing up, Barton nodded. ‘A sensible move, and one I would have suggested. It is always advisable to spread the risk.’
‘This venture is far less risky than some I have heard about,’ Charles returned, his tone dry.
Barton’s head jerked up. The same glassy smile flitted across his face. ‘Quite so.’ He moistened his lips. ‘Did you say Porthinnis?’
Charles nodded briefly. ‘I shall be spending the next few months there.’
‘Indeed?’ Barton folded his hands but seemed unable to keep them still, flexing and clasping his fingers. ‘That being the case, you are likely to make the acquaintance of Miss Trevanion. A most … unusual young woman.’
Charles controlled his response to an expressionless, ‘Oh?’
‘Perhaps you have heard of her?’
About to say he had not only heard of her but they were well acquainted, curiosity stopped him. ‘I was abroad for most of last year. Is there something I should know?’
Laying his hands on the documents, Barton leaned forward. ‘It is my understanding she has caused quite a stir.’
‘How so?’
‘By her involvement in matters many consider beyond her intellect or capability. She calls herself a bookkeeper.’ Barton’s grimace of a smile and bitter tone betrayed a conflict Charles found intriguing. ‘But the truth is, to all intents and purposes she is a banker.’ He sat back, clearly expecting a response.
Doubtful that his startled admiration would be appreciated, Charles raised his eyebrows. ‘Good heavens.’
Barton wiped his upper lip with a forefinger. ‘I admit I was among those who initially harboured doubts. But to the astonishment of all she has prospered. She has even persuaded Mr Lukis of St Peter Port to employ her as his agent, and through him established an accord with William Percival of Lombard Street in London. Such connections confer considerable status.’ Despite his attempted smile there was no mistaking the banker’s bitter envy.
‘And you are telling me this because…?’
‘Simply to make you aware, Mr Polgray.’
Charles regarded the perspiring man. ‘Aware of what, Mr Barton? Surely you cannot feel threatened by a mere woman?’
Even as he said the words, he could imagine Jenefer Trevanion’s response to his words. She would laugh. She might even blush. For beneath the irony she would have heard his admiration. He sighed inwardly as he watched the banker draw himself up. He should have guessed Edward Barton would take the remark at face value.
‘Threatened?’ Barton’s voice rose. ‘Threatened? Me? A mine purser and banker for forty years? Of course I don’t feel threatened. The notion is preposterous. I have always believed finance to be the province of those with the proper knowledge and experience. Miss Trevanion’s trespass – for want of a better word – into a world for which she has no training is seen by some as gross impertinence, a – a mockery.’
‘I appreciate your concern on my behalf, Mr Barton,’ Charles said coolly. ‘Allow me to assure you it is quite unnecessary.’
‘I am relieved to hear it.’ The banker mopped his forehead and upper lip. ‘But you did not allow me to finish. I would not have you think I am among those resentful of Miss Trevanion. Nothing could be further from the truth. Indeed, were you, in the course of your business there, to make her acquaintance, I would be most exceedingly obliged if you would tell her that were she to consider transferring her business to this bank, my many years of experience would be at her disposal.’
‘Should the occasion arise I will be sure to tell her.’ Charles frowned. ‘Are you unwell, Mr Barton? You look rather pale.’
‘A mere trick of the light, Mr Polgray. I am in excellent health, thank you.’ Revealing his teeth in a smile as brief as it was insincere, he tucked his handkerchief up his coat sleeve. ‘I shall arrange your transfer of funds immediately.’
Rising to his feet, Charles picked up his hat and gloves. ‘Then that is all for the present. Good day to you, Mr Barton.’
Leaving the Great Office, Charles walked to the end of the tree-shaded cobbled street and turned right. On his way down the hill it occurred to him that though Barton’s colleagues were clearly offended by the notion of a woman banker, what had really shocked them was Jenefer Trevanion’s success.
