CHAPTER FOUR
May, 1790
Dear Ann,
Dare I hope from your reply that should I ask again for your hand, I might receive a more favorable answer?
Please don’t say anything now. That can wait until I return. Regarding that, however, I have some bad news. My return will be delayed.
We had hoped to have concluded our business and be already on our way home to Pittsburgh, but James has been called for assistance by a friend, and I must stay with him. I am afraid I cannot explain more; it is something of a confidential matter.
Meanwhile, James is also still tolerating the attentions of Lady Abigail despite my best advice as his friend. Better news, however, is that James has recently struck up a business association with a merchant fleet owner, a Mr. William Rosewall. Mr. Rosewall has a sister, Selina, about whom there’s much to admire. I suspect she is sweet on James. I wish James would notice her instead of Lady Abigail!
Enough gossip. As per your request, I have dispatched a shipment of Worcester porcelain for your stock. My apologies—Royal Worcester porcelain, if you please. Who would have thought people back home would be willing to pay double for chinaware simply because its town of manufacture was recently visited by a king we rebelled against? But you always did have an eye for the latest fashion, my dear Ann.
Speaking of which, I have included in the shipment case several of the latest editions of The Lady’s Magazine. I draw your attention to the March edition and challenge you to imagine the Brewer sisters in the hat illustrated on page sixteen.
Yours always,
Toby
London, May 1790
* * *
Twenty-five Months Earlier
14 February 1788
It was Ann’s first month in half-mourning. The New Year had brought changes. She could no longer sit at home doing nothing, and the idea of permanently existing on the charity of others was unconscionable.
Since Christmas she had been helping out old man Ebenezer at his small mercantile. The man was nearing seventy years, and with every passing day he seemed more frail and forgetful. Mrs. Greenwood, the reverend’s wife, suggested he would appreciate the assistance of a trustworthy woman to help him out at the store, and offered to put in a word for her.
Ann was thrilled with the idea. The work wasn’t demanding for a young woman, and best of all, it allowed her to earn an income without touching the compensation money at Penventen’s bank. After her first week at the store, it became evident why Mrs. Greenwood had made the introduction.
The man was nearly blind and his accounts were a mess. Too many people were on credit and taking too long to pay. By Ann’s reckoning, nearly five hundred dollars were owed. By keeping the cash flowing, she could begin to negotiate better terms with the suppliers. The old man was glad of the assistance. The next Saturday afternoon, after the doors were closed at the end of that first week, Ebenezer admitted he was too old for the business and would love nothing better than to enjoy his final years with his granddaughter in Philadelphia.
That was the reason Ann now stood outside the offices of the Penventen Mining Company. She brushed a few late season snowflakes off her cloak and rehearsed her speech one more time. Her audacious plan would not work without the support of the men inside. Could she play on their sense of honor? She did so hope she hadn’t extinguished that flame after the inquest.
The door opened with a tinkle of bells. At the nearest of three desks, a young clerk looked up and rapidly stood at the sight of a lady in the doorway.
“I wish to see Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Jackson.”
The lad blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment, seemingly dumbfounded by the appearance of a woman in such a male place of work, and then recovered his powers of speech.
“Ah, Mr. Mitchell is up at the workings. Mr. Jackson is here,” he stammered out.
Exhibiting more courage than she actually felt, Ann raised her chin. “Then I shall see Mr. Jackson. Tell him Mrs. Sellars wishes to speak with him.”
The young man stared for a moment longer, forcing her to raise an imperious eyebrow at him. At that moment, the young man was saved; Toby Jackson walked out of an inner office.
“Chester, can you—” He stopped as he saw the other person in the room. Several expressions crossed his features. Surprise? Pleasure? Interest? Ann didn’t know him well enough to tell which, and the polite, formal mask she recognized from the inquest returned to his face.
“Mrs. Sellars! An unexpected pleasure. How might I be of service?”
Ann decided to take a different approach with him than the others she’d spoken to about this matter. This time, she would be direct. “I have a business proposition to discuss.”
The expression of surprise on his face was unmistakable this time. Impatience ticked through her as she waited for the polite condescension, the dismissal of her because of her sex. Instead, Jackson’s eyes turned to his secretary.
“Copy this document and get it to the postmaster this afternoon.” When the lad hesitated, Jackson’s voice firmed. “Today, Chester.”
Jackson turned to her, and a warm genuine smile lit his grey eyes. “Mrs. Sellars, shall we discuss business in my office?” She dipped her head and, shifting her trim leather satchel to her right hand, followed his direction.
His office was not what she expected. Dominating one wall was a framed topographical map of Pittsburgh and its three rivers, the Monongahela, the Allegany and the Ohio, with the Penventen Mine on Coal Hill bounded in red ink. There was his desk and two chairs for visitors, and a filing drawer. However, a part of the room was curtained off, hiding, she suspected, a cot. Her suspicion was based on the presence of a travelling trunk beside the curtain, adding an odd touch of domesticity to a room otherwise all business.
To cover her nervousness, Ann commented, “Do you not have a home to go to, Mr. Jackson?”
He looked around as if noticing the dichotomy of his furnishings for the first time. When he turned to face her, it was with a wry smile. “The last eight months have been difficult for all.” He did not elaborate, this time deliberately appearing to note her grey half-mourning dress as he bade her sit.
“You’re looking well, Mrs. Sellars, but it’s not pleasantries you’re here to exchange. You said you have business to discuss.” He stopped and frowned. “Is it your son? Is he well? Or are you in financial difficulties? You can still draw on your settlement. I am aware it’s not yet touched.”
Ann recognized times were still hard for the company, even though she knew the mine had reopened at the beginning of the year, and the first order of coal was now making its way down the Ohio River to West Virginia.
“I wish to buy the Main Street Mercantile,” she said simply and was a little disappointed when surprise colored his eyes. Ann told herself she should have anticipated his response; it would be the same as the others.
“What do you know about running a business?”
“A woman can’t run a business on her own.”
“Leave that sort of thing to the men. You have a son to raise.”
She steeled herself.
“The mercantile isn’t profitable,” Jackson frowned. “Stock sits there for months.”
“It could be profitable if properly managed. Mr. Ramsay is elderly and tired. He doesn’t have the vigor to chase accounts or negotiate with vendors. Cash flow has improved by nearly twenty percent since I took over the accounts. I know with full control, I can pay Mr. Ramsay full value for his business and turn a profit for myself in six months.”
“What’s the stock-on-hand value?”
She told him and noted yet another hint of surprise in his eyes at the immediacy of her answer, surprise that gave way instantly to admiration.
He smiled almost imperceptibly, and then his expression was lost as he volleyed a series of questions—the level of debt to creditors, the balance sheet, the debtors’ list. Ann warmed to his inquiries, returning each with thorough, detailed answers, not needing to reference the papers in her satchel. This was her passion. She was sure she could make it work and was conceited enough to believe she had convinced Jackson of the same when her answers were met with an encouraging grin.
It threw her off balance.
He was a very handsome man.
The revelation hit her like the icy winds that blew down from the Great Lakes. She had not considered anything of the sort before. The pain of Robert’s death had lessened—especially as she busied herself in running the mercantile—but could she be ready to look at another man and think of such things?
Too soon! her mind screamed. She tamped down the stirrings of attraction. Instead she licked her dry lips and took a deep breath. She was are here on business.
“I have documentation and a business plan projected to two years,” she told him, ignoring the way his eyes encouraged her to think in directions far from business-like.
A hint of a smile played around his mouth. “You’re very well prepared.”
Ann frowned. “Do you wish to see the numbers?”
Jackson sat back in his chair and spread his arms wide in an invitation to continue.
Ann put her satchel on the table and pulled out a booklet with neatly written notes, a comprehensive plan to make the mercantile successful.
“The business is valued at four hundred and seventy-five dollars. Even with your generous settlement, I still need two hundred and seventy-five dollars. I need a loan for it. I propose a full repayment in two years at three percent interest. I am led to believe it is a fair return.”
She waited for his response. It came after he swiftly glanced at the paper on the desk and returned those eyes to meet hers.
“It goes without saying that I’m very impressed, Mrs. Sellars. You are a formidable woman who I believe will achieve anything she desires, but—”
At the word Ann’s heart sank. She was a widow, untried in business with no family to back her. No bank would loan her the sum. Her visit here today was her last, best hope.
Her expression of anticipated disappointment conveyed itself to Jackson. “Mrs. Sellars…” He paused. “May I call you Ann?”
She nodded, fighting the tears of dashed hopes.
“You have me convinced of your ability, but two hundred and seventy-five dollars is not money James and I have lying around.”
He glanced around his office, and Ann followed his direction. The cot, the trunk…her statement made in jest was true. This room was his home.
“I think you’ve guessed our circumstances,” he said quietly. “We’ve used every resource we have to get the mine back up and running. Right now we’d be lucky to scrape ten dollars together.”
Ann swallowed against a lump in her throat and nodded once. She opened her satchel and reached to sweep her papers into it when Toby’s hand covered hers.
“Please. Wait. Would Mr. Ramsay be willing to wait six months for the balance of the money? Would he be willing to accept it in installments?”
Ann worried her bottom lip with her teeth. The thought had not occurred to her. “I don’t know. He might be.”
“Penventen Mine is going to be as profitable as ever, but it needs time. What’s your margin on picks and shovels? Is there five percent you can spare?”
Ann blinked back tears as she worked the figures in her head. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Toby grinned and squeezed her hand. “I think I have a plan.”