This was quite a fine gift. Although it was only twelve acres, it happened to be the very piece of land Mary had once wanted to buy but had given up on, put off by the complicated process. She’d only mentioned it once, and yet he’d actually remembered!
“Give me a moment.” She certainly meant to accept this gift. From what she’d gathered, twelve acres of land nearby was worth around 60 pounds, she couldn’t very well accept it for nothing.
Going up to her room, she brought down six oversized, patterned bars of handmade soap, wrapped in old newspaper.
“Would you mind giving this to your master? The wrapping is a bit shabby, I hope he won’t mind.” Finding a proper gift on short notice wasn’t easy, so Mary had used the guineas she’d been keeping hidden away instead. A full sixty of them, in fact, these particular decorative soaps were one of her hiding spots for cash.
She had no intention of ever spending any of the guineas she received, the uncashed bills of exchange and banknotes were more than enough for her needs.
“Please thank your master for me, and tell him I quite like this gift.” Once Old John and the others were back, there’d be plenty of work to do.
“Ma’am, was there any other message you’d like me to pass along?” Actually, writing a letter would be even better, Steward William hinted at this gently.
“No, oh, wait, how is my carriage coming along?” She’d meant to say there was nothing else, but with nearly a month having passed, Mary suddenly remembered the transportation she’d commissioned at such expense.
“Ma’am, don’t worry about that, the craftsmen report their progress every few days. Perhaps once the master finishes up his current business, he might bring it back with him.” He should have known better than to ask, poor His Highness.
“Is that so? Then I’ll look forward to your master’s return soon.”
“She really said that?” Octavius sat at his desk, having already set down his pen. Clearly, he didn’t believe a word of what his steward had brought back.
There were also the six bars of soap laid out before him, it made no sense that Mary hadn’t delivered them herself before he left, only for William to bring them back now instead.
He picked one up, the weight felt off. What had she hidden inside it?
The man had no intention of destroying the soap, instead, he examined the pattern etched into its surface carefully. Ah, he understood now, this had been stamped directly with guinea coins, simple and clear!
So, she’d used all these guineas to pay for the land deed? Knowing Mary, this was exactly the sort of thing she’d do, Octavius wasn’t the least bit surprised.
“Find me a well-ventilated box, I’d like to store these properly.”
Steward William didn’t quite follow, but quickly found what was needed regardless.
“Your Highness, word has come, someone from the Navy has gone and complained about you to the King.” Setting down the box, he’d also brought the latest news.
“Then let them complain. There’s a war on right now, and these people can’t even manage to pay the shipwrights building the warships on time, what else can’t they get wrong? And besides, William, over these years, have I really been complained about so rarely? Don’t worry, this is exactly what the Prince of Wales wants to see.”
Placing the six guinea-stamped soaps into the box, Octavius showed not the slightest concern over his steward’s news. He’d simply helped uncover the reason behind the shipyard’s sluggish construction pace, the rest of it was none of his concern.
Whoever had been withholding wages, whoever had provoked the shipwrights, could be the one to answer for it. This month, the Deptford shipyard had already gone on strike once, some people needed to understand the consequences of their actions.
“Push along the progress on the carriage, I should be finished with the matters at hand within the next couple of days.” Then he’d head straight to Longbourn.
Back in Longbourn, once Mary had sent the year’s final batch of milk soap off to the army, she settled in to await the arrival of the new year. When the new year finally came, Meryton grew lively once more. She, too, took her money and her freshly made mint soap and headed for London.
The carriage arrived at the Strand and stopped in front of an apothecary shop.
“Ma’am, this shop does very good business.” Today’s coachman was Henderson, the one among them most familiar with London.
“Thank you, I’ll need you to wait for me.” Taking a few samples with her, Mary walked into the well-appointed shop.
Although it was called an apothecary, it looked more like a shop that sold just about everything.
Various dried herbs and spices, of course, but also candles of all shapes, scented oils in a variety of fragrances, cosmetic powders, animal horns, liquor, and more, the shop had a bit of everything. Even the rougher-looking chemical goods had a small corner. And then, the focus of Mary’s visit today, soap.
The shop naturally carried imported Castile soap from Spain, as well as Marseille soap, Venetian soap, and medicinal sulfur soap, all priced above two shillings.
Their shapes varied too, some round like discs, some cube-shaped, some even heart-shaped. But regardless of shape, each was stamped with the manufacturer’s emblem, and the displayed samples came with complete, elegant packaging.
Mary guessed these soaps commanded such prices not only because they were imported, but because their appearance and packaging carried a substantial markup as well.
“Excuse me, may I have a moment?” After circling the shop, she found the person in charge. “I have a bar of soap here that soothes itching and repels insect bites. It’s also soothing after a bath, leaving a naturally cooling sensation, would you be interested?”
She loosened the drawstring of the linen soap pouch in her hand, revealing a mint soap of rich, delicate color. The rectangular bar had every edge carefully finished, without a hint of roughness. Two mint leaves were stamped on its surface, along with the words “Soothing Skin Mint Soap.”
The overall shape wasn’t particularly striking, but the color more than made up for it.
“Made yourself? May I try it?” The shopkeeper picked it up first to feel its texture, quite good, the workmanship was clearly meticulous. Then he lifted it to his nose, the mint scent was pure and true.
People like this came around now and then, he’d grown used to it. Still, this particular bar the young woman had brought seemed worth actually testing.
Just from the color alone, the ladies were bound to love it.
“Of course.” Mary had already tested the soap’s effectiveness herself over a period of time. Combined with feedback from Old John and the others, and results Betsy and Molly had brought back from home use, she might be exaggerating slightly, but not by much.
The shopkeeper rubbed some kind of oil onto his hands, then used the soap to wash it off.
Before long, he lifted his hands, clean, out of the basin of water. Once out, he leaned in to sniff them again.
“The cleaning effect is quite good, and the mint scent isn’t faint at all. As for the cooling sensation you mentioned, I can feel a little of it, the rest, we’ll set aside for now.” Placing the soap on the display rack, the shopkeeper led her to a spot away from other customers. “Name your price.”
If this mint soap could come in around five pence, he’d take it.
“I’ve come in good faith, as long as your shop commits to an ongoing order, I can offer six pence a bar, including the pouch.” Mary, seeing the shopkeeper’s clear interest, added a penny onto her original price.
In fact, the mint soap itself cost under half a penny to make, even with the pouch included, it still came in under a penny.
“You could also tell your customers, sir, that using this mint soap leaves a natural mint fragrance lingering for a while. With regular use, they might not even need perfume.” Of course, that particular pitch could be adjusted as needed.
“Six pence is still too steep, five and a half pence. Deliver weekly, and let’s start with 120 bars a week, that comes to 2 pounds 15 shillings. I’ll settle payment on the spot each time.” Adding half a penny on his end was, in his mind, simply covering the cost of transport she’d otherwise have to bear. “Oh, and one more thing, since this soap will be sold in my shop, no other shops or general stores in this area should be allowed to carry it.”
That needed settling upfront, or what was there for him to gain?
“Sir, I’ll give you five pence a bar, but I want pricing control! This soap must sell for no less than nine pence, and no more than eleven.” In short, it had to stay under a shilling!
As for restricting sales in the surrounding area, that, at least, could be negotiated.
“I promise you, on the Strand, you’ll be the only shop selling my mint soap.”
“Deal, let’s draw up the contract!” Once the shopkeeper heard the price had come down to five pence, he had no further objections. Whether it sold for nine pence or eleven, he’d profit either way!
After some time working through it, the two of them wrote out the terms, the wholesale price, the retail price, and the exclusivity clause limiting sales on the Strand to this one shop. Mary reviewed the terms for weekly delivery and on-the-spot payment, and happily signed her name to it.
As she signed, she added an unfamiliar suffix after her name, Ethys.
That had actually been Henderson’s suggestion on the way over. He’d said adding it would make negotiations go more smoothly.
“So you’re Mrs. Ethys, if you’ve brought soap with you today, we can start trading right away.” The shopkeeper carefully put away his copy of the contract, having noticed earlier that this young lady had stepped down from a fine carriage.
“One moment, Mr. Goodman.” Even though it was only a 120-bar order, Mary was thrilled the deal had gone through.
She called Henderson over to help carry down 125 bars of mint soap from the carriage, while she herself counted out an equal number of soap pouches, delivering them all together. The extra bars would count as a margin for loss.
“Yes, I always include a few extra with each delivery, I hope we’ll have a pleasant partnership.” The total came to 2 pounds 10 shillings, and Mary received 50 shillings in silver coin.
“A pleasure doing business, Mrs. Ethys.”
Leaving the Strand, Mary went on to Bond Street and Oxford Street.
The deal on the first went through successfully, the spice merchant there took a full 480 bars at once, at the same price. Mary rounded it up to 500 bars, and in return received ten one-pound banknotes.
At Oxford Street, though, she came up empty. Most people in the surrounding area simply couldn’t afford this kind of purchase yet, and the general store had no appetite for it.
So Mary brought out the milk soap she’d also prepared. This, the shopkeeper was interested in, this particular milk soap had already been on sale for a few years, though not in this part of town.
Given the choice between home delivery and picking it up themselves, the general store chose delivery, which raised the wholesale price of the milk soap to three and a half pence, since a trip into London by carriage came with its own toll costs.
At a quantity of 240 bars, that came to exactly three and a half pounds.
Leaving there, Mary now had three more banknotes in hand, and her silver coin count had climbed to sixty. That would do for these three locations for now, once next week’s sales figures came in, she could decide whether to expand further.
“Henderson, let’s head to Smithfield Market.” That was where she’d found her last set of soap-making equipment, worth checking again, in case something else useful turned up.
The secondhand market was a little quiet after the new year, with many stalls left empty. But the carriage drove on in, and fortunately, that particular shop was open.
“Ah, I remember you! As it happens, a soap merchant just went bankrupt, and his assets were entrusted to me to handle.” The man running the stall had a good memory, and led her straight to the corner where the tools were kept. “Compared to last time’s batch, none of this is especially worn.”
“But these are smaller, do you have anything larger? Similar to what I got last time would be fine.” Mary wasn’t particularly impressed with what lay on the ground, it looked no different from the old tools she’d already been using.
“You’re a bit late, the larger set was bought up just the day before yesterday! If that’s what you’re after, this is the best I’ve got.” Where one man’s bankruptcy created a loss, another saw an opportunity to profit, good equipment always changed hands quickly.
“How much?” Might as well buy it, useful for testing purposes, if nothing else.
“You’re a regular customer by now, so the whole set, three pounds.”
Counting out three banknotes, the equipment was loaded onto the carriage. Once Henderson had it secured, it was time to head back to Longbourn.
“Extra, extra, the Duke of Cambridge absent from the New Year’s ball once again—”
Not long after leaving the secondhand market, Mary spotted a newsboy still out on the street, hawking papers that hadn’t sold. The Duke of Cambridge he was calling out about was the King’s third son, though his reputation had never been particularly good.
Mary had heard, while in Meryton, that this duke had gotten married not long ago, apparently in secret. The former Prince of Wales, too, had once married in secret, and that marriage had never been recognized by the King, leaving the woman he’d married reduced to little more than a mistress in the end.
Tsk, worth hearing, nothing more. What did any of this have to do with her, anyway?