She’d been doing business here for years, and had finally reached an understanding with the quartermaster here, why would he suddenly go back on it now?
Because of Mr. Richman running off, Mary had already sent word ahead that the harvested potatoes needed to be handed over as soon as possible. At the time, they’d agreed to it readily enough.
This was good news for her, and good news for the quartermaster too.
Don’t think Mary didn’t know, the garrison stationed in Meryton had, year-round, fewer than a hundred men. Even eating potatoes morning, noon, and night, they couldn’t get through 1,500 bushels in a year. The rest, the quartermaster would sell off at market price, pocketing the difference.
Suddenly not wanting them at all, did that mean he no longer wanted that profit margin either?
Going by last year’s settled price of two shillings two pence a bushel, this delivery totaled 6,500 bushels, rounding off, that came to 700 pounds! Subtract the 1,500 bushels the garrison would consume itself, and there’d still be 5,000 bushels left to resell.
Reselling potatoes at market for three shillings a bushel was easy enough, that alone would bring in 750 pounds!
Do the math, and there was a clean 50-pound profit margin, plus a year’s worth of free potatoes for the garrison, what wasn’t there to like?
“Could you call for Mr. Richard? If the potatoes aren’t wanted, will the pigs not be wanted in another two months either? And what about the eggs delivered every three days, I need to confirm that with Mr. Richard as well.” The man in front of her was just a messenger, Mary had never seen him before, and she wanted to speak to someone who could actually make decisions.
“I’m sorry, our lieutenant isn’t in these past few days.” Standing at the garrison entrance, the soldier followed his orders faithfully. He wouldn’t let her through, and he wouldn’t let a single cart of potatoes through either!
“If Mr. Richard isn’t in, is there anyone here who can make a decision? I’ve brought this much with me, it would be quite inconvenient to haul it all back. If you’re certain you don’t want it, I’ll take it straight to London.” Some tax would have to be paid, but her potatoes weren’t short of buyers.
Mary had originally chosen to sell to the army for the convenience of the shorter distance, and to save on some of the tax.
If all 6,500 bushels were sold to London merchants instead, she could get at least two shillings eight pence, that came to 866 pounds! After tax, and after subtracting transport costs and losses, a clean profit of 700 pounds was still very much achievable.
If she didn’t mind the extra trouble, she could even take it straight to the London exchange for auction. Word was that high-quality potatoes there had recently been opening at three shillings a bushel! The final sale price often climbed to four shillings or even more!
Of course, that only applied to large transactions of 2,000 bushels or more per lot, and only for the best-quality goods.
The Richman family’s 50 acres had brought in 10,000 bushels of potatoes this year, but the quality wasn’t the very best. The very best had already been loaded onto the carts.
“We don’t want them, take them away.” The soldier held firm, and Mary didn’t push any further either.
So many people in Meryton were watching, she’d rented thirty cargo carts, originally intending to finish the whole delivery in one day. A procession this large, happening every year, meant everyone nearby already knew exactly what it was about. If the army didn’t want them, then she’d simply handle it herself.
“Fine, I’ll take them away. If anything comes of this, I trust Mr. Richard will know who to blame.” It was still morning, Mary had time to make a trip to London.
Whether she could get into the exchange was a matter of chance, but finding an agent was still doable, the army wasn’t her only trading partner, after all.
Out of 10,000 bushels of potatoes, after paying the tithe of 1,000 bushels, there were 9,000 left.
She’d originally planned to give 6,500 to the army, keep 1,000 for household use, and send the remaining 1,500 to London merchants in one go, which would’ve brought in about 200 pounds after tax. Compared to past years with a poorer harvest, this price would have been unthinkable back then.
Mary had the transport convoy change direction, heading toward London instead. Her own carriage went ahead of the rest, so she could negotiate the deal in advance, that way, once the convoy arrived, they could simply unload straight away.
A full thirty heavy cargo carts, even just leaving the village, would take some time. The people of Meryton watched, curious about what was going on.
Everyone knew the former Miss Richman, now Mrs. Ethys, after her father mortgaged off the private bank and vanished, this young lady had gone and married within just a few days, and people were still gossiping about her mysterious husband.
After all, at yesterday’s wedding, everyone’s attention had been fixed on those luxurious carriages and the mounted riders! By the time people thought to look for the groom, the newlyweds had already left the church.
Everyone had assumed the freshly married couple would go off on a sweet honeymoon somewhere, but word was that this very morning, the gentleman had already left Longbourn. Not many people knew this yet, but seeing the newly minted Mrs. Ethys out and about, busy with errands like this, it did seem to be true.
Could it be the two of them hadn’t gotten along well last night?
“Mary, you see, I told you I could pull it off.” In the crowd, Lydia Wickham gave her still-dazed sister a light nudge. “Now the army won’t take the Richman household’s potatoes. Even if she manages to sell them in London, she’ll lose a good deal in transport costs.”
“As long as George remains a lieutenant with the Meryton garrison, whatever the Richman house tries to sell, potatoes or otherwise, the army won’t touch it! There, are you satisfied now? Feeling better?” Lydia held out her hand, palm up. “Give it here.”
They’d agreed beforehand, if she managed to block the deal between the Richman house and the army, then Mary would hand over every bit of her savings for the year.
That was a full five pounds, enough to buy quite a nice hat.
“Here!” Mary tossed over the coin purse she’d been carrying, without another word. Without the money, she’d no longer be able to buy the trinkets she’d wanted. But no matter, Jane and Lizzy always had spares she could borrow.
“What are you so upset about? Didn’t you hear that Mr. Ethys already left? They must have had a falling out last night! Think about it, Richman never even goes to balls, and she certainly skipped the one at Netherfield last year. She’s got no idea how to keep a man happy.”
“If you ask me, that marriage is bound to fall apart sooner or later.” So Mary still had her chance. “You saw those luxurious carriages and riders yesterday too, that man must be someone wealthy. Keep a close eye on the Richman house, and once he comes back, don’t let the chance slip by.”
“But he’s already married.” Mary Bennet was tempted, but something still held her back.
“So what if he’s married? Doesn’t the Prince of Wales keep a mistress at his side? The Duke of Devonshire even has his wife and his mistress living together, along with all three of their combined children, and everything’s fine, isn’t it? Mary, don’t overthink it, grabbing what you want is what matters.”
“Look at me, I became Mrs. Wickham, the wife of a lieutenant, and that alone was enough to send Richman home empty-handed.” What a wonderful feeling, Lydia was practically falling in love with it. All she’d had to do was speak up as Mrs. Wickham, and the matter had sorted itself out.
“Fine, fine, go pick out whatever hat you like.” Mary still needed to think it over properly, but she had to admit, watching Richman rush off in a hurry just now had made her rather happy.
Once on her way, Mary jolted along the bumpy road until she soon arrived at London’s busy grain exchange, Mark Lane, also the auction site for wheat, potatoes, and the like.
She didn’t go into the old building itself, there were far too many buyers and sellers waiting inside, instead sending Old John in ahead, since he knew the middlemen.
After about twenty minutes’ wait, the man arrived.
“Hello, Mr. Hunter.”
“Miss Richman, I had a feeling you’d be coming around this time of year. So, is the quality the same as before?” The silver-haired broker, not seeing any cargo carts with her, looked a bit puzzled.
“This year’s overall quality is a bit better than last year’s, Mr. Hunter. What’s the latest going rate?” Mary knew exactly why he was puzzled by the lack of carts. “They’re on the way, I just came ahead by carriage, it’s faster.”
“Last year, your goods sold for between three shillings two pence and three shillings eight pence. This batch of yours, with better quality, should easily go for three shillings five pence. It’s just that what you brought was too little to make up a full lot, otherwise, I could have pushed the price even higher for you.” A “lot” here meant 2,000 bushels.
Small quantities or not, the broker never turned down business. After all, he took his commission based on the transaction value regardless, even a small deal still meant several pounds for him.
“Mr. Hunter, this time it’s not such a small amount at all, the first batch alone should come to 6,500 bushels.” And there was another 1,500 to follow.
Having heard the latest market rates, Mary now understood clearly just how much more valuable her potatoes could be!
“Oh, Miss Richman, you’re finally willing to venture out of Hertfordshire!” A first batch of 6,500 bushels alone, if it all passed inspection, it could go straight to auction!
Mr. Hunter hadn’t even opened for business yet today, he needed to ask a few more details. Once the goods arrived, he’d have someone come inspect them right away.
“You don’t need to worry about the quality, those were meant for the army, so it’s all the best of the batch.” Mary answered in careful detail. “I’ll be relying on you again this time, Mr. Hunter.”
“Leave it to me!” Even better quality than expected? Then three shillings ten pence wasn’t out of the question at all!
Just think, right off the bat, three lots. At an average of three shillings eight pence for these 6,000 bushels, that would come to a sale total of 1,100 pounds. Once the deal closed, he’d pocket 22 pounds in commission!
“Miss Richman, get that remaining 1,500 bushels here quickly, that’ll round out another lot nicely!” That would net him another 7 pounds.
If it all sold well, he stood to make over 30 pounds just from this one client!
“Good, once this batch is unloaded, I’ll have someone go straight back to bring the rest.” Seeing Mr. Hunter this confident, Mary felt reassured as well.
If it could go to auction, better to send it to auction, after all, the sale total would be higher there. Even with the higher fees, it still beat selling straight to the army.
Another half hour passed before the thirty heavy cargo carts finally came into view.
Mr. Hunter had already called over people from the exchange, and hurried over to meet them. He needed to see the actual goods with his own eyes before he could make his assessment.
There wasn’t a hint of sun in London that October afternoon. Mary stood beside the carts, waiting for the crowd to come closer. Too many people had already gathered here, she’d rather not wander too far, in case she couldn’t push her way back in later.
Auctions at Mark Lane usually began around midday, though occasionally an extra session would be added for exceptionally good-quality goods.
“Grade one goods! No blemishes! Nearly all over three inches in diameter! Grade one goods! Grade one goods!” Mary listened to Mr. Hunter’s calls, watching the crowd around her quickly gather closer.
After that, every step was expedited. Her 6,500 bushels of potatoes were randomly sampled and inspected, and the exchange staff soon carried the samples up to the central auction platform!
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! What we’re about to auction now is 2,000 bushels of potatoes, grade one goods! Verified, grade one goods! No blemishes whatsoever!”
The auctioneer held up a potato and made a full circuit of the room.
“By regulation, the opening bid for grade one goods is automatically raised 20%, that puts it at three shillings seven pence per bushel! Interested buyers, please make your bids as quickly as possible!”
Whew, that was already the opening bid alone. Mary no longer cared what the final sale price would be. Not leaving these potatoes in Meryton had truly been the right call.
All these years, that Mr. Richard had always claimed he was reselling at three shillings, just imagine how much he’d been skimming off the top. But no matter, from now on, that money would go into her own pocket.
When the first lot sold for three shillings ten pence, Mary broke into a genuine smile.