Dolly comforted herself with the thought of accepting the current situation, then turned to Mary and said:
“The ingredients I purchased today can probably make about twenty pounds of these biscuits.”
Soon, the whole family joined the discussion about pricing the biscuits.
Dolly knew that in retail or the food service industry, learning to calculate detailed accounts and control costs were fundamental qualities for business success.
Therefore, she meticulously recorded the losses and costs incurred at every step of the production process.
Even something as small as the two pieces of coal needed to bake the biscuits was included in her calculations.
Each pound of finished Diamond Cookies required six ounces of low-gluten flour and four ounces of butter.
Three ounces of powdered sugar, two ounces of milk powder, one ounce of granulated sugar, and two egg yolks.
Powdered sugar and eggs were already relatively affordable; the main expense lay in the butter and milk powder.
Dolly bought retail butter and milk powder, not reaching wholesale quantities, so the price was one shilling per pound.
Calculating the cost per one-pound batch of biscuits, the average cost per pound was around seven pence.
The fluctuation wouldn’t be too significant.
In general grocery stores on the market, ordinary sweet hard biscuits sold for about five to ten pence per pound.
French pastries in dessert shops were even more expensive, mostly around two to three shillings per pound.
“For our Diamond Cookies, we need to sell them for at least twenty pence per pound to make a profit.”
As she spoke, Dolly sat at the dining table, took pen and paper, and quickly drew up a list.
“Twenty pence? Isn’t that a bit too expensive?” Mary was the first to ask.
Dolly looked up slowly, her eyes filled with an inexplicable sense of emotion:
“Your hourly wage should also be factored in.
I’ve seen many small food business owners, when running their shops, only calculate costs when setting prices.
They never account for their own hourly wages, leading to incomes that barely cover expenses.
Since they can’t make money in their pockets, they end up slacking off in the production process.
They try to cut corners for profit, and as a result, their businesses gradually decline.”
Even though Mary was her own mother, Dolly couldn’t guarantee that she would remain patient and maintain quality without the prospect of long-term benefits?
It was better to keep accounts clear, even between mother and daughter.
Moreover, research and development and packaging costs also had to be included.
At first, everyone at the dining table felt that although the biscuits were delicious, the price seemed too high for Clark Street.
While the price wasn’t as high as two shillings, it was still quite expensive.
But after hearing Dolly’s explanation, they all felt her reasoning made sense.
Mr. Nash said to Mary:
“Yes, your labor cost must be accounted for. If these biscuits become popular and profitable in the future, you should get your share.”
Dolly said, “It’s simple to increase the unit price: we won’t sell them loose by weight but in packaged bags.
Each bag will contain five ounces of biscuits, priced at seven pence—just the right amount for an afternoon tea.
We can also offer some samples for people to try.
Today, I also bought some ordinary biscuits priced at six to ten pence per pound, giving customers options at different price points.”
This way, nothing could go wrong.
Fred, hearing her words, couldn’t help but nod in agreement and pondered:
“Actually, seven pence for five ounces isn’t too expensive.”
“Perhaps the neighbors can’t afford it every day, but the shopkeepers and cooks on Dorothy Street can certainly manage.”
The average daily wage for ordinary workers nearby was around thirty pence.
But the small shop owners and key chefs in the kitchens on Dorothy Street earned several times more than the average worker.
It was common for small restaurant owners to earn thirty or forty Pound Sterling a month.
Dolly looked at her cheap father with some appreciation.
She hadn’t expected that cheap father could proactively plan target customers for this product—truly teachable.
Mary smiled and said, “That’s good. Our family just had a discount promotion, and Lobit immediately copied us to steal business. Now we should steal his business too.”
Mr. Nash thought for a while and said:
“This kind of Biscuits doesn’t look particularly special; its most distinctive feature is the texture.
Those who haven’t tried it might not actively buy it, but those who have will never forget the taste.”
He looked at Mary and said, “Why don’t you make another batch tonight and pick out the ones that don’t look as good.
Tomorrow, when we deliver milk to the restaurants on Dorothy Street, let the kitchen staff there have a taste.”
After speaking, Mr. Nash instinctively sought Dolly’s opinion:
“What do you think?”
Dolly nodded, “I think it’s a good idea.”
She also recognized the old man’s business acumen, and his execution was quite good—he had the makings of an excellent employee.
After the discussion, dinner was finished. Mary immediately started making Biscuits that evening, while Dolly began taking stock of the shelves and sales.
Today was the second day of her official operation, and the old inventory had been cleared out.
The money used for today’s restocking came entirely from the sales revenue of the past two days and the accumulated revenue from last week in the cash drawer.
This restocking cost a total of five Pound Sterling, without touching a single penny of Lisa’s original capital.
The revenue from the discounted sales these days was just enough for her to develop the two new products: floral tea and cookies.
With her precise calculations, there was no possibility of loss.
For example, those sixty bars of Soap, purchased at forty pence each—no matter how she sold them, she wouldn’t incur a loss.
Instead, because the Soap was just a little cheaper, smug customers would develop the desire to continue buying other products.
Very few people could resist such temptation.
At such times, their vigilance about prices would completely dissipate.
This was how business worked: if you relied only on hard work, you could achieve mediocre results; if you could leverage human nature, you had a promising future.
Dolly knew that the real money-making would start tomorrow.
Before going to bed that night, she first opened the materials she had bought from the paint shop and carefully used a small brush to treat the outside of the cabinet slightly.
As night fell, through the front door, she could hear the noise from the underground tavern in Clark Lane, which had diminished considerably compared to the previous day.
Dolly wearily climbed back to the second floor, used the chamber pot in the small storage room, and then climbed back to the attic room.
In this narrow, ant-nest-like space, she could only wash up simply with hot water and change into a nightgown, but she was in no hurry to rest.
Dolly sat on the narrow wooden bed, the attic roof right above her head, a not-too-thick blanket covering her knees, and snow pellets tapping against the window outside.
She hung a gas lamp by the bedhead and opened a somewhat tattered copy of “Whitaker’s Almanack.”
The book recorded agricultural activities, holiday customs, and social events from various places in England.
Dolly believed that time travel was somewhat akin to starting a new project in a new place.
So, instinctively following the process of launching a new project, she first delved into understanding London’s current social environment, cultural customs, bureaucratic systems, and legal boundaries.
The most convenient way was to read London’s mainstream newspapers daily, along with information-dense yearbooks.
Reading for half an hour before bed each night allowed her to grasp the finer details of this world and gather information from multiple perspectives.
The next day, early morning.
In early January, London still wore the appearance of winter, with sleet pattering down from the eaves.
Before Mr. Nash and Fred left the house, the sky was still dark. They draped themselves in half-length canvas cloaks and donned wide-brimmed rain hats.
Each carrying a pack of biscuits, they pushed an empty cart out the door.
They first waited at the intersection of Dorothy Street for the milk farm’s wagon to arrive, filled it with the day’s milk deliveries, and collected their wages for the week’s work.
The milk farm’s wagon driver rose even earlier than them, usually setting out from Mucham near South London around three in the morning.
Many businesses on Dorothy Street subscribed to milk deliveries. After pushing the milk cart over, the father and son split up to begin their rounds.
Carrying heavy metal buckets, they knocked on the back doors of small restaurants. As the doors opened, they exchanged familiar greetings with the kitchen staff.
…
Lobit Grocery Store.
In the sleet-filled morning, the streets of London’s East End were shrouded in mist, everything gray and hazy, with visibility less than fifty feet.
Even the newsboy passing by the door, wearing an octagonal cap, looked listless, perhaps sensing that business wouldn’t be good today.
But in George’s eyes, Mr. Lobit was in an exceptionally fine mood today.
Yesterday morning, after discovering that Nash Grocery Store was using discount flyers, he had joined the competition without regard for profit.
Sure enough, hastily copying Nash Grocery Store’s flyer, he wrote a hundred copies and distributed them at noon.
By evening, neighbors from nearby began coming to buy daily necessities.
Yesterday’s situation gave him hope: as long as prices were lowered, these old neighbors would flock to sweep the shelves.
As long as the volume increased, Lobit believed he might not necessarily incur losses.
More importantly, these customers were also the core clientele of Nash Grocery Store.
If Nash Grocery Store lost these stable regulars, it could likely go bankrupt within a week or two!
Then, he would have one less nearby competitor, greatly benefiting his long-term development.
Mr. Lobit was quite pleased with his own decisiveness.
He casually picked up a honey biscuit from the counter that George was wrapping.
After a couple of bites, he found the taste somewhat bitter, as if it had been overbaked.
Mr. Lobit impatiently shouted twice toward the upstairs.
Upstairs in the kitchen, Mrs. Lobit turned a deaf ear, pursed her lips, and continued kneading dough to prepare bread.
She couldn’t be bothered to sift the flour anymore, simply mixing in some butter and old leaven, shaping it into lumps, and stuffing them into the oven.
Then, she fished out a cigarette from the corner, leaned against the door, and lit it.
She couldn’t help muttering under her breath, “Miser…”
Outside, the sleet continued to fall. Mr. Lobit urged George to keep working and glanced at his pocket watch to check the time.
He expected business to be slow today and decided to go back to sleep.
Just as he was lost in thought, Lobit saw Joel, the owner of the coffee shop on Dorothy Street, step out of his store.
Joel was wearing a long brown coat and holding a pitch-black umbrella as he walked in Lobit’s direction.
Lobit immediately straightened his attire, intending to personally receive this guest.
Joel’s family had been running a cheap coffee shop on Dorothy Street for over a hundred years, and business had always been good. Lobit had inquired and learned that their monthly turnover was in the hundreds of pounds.
He was a wealthy customer, and walking over so hurriedly under an umbrella must mean he urgently needed to purchase something.
Mr. Lobit was deeply convinced of his own judgment. He raised a smile and walked to the door, putting on a leisurely expression as he pulled two rolled cigarettes from his pocket.
Just as he was about to raise his hand, Mr. Joel, still holding his umbrella, nodded politely at the beaming Lobit before brushing past him and heading into Clark’s Alley.
Lobit’s expression and arm froze in place.
He suddenly felt as if all the dampness of London had clung to his clothes, and his soles were caked with tar, making it impossible to lift his feet. It was utterly awkward.
…
Author’s Note: