Dolly held a fork with a sausage in one hand while flipping through a small leather notebook with the other, its pages densely filled with notes.
“First and foremost, the most essential items are simple bread slices and sweet hard biscuits.
In ordinary bakeries and grocery stores, the price for the most basic bread is three pence per pound, and biscuits are six pence.
We must match these prices, otherwise we won’t be competitive.
But on top of the most basic versions, we can make slight modifications to these two items.
Bread can be made in both sweet and savory flavors.
For example, raisin bread and garlic bread—we don’t need to add too many ingredients, just enough to enhance the flavor.”
Many people who buy bread from grocery stores do so mainly to avoid lighting their own fires and burning coal, as well as to save time and enjoy the convenience of ready-to-eat food.
This includes, for instance, the large number of carriage drivers and early-shift workers.
Dolly jotted down a few notes in her small notebook and continued:
“Hard biscuits can also be made into black tea or coffee flavors. These two flavors won’t add much to the cost.”
Currently, both of these beverages are well-loved by locals, so they are highly acceptable.
“Next are bacon sandwiches and Diamond Cookies.
As for candies, the wholesale price of hard candies is already low enough.
We might as well make some milk chocolate bars to sell, divided into small pieces so that people can enjoy them for just three farthings.”
Dolly’s past life experience told her to research public tastes and trust market choices.
If she wanted to earn this money, she shouldn’t arrogantly look down on local preferences and culture. Instead, she needed to get as close as possible to the lives of the locals.
“For various canned sauces, besides jam, we can also make some meat-based canned sauces, such as meat sauce with tomatoes or minced meat with green sauce.
I’ve noticed there are many canned meat broth puddings on the market. In fact, we can definitely make those too.”
Meat broth pudding, commonly known as meat jelly, is a popular, meat-flavored, and inexpensive food often sold by street vendors.
She spoke with authority, listing over a dozen potential products in one breath, while everyone around the table listened attentively.
As she spoke, Dolly raised her fork and took a bite of the sausage. Chewing halfway through, she suddenly asked Mary:
“Where did you buy this sausage? How much is it per piece?
It tastes pretty good. Can we ask if they offer wholesale?”
Mary nodded earnestly.
After dinner, the mother and daughter continued to screen products.
From the dozen or so easy-to-make items, they selected seven that were suitable for selling on Clark Street.
They then roughly studied the budget, compiling the methods and costs into a list.
Carrying these lists, they climbed upstairs, intending to consult Lisa.
If they were to develop these products, they would need to invest some money.
First, the stove at home was too small. They needed to replace it with a larger iron oven for baking and simmering.
But replacing the stove would mean burning more coal, and they would also need to purchase packaging materials and food ingredients.
However, the cash drawer currently held only about four or five Pound Sterling. After buying those items, there wouldn’t be enough money left to purchase other goods, so they needed to seek Lisa’s help.
Dolly was quite adept at securing investments.
In the narrow bedroom, Lisa had just finished her meal. Mr. Nash had just taken the plates away, and the door was left open.
Perhaps because business had been good these past two days, her mood had improved significantly, and Lisa’s health had benefited as well.
Unlike her usual sighs and groans when brought up, she was now full of energy, leaning on the small sofa with a cotton blanket draped over her, mending a torn cotton dress in her hands, a pair of reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.
Dolly and Mary entered first, reporting the day’s business accounts.
The old lady was still marveling at the profit of over one Pound Sterling from today.
“Selling at three farthings a bag—how did I never think of that? I really am getting old…”
Seeing her fall silent for a moment, Dolly took out the selected list of six prepared foods and handed it to the old lady for review.
Lisa simply set aside her needlework and focused intently on flipping through the items the mother and daughter planned to make.
There were canned meat broth pudding, canned cinnamon apricot jam, coffee-flavored biscuits, Diamond Cookies, as well as garlic bread and raisin bread.
Dolly’s plan was to offer only six types of prepared foods at a time, tallying them weekly. The item with the lowest sales would be eliminated and replaced with a new one.
With only six items at a time, the kitchen could manage the workload daily, and there was no need to stock too many ingredients.
Lisa was an extremely shrewd person who had managed the shop for years. At a glance, she could see that planning these products truly required a sharp mind.
The costs were controllable, there was a market without worrying about sales, and they could be produced in their own small kitchen without complicated processes.
With just a little effort to adjust the flavors, there was no need to worry about lack of buyers.
Over the past few days, Lisa had been fully aware of Dolly’s operational details in the shop. Suddenly, she felt as though she had been blind all along.
Someone with such talent for business had been living right under her nose for so many years, and she had never noticed.
Lisa let out a long sigh. “I have full confidence in the two of you handling things together.”
As she spoke, she took off her glasses, pulled a key from her chest, and handed it to Mary, saying:
“Take the money box and keep it safe. I’m just an old bag of bones now. The household matters will have to be handled by you young ones from now on.”
While Mary was still stunned, Dolly took the key and stuffed it into her hand, nodding on her behalf:
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep it safe.”
After years of worrying, seeing the younger generation willing to take responsibility finally allowed Lisa to breathe a sigh of relief.
A while later, Dolly and Mary carried the money box out, exchanging glances on the narrow staircase.
After pondering for a long time, Mary finally said to Dolly:
“My mind isn’t sharp. I can manage cooking just fine, but handling money really isn’t my strong suit. You’d better keep these things safe.”
Dolly nodded without any hesitation, taking the key and money box.
“Leave it to me, don’t worry.”
Mary hummed in agreement, then went downstairs to boil several pots of hot water for the family’s washing needs. She still had to wash Penny’s hair tonight.
Dolly, meanwhile, carried the money box in the dark, climbed up to the cramped attic, opened the clothing chest, and tucked the money deep inside.
She knew there were still twenty-seven or twenty-eight Pounds Sterling inside. She then fetched over a thousand pennies from the counter drawer to store together, locked it securely, and planned to take out some change for the next morning.
In London at the time, food, clothing, housing, and transportation were all expensive. This was truly no small sum, requiring every member of a family to work diligently for many years to save up.
And in the newspapers Dolly could read, there were many advertisements for goods.
Thirty pounds sterling could buy a fine horse in London, or a small flock of lambs in the countryside.
It could purchase an acre of fertile farmland to cultivate in the rural areas north of London.
It was also equivalent to a dozen or twenty pounds of tea at Gardro Department Store.
If one were to consider even higher levels, it was merely the cost of having a portrait painted, or acquiring a Hangzhou silk evening gown, or a month’s subscription to a theater box seat.
In England of this era, industrial development was rapid, labor was cheaper than ever, and the gap between rich and poor was greater than at any time before.
Dolly sat calmly by the window, turned down the gas lamp a little, then twisted it brighter, before beginning to complete today’s reading plan.
She had already read almost all the old books and newspapers in the storage room that were used for packing goods.
From then on, she would have to go to a commercial library to purchase a monthly pass.
Given that the original body was only fifteen years old, soon to be sixteen, and not yet twenty-one, and without a socially credible guarantor,
she was still unable to enter the grand British Library to read for free.
That night, by the time Dolly finished reading and washed up, it was already past ten o’clock.
Early the next morning, before dawn had broken, the entire Clark Street was shrouded in haze, and cold air invaded the entire attic.
It was still far from time for school. Penny was still lazing under the covers, murmuring something about biscuits and sweets in her dreams.
Dolly had already gotten up early, tidied herself up, wrapped a thick shawl around herself, and planned to set off with Mary to Whitechapel Road to stock up on goods.
There weren’t too many customers needing milk delivery today; Fred could handle it alone, and Mr. Nash was at home helping to mind the shop.
Outside the main door, a light rain drifted in the fog, and the road was slippery. The two had to share an umbrella, and Dolly very naturally linked arms with Mary.
She pulled out a crumpled page of notes and checked today’s shopping list together with Mary.
Today’s budget totaled ten pounds sterling: half for wholesale regular goods, and half for purchasing ingredients and tools for making cooked food.
Leaving the alley and walking onto Jude Road, the first stop was the coal shop they always frequented to order coal for the next week and settle last week’s coal bill.
This coal shop was quite large, located next to the coffin shop, and was already open, with a gas lamp hanging under the eaves.
At this hour, several freight wagons from the suburban coking plants were parked on the roadside outside the coal shop.
The wagons were loaded with baskets of coal lumps, destined for various small restaurants on Dorothy Street.
The newspapers Dolly had read said that England had abundant reserves of raw coal, and many coal fields were in shallow layers, making mining difficulty low and coal prices inexpensive.
With just a few thousand pounds sterling, one could buy the mining rights to a coal field in York.
And raw coal from distant places would arrive at the coking plants on the outskirts of London via railway.
Large lumps were swept into furnaces for coking, used for forging steel, while small pieces and coal dust were sold into the city, entering ordinary households.
The two of them walked into the shop. Behind the cramped counter stood a young clerk wearing a black felt hat. He was the nephew of the coal shop owner, named Oliver.
“We’ve come to settle last week’s bill,” Mary said to him.
Oliver nodded and asked with genuine concern:
“How is Lisa? Is she better?”
“She’s much better.”
Oliver turned over the bill and found the name.
Generally, small shopkeepers with business permits operating nearby could purchase coal on credit for a week at his shop, paying when they had more funds the following week.
“That’s good. So last week’s total was five bushels of small coal, right? That comes to thirty-two pence,” said Oliver.
Mary untied the purse containing the household expenses, but Dolly stopped her and took the money from the procurement fund pocket instead.
“We’ll need more coal next week, so I’d like to prepay thirty pence for five bushels. Starting next week, deliver one bushel daily, and I’ll come to settle the payment for the remaining two bushels the week after. How does that sound?”
It was the first time Oliver had encountered such a bargaining method, but given the substantial demand, he nodded in agreement.
After paying the bill, the two left the coal shop and continued walking toward Whitechapel Road.
Mary had seen Dolly sell things many times, but this was her first time watching her buy. She never imagined Dolly would even bargain over two pence.
Dolly, however, replied leisurely, “Two pence is still money. When it comes to costs, it’s always best to save where you can. Besides, time is also a cost—worth two pence per hour.”
Mary narrowed her eyes, not fully understanding but sensing the wisdom in it.
…
Author’s Note: