by Audrey Glenn
Helen stared at him but said nothing.
He withdrew his notebook and a pencil stub from an interior pocket of his coat. “How much money does the society have?”
“Only a shilling.”
“And the rent at one of the better stalls is how much?”
“Two pounds.”
“How long do you intend to rent it?”
“I hadn’t thought . . . perhaps just the month?”
Nathaniel refrained from commenting on her lack of planning and wrote down the numbers. “And your ingredients — how much does it cost you to make one tart?”
Helen stared at him blankly. “I don’t know.”
“You must find out, and that will determine how much you must charge for each slice. You must charge enough that you can make a profit, but not so much that no one will buy. I’ll be your investor and lend you three pounds, and the society will pay me back a percentage each week until you have paid off the loan.”
“It will take us longer to earn the money if we have to pay a portion to you and a portion to the baker,” Helen protested.
Nathaniel waved this away. “Yes, but you will sell more tarts if you’re in a better location. Now, at first, you’ll make too many tarts, or too few, so you must keep a record of your sales so you may learn to anticipate your market.”
Helen didn’t answer right away. “I’d not planned to seek any assistance.”
“It’s sound business practice to make use of every opportunity.” He hadn’t intended to give her any more unsolicited advice, but she seemed amenable at the moment.
The door to the library burst open, and Euphemia swept into the room. “Oh, Helen! I thought you’d left. Why — oh! I’m sorry if I interrupted something. I’d no idea of disturbing a tête-à-tête! But — it can’t be proper for you to remain alone here for too much longer! Why, no one has come to light the lamps, and the fire is getting low. How can you stand to sit in the dark?”
Nathaniel jumped up. “I’m sorry. I forgot to mention to you that your sister had to leave early and I am to see you home.”
“Oh dear. I must go to her.”
“I can send a boy around to the stables for our coach,” Euphemia offered.
Helen considered this. “No, walking will be faster. Unless you mind walking?”
“I’m very fond of walking.” He watched in surprise as Helen embraced Euphemia. If a man let him down in business, he would certainly not expect to receive a hug for it.
Helen retrieved her cloak. “Ready?”
They emerged onto the street, and Nathaniel wondered if he should offer her his arm. Would she accept it? He didn’t want to appear uncouth by not offering. Nor did he want to be rejected. Was it forward? He had so little experience of women. He deliberated too long — it would have been awkward to offer now. What could he say to relieve the silence?
Finally Helen spoke. “Thank you for seeing me home — and for the advice. I daresay you think I’m hopeless at business.”
“I made a great deal of mistakes when I began. I knew a lot about ships and sailing but nothing about selling. I lost money on the first cargo I ever brought in as owner.”
“Oh. How did you learn?”
“By observation and asking questions, and from learning from my mistakes and not repeating them.” He hoped that would be a lesson to her. All of a sudden he realized Helen was actually attending to him, not bristling as she always had before.
“Shall I see you up?” he asked as they reached her home. He wouldn’t mind discussing her plans further.
“Oh no, I mustn’t detain you further. Thank you. Good night.” She turned quickly to open the door of the law office.
“Wait — I’ll call on you. To discuss the business, I mean.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed. “Good night!”
Nathaniel walked slowly home. What made him offer to invest in the society business? As a rule, he thought indenture contracts were between servant and master. He’d seen her weeping and panicked and had not known what he was supposed to do.
He should’ve just told her about Cassandra’s illness and escorted her home. Helen’s problems were no concern of his, and he had enough of his own to contend with. According to Winthrop, Governor Morley wouldn’t stop at taking the tea: he’d seize everything Nathaniel owned if he caught him. He would give Helen the money and stay out of the business. No more help. No more distractions.
Helen didn’t want to ask anyone for help, but she couldn’t carry eight gooseberry tarts all the way to the market without damaging them, so she had to resort to asking David for the use of his coach.
“Am I to consider this an investment to be repaid?” he asked as he handed the tarts up to her.
“Consider it a charitable contribution.” Being teased didn’t make it any easier to accept assistance. He’d offered to send Westing with her, but she assured David she could do this on her own. She hadn’t even had to ask Peggy for help with baking. She’d only had to pretend to warm herself by the kitchen fire and observe Peggy’s technique while she prepared a dried cherry pie. After that, baking tarts became much easier.
David’s coach had to let her out on the street a hundred yards from the market. The stall was a fair distance away, and Helen was forced to leave six of her tarts in the coach while she carried the first two.
“I must get a large basket,” she muttered to herself. Jane and Patience had already arrived. They had only made four tarts apiece, according to Helen’s instructions — she’d not wanted to overburden them. They helped Helen retrieve the six remaining tarts and sent the coach on its way. Helen hurried, worried customers would be lined up and waiting for them, but the stall was empty when they arrived.
“Perhaps all our customers are enjoying a relaxed morning,” Helen suggested. “Well, let’s see what everyone made!” She pulled the towel off one of the tarts. “Oh — are those gooseberries?”
“No, we had no more jam, so I had to use dried blueberries,” Jane explained.
Helen had given very precise instructions because she wanted everything to be perfect. Jane should have made more of an effort to ensure she had the right ingredients.
“Did you make these yourself?” she asked Patience, continuing her examination.
“Oh, no. Verity did. She’s a wonder in the kitchen!”
“It must be a comfort to come from such a talented family. Now,” Helen said, hoping she sounded both friendly and commanding, “I hope you both read my letter carefully. We must make an effort to be precise.”
Just then, a customer walked up to their stall. Helen nearly tripped over their small table in her attempts to approach the woman. “Good day! Would you like to buy a slice of tart?”
The woman, marked as a servant by her cropped wool bedgown, stared at Helen for a moment and then motioned at the baker. “I’m here for the bread.”
“Of course,” Helen mumbled, stepping back. “Jane, you prepare the plates,” she whispered. “Patience, start slicing one of the tarts.”
Patience dutifully pulled one of the pastries closer and lifted a knife.
“No — not that one,” Helen hissed. “We’ll save the blueberry for when we run out of gooseberry.”
Jane pulled a stack of porcelain plates from a basket beneath their feet. “Oh, I thought I said to bring tin plates so we didn’t run the risk of breaking any crockery.”
“My mother said she can spare these, as my younger sisters have already broken several in the set,” Patience explained. Helen drew in another sharp breath. Was it so difficult to follow simple instructions?
Another customer approached the stall but didn’t make eye contact with them. Helen peered up and down the market row. There were many people shopping, but no one showed any interest in tarts. What if they sold nothing?
At that moment, Anne Hayes arrived with her other four daughters.
Aunt Anne admired the tarts and took Helen’s hands. “Oh, how lovely! You’ve arranged everything beau
tifully. Now, we would like to purchase five slices.”
Helen blinked. She’d only asked Jane and Patience to bring two plates a piece. She’d been through all the dishes at the apartment, but David didn’t have a single tin plate in his home.
Temperance pulled the cloth off one of Jane’s tarts. “Oh, is that blueberry? I want that!”
Helen tried not to glare at Temperance. It was truly surprising that a person who aspired to be at the top of society would select a less fashionable dessert.
Jane gave out four plates. Aunt Anne’s eyes roved over the table, and then she looked back at her plate.
“We don’t have any utensils,” Helen explained. “You have to eat with your hands.” As she spoke, her stomach knotted. In her mind the customers had been perfectly able to pick up the tart and eat it neatly, but it shortly became evident this was impossible as she watched the slices fall apart the moment the ladies tried to lift them.
“Where’s my piece?” Verity asked. “I should get at least one slice of my own tart!”
“Just as soon as we have a free plate.” Temperance and Aunt Anne exchanged a look and started to eat faster.
“You can have mine,” Constance said, passing her plate to Verity. “The memory of my last trip to this market makes me unable to muster an appetite.”
Mercy, the youngest Hayes daughter, finished first and returned her plate. “That was very good.”
“Yes,” agreed Aunt Anne. “Excellent tart!”
“So filling,” Temperance said, leaving a half-eaten slice.
They stood in awkward silence watching Verity finish Constance’s slice. When she was finished, she gave the plate back and examined her sticky fingers.
Another man came up behind the family. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to get by.”
Aunt Anne quickly took Mercy by the hand and motioned her daughters onward. “Well, we wish you the best of luck! Goodbye, dears.”
Patience stared at the dirty plates. “How are we to wash them?”
Helen hadn’t thought of that. “Excuse me?” she asked the baker. “Do you have any water?”
“Water pump is two rows that direction. If you have a bucket.” He was so taciturn that Helen was afraid to ask to borrow any kind of vessel.
“We’ll just wipe them clean,” she whispered, reaching for a plate. She started wiping them with one of the towels they were using to cover the tarts. Not knowing what else to do, she threw Temperance’s half-eaten piece behind the little table they were using.
The next customers were friends of Jane’s. Helen supposed they must be fellow Quakers, for they dressed very plain. They did justice to the dessert, however, and even complimented Helen’s gooseberry tart, which disposed her to think very favorably of them.
Midday saw the ladies hungry and a little cold from being outside so long. The baker had a little stove where he warmed himself, but the heat didn’t extend to where they stood, and he didn’t offer to let them stand closer.
“Perhaps we might take it in turns to walk up and down to warm up a bit?” Jane suggested.
Helen agreed; thus when they had their largest crowd yet, there were only two of them to try to take the money, serve the slices of tart, and surreptitiously wipe the plates clean.
“Workers in search of dinner,” Patience noted. “Perhaps they will return and bring others tomorrow.”
Helen’s fingers drummed on the table. “We’ll need more plates.”
Several of Uncle Josiah’s clerks came next and made eyes at Patience. “Are you here to make a purchase?” Helen finally asked, and that goaded them into each buying a slice. One of the clerks hustled the rest away.
At first it seemed they would shortly sell out of tarts, but by late afternoon business had slowed down again, and there were still four gooseberry tarts left. The less fashionable had consumed the blueberry.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go to a meeting.” Jane apologized. “I can’t stay any longer.”
“It’s no matter. Thank you for your assistance.” Helen turned to Patience. “It’s just you and I!”
Patience bit her lip. “I’ve a lute lesson.”
“I’m certain I can manage,” Helen lied. She wasn’t certain of any such thing.
The baker just packed up without saying anything at all.
She wanted to sell all the remaining tarts before leaving. Perhaps she should start calling out like they did in the meat section of the market. She felt something squish under her foot and realized she was stepping in the discarded pile of half-eaten tart.
She should’ve written down the times they sold the most slices. Captain Carter had told her to keep records and even left her with a new notebook when he brought her the money for the loan.
“Do I need to include this in the loan repayment?” she’d asked, but he said it was a gift.
He was a puzzle to her. She’d thought men were prone to run the other way when confronted by crying women. Instead, he’d spoken to her gently and helped her find a better plan. It was not at all in keeping with what she knew of him.
“Are there any pies for sale?” Helen looked up to see Nathaniel Carter standing in front of her.
“We have tarts,” she corrected, determined to be polite despite his error, as he was a potential customer. “Gooseberry tarts. Would you like a slice?”
Nathaniel considered the tart in front of him. “I’m not much for sweet foods.”
That was her tart he found unappealing. “I’m sorry this isn’t to your liking. Perhaps you can be prevailed upon to make a donation despite your disgust.”
Nathaniel frowned and reached into his coat pocket. “How much?”
“Two pence.”
He laid them on the table, then abruptly turned and walked away.
Helen threw both hands in the air. To think she’d thought he was softening!
It was not yet dark when most of the stalls had closed and Helen realized it was not worth freezing herself when she was unlikely to have any more customers. She stacked all the tarts and tins together and started walking to the edge of the market.
Two men stood conversing at the end of the row — Governor Morley and his son. Helen just wanted to seek a warm seat by the fire and tried to curtsy without stopping. She soon heard footsteps and turned to see Winthrop Morley behind her.
Winthrop removed his tricornered hat and bowed elaborately, head nearly touching the ground. “You are Josiah Hayes’s niece, I believe?”
“Y-yes,” Helen said, shivering violently, as it was impossible to hold her cloak closed and carry so many tart tins at the same time.
“I thought I recognized you. I’d no idea Lord David’s situation had grown so dire!” He motioned to the tarts.
“Oh — no — this is for charity. The Philadelphia Young Ladies Charitable Society.”
Winthrop’s eyes narrowed. “You’re selling pies to raise funds?”
“Tarts.”
Winthrop glanced around. Besides his father, standing a few yards off, they were alone. “Where are you selling them?”
“We’ve rented a space in a corner of a merchant stall.” Why was he so interested? Couldn’t he leave her alone so she could get home and warm up?
“I take it you are unaware you must pay a fee to register your business?”
Helen blinked at him. “I was not aware. How much is the fee?”
“One pound.” Winthrop drummed his fingers against his hat. “In addition to a five percent tax on all goods sold. If you have the money now, I’ll be happy to take it with me.
“Oh, but that is so much, you can’t possibly — this money is for a very good cause!” Helen stammered.
“Your king’s service is the noblest cause of all.” He held out a hand.
Helen was too cold to think and just wanted to get this over with quickly. She set the tins down on the ground and pulled her money pouch out of her pocket. Winthrop grabbed it from her, counted out two pounds and put the rest of the pence bac
k into her purse.
“Wait just a moment!” Helen began, but Winthrop was already turning away. “That’s not five percent!” He’d taken more than half what they earned, and some of that money was what Nathaniel lent her.
“Your king has need of it.” He bowed again and returned to his father.
Helen stomped her foot. This was ridiculous! She hurried home as fast as she could, but it was full dark by the time she arrived.
Cassandra greeted her at the door and helped her carry the leftover tarts into the kitchen. “Come and warm yourself in the drawing room,” she urged, leading Helen down the hallway. “How was it?”
Cassandra was properly sympathetic while Helen related everything that happened during the day. “Can you believe the conduct of that odious man?”
“It’s hard to credit, as his father is so gentlemanly. Still, one hears such things about Winthrop. David says — well, that’s not fit for your ears.”
Helen snorted. “He’s also odious, but I was talking of Captain Carter!”
“Dear, do you not think you are being a trifle unjust to him? He didn’t want any tart, but he made a donation anyway.”
“He didn’t want my tart,” Helen argued. “Perhaps it was the color? The tart Patience brought had a deeper color.”
“Perhaps he’s just shy,” Cassandra suggested. “You’re very severe on him.”
“You used to be also,” Helen retorted.
“That was until I knew him better. He has a good heart. First impressions aren’t always accurate.”
Helen smiled wryly and shook her head. “You want to see the best in everyone since David turned out to be better than you’d imagined. Not everyone is worth getting to know better.”
“Perhaps,” Cassandra said, not sounding convinced.
“I need to find more plates.” Helen tried to stand and thought her legs would buckle beneath her. “Oh, I ache all over!”
“Perhaps you should consider something easier to make and serve than tarts,” Cassandra suggested.
Helen waved this away as she left the room. “Jane thought we ought to serve gingerbread, but she has no knowledge of what is fashionable.”
Cassandra followed her into the corridor. “Perhaps that’s not the most essential thing to consider in this case.”