by Smith, Skye
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The publication of the governor's letters was a dream come true for the committees of correspondence for they caused a widespread mistrust of the governor. Britta never did read the letters, but she was told that they clearly showed that the governor's interests were more towards being made a Lord in England, than in doing a good job of running the province. The effect was a rush to create committees in over a hundred new villages.
In England, the effect of Mr. Franklin's Prussian hoax was also being felt, though much less than the crisis in India caused by the corrupt nabobs of the East India Company. The English Lords did not mind so much that the nabobs were corrupt and becoming wealthy. What they did mind was that in the process they were destroying the profitability of the Company and the value of the shares was crashing down and taking the value of other shares with it.
In the Anchor Coffee Shoppe, the sheer volume of correspondence tended to keep the shop full. Britta needed more help. This time, for security reasons, the help had to be male .
"Nothing brings on a violent response faster than making the other man insecure," Daniel told them in one of their Sunday defense classes. "So long as they feel like they are in control, you need not fear violence. The moment they feel that they are losing control, or vorse, they are suddenly at a disadvantage, then you had better be ready for violence."
As was his custom he then said the same thing a different way. "A violent reaction is triggered by insecurity. By fear of a weakness, not by strength."
He was trying the change Britta's lessons away from 'what to do' and towards 'when to do it'. "Knowing when is an advantage. Ve have already practiced how to make an opponent lower his guard by not fighting and then allow him to relax until you are ready to strike. Now ve must practice striking before he strikes. It goes against our ethics to strike first, but the winner of a fight is usually the one who strikes first, and without warning."
"Are you talking about just this practice, because it sounds more like you are thinking about the governor," Britta pointed out.
"Ja, I am sorry. I just explain this all to Mercy and Jemmy. Oh, by the way, do not hire more help for this busy time. I have two men who vill help you in two shifts to cover opening and closing."
"Thank you Daniel, but two men, really? I will have no profit left."
"To be paid by the committee, ja. They need a vatcher in the shop while they are busy in the meeting room. Vhat better vatcher than someone serving tables? They can listen to vhat men say in the shop and be prepared."
"Prepared for what? Daniel, tell me what is going on."
"It is as you said before. Governor is scared because the whole of the province is now angry with him. He may strike out in fear. Samuel has been calming everyone, and canceling demonstrations. He fears another massacre. He is sending warnings out to the other committees to have them be more secretive. He is telling them to go to sleep except for reminding folk not to buy Company goods."
"Ah, so that is why no one is ordering Chinese tea," Jon said. "Do we know these two men. Will they be armed?"
"You may know them from Mercy's house. They vill be armed but their pistols vill stay in the galley."
"Sounds good to me," said Jon. "Less for me to worry about."
"So, there will be only one man at a time," mused Britta, "and he a watcher, not a doorman like before. "What else?"
"There vill be a doorman, probably me, at the back door to the meeting room, but only vhen the room is in use. Men will be coming and going through that door, because your coffee shop is now always so full. That is good for you, bad for us. Better for us you are half full."
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MAYA'S AURA - Destroy the Tea Party by Skye Smith
Chapter 12 - The Company speaks
Britta stopped cleaning the window and turned her face into the sunlight and let it caress her face. This was one of the finest spring mornings so far. She let the sunlight relax her. This morning had started early with the full central committee arriving at the shop even before the morning rush for hot drinks from the men who worked in the counting houses up and down this street. The members had arrived all within ten minutes, and had made directly for the meeting room and had said nothing to her that did not involve coffee.
Alf, who was Daniel's morning watcher, was as surprised as Britta. Jon was already back from the bakery, but Winnie was still upstairs supposedly practicing writing the alphabet. Winnie had learned enough manners to serve, and she had known money handling from her mother's pie stall, so now Britta was teaching her to read and write. Well, not just Britta. An old neighbor who came each day to read the newspaper was teaching her as well.
Samuel had arrived with Daniel, but he sent Daniel off immediately to pick up Jemmy. He warned Britta that there would be standing room only in the coffee shop within the hour, and if it became so crowded as to flow onto the street, he would move the meeting to Faneuil Hall. He refused to tell her why all the excitement.
It was Jemmy who told her. He had rushed into the meeting room, but it was so noisy and crowded that he immediately felt dizzy, and retreated to keep Britta company in the galley. "I may need a bit of the pipe later," he said apologetically.
With his son Jim in Cambridge, he would occasionally ask Britta to prepare a pipe for him. The good news was that he never carried a bottle of opium syrup with him anymore. He had one at home, and kept one in Jon's room. Britta, of course, was now sharing Lydia's old bedroom with Winnie.
"The fox is in the henhouse," he explained. "Parliament is changing the tax laws to rescue the East India Company. The Company is being reorganizing to cut costs and improve earnings. The effect will be huge in England and in India, but we will feel it here as well. We got some notice of all this from a ship that docked yesterday, but today a faster ship is expected to dock with more recent news."
Britta pressed Jemmy for more details, because she needed to know how the shop would be effected by these changes. For instance, in the autumn she had sold a lot of Chinese Tea, but then suddenly in February everyone stopped drinking tea.
Jemmy spoke slowly, "Supposedly most of the import taxes are to be withdrawn. A small tax will remain on Tea, but only as a token."
"Oh Jemmy, that is wonderful. I am so happy for you." Britta exclaimed. "It means that you have won. Organizing the people to refuse to buy Company goods has worked. Now prices will go down."
"You may think that falling prices is a good thing, but I fear it," replied Jemmy. "Take your own shop. You buy Chinese tea at four shillings a pound. You double the price when you sell it as brewed tea. If suddenly you can buy tea at three shillings a pound, with the same doubling your markup drops from four shillings to three shillings."
"But if I don't drop my prices then my markup will be five shillings. That is wonderful."
"Britta, you customers will abandon you if you do that. You can slow the drop to use up your old stock, but eventually you must sell it based on the new price. There is more. With cheaper tea, more people will drink tea rather than the more expensive coffee or chocolate. The income of your shop will drop."
"I will still make enough to cover my expenses. But think of the rest of the people of Boston. Except for the merchants, everyone will be better off because they will pay less for everything the Company brings here. That is like getting a rise in wages."
"Agreed, love, but I think more than just the merchants will be hurting. We do not have the full news yet, but for the Company to say they will be cutting costs means that they must be going to cut out middlemen. Right now the Company's goods are bought in London by our merchants and are shipped here in our ships.
What if this change means that the Company will sell it here directly? Think of the merchants and ship owners that would be ruined, and of the people and crews that work for them. What about the smugglers? They have cargoes already bought and on their way here. They will not be able to sell them at the old price. They will lose money.
They do not take such risks just to lose money. They and their rough crews will be very angry."
"Wait, wait, wait. I have watched you plan and demonstrate and write letters and give speeches for six months now, all against the high import taxes. Now that you have won, and the taxes are to be withdrawn, you are telling me that you don't want to get rid of taxes." Britta hooted. "You are insane. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." She hugged his arm in between her breasts. "Forgive me for saying something so callous. I was not thinking."
"I've told you before, love. With Sam and I, the tax thing was just an easy way of rallying crowds because everyone hates taxes. Our real goal was to force Parliament to extend the Bill of Rights to the provinces. Without the tax issue, I fear our push for the Bill of Rights will be crippled." Jemmy reached for the honey pot and put more into his matea. "You never put enough in."
Britta could barely hear him because the noise of voices in the shop just became deafening. Jemmy stepped out of the galley to see what the matter was, and grabbed the arm of a man on his way to the meeting room. "What has happened?"
"The bloody Company is going to cut us off from their London warehouses. They are opening warehouses here with local partners as consignees. The whole of our Atlantic trade may collapse, for no one can run a one-sided trade. What does the bloody Company expect us to do? Carry our goods to London to sell and then return with empty ships?" The man broke loose from Jemmy's grip and made for the meeting room.
"As I feared, love. The Company is cutting out the middlemen to reduce costs. There could be violence over this." He sighed, "I had better go back to the meeting and throw water over the hottest heads."
"But Jemmy. I still think this is good news. Not only will prices drop because of less tax, but they will drop because the Company will be more efficient. How can lower prices be a bad thing for most people? Lower prices are a good thing."
"I tried to explain. Hmmm. Look, ever since the world war, prices have been slowly going up. People have made long term decisions, like buying houses, expecting prices to constantly go up. Suddenly they are going to go down, and down quite a bit. All those decisions, investments, businesses, and plans are now in trouble if they depend on prices going up. A lot of people will lose their livelihood and their homes."
"No, Jemmy. Rich people will be hurt. Smugglers will be hurt. So what? Are you Whigs a political party for the rich? No, you are a party of the people."
"Don't be naive, girl. Political parties are paid for by the rich. Yes, they try to do their best for the normal people, so long as it does not cost the rich people anything, but right now the rich are about to get hurt. If Samuel plays this well he could become a very wealthy and powerful man. Perhaps the next governor. If the hotheads rule him, then it could be a disaster."
"I would rather have you as governor, father," Britta purred. "Sometimes I just don't trust Sam."
"What can I say. I agree with you," he pointed to his temple. "I just can't. Not any more." He walked away with his tea. The men who were crowding around to hear what was happening in the meeting room made way for him, and he walked unsteadily with the hot tea and entered the noise, smoke and confusion of the meeting.
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Whenever the shop was crowded with men, Britta would stay in the galley preparing the orders, and Winnie would go upstairs to read. Jon and the doorman would be left to do the pushing and squeezing through the standing men to deliver drinks and clean tables. She heard her name called and turned to face the crowd. Sam was waving to her. She shrugged her shoulders and pointed to all the men between them to point out that there was no way she was going to squirm past so many men.
Sam swam through the crowd and came to her. He had to raise his voice to be heard, "This is crazy. There are fifty men in the street trying to find out what is happening, and more arriving by the minute. I am going to take them all to Faneuil Hall."
"Tell your doorman to stay. I feel quite threatened by this crowd. They are so angry," Britta yelled back. He did not seem to hear. She put her hand behind his neck and pulled herself onto her toes up against his body so that she could put her lips to his ear and repeat it.
"Yes he will stay," replied Sam while flushing a little, embarrassed by the thoughts that had come to his mind while she was this close to him.
She kissed him a small thanks on the cheek and slipped down his body to regain her footing. "Go. Take your mob to the Hall so I can clean up the mess before they come back again."
It was amazing how quickly the shop emptied onto the street. She watched from the window as Sam held his cane high so that all could see who was speaking and then yelled something to the mob. He was like the major of the Highlander pipe band that always played to welcome the large navy ships.
She could see Daniel right next to him, but Daniel was not watching Sam, but the crowd around him. He had his special cane in his hand. The handle was lead filled and heavy enough to use as a stout club. With a twist and a pull he could have a short sword in his hands. He was using it to push men away from Sam, but with a gentle push. Just a gentle reminder to keep a space around the leader.
There was Daniel, but where was Jemmy. Daniel usually glued himself to Jemmy to keep him from harm. There was Jon on the other side of Sam from Daniel, following Daniel's directions for keeping a space around Sam. Damn that Jon, off adventuring. I need him here. Look at this mess. She walked to the meeting room to see what shape it was in. Jemmy was sitting behind the small desk holding his head in his hands.
"Father, are you all right?"
"No, love. I feel quite unwell. I think I am very unwell. That is why I stayed here. That, and so that Daniel can concentrate on keeping Samuel safe."
"Come with me upstairs and have a lie down," she said pulling him to his feet. She took his arm to steady him and made their way to the stairs. He was very slow on the stairs. "Winnie!" she yelled up. "Jemmy is unwell so I must tend him. Please go downstairs and get that doorman to help you straighten the shop up." As Winnie squeezed by them on the stairs she added. "Jon has gone with the crowd to the Hall."
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MAYA'S AURA - Destroy the Tea Party by Skye Smith
Chapter 13 - Jemmy's Demon
She sat Jemmy on Jon's bed and touched his forehead and neck and did not like what she felt there. He looked like a man trying to keep his stomach down. "Take off your shoes and your suit, father." and she left him to do that while she ran to her own room and stripped off her bodice dress and grabbed a bucket in case he puked. He was now in just his long knits sitting on the bed, she in just her slip. They were both ready in case there was a need for the bucket.
"When was the last time you had any poppy?" she asked him.
"A week. I am refusing it at home now. I thought it was time to try going without."
"Well, obviously you were wrong. I will get the pipe." Britta stood on a stool and reached for a wooden box on a high shelf. From it she pulled a pipe and two black balls, one of opium and one of charas. She scraped some crumbs from each ball and chopped them finely and pushed them into the pipe.
There were long matches in the box and a candle stub. She went to the fireplace and lit one of the matches from the embers there, and then used the match to light the candle and then blew the match out. The pipe was ready.
He was still sitting on the bed watching her from twitchy eyes that did not seem to belong to him. Jemmy usually had calm eyes, polite eyes. She pulled a small table closer to him and put down the pipe, candle and matches and then sat beside him. He was now slumping against her and mumbling away as if in some strange dream with Ruthy, his wife.
She handed him the pipe. "Here, I will light it for you." He did not take the pipe. His hands were busy doing other things, rude things. Britta assumed that he was acting out the dream of his wife, so she calmed herself and allowed his touch while she hurried to light the pipe. He would calm down once he smoked some opium. The demon inside of him wanted i
ts opium.
Without his help, lighting the pipe took both hands. He kept caressing her and muttering his wife's name. She put the pipe in her mouth and lit the match in the candle and was able to hold it to the pipe. She had only smoked a pipe a few times in her life and it always made her cough. This time she must not cough. She had to get this damn pipe going.
She clamped her knees together hard to trap his hands. He was still for a moment. Just long enough for her to steady the match and take a first suck. She must not cough. The charas was spicy and tasted like pine smelled. The opium was acrid. She had tasted it only once before, when Lydia was training her to fill her husband's pipe. She must not cough.
Thank goodness, it was going. Smoke was curling from the end, and from her mouth. He was way off in some strange dream and his words were unworldly, and his voice raspy and crude. The demon's voice perhaps. She relaxed her legs to free his hands, and pulled back from him to offer him the pipe. "Smoke it, oh please smoke it. It is your opium. Please smoke," she pleaded.
Britta looked at the wildness in the eyes. This wasn't her Jemmy. Was he beyond hearing her voice, beyond understanding. How would Lydia have handled this? Of course. Britta took as large of a draw on the pipe as she dared without coughing, and held it in her mouth and then she kissed Jemmy on the mouth and blew the acrid smoke into his lungs.
Had it worked. Was that enough. She took another draw from the pipe and blew it through a kiss again. His hand reached out and he took the pipe from her hand and put it to his own mouth. She relit the match and relit the pipe for him. He closed his frantic looking eyes and sucked on the pipe for an impossibly long draw, and then he held the smoke in. The good news was that he couldn't smoke the pipe and fondle her at the same time.