Henderson took his chance. ‘I hear you have a new machine,’ he ventured. ‘Perhaps that is what you are referring to? A press?’
Fry laughed without sounding amused. ‘News travels far. The machine is of Dutch invention and it makes dutched cocoa – a nutritious food and, in time, we hope, increasingly affordable. Fry’s has no outlets in South America, sir, nor in New York. Where did you hear of it?’
‘Mrs Graham told me.’
‘And the press interests her?’
‘Indeed. Mrs Graham has many scientific interests – both botanical and in industry.’
‘Well, you must bring the lady to see it. Tomorrow. Fry’s is at your service.’
Henderson noticed the Fry boys baulk at this generous offer, but neither uttered a word against their father. ‘It would be my pleasure,’ he smiled.
The dinner party broke up after midnight. The Frys, horrified that Maria was staying at a common tavern, tried to induce her to accept their hospitality. Henderson watched as she batted away their kindnesses like flies. He felt a proud familiarity in her independence.
Later, they sat in the carriage in silence as it rumbled through the dark streets. Maria shivered in the cold. Henderson offered his coat, but she refused, staring at the glossy cobblestones, slick with rain. When the cab came to a halt at the tavern doorway, the inn was dark save for a boy with a candle, ready to show the lady inside. Through the open door, a lick of flame glowed from the grate as the captain handed her down.
Maria bid him goodnight. ‘It was pleasant to be in company with you.’
Henderson offered to inspect the room she had been allocated, but Maria would have none of it.
‘If it is unsuitable . . . Your safety depends, madam . . .’ His voice trailed.
‘It will not be unsuitable, James,’ she insisted with finality. ‘I am always safe.’
He wondered under what circumstances she might accept help or advice. And yet, she lingered a moment in the chill.
‘Goodnight,’ she said.
‘I shall come for you in the morning. To say goodbye. I wondered tonight about your views on plantation slaves. We have never discussed . . .’
Maria put a steady hand on his arm as she turned. This was difficult enough.
‘Tomorrow,’ she told him.
He hovered as the light receded, her slender figure disappearing inside. Stepping backwards, he waited for illumin-ation at the window, but then realised that the wooden shutters were closed. A raven peered down from the roof, as if guarding the doorway.
‘This is foolish,’ he muttered as he took his place again and ordered the driver back to the docks, but as the carriage trundled towards the road he saw a slice of orange light from an upstairs room cut into the darkness. He smiled. It was a small victory. She had forsaken the fire to open the shutter and check he was gone.
19
Bristol
The captain was woken by the sound of two men vomiting on deck. He called for water to wash. It took longer than usual to arrive, for even the cabin boy was suffering the effects of the first night ashore. The boy’s fingers were blunt and his footfall heavy. Henderson dismissed him, then shaved and dressed, choosing his new suit and struggling to fix his cravat the way he’d seen the gentlemen wearing theirs at dinner. The attire was not entirely comfortable. Still, he breakfasted feeling quite the dandy. It crossed his mind that Maria had been right. He ought to buy a looking glass, for he wanted to check his appearance more closely than was possible in the narrow reflection he could make out in the small panes of glass to the rear of the cabin. Finally he strode on deck to issue instructions. Viewed in the bright morning light, the crew were in a dreadful state.
As the bells of St Nicholas struck nine, it was Henderson’s intention to leave the men to their recovery and spend the day with Maria. He wanted to be waiting when she rose for breakfast, but he was halted by a movement from the direction of the warehouse. It was, by any reckoning, early for a gentleman to be abroad and yet accompanying the bondsman were two figures which, Henderson squinted, seemed familiar. As they approached, they proved to be that of Mr Fry and his youngest son, Richard. Fry raised his arm in greeting. Henderson returned a nod. This would be first then, selling the beans.
‘Aha,’ Fry said as he came up the gangplank, unsmiling and with his dark greatcoat flapping in his stride. ‘This is felicitous, is it not, Captain Henderson?’
‘Indeed, sir.’
Richard hovered behind his father as he looked over the Bittersweet. Grey, wide-eyed, lean and very English in the morning light, the lad seemed here under sufferance and had the look of a glistening stickleback, hungry for a jaunt upriver. Mr Fry, a jolly bundle the night before, had hardened his resolve overnight. Purple veins stood out on his cheeks and he did not crack a smile. The visitors inspected the deck and eyed the men, taking in the details of life aboard. About the ship, evidence of intemperance abounded – empty barrels stacked ready to go ashore and the stink of stale alcohol hanging around the crew. Captain Henderson had to admit that the Bittersweet was not at her best, but then she had not expected visitors. He reminded himself that Fry’s approval of the cargo was all that mattered. The old man was attending the rigging with a detached air.
‘You crossed the Atlantic Ocean in this vessel? With Mrs Graham aboard?’ His voice was flat.
‘Yes. My ship may be old-fashioned and on the small side for modern tastes, but she’s strong. I’m sure Mrs Graham would have preferred a naval escort, but Brazil is at war and traffic is severely curtailed. We made our way well enough.’
‘I’m informed you are cargoed with cacao beans, sir.’
‘Bought in the Brazils, Mr Fry. You are about your business early this morning. I thought to call on you later to discuss the matter.’
Fry paused momentarily. ‘The early bird, sir, catches the worm.’
‘You are most welcome.’ Henderson’s low bow did not appear to soften Mr Fry’s demeanour.
‘So, it would appear that you know your chocolate?’
Henderson nodded. ‘I hope so. I was brought up, in part, on a plantation and I have been trading in beans ever since. I had not thought to vex you, sir, but can I assume you’re here to buy?’
‘You asked for me, Captain. Of course I’m here to buy. I’m interested in your cargo, but I’m also bemused at why you didn’t mention the matter yesterday evening.’
Henderson felt chastened. ‘Business did not seem a suitable topic at a social occasion.’
Fry weighed this up and appeared to accept it. ‘I see. You had best show me what you’ve got.’
‘Would you like to sample? We have two varieties of cultivated beans and three sacks of wild cacao, which is becoming rarer by the year. I always sample by taste – it is the only reliable means, in my experience.’
‘Wild beans?’ Fry’s eyes sparkled despite himself. ‘I’m captivated,’ he said drily.
They removed to the cabin. Mr Fry made himself comfortable at the table, but the young lad hovered, peering at a pile of the captain’s possessions, which had not yet been sorted after Mrs Graham’s departure. Richard’s gaze fell on the orrery. His expression did not change.
‘The men went ashore last night for the first time in some weeks.’ The captain felt he had to excuse the state of his crew. ‘They are a rough lot, but they work hard. Might I offer you a brandy while we wait?’
Neither of the Frys indulged, both being Quakers, and upon enquiry it transpired there was no cordial aboard.
‘The chocolate will suffice,’ Mr Fry declared.
‘And after, I was set to call on Mrs Graham and bring her to see your famous press.’
‘When I offered that, I had no idea you were a chocolate man,’ Mr Fry said with candour. ‘I was under the impression your interest was purely scientific. I’m afraid, in the circumstances, I must withdraw the invitation.’
Henderson nodded. ‘I do not manufacture chocolate, sir. I should make that plain.’
Fry nodded. Still, no one in the trade would be admitted. The press had been constructed from a design that Francis had procured – that is to say, stolen. Fry had employed three Scottish engineers to build it. However, he wasn’t here to discuss the blasted machinery. Mr Fry turned his attention to the business in hand.
‘We are glad you docked in Bristol in any case, Captain Henderson. Most of our cargo comes in at Deptford.’
‘Well, I hoped to sell to you straight off, sir, so it made best sense to port here. It was Mrs Graham’s suggestion. I hope you will appreciate the quality of the shipment.’
‘Mrs Graham suggested selling the cargo to Fry’s?’
‘Your name went before you. Mrs Graham had enjoyed some your lozenges.’
Fry perused the captain carefully, distracted only when Big Al Thatcher entered the room ready to prepare the chocolate. He settled to watch as the cabin filled with a scent redolent of burning sunshine and tropical colour. As Big Al Thatcher whisked the drink, the captain sat back.
‘Have you visited the plantations?’ he enquired.
Fry shook his head without taking his eyes from the prep-aration. ‘My father was an apothecary, Captain Henderson. That is how I came to the business. Cacao has tremendous health benefits, not least in providing an alternative to alcohol for the working classes. The machine in which you have shown an interest will make that possible. At least I hope it will.’
‘A worthy aim, and profitable, I’m sure.’
‘Quite apart from the issue of slavery, to which you know we are opposed, the duty makes it almost impossible to bring cocoa within reach of the lower classes. The rate is too high.’
‘The government may yet be induced to drop it—’ Richard said, stopping sharply as his father’s eyes came to rest upon him.
‘The duty must be paid,’ Mr Fry said, his tone absolute. ‘The pressing matter is that slavery must be abolished. We shall see what transpires after that.’
Three small pewter cups were set out for each of the men and the Frys drank. The atmosphere loosened. Richard finished each cup slowly, savouring every sip with his eyes closed. In the meantime, a tiny murmur of appreciation escaped Mr Fry’s lips. Henderson waited before he spoke.
‘It’s good quality, is it not? Small increments in the quality of the beans make a huge difference, though I imagine not all palates are as sensitive as yours.’
‘Our customers benefit from our good taste,’ Mr Fry replied. ‘There is no doubt, as you say, these beans are wonderful. And so we come to talk of money.’
Big Al was sent away. Richard Fry leaned over the table to replace his cup. He almost seemed angry that the cargo was as good as promised. His father waved him off.
‘What price had you in mind?’ Fry started.
‘What offer did you hope to make?’
Fry smiled. ‘Well, if that is the way it is to be, I have a question. Why don’t you want to bring this shipment to auction? Or is that on the advice of Mrs Graham as well? Do you conduct all your business according to a woman’s wishes?’
Henderson laid his hands on the table. ‘I admit I had not considered going to auction. I’m accustomed in the Americas to dealing with a single buyer. Your name came up. If it is your advice to take the cargo to London and offer it at auction, then I shall. I’m bound to visit the city for a week or two. But I’m offering the cargo, here, before I go. That, sir, is a courtesy, honestly extended. I hoped the shipment would appeal to you.’
‘We use forastero for the cocoa powder, mixed with some trinitario. You are quite right – these beans are special. Less and less comes to us from the far south, Captain. There is a limited market for the best. The navy buys from Trinidad directly – not Brazilian beans. These are top end, but we have customers who prefer to buy quality. While we endeavour to bring our products within the reach of all, some of what we produce will always be for those with more money and, indeed, better taste.’
‘That business pays well, I hear.’
‘Prices for cacao are coming down, as you heard last night, but I’d wager you’ll make a profit and so shall we.’
Henderson stiffened.
‘For these beans I will offer one hundred shillings a tonne. It’s a fair price,’ Fry said.
In America, this would be an astounding figure. Still, the captain did not immediately accept it. Having come all this way, he wanted the best price in this market, here at the mouth of the Avon, not on the Hudson. He watched Richard’s face. The boy was clearly annoyed with his father and thought the old man had started too high. This was only the beginning of the negotiation, but it was a good indication. Fry, a better card player than his son, betrayed nothing. So the old man is wily, Henderson thought. He cleared his throat.
‘I don’t want to be greedy, sir, but there are three sacks of wild beans. They do not come to a tonne, or anywhere near it, and they must have a separate value. The rest of the shipment is of excellent quality. One hundred shillings is a fairish price, I agree, but on the slim side, even with prices dropping. This cargo is special. You’re buying without competition and you’d need to be more generous to secure the deal. At auction, I warrant, as you suggest, the price would go higher. Might I counter?’
Fry nodded.
‘One hundred and forty shillings a tonne, and six guineas for each sack of wild – they are small sacks, but the beans are rare. I was lucky to secure them. Plantations are taking over the land. Wild cacao is a delicacy your customers will enjoy and, more importantly, one they will procure nowhere else but Fry’s.’
‘Six guineas a sack?’ Richard sounded incredulous.
Henderson ignored the interruption. ‘Wild beans are not tended by slaves, sir. That is the nature of wildness. For customers of refined sensibilities, serving this cacao will render the confection not only a drink but also a statement of intent. If I remember correctly from the talk at dinner last night, it is an intention much admired. This chocolate has not been tainted by the sweat of slaves. You can sell it as such.’
‘Freedom chocolate?’ Mr Fry mused.
‘To inspire a fairer trade.’
Fry laughed. ‘You are out of the usual run of captains, Mr Henderson. We are not generally tutored in how to sell our produce. Though, mark you, it is an extraordinary idea. One might even say a revolutionary idea. Albeit for a very special kind of customer.’
‘I think only of the feelings, particularly of women, sir. Ladies are soft-hearted and yet they love their morning chocolate. When you offer something special, it comes with an individual price. A cabochon diamond, a bolt of finest silk or chocolate that can be guaranteed not to cause a moment’s moral discomfort. It is a rarity.’
A smile spread across even Richard’s face. ‘We can produce a special packet,’ he intoned.
‘Fry’s Wild Reserve?’ Henderson offered.
‘We shall sell our first to Reeves.’ Richard’s voice was slow. ‘After what he said last night, let’s see if he will bankroll his principles.’
Mr Fry pushed back from the table. ‘It’s an intriguing idea,’ he admitted.
‘Wild cacao is left for the poor to scavenge, there’s so little of it. The man who sold it to me knows I like the taste. Most traders would not even be offered it. This is a unique opportunity, gentlemen.’
Fry waited. Then he put out his hand. ‘All right. Six guineas a sack of wild, and one hundred and twenty-five shillings a tonne for the rest. That way, you have a deal,’ he said.
Henderson looked him in the eye as the men shook on it.
‘You are a gentleman of grand ideas, Captain Henderson,’ Fry observed. ‘You seemed slippery. But I see now you are an idealist, and that is to be admired.’
‘Sir.’ Henderson bowed. ‘I’ll warrant you’ve met many men more slippery than I.’
As they rose, the captain’s mind was already buzzing. This was over six times more than he’d ever made in an American port. The money was genuinely good, even given the excise. Will Simmons had been
right. The British market was ripe. The boy was a genius. A speculator. Had he lived, he would have been a rich man.
‘It’s good to do business with you, sir,’ Fry said as he turned to leave. ‘If you come this way again . . .’
The thought had occurred already to the captain. ‘Perhaps next time I shall bring something of lower quality,’ he suggested. ‘Your aim, sir, of chocolate for the masses, is highly commendable. It is a long voyage, though, and I must do the best for myself.’
‘Trinidad, of course, is closer,’ Fry mused. ‘And there are always forastero beans.’ He sounded quite mournful.
‘Had these been forastero of good quality, how much would you have paid?’
‘Seventy-five shillings a tonne. Perhaps slightly less. Richard is right. The prices are dropping.’
‘I might devalue my cargo, simply in the time it takes to cross the ocean.’
Fry shook his head. ‘Prices in England will always rise ahead of prices in the colonies. There is no harm in poorer beans if I can sell one thousand men forastero, albeit cheaper – that will be where the greatest profit lies.’
‘The Wealth of Nations.’ Henderson named Adam Smith’s influential economic treatise.
Fry nodded. ‘We can only hope that Mr Smith is correct in his beliefs and that the widest market will be most beneficial. Now, having tasted the merchandise, I should like to inspect it, if you please.’
After some time in the hold, Mr Fry left the dockside. His men were instructed to carefully offload the Bittersweet’s cargo. The bondsman took orders and the Frys took their leave. As they did so, Richard grasped his father’s arm.
‘I want to watch him,’ he said.
Fry patted his son’s hand and took his seat in the cab as the door closed. The boy was always straining at the leash. ‘Do you consider Captain Henderson dangerous or merely interesting, Richard?’
‘Francis does it, Father. Francis watches for you.’
‘Francis watches when there is a matter of business to assess. This man has sold us all his goods. Is it simply that you find working in the manufactory tiresome?’
On Starlit Seas Page 20