15th July 1806 11 o’clock #2
“Peace, peace, Miss Smith,” I said in my most placating voice, palms up, and trying my best to look contrite, which was not an act I often practised.
She was still seething, but at least sat and stopped looking at me like she had a club in the valise she was itching to use (not out of the realm of possibility).
When she seemed calm, I started again. “I like your spirit, Miss Smith. I really do. I have a younger sister, and I hope she has half your gumption when she grows up.”
“Unlikely, unless you are a far worse businessman than you seem.”
That was good, since she recognised the business tactics I had unfairly used on her but was still unintimidated.
I glanced at the clock and decided I had a little time. “May I offer you a bargain, Miss Smith?”
“As long as it is more than ￡50,” she replied emphatically.
Good! She recognised the price was too low. She would need that kind of insight if she continued this mad endeavour.
“Fair enough. How about this? I applaud your efforts. I suspect most men pat you on the head and suggest you go back to your embroidery often enough. I am impressed, and I am seldom impressed by children.”
She was a child, but I could tell the word grated at her, and I wanted to see how she handled it. She got mulish for just a moment but then calmed far quicker than I expected.
“Name your terms, sir.”
“I appreciate the fact that you are offering me a fair bargain, and you are not trying to run up the price, which I suspect you now understand you could… correct?”
She still looked stubborn but nodded.
“In honour of your bravery, I offer to pay what this is worth to me, bearing in mind that it is worth far more to me than other men, and I will then give you a little lesson on negotiation.”
“What do you want in return?” she asked suspiciously.
“Not very much. The first is absolute silence about the transaction, which I suspect the anonymity covers, but it is best to be explicit. You cannot tell anyone, even your most trusted relatives. The other is that, if you have more things to sell, you give me first chance at them.”
She seemed stunned by the offer, which was hardly surprising since I had stupefied myself. I had not the slightest idea where that thought came from, nor how it got all the way to my mouth without my good sense intervening.
She finally asked, “Why would you do that?”
“I cannot say. Perhaps it is the whim of the moment. Perhaps charity begets charity, as the sermons say.”
“A good sermon, I suppose, though slightly lazy. The original is Ecclesiastes: Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.”
“Are you a religious,” I started, and could not decide whether to use girl for accuracy, or woman to appease her, so finally went with, “person, Miss Smith?”
“Not especially, but my younger sister is.”
That was mildly interesting. She had at least two sisters, no brother, and an entailed estate. Of course, if she had an estate, her father should be laying aside some funds for their betterment, but I had seen plenty who did not.
“Well, perhaps my bread upon the water, is that I superstitiously believe that if I help you, it will rebound to my sister at some point, even if only by improving my character. She is ten.”
“My sister is ten as well.”
That seemed very young to have developed a religious bent sufficient to quote bible passages, but what did I know about such things.
This was all very interesting, I supposed, or at least, more interesting than what I had been doing since leaving Oxford, but it was time to get on with it. I was expected at home and needed to get this chore over with.
“Interesting, but as you say, let us get to it. I shall offer you ￡200, because that is what I brought with me in banknotes. I suppose if you had asked more, I would have considered it, but I had already decided that was my limit.”
She gasped, and her face lit up like the sun peeking out on a cloudy day. For the first time in ages, I felt just a little bit good about myself. I had made the child’s life better just by buying something I wanted at a fair price I could readily afford.
“I accept, and I thank you, sir.”
I wanted to ensure that part of the transaction was concluded subtly.
Her companion was probably trustworthy, but it was best not to tempt fate any more than necessary.
I slid the envelope holding the banknotes under the box, then slid it across the table with a corner sticking out. She cleverly took it and hid it away.
With that, it was time to get on with it. I had places to be, and she obviously had to return to her relatives, with hopefully none the wiser.
I felt slightly bad about sneaking around behind her parents’ backs; but given the situation that placed her across the table, I knew I would get over it in minutes.
“Do you still wish to do those other things,” she said with far more enthusiasm than earlier.
I nodded, and she smiled at me like I was the nicest man she had ever met. I certainly hoped that was not the case, as I was not especially nice at all—or at least, if I were, none of my friends were likely to acknowledge it. I had plenty of good attributes, but niceness was not among them.
“You see this mark,” I said, pointing out the identifying scratch.
“I assumed that would be the key to identifying these definitively,” she said, showing more cleverness that I would expect in one so young.
“I will tell you the story, but your father would thrash me within an inch of my life if he knew I did so.”
She laughed, and I suspected she just assumed that would be far too much work for her father. I was beginning to get a bad feeling about the man, but again, none of my business.
“My grandfather killed a man who assaulted my grandmother in a duel—with that pistol.”
I really had no idea why I was telling her that. My own father would have a fit if he learned I told any lady, let alone a child, to say nothing of her father; but I thought young ladies were tougher than they looked and treating them as simpletons or fragile creatures would not do.
She gasped, “Killed him?”
“Yes. Wounding is often considered sufficient in duels, and some explicitly only go to first blood; but this particular… man… had assaulted more than three other women before… and in the duel… he cheated.”
She gasped, then straightened her spine. “Good for your grandfather! And good riddance!”
I liked her resilience. “My father is quite ill, and he will just love to have these as a souvenir. He has been searching for years. His ongoing search is what probably put your agent onto my trail.”
“I found a bill of sale with the entail documents,” she replied. “These were not attached to the estate, but my grandfather bought them at auction and forgot them. They did not mention any earlier owners, and there seems a reasonable chance they are stolen.”
“Well, that explains it,” I replied happily. “Would you like a lesson on bargaining?”
She happily agreed and could hardly sit still as I explained a few of the basics about cutthroat negotiations.
After another half-hour, she said she had to go.
I asked, “Have you any more treasures?”
“There are quite a few paintings my mother thinks should be valuable, and a few other things. I will try to sell them next year.”
I had no idea why I said the next and would revisit it from time to time while smacking my head, but I said it anyway, and was thus obligated.
“I will await you in this room one year from today, with a man I know who is in that business. He will give you an honest appraisal of what you have, and perhaps even purchase some of them. Make a rough sketch of each and write down the painter, year, and a description.”
She clapped her hands together and gave a huge smile that made her look more like twelve than fifteen, then jumped up, grabbed her companion, and headed out the door practically at a run, yelling over her shoulder as she left.
“I will see you in one year, Mr Jones.”