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  “Oh my darling Frances. I shall leave tomorrow morn for the village.”

  “Aye, my love. Come with you, I shall.”

  * * * * *

  And the following morning, Jonathan and Frances drove their horse and buggy across the green rolling hills, arriving at the outskirts of Dartford by mid-morning. Their travel was smooth and uneventful. Even the weather cooperated, as they were blessed with a bright sun shifting in and out between the clouds.

  Jonathan brought the horse to a halt and stood overlooking the township – watching the bustling throngs of people milling around on the street, each seeking his desired commerce. Although situated in a valley and intersecting with the River Darant, the town nonetheless stood as a prominent display to the people of the area. To the north lay a large marsh; and it was rumoured that the settlers were originally attracted to the marsh – containing, as it does, rather large and spectacular deposits of London clay.

  Jonathan smiled as he glanced over at Frances. “A beautiful day it is.”

  Frances' eyes were sparkling with anticipation. “Aye, it is, my love.”

  Jonathan parked the wagon and tied the horse to a rail. They proceeded to enter the village, merging into the mass of disorganized and scurrying people.

  Holding hands, the two weaved their way through the crowd, approaching the town centre along High Street. Along the way, they scanned the shoppes lining the street, seeking any business that might be for sale. They passed a dry goods store, a pub, a food market, and others. And there were many smaller shoppes – artisans and craftsmen – jammed all together and extending out into the street. They investigated those as well.

  Imagine a street, surfaced partly in dirt and partly in stone, ramshackle shoppes lining both sides of the street, with scores of people weaving their way in and around the crowds, with voices shouting over the din of other voices. For this is the scene that presented to Jonathan and Frances.

  They pressed on, reaching the village centre and continuing through to the west side of the village. Sauntering along, they walked and weaved past still more shoppes; fish, brewery, blacksmith shoppe, and others.

  Frances noticed it first – a sign posted on one of the blacksmith’s vertical columns. The sign read: For Sale. “Jonathan,” she called, gesturing toward the sign. “Look over there.”

  “Aye, my love – I see it. Shall we inquire?” It was not really a question since Jonathan was already walking toward the entrance.

  Jonathan came to a halt in front of the store. He looked at the sign, and then perused the front of the shoppe – seeing that the posts and stone walls were weathered with varying shades of grey. The thatched roof was in good repair, and the door to the stable was solid and functional.

  Frances waited outside while Jonathan stepped into the shoppe. A shorter man wearing a blackened apron and trousers was hunched over a furnace. He was working – his back and shoulder muscles flexing, gleaming as the light from the furnace reflected off his sweating skin.

  Shouting above the din of outdoor activity, Jonathan addressed the blacksmith. “How much do you want for your business?”

  The blacksmith turned; he looked at Jonathan through his blackened face and red hair. “All what?” he spat in a sharp grizzled voice.

  “I say again,” Jonathan replied, “Your business. How much do you want?”

  The man rose up and approached Jonathan. He stood in front of Jonathan, sizing him up with one eye squinted. “And who might ye be?”

  A full head taller, Jonathan looked down on the man's red locks. “I’m Jonathan. Of the family Merchant.”

  “I see,” the blacksmith nodded. “And what do ye seek?”

  Jonathan heaved a sigh and then answered. “I seek to acquire a business.”

  “Do ye ‘ave money?”

  “I ‘ave yet to get it – but get it, I can.” Jonathan paused and looked at the man. “How much do you want?”

  The man rubbed his chin; his sinewy arms flexing with the motion. “Well, that depends ...”

  “Depends? Depends on what?”

  The man looked up at Jonathan, one eye squinting. “It depends on what you want to do with it.”

  Jonathan was distracted by the sound of horse and buggy passing outside.

  The blacksmith continued. “I am looking for a buyer who will do right by my customers.”

  “Huh? What did ye say?”

  The blacksmith continued. “I am looking for a buyer who will do right by my customers.” He paused and then continued. “I mean good quality work, good service, and fair prices.”

  Still another horse and buggy passed by.

  The blacksmith peered into Jonathan's eyes. “Were you to own this shop, you would quickly be out of business,” he paused, squinting, “... unless ye give the customers what they want.”

  “Hmmm,” Jonathan frowned, putting his hand up to his chin.

  The blacksmith continued. “My customers are also my friends and my neighbors. These are people that I care about, and that is why I want this business to continue and to thrive.”

  “Sir,” Jonathan was resolute, “my wife and I will be using most of our savings to buy a business. I think that a blacksmith business is well suited to me, as I have proficient metalworking skills – skills that I learned while working on a farm. We want to buy a business and continue to make it a thriving business – we want this because we need enough income to raise our family.”

  “Well,” the blacksmith paused and then replied. “I can show you ‘ow to be a successful blacksmith.”

  “My name is Jonathan,” Jonathan extended his hand toward the blacksmith.

  “I am Jeffrey,” he said as he smiled, “of the Blackman family.”

  “So,” Jonathan asked again, “how much do you want for your business?”

  “One 'undred and twenty-five pounds,” was the reply.

  “Do you 'ave records on the business - income, costs? Can I look at ‘em?”

  “Aye, mate. Here they are.” Jeffrey paused as he handed over a tattered folder of notes. “Now, mind you, these are very conservative. Ye are certain to make this or better it each month.”

  Chapter 4

  Stunned, Frances stood in front of Goldman & Sons Goldsmith and Precious Stones. Built of granite, and with a facade consisting of an archway supported by four pillars, and with five granite steps leading up to the entrance, the building was indeed an imposing structure. Several tapestries hung from upper-story windows, and statuesque figures appointed the corners and around the entrance.

  “Amazing,” Frances exclaimed. “Wealth lives here. Like nothing we ’ave ever known.”

  “Aye, my love,” Jonathan replied. “I’ve ‘eard much about this goldsmith. I’ve ‘eard that lately, 'e is quite accommodating with ‘is loans.”

  They walked up the steps and into the building. Inside, they were greeted by plush appointments. There were silk and velvet tapestries, decorations, and large pieces of jewelry made of gold and precious stones, all embellishing a palatial chamber made of granite and marble. And the tall ceiling was adorned with murals, adding to the feeling of expansiveness throughout.

  Off to the right was a teller’s window. They walked over to it.

  “Greetings, mate,” said the young man behind the counter. “May I ‘elp you?”

  “We wish to inquire about a loan,” Jonathan replied.

  The young man smiled and pointed to a desk toward the back corner. “Please see the receptionist. He will ‘elp you.”

  The two strode over to the receptionist’s desk, their footsteps clicking on the granite floor as they walked. Their clothing was distinctly out of place in the palatial chamber; but neither Jonathan nor Frances cared.

  The receptionist greeted them. “May I ‘elp you?”

  “Er – aye,” Jonathan replied. “About a loan, we wish to inquire.”

  “Aye. Have you been ‘ere before?”

  “I ‘ave not,” said Jonathan.

  “
Then I shall fetch the bookkeeper. Just wait one moment.” He hurriedly stood up and walked into one of the offices. Soon, an older man emerged, dressed in a business suit and with grey hair and blue eyes. He was followed by the young receptionist.

  The bookkeeper’s eyes scanned Jonathan and Frances as he approached. He extended his hand as he came forward, “Greetings. I’m Colin. Colin Martin.”

  “And greetings to you as well,” Jonathan said as they shook hands. “I am Jonathan, of the family Merchant. And this is my wife, Frances.”

  Colin nodded to the couple and said, “Please come into my office.”

  The three entered his office, where Colin gestured to two chairs. “Please be seated.” As Colin sat down, he closed a leather-bound book sitting open on the desk. He moved the book to the side.

  “Now,” Colin continued, “How may we help you?”

  “We wish to take out a loan, sir.”

  “Oh, please do not call me sir,” Colin said. And then he frowned. “For what purpose do you want the money?”

  “To buy a business. A blacksmith business.”

  “Can I look at the revenue and profit projections?”

  Jonathan pulled out the tattered folder of notes. “These are the numbers.”

  “Oh my,” Colin responded after looking at the parchment. “And ‘ow much is the purchase price?”

  “One ‘undred and twenty-five pounds,” Jonathan replied.

  Colin folded his hands together and looked across the desk. “You realize, of course, that the loan will require that you provide collateral – and that you may lose all your collateral should you fail to pay.”

  “Yes, but, we don’t ‘ave much now.”

  “How much do you have?”

  Jonathan pulled some coins out of his pocket and displayed them to Colin. “Just this,” he said.

  Colin looked at the handful of coins and said, “That’s not very much, Mr. Merchant. What else do you ‘ave?”

  “Nothing,” Jonathan replied as he looked down. “We are just simple folk.”

  “Hmmm,” Colin rubbed his chin while looking across the desk at the young couple. And then he came to a decision. “I believe that Mr. Goldman – he’s the owner of this institution – will allow the loan using only the business as collateral. I’m going to recommend that he allow the loan at 100% financing.”

  And then Colin’s eyes fixed on Jonathan and Frances, and he said, “I strongly – strongly – recommend that you save those coins for a rainy day, and that you not offer the coins for collateral under any circumstances.” Colin paused and then asked, “Am I clear?”

  Both Jonathan and Frances nodded. And then Jonathan asked, “But why?”

  “Because bad times are coming,” Colin replied grimly.

  The room paused in silence.

  “Now,” Colin continued. “Presently, we are loaning at 1% interest, re-calculated monthly.”

  Jonathan and Frances looked at each other, hesitating. And then Jonathan looked at Colin, a question beginning to form on his lips. “What’s ‘re-calculated monthly mean?”

  “It means,” Colin replied, “that we calculate the amount of interest owed based on one-twelfth of 1% each month.”

  “And what will the payments be?”

  “Hmmm ... I will have to work out the details; but it will be approximately ten schillings a month.”

  Jonathan and Frances glanced at each other; then Jonathan replied, “we will need to talk and think about this.”

  “That’s fine. I will notify Mr. Goldman of your interest and provide him with your information. You should see him if you decide to move forward.”

  * * *

  Soon after, Jonathan and Frances sat next to each other at The Bursting Cow, a local eatery.

  “Well. What ye think?” Jonathan asked.

  “Concerned, I am, about the high monthly payment. So long as we are able to keep our revenues at the present level, or even create more revenue, success we shall ‘ave.” She paused and then continued. “But we’ll ‘ave problems if our revenue drops very much from Jeffrey’s revenue numbers.”

  “Aye, my love. My sentiments exactly.”

  “So, what shall we do?”

  “Let us go forward with it.”

  “Aye, my love.”

  * * *

  The following day, the two entered the goldsmith’s sanctum and strode up to the receptionist’s desk.

  The young man behind the desk greeted them. “May I ‘elp you?”

  “Aye,” Jonathan replied. “We are ‘ere to speak with Mr. Goldman about a loan.

  “Just one moment,” he replied. He hurriedly stood up and walked into an adjacent office. A man soon emerged, dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit and with his hair combed in a fastidious manner to complement his hawk-like nose and features. He was followed by the young receptionist.

  His sharp eyes scanned Jonathan and Frances as he approached. He extended his hand. “My name is Nathan, of the family Goldman.”

  “I am Jonathan, of the family Merchant. And this is my wife, Frances.” And then he smiled and said, “With child, she is.”

  Nathan seemed momentarily flustered. He regained his composure and asked, “how may I help you?”

  “We wish to take out a loan. We spoke yesterday with Colin.”

  “For what do you want the money?”

  “To buy a business. A blacksmith business.”

  “Ah – yes,” Nathan replied. “Colin has already provided me with your details.” Nathan paused and then said, “But ‘e also said you ‘ad no collateral to provide, save the business itself.”

  “That is true, Mr. Goldman.”

  “Are you sure you ‘ave nothing else for collateral? Maybe your money for food or lodging?”

  The two looked at each other, and then Jonathan turned and said, “We ‘ave nothing else to provide.”

  “Well, it is not our usual custom to give a loan without the borrower providing additional collateral.” He looked at the two shrewdly, and then came to a decision. “But Colin believes your revenue will be more than sufficient for your payments – as do I.”

  “Willing to make the loan, we are.”

  With that, Jonathan and Frances looked at each other and smiled.

  * * *

  In the goldsmith's office, Jonathan, Frances, and Jeffrey all watched as Nathan counted out the loan amount.

  “...Twenty-One,” Nathan continued counting the receipts, “... Twenty-Two, Twenty-Three, ...” Finally, Nathan counted off the last receipt. “One hundred and twenty-five pounds,” he announced.

  “Hmmm,” Jeffrey squinted an eye at Nathan and put his hand to his chin, “but this is all paper. Where's the gold?”

  Nathan was taken aback by the question. And then his posture became resolute as he answered. “With all due respect, sir, everyone trades with receipts these days. I assure you that you will have no difficulty redeeming these receipts for gold, or for anything you wish to purchase.” Nathan paused and then continued. “After all, there is no reason to use gold, since all the receipts are backed by gold anyway.”

  “Hmmm.” Jeffrey rubbed his grizzled chin and frowned. “Well, let's go ahead and finish it. Fill out the papers, I shall.”

  Fourth Interlude . . .

  Wrinkled face and grey eyes of steel stared into a sneering expression with cold, dead eyes.

  “I am concerned about this goldsmith – Aaron Silverstein is his name. He runs a goldsmith operation out in Bexleyheath. I want you to watch him – and in particular, the way he structures his loans. Do this for two weeks and then report back to me on what he does.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” said the sneering man. He departed.

  A young man was seated in a chair, obscured by the shadows. He watched the interchange in silence. Now that the sneering man had left, he spoke, “help with this, I can. What information do you seek?”

  The wrinkled man's grey eyes of steel looked into the young man’s eyes. “I seek
evidence that Aaron is with us, or against us. And I don’t think you are in a position to know.”

  The young man nodded and grew quiet ...

  * * *

  It was early evening with overcast skies – it was time to go home. Aaron Silverstein locked up his depository and walked down the shallow granite steps, humming a tune.

  Aaron lived close by – one of the benefits of inheriting a very wealthy goldsmith business passed down through several generations.

  Aaron sauntered down the street, without a care in the world.

  Were Aaron to look behind him, he would have seen a man with cold, dead eyes following him. He would have recognized him as someone who came into his depository to open an account earlier today. And he would have recognized him as someone who talked with two of his depository employees just last week.

  But Aaron had not a care in the world. Aaron did not turn around ...

  * * * * *

  Keeping a record of the day's withdrawals and deposits, Jason flipped back his long brown hair as he wrote yet another entry in the books. With a flourish of his quill, he leaned back in his chair and placed the quill in front of him. It's been a long travel for father. He mused. I hope he was able to come to an agreement with the French gold trader. I shall know the answer when he returns – tomorrow, I think.

  He put his head down and continued writing.

  He was just about finished when Thomas, his aide, stuck his head through the doorway. “Aye, Mr. Silverstein. Edgar Robinson is 'ere and wants to inquire about a loan.” And then he looked at Jason and smiled. “You've given many loans this week past, sir.”

  “That I 'ave,” Jason nodded to Thomas. “Please show Edgar in.”

  “Yes, Mr. Silverstein.”

  Thomas quickly ushered Edgar through the door, closing the door behind him.