“At least now you can rectify the situation.”
“Already done. I mention it to explain that the most difficult part of this is having to rely on others. That is always a gamble. References and such only go so far.”
Gareth nodded agreement. He wished he could see a clock. He did have that other stop to make, and he wanted to return to Albany Lodge by nightfall.
“I expect you know why I wanted to see you,” Rockport said. “I am hoping that your coming means you are not averse to the notion and I have at least a small chance of convincing you.”
Gareth had no idea what the man was talking about. “Notaverse. Such a strong word. I am not averse to much at all, actually.”
“I will be plain then. I need someone to represent this”—he gestured to the table—“and me, on the Continent. Not to carry around buckles to sell, as is done here. I can ship samples to those companies I know of. Not stores and such, but men who would distribute there.”
“If you can ship samples, and have identified distributors—”
“A factor is what I need. A man to see to the contracts there, and arrange the receipt of shipments. A man to broker the arrangement in my behalf. I can’t do it myself. I’m needed here, and I don’t know the languages. There are ones I can hire, who present themselves for service such as this, but for all I know they, too, call on the patron drunk, if you see what I mean. You’ve a knowledge of those things. You gave me quite an education at that first dinner. I’m thinking you are the man to do it, if you can be persuaded.”
Gareth did not know whether to be flattered or insulted. Despite the compliments about his vast knowledge of business and shipping, Rockport had just asked him to go into trade.
“I do not think I would care to live on the Continent.”
“Nor would you have to. Such contracts are not signed every day or even every month. When one is ready to go, you could hop a packet, deal with it, and come back. At least hear me out before you decline.”
Gareth agreed to hear him out. Rockport embarked on a fuller description of what this situation entailed. The more he talked, the more Gareth could not pretend that it did indeed sound remarkably like the way he brokered art collections. His knowledge of shipping and transport companies, of contracts and bills of lading, of international payments and credits, derived from that avocation, of course. Without those experiences, he could have never discussed Rockport’s business affairs with him, let alone given him “an education.”
“Now, I am sure you are curious about compensation,” Rockport said.
“There is no need. I regret that I would not want to be an employee, even of a firm as fine as yours. I am not accustomed to it, and would make a bad one.”
Rockport grinned. “Well, now, that is fine with me if it is fine with you. I was prepared to pay you handsomely if necessary. If you prefer independence, so you can represent others in addition—I know of several men who would want to talk about that, in other industries, of course. I’d not want someone who competes with me— We can arrange it be for a percentage and expenses. Say two percent of the sale price?”
Just like the art collections.
Rockport stood and walked to his desk. After pawing through papers, he returned with a letter. “Let me see. This Frenchfellow wants fifty.” He closed his eyes and thought. “Fifty at two percent would be—”
“Hardly worth the journey, or your time, I would think.”
Rockport looked at him, astonished. Then he burst out laughing. “You are quite the gentleman, aren’t you? Do you think I do all of this for orders of fifty brass buckles or fifty iron hinges?” He leaned forward and held up the letter. “This Frenchie wants fiftygross. At ten shillings per piece. That’s cheaper than he can get them made over there. He’ll hand them off fast at eleven per, and the shops that in turn sell them will do so at thirteen and be happy.”
Gareth did the math in his head. The commission on brokering that particular sale would be over eight hundred pounds. More money, and less trouble, than some of those art collections that took months to negotiate.
And there were others like Rockport who needed such a factor.
A gentleman would not be swayed, no matter what the profit, of course.
“I will think about it, and let you know within the week.”
Rockport lifted his glass of brandy. “Here’s to hoping you think rightly.”
***
The stationer’s shop was an odd place. Narrow and deep, it held a good position in the center of town. The proprietor had decided to make the most of that advantage by augmenting his papers with a motley assortment of other items. Gareth strolled past books and patterns, pins and threads, prints and combs. One shelf even held wooden toys, such as country carvers make.
Deep in the shop he spied Mr. Stevenson helping a woman choose stationery. Gareth waited until the customer had been served. After she left, Mr. Stevenson turned quizzical eyes on the only other potential patron in the shop.
Gareth asked to see some pens.
“Will you be wanting quills or the new ones? I like the latter myself, but some of the gentlemen prefer traditional writing implements.” Stevenson slid a box with an array of new pens onto his counter.
Gareth toyed with them. “Mr. Zwilliger sent me. He said you have excellent items in your shop. He told me to ask if you have any more of those paintings. Good ones, like the ones he bought.”
