Page 43 of Murder at Somerset House (A Wrexford & Sloane Mystery #9)
T he next morning’s gold-flecked sunlight brought a welcome warmth to Berkeley Square, the first tantalizing sign that spring would soon begin to blossom.
Raven’s mood was considerably brighter as well, as Charlotte roused him from his slumber to tell him that work on countering the French attack on Britain’s financial stability was going to begin immediately.
“The Sheffields will call for you in their carriage shortly and head on to Mr. Ricardo’s business establishment,” she said as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.
She pointed to the bundle of clothing that she had just placed on the side table.
“Mr. Ricardo sent Kit the official uniform of a Stock Exchange messenger boy. Apparently, your presence on the trading floor will be a great asset.”
He was up in a flash.
“Give your face and hands an extra scrub, and be sure you’ve no dirt under your fingernails.
It’s important to look somewhat respectable,” counseled Charlotte as she unfolded the drab iron-grey jacket and matching pants.
“And do run a comb through your hair.” She held up a black cap that matched the color of the horn buttons on the jacket.
Embroidered on its front in grey thread was the monetary symbol for a British pound.
“This is also part of the uniform, which suits our objectives very well. The less the crowd at the Stock Exchange sees of your face, the better.”
Raven hurried through breakfast while Eddy was up on the rooftop feeding her pigeons and threw open the front door before Sheffield could reach for the knocker.
“Let’s not dawdle, sir!” he said, descending the front steps two at a time. “The sooner we get to work on spiking Napoleon’s guns, the better.”
Ricardo’s office was on Nicholas Lane, just south of Change Alley and the Capel Court entrance to the London Stock Exchange.
Located on the top floor of a nondescript brick building, it was a modest set of rooms, whose one distinguishing feature was a bank of tall casement windows in the main room that gave an expansive view of the River Thames as it wound its way past the Tower of London.
“I thought it would be bigger,” intoned Raven, “and grander.”
There looked to be only a single employee, who appeared so engrossed in his work that he didn’t look up from the reams of papers and ledgers on his desk in the adjoining workroom.
“Welcome, welcome,” said Ricardo as he stepped out from a tiny office at the end of a short corridor.
“Sorry to disappoint you, Master Sloane. Establishments like the East India Company look to impress their clients with a fancy headquarters filled with opulent riches and numerous minions, but I prefer to let my work speak for myself.”
The rapid-fire scratch of a pen moving over paper was audible in the fleeting moment of silence that followed.
“Plain and simple suits me and my assistant just fine,” added Ricardo. “Come, allow me to introduce you.”
He moved to the doorway. “Put down your pen for the moment, William, and come greet our new colleagues.” To the others, he said, “Allow me to introduce William Arthur Wilkinson, who is the eldest son of my wife’s brother. However, the real reason he is here is because he deserves to be.”
“I hope you don’t mind working with a woman, Mr. Wilkinson,” said Cordelia, with just a hint of a challenge edging the question.
The young man smiled. “Not all, madam. Perhaps the most important lesson that I’ve learned from my uncle is to be open-minded and willing to see beyond the strictures of conventional thinking. He says you are brilliant, and I very much look forward to learning from you as well.”
“It takes courage to go against convention,” said Cordelia, meeting Ricardo’s gaze.
A shadow seemed to pass over his face, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. “I’m not afraid to make unconventional choices, Mrs. Sheffield. They are not always easy, but when you follow your inner beliefs, they aren’t frightening.”
He allowed a moment to pass before continuing, “However, as you know, unconventional thinking concerning women and their abilities does not rule at the Stock Exchange, so alas, you will have to stay here and work with William while your husband and Raven accompany me there.”
She nodded in understanding.
“I told Lord Wrexford that I trust William wholeheartedly,” added Ricardo, “and he agreed with me that keeping him in the dark about the challenge we face might cause him to miss a tiny but important clue as we watch the fluctuations of the market.”
“That makes great sense,” agreed Cordelia. She shrugged off her cloak. “Please show me which desk I should use, Mr. Wilkinson, and then let’s all get to work.”
As they headed back down to Nicholas Lane and began the short walk to their destination, Ricardo gestured for Raven to keep pace with him and Sheffield. “Seeing as this is your first plunge into London’s financial world, lad, allow me to give you some background on what you’re about to experience.”
“I, too, will welcome that information,” said Sheffield. “I confess, based on my previous visits, it all seems a bit …”
“Chaotic?” suggested Ricardo, and added a chuckle. “It takes some getting used to, but there is a surprising amount of underlying order beneath all the habble-babble.”
Sheffield replied with a skeptical grimace. “I will take your word for it.”
“When the Stock Exchange building on Capel Court was completed in 1802, a more formal governing structure was also created. Management, regulation, and direction of all concerns was given to a committee of members chosen by ballot annually,” began Ricardo.
“The building itself was run by nine trustees and managers, who were separate from the management committee. The daily hours of operation were set at ten in the morning to four in the afternoon. Now, as to the physical layout of the building, I shall describe it in detail because it’s important for both of you to know your way around once we begin our work in earnest. There are four entrances in addition to the main one in Capel Court, including a passageway through the Hercules Tavern. ”
He chuckled. “The landlady makes a tidy sum controlling who may pass through it. Mendoza’s boxing rooms are also next door. I have known some stockjobbers to take out their frustrations on having a bad day by heading to the ring and engaging in fisticuffs with each other.”
After crossing Lombard Street, he turned left before continuing.
“When we reach Capel Court, you’ll noticed a crowd of men loitering in Change Alley, jostling and shouting out offers to help with buying and selling securities.
They are informal traders. Only those men who have been approved by the managing committee and paid their annual fee—there are approximately five hundred members—are permitted to do business inside the Stock Exchange.
These others seek to attract unwary investors—usually inexperienced individuals from the countryside dreaming of getting rich quick. ”
As they turned into Change Alley, the loiterers spotted Ricardo and dropped their jabbering to a respectful tone.
“Any tip fer us today, Your Nibs?” called one wag.
“Yes,” answered Ricardo. “Cut your losses and let your profits run.”
A round of guffaws greeted the advice. “Would that we had your luck in doing that!” shouted another trader.
“It’s not just luck,” said Ricardo softly, quickening his steps before returning to his explanation of the Stock Exchange. “On entering, you’ll see a large clock on the south wall. Under it is a tablet listing defaulters who have not made good on their purchases.”
“Public shaming,” observed Sheffield.
“Something that has worked for centuries,” observed Ricardo.
“To the left side of the entrance doors there is a house officer—a fellow dressed in a gold-trimmed navy robe and military-style hat—who stands on a podium and watches over the crowd to make sure that decorum is maintained. On the opposite side is a recessed area—there are many such spaces around the perimeter of the large trading floor—housing the Commissioners for the Redemption of the National Debt. Two long lines of Ionian columns run the length of the room on either side of the main trading floor. Well-known traders have their regular spots by these columns. You both will learn all that quickly.”
“Do you have a spot, sir?” inquired Raven.
“Yes, indeed I do. Though I make a point of circulating through the room quite frequently while one of my associates remains there to transact simple buy-and-sell requests.”
He gestured upward. “Above the trading floor is a gallery that runs around the perimeter of the building. It’s crammed with desks and manned by clerks who are kept busy with the helter-pelter pace of business.
When someone needs a reference book or ledger, they simply shout out from the floor and a clerk tosses it down to them. ”
After returning the greeting of several gentlemen passing in the opposite direction, Ricardo continued his explanation.
“An official price list is published each day and can be located at a central podium. These days, the Stock Exchange lists British funds as well as Irish funds, American securities, and shares in bridges, roads, and iron railways.”
He paused to give Raven a quick pat on the shoulder.
“Traders use the official prices as guidelines. They are free to negotiate their own deals, which can become quite complicated if the transaction includes a bundle of different securities. All trades must be recorded on a slip of paper, and that’s where your job comes in—messenger boys are constantly on the fly, collecting the slips from various traders and delivering them to the recording clerks stationed around the trading floor. ”