Chapter 4

Dalie could see that the first floor of the shop was exceptionally spacious. By her estimate, it was at least ten times larger than her family’s store, boasting a vast and comprehensive selection of goods. Inside, customers could browse and select items for themselves, and there was even a counter dedicated solely to tobacco and alcohol, with a whole display window showcasing various spirits. At that moment, an employee was taking down the protective wooden shutters bolted to the outside of the glass windows. She shook her head and continued rushing toward Saint Albans Street with Mr. Nash. Currently, Clark Street comprised about seventy or eighty houses from south to north, spanning roughly two to three hundred meters in length. Inhabiting the street were over two hundred households, with a total population of around five hundred to eight hundred people. Tucked within Clark Street were subterranean taverns, tailor shops, secondhand furniture stores, small cafes, and bakeries. There were three grocery stores in total. The southern end of Clark Street opened onto Jude Street, where the Pierrot Grocery stood right at the intersection. In the middle of Clark Street sat her family’s modest Nash Grocery. At the northern exit, leading toward Dorset Street, was the Lobbett Grocery. Each of the three shops operated under a completely different business model. The Pierrot Grocery before her was the largest in scale. Its manager, Mr. Pierrot, worked in a profit-sharing partnership with an investor. The investor behind the scenes had purchased the entire building but took no part in management. The store’s interior fitting and daily operations had always been handled by Mr. Pierrot, who employed five or six clerks. Mr. Pierrot himself did not live on the premises. His family resided in a five-bedroom apartment near Soho, making him part of the standard middle class. At six in the morning sharp, Pierrot would arrive at the shop to start his day, and at seven in the evening, he would head home just as punctually. Backed by an investor, Pierrot stocked his shop with extravagant flair. Wholesalers always came directly to his door to deliver inventory. As for the Lobbett Grocery, situated at the corner of Clark Street's northern exit, it had long been a thorn in Liza’s side. The situation at Lobbett Grocery was somewhat better than at the Nashes' store. The building was one story taller, and the storefront was twice as wide. The third floor served as living quarters, the second floor functioned as a warehouse and kitchen, and the ground floor was the retail shop, complete with a hired clerk. Mr. Lobbett’s wife even baked and sold simple loaves of bread. Liza bore no resentment toward the thriving business at Pierrot Grocery; she accepted their success without reserve. After all, they belonged to a different tier altogether—their tobacco and alcohol displays alone were packed with fine goods she could never hope to source. However, the Lobbett Grocery, just like the Nash Grocery, sourced its inventory from Saint Albans Street. Ever since Liza fell ill, Mr. Lobbett had sent his clerk over every few days to pry into the Nash family’s affairs. He even dropped hints that if the Nash Grocery couldn't keep its doors open, Liza might as well liquidate her old stock to him. He argued that business was slow anyway, so an old woman like Liza shouldn't bother stressing herself over it. This had infuriated Liza beyond measure. It was only after she leaned out the window and gave the clerk a blistering earful that the visits finally stopped. Thus, she preferred letting her family manage the shop like headless chickens rather than closing for a single day and letting others mock them. Along the way, Dalie seamlessly pried into the customer base of both stores while chatting with Mr. Nash. Her family's store generated a monthly profit ranging between three and eight pounds, indicating a core customer base of several dozen to a hundred people. These patrons were all immediate neighbors or regulars from the subterranean tavern across the alley—people too lazy to walk to the end of the street to buy their goods. There were also passing pedestrians who took a shortcut through the alley to reach Jude Street or Dorset Street. Meanwhile, the Lobbett Grocery occupied the northern exit of Clark Street, adjacent to Dorset Street. Dorset Street was bursting with local life, packed with dozens—if not a hundred—cheap bakeries, coffee shops, taverns, small eateries, candy shops, two minor grocery stores, and roving street vendors. Because the food was inexpensive, thousands of workers ate on Dorset Street every single day. The customer base of Lobbett Grocery consisted largely of this transient crowd. In contrast, the Pierrot Grocery at the south exit did not rely on these casual passersby. Jude Street was a thoroughfare broad enough to accommodate four horse-drawn carriages abreast, and Dalie walked slowly along it beside her grandfather. She looked around, taking in her first genuine taste of Victorian architecture. Along the main street stood terraced houses constructed from dark brown stone—orderly, heavy, and rich with classical carved details, though most appeared quite aged. Passing along the road were lacquered carriages, freight wagons, hand-pulled carts, and even people riding unicycles. From the roadside laborers to the gentlemen riding inside the carriages, every man wore a three-piece suit and a felt hat. Poor women wore simple dresses suited for hard labor, free of eye-catching, exaggerated bustle frames, while women with a bit of pocket money wore bustle skirts with rear padding. Inside the terraced buildings lining both sides of Jude Street were mostly small manufacturing workshops—button factories, shirt factories, pin factories, and hatpin workshops. Naturally, the area also featured charity schools, clinics, inns, two mid-sized restaurants, a police box, a coffin shop, a secondhand porcelain store, and a coal shop. Squeezed into the side alleys connecting to Jude Street were several other grocery stores, though all were tiny—on par with the Nash family's setup. According to the original Dalie's memories, the Pierrot Grocery supplied tobacco, tea, and spirits to two inns and two mid-sized restaurants on Jude Street year-round. It also furnished neighboring factories with white paper, ink, and various office supplies. With a steady trade in high-value items alongside a heavy volume of walk-in customers, the store's business flourished, towering over every competitor in the neighborhood. Dalie pondered the situation. Comparing her family's small shop to these neighboring establishments, they lacked any competitive edge whatsoever in terms of customer base, product selection, or pricing. Larger stores enjoyed high foot traffic and bought in massive volumes, enabling distributors to offer them lower wholesale prices. Conversely, a small shop with limited traffic bought in tiny quantities, faced high wholesale costs, and was left with razor-thin margins. If a larger shop decided to launch a price war, the small shop would be crushed instantly. Yet, if her family's store continued under its current chaotic management, it wouldn't even take a competitor to kill it—it would go belly-up on its own in a matter of days. Dalie reflected on her predicament. Had it been anything else, she might have let it go, but retail was her domain. In any lifetime, under any era, she simply could not tolerate watching a retail shop under her care go out of business right beneath her nose. Before long, Dalie and her grandfather reached Whitechapel Road. Pushing through the dense crowds, they navigated the open-air market of Whitechapel. Vendors lined both sides of the street, blocking the path as they shouted at every passerby: "Sir! Grab a cigar, only a penny!" "Fish pudding, two pence a jar..." "Buying perfume, miss? Rose-scented... just one shilling!" Crossing past the market stalls, they reached the streets behind and walked toward Spitalfields. Since the seventeenth century, wholesalers here had primarily sold produce, fruits, and dairy goods from regional farms. Sixty or seventy years ago, Watt's steam engine swept across London, and railways crisscrossed the nation. As industry expanded rapidly, manufacturing goods from factories became the dominant merchandise along this street. Dalie pulled the restocking list from her pocket and handed it to her grandfather. Looking at the handwriting on the paper, Mr. Nash felt it looked somewhat different from Dalie’s usual script—the strokes were distinctly more elegant. However, he didn't dwell on it, noticing instead that the selection of items differed from their usual routine. "Spirits and cigars... why aren't we buying either of those?" Mr. Nash remembered that their cigar stock was nearly exhausted. Dalie spoke directly: "I ran the numbers. Take cigars, for instance—the wholesale cost here is usually five pence for a box of six. Retail, we can only sell them for six pence total, which leaves us with a profit of just one penny." Cheap tobacco carried a fixed market rate; no poor laborer would pay more than three pence for a cigar. Wholesale prices were equally rigid, offering virtually no room for negotiation unless one dealt in smuggled mid-tier cigars. "The environment in our shop isn't suitable for storing cigars; they absorb moisture easily. That's why neighbors don't like buying them from us. Even if we restock five boxes, it takes a whole month to sell them off—all for a meager profit of five pence." "It's far better to use that capital to stock fast-selling staples like tea, soap, salt, and powdered sugar." Mr. Nash understood her logic, though the concept felt somewhat alien to him. As shopkeepers, they had always pursued a broad and all-encompassing inventory, forcing themselves to carry a wide variety of goods regardless of the strain. No grocery store ever operated without selling tobacco and alcohol. Yet, on second thought, he realized his granddaughter was right. Given their store's actual circumstances, the margins on tobacco and alcohol were paper-thin, yet the upfront costs were high, tying up precious inventory capital. If they broke free from habit, focusing on faster-moving goods was indeed the smarter path.