Free Goldsmith's Row by Sheila Bishop

believed that. He was convinced that there would always be a market for such good English ware."
    "And he made sure that no one contradicted him. Well, so much for the plate; may I now see the jewels?"
    Some of the jewellery was old; there seemed to be a good many round hat-brooches of a once popular type, not unlike the religious badges that used to have portraits of the saints on them. There was also a box containing the broken-up fragments of discarded ornaments, cameos and intaglios, some of them very ancient, as well as loose stones—pearls, lapis lazuli, chalcedony—waiting to be reset. There were some plain gold chains, the sort that measured out a man's status by the number and weight of the links. Apart from these, the new jewellery was tawdry, brittle, inferior stuff, not worthy of the rest of the stock.
    Laurence scooped up one of the necklaces that had caught his attention yesterday, and flicked it disdainfully between his fingers.
    "What in the name of fortune are you doing with this tin finery? I'm astonished my uncle allowed it in the shop."
    "Your uncle didn't like it," admitted Zachary. "He didn't like any of these new-fangled trinkets, but he felt obliged to keep a selection for his customers, and this was the best quality we could come by. I know that it's poor stuff, but what can you expect nowadays, when workmanship is so clumsy, no one takes pride in their craft…"
    "The work of the continental goldsmiths is finer than it has ever been before."
    "This consignment came from the Continent," remarked Joel.
    "I was speaking of the designs executed by the greatest masters, not the cheap rubbish that's considered good enough to fob off on the English."
    "It may not have occurred to you," retorted Zachary, "that we can't afford to purchase any valuable jewellery. We'd have to tie up too much money, and the profit would be too small."
    "I agree. But we could make our own."
    Zachary stared at him as though he had gone mad.
    "Make your own? Where should we find the profit in that, pray? A single one of these fantastic new pendants or necklaces would take I don't know how long to complete, and the chances are no one would buy it (for I'm sure I don't know where you'd get your designs) and whatever price we asked, it would be swallowed up by the cost of the materials. When you learn what we have to pay now for gold and gems…"
    "These new pieces don't depend simply on the value of the stones. The secret is to set them off with a proper use of champleve enamel."
    "Once we start fiddling round with champlev6 enamel, we'll never get any work finished," complained Zachary. "I know that kind of time-wasting foolery; you end by botching the whole business, and every scrap has to be melted down again to recover the gold. No, your uncle was right: we should stick to the molding and casting of plate, as we always have done, and sell a few imported trinkets for what we can get."
    "After all," added Joel, "we are smiths by trade. Our whole skill lies in the fashioning of fine silver plate, not in dabbling with paltry little trinkets that look like so many spun sugar sweetmeats."
    "My dear Joel, if you can find a way of making jewellery without employing a smith, then you are welcome to call in the pastry-cooks."
    The argument raged on. Zachary Dowries disapproved of Laurence's suggestion as a matter of course because he disliked any form of change. The idea of making jewellery in their own workshop was new, and the kind that Laurence wanted to make was new also, so both must be condemned.
    Joel knew in his heart of hearts that his father, like John Tabor, had been getting steadily more old-fashioned in his outlook, and he had every intention of persuading Zachary into a few innovations, but his impatience was tempered by an aggressive family patriotism. Zachary had borne enough from John Tabor, and Joel wasn't going to stand back and see this idle, jumped-up fellow Laurence setting the place by the ears with his unpractical