Princess of the 19th Century Department Store - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A light snow had fallen last night.

In the alley off Clark Street, no more than seven feet wide, heaps of snow mixed with coal ash lay half-melted and slushy.

The runoff was almost trickling into the underground tavern across the way.

On the second floor of Building B25, a window was pushed open from the inside.

A thin, middle-aged woman in a soft white cotton cap leaned out with an enamel basin and dumped out the wash water. Steam rose in a pale mist from the hot water.

She shut the window with a bang, climbed the ladder to the attic, and went to wake her two daughters.

“Penny! Penny! Are you up yet? Penny! Time for school!”

Inside the room, Daisy opened her eyes on the single bed.

Silently, she got up, wrapped her worn petticoat tightly around herself, shivered in the cold air, put on her shoes, and opened the door.

Sure enough, none of this was a dream.

The middle-aged woman, Mary, knocked the door open and had no time to say anything to her obedient eldest daughter.

She went straight over, yanked Penny awake, and threw back her quilt.

At once, the candy corn Penny had hidden under the bedding was exposed. Seeing it, Mary flew into a rage and smacked Penny across the backside.

“Stealing food again! Get yourself to school!”

Penny’s free school held classes six days a week; she would not have a day off until tomorrow.

The stinging slap woke Penny right up.

Realizing she’d been caught sneaking sweets, she panicked and darted wildly around the already cramped room.

One moment she hid on Daisy’s bed; the next she bolted downstairs.

Mary was burning with anger, but even as she gave chase, she still stopped long enough to turn back.

She looked at Daisy, who was standing blankly in the room, and said, “Hurry up and get ready. You’ll take your grandfather out to buy stock later.”

Daisy gave a stiff “Mm.” Perhaps realizing that her daze seemed a little too unnatural, she rubbed her eyes to cover it and yawned.

Mary did not take it to heart and hurried downstairs to deal with Penny.

Before long, the voice of Fred, their good-natured father, drifted up from below as he rescued Penny.

“…Penny, go wash your face.”

Daisy, who had only just accepted the fact that she had transmigrated, faced the chaos before her in silence.

She had seen enough of the world in her previous life. Mere transmigration was still something she could face calmly by the window.

It was no more troublesome than a warehouse fire, a competitor poisoning goods, or a business partner dying without leaving a will.

After struggling with it for a moment, she finally accepted the situation and decided to start by combing her hair.

In her memories, buying stock had already been on the schedule.

Her grandmother was bedridden, and during the day the shop was watched by her mother, Mary. The goods were usually purchased by her grandfather, Hank, or the original body’s father, Fred.

All three of them had jobs they had already promised to do. Neither side could be neglected, yet both sides were being handled in a frantic mess.

On top of that, the shadow of recent murders had spread across Whitechapel. The neighbors disliked going out, and business had dropped by quite a bit.

It was only yesterday that Mary had finally realized the soap was almost sold out, and only then had they remembered the matter of restocking.

Daisy shook her head and sighed, rummaging around the somewhat cramped little room.

On the small bit of space atop the chest of drawers sat Penny’s rag doll, a little wooden comb, a red plaid hair ribbon, half a bottle of hair oil, a rust-speckled tabletop mirror, and a secondhand story booklet.

There was also the empty cardboard box that had held the candy corn. The candy had been packed in a paper box and had gone sticky from damp. Who knew if eating it would give someone an upset stomach.

Daisy found the comb and mirror, then began tying up her hair in front of the glass.

The original body had a great mass of dry reddish-brown hair, absurdly thick.

After combing it twice, Daisy suddenly noticed the original body’s face, and for a moment she went still.

Gray-green eyes, deep reddish-brown hair, a narrow face, high cheekbones, and a straight nose-the classic markers of old Celtic blood.

Even with no expression on her face, the rust-spotted mirror reflected her like an oil painting Sargent had carefully carved into form.

No wonder her grandmother had been willing to invest in her. With a face like this…

Put her in a slightly more respectable environment, tidy her up just a little, and the consequences would be simply unthinkable…

In her previous life, Daisy had been considered pretty in a delicate way. She had moved through circles of fame and money and had seen many beautiful faces.

But when that beautiful face was on her own body, it was another matter entirely.

Daisy pressed her lips together and, for the first time since transmigrating, felt a complicated emotion born of pure biological instinct.

First she combed through all of her hair, then used a dark green ribbon to braid it and coil it at the back of her head.

After that, Daisy began searching the room for what she ought to wear.

If she did not want anyone to notice anything wrong, it would be best to dress like a local.

She stood in the narrow attic bedroom and looked around.

The bedroom had a low ceiling and was so cramped that she could touch the beams by raising a hand.

Two single wooden beds stood on either side of the room, with a narrow walkway between them.

By the windowsill were two clothing trunks, and between them a low chest of drawers where the sisters combed their hair.

The walls of the room were pasted densely with old newspapers to keep out the dust.

There were many nails in the walls, hung with all sorts of hats, scarves, shawls, gloves, little leather purses, and other girlish things that had belonged to the original body.

At a glance, not a single item looked worth more than three shillings.

Even under the bed, cloth shoes for every season, low-cut leather shoes, leather boots, and a suitcase full of old summer clothes had been shoved away, all giving off the unpleasant smell of oiled and waxed leather.

The tiny room was piled with the cheap belongings of two girls until it resembled a dark little nest, so crowded that the cold wind could not squeeze in and they could even save the trouble of lighting the stove.

Daisy rummaged through the trunk for quite a while.

Only then, in proper order, did she find a full set: corset, chemise, petticoat, long skirt, and a coarse wool coat with a round collar. The coat was princess-line in cut and as long as the skirt, covering the tops of her feet.
Most of the clothes were made of cotton and wool, mostly in light browns and pale greens, with ruffled edging set onto poplin of the same color. A short row of ivory crocheted lace trimmed the collars.

They looked a little worn. Clearly, they had been worn for two years, had the sleeves and shoulders altered, and then kept in use.

The original owner of this body had been diligent. Her clothing chest was kept very neat.

Though the clothes were old, they were all clean, giving off a faint, plain scent of soap.

Daisy put on a thick petticoat, then a pair of knitted wool stockings. Over them she pulled on a dark green cotton dress, and finally took up a brown rough-tweed cloak.

Once she was done, she slowly made her way downstairs along the narrow staircase that allowed only one person to pass at a time.

The stairs were made of thin wooden planks, the banister of wrought iron. Everything went creak, creak.

A stuffy smell of old wood mingled with the scent of fermenting bread.

The second floor of the house had two bedrooms and one long, narrow storage room of only a few square meters, which was also used for keeping chamber pots and washroom odds and ends.

When she reached the second floor, she ran into her grandfather, Hank.

Hank Nash’s nickname was Shorty, and he truly was short.

He had the family’s inherited reddish-brown hair, a full beard, and fair skin flushed with healthy color. At fifty-five, he was still in excellent spirits.

He was carrying a chipped white-glazed pottery plate with buttered bread and a boiled egg on it. In his other hand, he held a hot-water kettle as he headed into the bedroom, apparently to bring breakfast and washing water to Lisa, her bedridden grandmother.

At the moment, all of the old lady’s three meals a day had to be taken in bed.

Originally, Mary had been the one to bring her meals upstairs each day.

Only toileting and washing were left for the old man to help with.

Daisy knew that the old man and the original owner’s father usually had a heavy workload.

They had to get up before dawn to receive the milk, divide it into small jugs, and deliver it to dozens of households nearby on Dorothy Street and Jude Road.

Last time, Daisy’s father had gone to the market alone to stock the grocery shop. He had miscalculated the accounts, costing the shop a few shillings in profit, and when the books were checked, Grandmother had given him a thorough scolding.

So after the family discussed it, they decided that this time, they would rely on Daisy, the most educated person in the household, to handle the purchasing.

But with the recent murders being so horrifying, it was unsafe for a young girl to be outside alone.

That was why the old man had to escort her and help carry things, leaving Daisy’s father to deliver the milk by himself. Only because of that did the old man have time to bring the meal now.

“Give it to me. I’ll be down in a moment.”

As she spoke, Daisy took the plate and kettle from her grandfather and walked into the small room he shared with Grandmother.

There was a window in the room, currently shut tight. Inside stood a bed, a wardrobe, a small sofa, and, in the corner, a chamber pot, a commode bucket, and various small items.

The room itself was not exactly tiny, but with so many things in it, it felt cramped.

Lisa was lying in bed under a blanket, coughing twice.

Although she had fractured a bone, quite some time had passed. She could now sit up, but she still could not walk.

If she lived in a spacious house, perhaps she could have tried getting out of bed.

But this house was full of slanted roofs, steep stairs, and rooms too cramped to turn around in, so she could only remain bedridden.

Daisy found a washbasin in the corner, poured the hot water into it first, then found a towel and helped Lisa wash up.

Lisa still had no idea that the soul inside her granddaughter had changed.

She lay in bed wearing a slightly fancy knitted patchwork cap, looking at Daisy with concern.

“How was business yesterday?”

“All right.”

Daisy handed her the buttered bread.

Lisa took two bites and could not eat another mouthful. She looked as if she wished she could immediately go down and work in the grocery shop herself.

“Don’t think you can fool me. My ears haven’t gone deaf yet. At this rate, we won’t even be able to pay the rent. I think you should carry me downstairs and let me mind the shop myself.”

Lisa had a long face and a head of curly hair. Draped in an old knitted shawl, she grew more agitated the more she spoke.

The moment she closed her eyes, she could almost see Lobit Grocery at the end of the street stealing her business while she was ill.

“Focus on getting well first. If your illness gets worse, who will the business rely on then? They’re just waiting for you to collapse so they can swallow our family whole.”

Daisy patiently smoothed her grandmother’s ruffled feathers.

She thought that, looking at the old lady’s current state, nothing serious was likely to happen. But if Lisa forced herself to work, her condition would certainly worsen in the future.

Sure enough, once Lisa heard that, she fell silent for a long while. She turned her head aside and continued gnawing on the dry slice of bread.

Seeing that the old lady was still somewhat willing to listen, Daisy thought to herself:

People who care about money are the easiest to persuade.

After barely finishing the bread, Lisa took out the key she kept close against her chest and handed it to Daisy.

She told Daisy to open the box in the chest of drawers and take three pounds to buy stock.

Those three pounds came out of Lisa’s carefully hoarded savings.

Daisy took the little key from her hand, went to the cabinet, rummaged through a pile of odds and ends, and found the most hidden box.

When she opened it, there was a heap of coins inside, each stacked in its own groove: pounds, shillings, pennies, and even farthings. Altogether, there were thirty pounds.

The one-pound coins were gold, while the shillings were mainly silver, all stamped with the portrait of Queen Victoria.

In the original owner’s memories, the approximate exchange system for these currencies was as follows.

One pound equaled twenty shillings.

One shilling equaled twelve pennies.

One penny equaled four farthings.

At present, wheat kernels cost two farthings per pound, and one pound weighed four hundred and fifty grams.

One farthing could buy a little over two hundred grams of wheat kernels.

Based on that, she quickly judged what level of family savings these thirty pounds represented.

…