Princess of the 19th Century Department Store - Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Leaden-gray storm clouds blanketed the sky, threatening to burst into a sudden downpour at any moment. Wind had been sweeping down Clark Street since early morning, sending the hazy fog drifting wildly through the lanes.

At dawn, Daisy came downstairs with one hand on the banister, a deep blue shawl draped around her shoulders. Her dark red hair had been braided and tied loosely behind her head, and faint shadows bruised the skin beneath her eyes.

In the kitchen, Mary was already busy. She came out carrying a basin of steaming hot water and handed it to Daisy for washing up.

“Look how dark those circles are. Steam your face a little longer,” Mary said, patting her thin back.

Daisy had spent last night obsessing over the world background hidden in the original plot, along with the environmental incidents that might happen next, and she had barely slept.

Forcing herself to perk up, Daisy quickly finished washing. She lifted the curtain and went behind the counter, wiping all the drink listings off the blackboard with a cloth before writing a new notice saying they were doing their best to restock.

Only after that did she pick up the blackboard, open the front door, and hang it outside.

Daisy stood in the doorway and looked around for a long while. The sky was still dim at dawn, but warm yellow light was already spilling from the mouth of the alley leading to Dorothy Street, visible through the fog.

Even from where she stood, she could vaguely see that Lobit Grocery seemed to have opened for business already.

Satisfied, Daisy returned inside. Footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her. Mr. Nash and Fred had only just gotten up and were coming downstairs, ready to head out.

“Lobit’s open this early.”

Mr. Nash lifted the curtain and came out from the back. Hearing Daisy’s words, he gave a sly smile and nodded. “At least he’s diligent.”

A while later, Mr. Nash and Fred pushed the cart out the door. Mary came from the back kitchen carrying a pile of steaming bread and meat pudding.

Not long after they opened, neighbors began arriving one after another for breakfast.

“I want two loaves and two puddings, no jars… Daisy, are you sold out of rum? I saw Lobit’s selling it.”

Delaney leaned against the counter and asked in confusion.

Daisy nodded. She packed the bread into a paper bag and tipped the pudding onto Delaney’s plate.

“This batch isn’t easy to get. If Lobit managed to get his hands on it, then I admit he’s got skill.”

Then Daisy asked, “What flavor bread do you want?”

Delaney pointed at the garlic one. Yesterday, she had heard that Joel’s Coffee Shop on Dorothy Street was also selling garlic and raisin bread, so she had gone to take a look this morning before passing by Lobit Grocery.

But Delaney had discovered that Joel’s big loaves were not actually as big as Daisy’s, so she had slunk back.

Delaney said, “This is rather embarrassing to say. Since we’re old neighbors, I ought to come to your place. But I’ve already checked, and what Joel’s Coffee Shop makes just isn’t as good a value as yours.”

Daisy shook her head, thinking that Delaney still had too strong a sense of morality and far too thin a skin.

“What’s there to be embarrassed about? We’re the ones trying to earn your money, so naturally we each have to rely on our own ability.

“Your money doesn’t fall from the sky. Of course you should go to whichever place does things better.

“How many disappointments can mere affection and sentiment survive? There’s no need to feel embarrassed.”

Delaney froze, clutching the paper bag. She had never seen anyone in the neighborhood run a business with that kind of attitude before.

In most neighborhood shops, if you needed something but did not buy it from them, and they found out, you would end up offending someone.

Most of the customers lined up behind Delaney were the same as her. They had shopped around before coming here. After hearing Daisy’s words, they felt especially comfortable.

Daisy busied herself behind the counter. She had been working on an empty stomach since dawn, and it was not until the seven o’clock bell rang and all the alley residents who had jobs to get to had left home that things finally eased up a little.

Daisy remained seated behind the counter, enjoying the bacon on her plate and dipping a piece of charred toast into the slightly set egg yolk while calculating the time.

Today was the day the inspector came to collect the various sanitation and miscellaneous fees.

The old gentleman started collecting from Dorothy Street, so it would not be their turn until afternoon.

Daisy bent down and opened the cabinet beneath the counter, revealing a box of expensive Cuban cigars. The wooden box was engraved with the Partagás brand mark, and the price was enough to make anyone click their tongue.

These few cigars were enough to cover nearly a week’s wages for a laborer.

Not only was this brand used by many high-end private banks as a gift to maintain client relationships, it was also a trend in the major gentlemen’s clubs.

A whole box of entry-level classics was the perfect gift for someone like the inspector. Giving cigars would also make it easier to sound him out about these matters.

After breakfast, Daisy wiped her mouth, drank an entire cup of black tea, and went out to stroll around the front of the alley.

Ever since the seven o’clock bell rang, the entrance to Lobit Grocery had become thoroughly lively, with countless people lining up outside.

The sky was still gloomy, and the cold wind howled. Daisy pulled her shawl tighter around herself, watched for a few moments, then returned to her own shop.

At Lobit Grocery, a sign had also been hung outside announcing that rum was available.

The customers lined up outside were extremely noisy. They had all come for the alcohol.

Mr. Lobit looked smug as he stood inside the shop, watching the bustle in the front room with satisfaction.

Following the black market’s complicated rules, Lobit had taken advantage of the current low base price and joined other grocery owners in scrambling for stock. He had spent an absurd amount of effort and nearly talked himself hoarse before finally buying several hundred bottles of rum from a storeroom deep inside a secondhand kitchenware shop.

After the deal was done, the secondhand shop owner, who was also an illegal liquor dealer, had told him that he could get in touch with suppliers for smuggled cigars and smuggled tea, and asked whether Lobit wanted any.

Lobit was currently enjoying the sweet profits from the liquor and was still considering it. He planned to feel out the inspector when the man came to collect taxes today.

If there had been no recent rumors, buying some tea and cigars to sell on the sly would not be a bad idea either.
He left George to bustle about behind the counter and strode out the door, stopping at the street corner to look around.

That morning, Lobit had, unsurprisingly, run into the owners of the other two grocery stores on Doros Road at the bootlegger’s place.

They had seen Nash Grocery profit from selling liquor, asked around for information, and found their way to the same supplier.

But Lobit had steeled himself and paid a steep price to secure the deal. He bought several hundred bottles on his own and received the lowest wholesale rate.

His selling price today was not even one shilling a bottle. The owners of those two little grocery stores had no nerve at all. They bought too little wholesale, so their prices were not nearly as good.

Even if they also started selling cheap rum, the effect would not compare to his.

Lobit shifted his gaze away in disdain, then craned his neck to look toward Nash Grocery in the alley.

Compared with yesterday, Clark Street seemed terribly quiet today. After breakfast time passed, only a few scattered customers came by, nothing like the business in front of his own shop.

…

Daisy sat leisurely behind the counter, her back resting comfortably against the embroidered cushion on the high-backed chair. She reached out and opened today’s Times, then popped two pieces of almond chocolate into her mouth and chewed.

The ink on the thin newspaper had not fully dried yet, and Daisy did not have a butler to iron her papers for her, so she could only turn the corners carefully as she read through the contents.

In the most prominent section, as usual, there was only mention of the lawsuit related to the case, along with various newspapers’ speculation about the murderer’s identity.

Most of the print media believed the matter was inseparable from the Fenian Brotherhood.

The Fenian Brotherhood was a terrorist organization that had been especially active in London in recent years.

Its members were Irish, and they had always used violence as a form of protest, with the goal of forcing the government to make concessions and compromises on the Ireland issue.

Whenever a proposal that might improve Ireland’s land problems was rejected, the Fenian Brotherhood would appear.

Over the years, they had been responsible for no fewer than ten bombings. Each time, their targets were important landmarks in London, and various members of Parliament and ministers were also among their intended victims.

In the eyes of the public, this group had already become synonymous with every kind of crime and terror.

Besides, after the murderer was arrested, he had immediately killed himself to prevent information from leaking. At a glance, that looked exactly like the Brotherhood’s way of doing things.

Daisy opened a few other newspapers and found some opinions claiming that the matter was not necessarily the work of the Fenian Brotherhood.

London’s underworld was tangled and complicated, and there was more than one kind of terrorist organization. It was also possible that someone was deliberately smearing their name.

However, such rational statements could not overpower the more pointed reports. News with a clear target was what the public loved to read.

Daisy put down these newspapers that had nothing to do with her and lowered her gaze, continuing to do business.

Business today did indeed look less lively than yesterday, when they had been selling liquor, but appearances alone could not tell the whole story.

From opening at dawn until the morning, the forty pounds of bread Mary had baked and all sixty bottles of pudding had already sold out. Many biscuits had been sold as well.

When the old man and Dad went out that morning, Daisy had not forgotten to tell them to buy new tea leaves and dried flowers, along with everything else that needed restocking.

Mr. Nash was fairly clever. To avoid buying the wrong things, he had taken samples of everything he needed to purchase and kept them on him.

Once he reached the market, he simply bought according to the samples.

The two twenty-pound barrels of tea leaves Daisy had nearly sold out over the past few days could be divided into sixteen hundred small packets and sold for forty-eight hundred farthings, or five pounds.

The total cost of the tea leaves, dried flowers, and packaging materials was less than two pounds, with profit as high as three pounds. This already proved that floral tea as a product, along with the sales method of pricing it at three farthings, had successfully passed the market’s test.

The other groceries in the shop were now selling much faster as well. They would likely need to restock once every three or four days.

At noon, after Mr. Nash and Fred finished delivering milk, they also brought back everything the shop was short of.

Mr. Nash carefully handed the tea leaves and sundries they had hauled back by cart over to Daisy for inspection.

They held their breath, afraid the goods would fail her inspection or that they had bought something wrong.

Daisy carefully opened several tea barrels, dug around the bottoms, then closed them again. After that, she counted through all the other goods.

She nodded and announced, “No problems. There are no problems with any of these goods.”

As soon as she finished speaking, both Mr. Nash and Fred let out a sigh of relief.

“Of course. I found every single thing carefully, exactly according to the method you told me.”

Daisy put everything on the counter into the cabinet, then looked up at them and said, “If the two of you don’t want to deliver milk anymore in the future, why not come work for me? You could help with purchasing and deliveries.”

Mr. Nash and Fred exchanged a glance, somewhat surprised by Daisy’s idea. Still, they had been considering it too.

Mr. Nash was just about to say something when a child who specialized in delivering notes suddenly ran in from outside.

Only after taking two pence in payment from Daisy did the child bring out the note for them.

They opened the note and discovered that it had been written by Reese.

In the letter, she said that several tenants in her building were very interested in the grocery store’s food and wanted to order a batch of items.

Below that was the quantity she had listed. They wanted five or six pounds of Diamond Cookies, coffee-flavored biscuits, canned goods, floral tea, and bread, as well as many miscellaneous goods and daily necessities.

It was enough to eat and use for a full week or two. The total selling price of the goods was around six hundred pence.

They were all things everyone had packed into Reese’s basket for her to take home and eat when she left the grocery store that day.

Perhaps Reese had given those things to her tenants to try, and as a result, the tenants all wanted to buy some.

After all, the building she lived in was an apartment block that had only been built a few years ago. It was spacious and not cheap, with monthly rent of five pounds per floor.

At present, there were three tenant households in total: a railway engineer, a casting engineer, and a pharmacist.
The casting engineer had his whole family with him, and they lived in two attic rooms.

The railway engineer occupied only a small single room, while the pharmacist lived with his wife, a midwife. The couple had no children.

All three households had ordered the items on the list.

Daisy quickly sorted out everything on the list, wrapped it all carefully, checked the quantities, then found several baskets to pack them in. She covered them with dust cloths and tied them tight with string.

There was not much milk to deliver that afternoon, so Fred volunteered to escort this batch of goods himself.

After lunch, he went to a secondhand furniture shop and spent a few pennies to rent a pedal cart. He carried all the baskets into the cart bed, covered them with oilcloth, put on a felt hat, and rode off to Camden to make the delivery himself.

Seeing that it looked ready to rain, Daisy did not forget to remind her father to put on his raincoat.

Camden was some distance from here. On foot, it would likely take half a day to make the round trip, but by bicycle, the journey there and back would only take an hour or two.

This unexpected yet perfectly reasonable windfall gave Daisy some inspiration.

If the current dispute could end in a way favorable to her, then a delivery service could immediately be put on the agenda.

Their family could even simply arrange for a delivery cart of their own.

Not long after Mr. Nash pushed the cart out to deliver milk, the dark clouds indeed sank lower and lower, pressing in from one side of the sky. The whole neighborhood turned black and heavy, and sleet kept drifting down.

By the time he finished delivering the milk to the remaining households and returned home, the sanitary inspector’s carriage had also arrived on Dorothy Street.

He came with two young lackeys, driving a shabby old carriage.

The sanitary inspector was dispatched and managed by London City Hall. In the eyes of the powerful and influential, he was not even worth an ant.

But in the eyes of ordinary shopkeepers and residents, he held a great deal of power. One word from him, good or bad, could mean a fine or even the loss of one’s livelihood.

Daisy knew perfectly well that she had not transmigrated into some brainless wish-fulfillment novel. She had no connections, no power, and was certainly no aristocrat. Other than putting in the effort to flatter this inspector, she had no other option.

Everyone fawned over him, so she had to strive to outdo them all and flatter him straight into the softest part of his heart.

Dorothy Street had the most merchants, and most of them had prepared in advance. As soon as the inspector arrived, they took out the sanitation fees for their shops, along with the gifts and money they had each prepared.

The inspector, dressed in his worn old uniform with a hat tucked under his arm, swaggered into several shops.

He ordered the young lackeys beside him about: one was responsible for doing the work and collecting the sanitation fees, while the other held an umbrella for the inspector.

Yet the inspector did not stay long in any one place, though the two pockets on his chest grew more and more swollen.

Soon, the inspector walked into Lobit Grocery. Business was good there today, and the inspector noticed it at once.

With his hands clasped behind his back, the inspector entered the shop. Sure enough, Lobit respectfully brought over a cup of hot tea, then took a towel and personally wiped away the nonexistent raindrops from the inspector’s clothes.

“Lobit, business is looking good today.”

He only dealt with sanitation fees and nothing else. He had no interest in the gray-market businesses on this street. Those fell under the police and tax office.

As long as the sanitation fee was paid in full, everything else was negotiable.

Lobit smiled apologetically, led the inspector behind the counter to sit down, and brought over a plate of rich, greasy cream pastries.

“It’s all thanks to your care that our family can get by so well.”

As he spoke, he glanced sideways at his wife, who had brought the pastries, signaling for her to fetch the gift meant for the inspector.

Mrs. Lobit hurried into the back room to rummage around. After a while, she came out carrying several boxes, presenting them as though offering up treasure.

The inspector ate a few cream pastries, his expression casual, but his eyes were fixed on the boxes.

Lobit reached out and opened the boxes so the inspector could have a good look.

Then he said, “These are something I prepared especially for you. You absolutely must accept them.”

Everyone knew the inspector liked smoking cigars. Today, Lobit had spared no expense and prepared several boxes of the best cigars sold in the shop. When the inspector saw them, he was quite satisfied.

The inspector was about to rise from behind the counter. While helping him up, Lobit sounded him out about the recent inspections for smuggled goods.

“I heard things have been very strict lately, and I don’t know…”

“I won’t make promises about anything else, but you can set your mind at ease on that. It’s been this way for so many years. Do you think it would suddenly change over one little case?”

The inspector lowered his voice and said, “Where do you think these goods come from?”

At that, Lobit wore an expression of partial understanding, but he was completely reassured. He no longer felt uncertain.

Having said that, the inspector put on his hat and told the lackey beside him to take the cigars to the carriage.

Afterward, he swaggered into Clark Street and continued collecting sanitation fees from the merchants and landlords there.

By the time he walked into Nash Grocery, quite some time had passed.

Mr. Nash, Mary, and Daisy had timed things precisely and were ready to receive the group.

They cooperated with the lackey as he inspected the kitchen, the shelves, the storeroom, and the drainage ditch, then paid the sanitation fee in full.

The inspector was extremely disdainful of such a tiny place and would not even go behind the counter.

However, Mr. Nash had already moved a chair out in advance for him to sit on like a grand lord. He poured tea, served water, and offered up cookies.

“I hear your family’s business has been good lately too? How is it? Is Lisa doing better?”

The inspector asked lazily.

Mr. Nash nodded and answered, “That’s right. Lisa is much better now.”

The inspector had already filled his stomach with tea and eaten many refreshments, so now he did not touch these things at all.

Seeing this, Mr. Nash brought out the high-end wooden box of cigars from behind the counter.

“This is something we prepared especially for you. Cuban cigars, one of the brands most popular among the gentlemen at the clubs. The moment I saw them, I thought of you.”
The supervisor’s eyes lit up. Almost without thinking, his hand stroked the finely made wooden box, its lid engraved with the Partagás brand mark.

Mossana’s basic weekly wage was only three or four pounds. Most of the time, he relied on tips to pad his income.

All the money at home was managed by his wife for household expenses; there was no way she would buy cigars for him. As for cigars that cost one or two pounds a box and only came three or four to a box, Mossana could count on one hand the number of times he had smoked them.

Mossana’s immediate superiors-the council secretary and committee members of the Whitechapel Sanitary Committee-usually smoked this brand of cigarettes and cigars as well, and would occasionally hand him one.

Mr. Nash repeated the lines Daisy had taught him word for word and said to the supervisor,

“A gentleman of your standing has a taste ordinary people could never compare with. If someone sent a whole pile of common cigars to your face, what would that even mean? As if a gentleman like you would be short of a couple of cheap sticks?”

Daisy stood behind the curtain with her arms folded, watching the supervisor’s expression through the gap.

His hand opened the lid, took a cigar from the box, and brought it to his nose for a sniff.

At Mr. Nash’s words, his face stiffened. It seemed he had remembered the great pile of cheap cigars he had just received.

He cleared his throat, his expression turning somewhat unnatural, and a fair amount of resentment toward Lobit rose in his heart.

They were both doing good business, yet the Nash family was willing to send him fine branded tobacco, while that fellow had brought a pile of ordinary goods to fob him off. Did he think he was dealing with a tramp?

Seeing his displeasure, Daisy knew they had hit exactly where it hurt. She gently released the curtain and continued listening as Mr. Nash asked the supervisor about recent affairs in Whitechapel.

She had looked up the upper structure of the sanitary inspection system in the newspapers.

In parliamentary terms, Whitechapel District belonged to Tower Hamlets. Tower Hamlets covered a large area of East End, London, and was an old political division with a long history.

As for the Whitechapel Sanitary Committee, its chairmen throughout the years had always been Members of Parliament who had once represented the Tower Hamlets constituency.

The committee members, meanwhile, were nobles with family foundations in the area, gentleman landowners, and the wealthiest merchants of the district.

There would also be a council secretary, along with health and medical advisers serving the committee.

Most of these people were also members of the Whitechapel parish council.

It often happened that in the morning, some Mr. So-and-so would propose a sanitary policy in his capacity as a member of the sanitary committee.

That afternoon, the same Mr. So-and-so would raise his hand at the parish council meeting to approve the very sanitary policy he had initiated.

By the same token, a parish council member who actually accomplished something locally would gain prestige and recognition within that circle.

He might then rise to become the Member of Parliament representing Tower Hamlets, stepping from there onto the true political stage.

One could say that by looking through a petty little supervisor who barked orders at ordinary people, one could see clearly how power operated across all of London.

Daisy pondered this as she turned and entered the kitchen, packing some hot biscuits for the supervisor’s underlings as well.

That afternoon, the sky was dim. Not long after they had seen the great sanitary inspector off, the light drizzle stopped, leaving only black puddles on the road.

It was Fred’s first time cycling to Camden, and the trip took a while. Along the way, he was delayed at Reese’s place for a bit; his brother-in-law Amber kept him for afternoon tea before finally letting him go.

He rode past Lobit’s shop and saw it bustling with activity. His heart clenched at once.

With his head lowered, he pedaled the bicycle home, walked through the door, and brought in the basket and waterproof cloth.

He took off his raincoat, removed his felt hat, and shook the rainwater from it.

Only after hanging everything behind the front door did he reach into the inner left pocket of his tweed coat and take out a handful of shillings.

He brought all the coins over to Daisy, who was sitting behind the counter doing the accounts.

She held a quill pen and had drawn a table on a sheet of white paper. Anyone who could read would understand it at a glance.

“How was it? Were the roads there easy enough to find?”

Daisy looked up and asked him with her usual expression.

“How could I not know that place? Ten years ago, when you were still little, I worked in a piano factory in Camden.

“That area’s close to the railway, with lots of big factories. Plenty of skilled workers live there.”

After Fred finished speaking, he suddenly remembered something and pulled a note from his other pocket.

“After I delivered the goods, the homeowners from the two houses next to your aunt happened to come visiting. They tried the Diamond Cookies and each ordered five pounds as well. There are these too…”

He had not expected the chance to make money to come so suddenly, but once people tried Diamond Cookies, it was only natural they would not be able to stop.

Those little things were impossible to quit once you started eating them.

Daisy looked up and took the two new orders, scanning them briefly.

There were biscuits, jam preserves, flower tea, daily necessities, and bits and pieces like needles and thread. Altogether, the orders came to five hundred and forty pence.

Fred did some quick figuring. He still had to deliver milk first thing tomorrow morning, so he could only deliver this batch of goods in the afternoon. The secondhand bicycle, at four pence a day, would have to remain rented.

After Daisy confirmed that they still had the stock, she raised her head and said seriously,

“If you ask me, you and Grandfather might as well really come work for me.”

She counted on her fingers, laying it all out logically.

“You deliver milk, work yourselves to the bone for a whole month, and at most you make eight pounds.

“But from this one delivery today, with six hundred pence’s worth of goods, we can earn two hundred pence. That’s sixteen shillings.

“If we can send out large orders worth three hundred to six hundred pence every day from now on, then the monthly profit will be a dozen or so to twenty pounds.

“But if we don’t have someone dedicated to long-distance deliveries, those twenty pounds won’t be easy to earn.”

Seeing that her father was thinking very seriously, as if he had taken her words to heart, Daisy pressed on and raised the stakes.
“Besides, it wouldn’t just be deliveries. There’d be the usual purchasing too, and now and then we’d need help covering the counter or handing out flyers.”

“Mother and I are both powerless women. It isn’t safe for us to be running back and forth outside to bring in stock.”

“If you two could take the night shift, we could also keep the doors open a little later in the evening.”

Daisy considered herself tireless when it came to digging up employees who did not need to be paid.

After listening to her utterly irrefutable speech, Fred did indeed fall into thought. He nodded and said, “Your grandfather and I had the same idea. If things keep going like this, we really could do it that way.”

“In that case, once our wages are settled in a couple of days, your grandfather and I will go find someone willing to take over the job.”

“Once we find a replacement, we can hand things over properly and make sure those places ordering milk every day don’t run out.”

A steady job and steady wages were hard to give up, but after thinking it over, Fred still felt his wife and daughter’s safety mattered more.

He took down a towel, went out the door, and wiped the muddy water off the bicycle at the entrance.

After wiping it for a long while, he turned back and called into the house, “I think buying a bicycle like this wouldn’t be bad. It’s just that this one felt a bit hard to pedal today.”

Daisy listened, then took the stack of coins from the table and counted them. There were more than six hundred pence inside, a few pence extra.

This was the fee for running errands. At present, Europe’s middle class still had the habit of tipping.

She said, “We can go to Whitechapel Road and buy a new bicycle, a bigger one. Preferably the kind with a rain canopy.”

“When it comes to things like this, saving money is worse than not saving it at all. Otherwise, small problems will keep cropping up later, and repairs will keep wasting our time.”

Daisy thought of the traps she had fallen into when she first started a business in her previous life and shook her head helplessly.

She wrote down the income figures. Counting the earnings from this delivery, they could reach a profit of one pound today.

Fred agreed with Daisy. After he finished wiping down the bicycle, he went to the secondhand shop to extend the rental by another day.

Only then did Fred push the bicycle off to find the old man of the family.

In the grocery store that evening, Mary carried out a tray of freshly sealed jam jars, still hot to the touch, and lifted the curtain as she came to the front.

She took out the jars, threaded the date labels and shop-name labels Daisy had prepared onto pieces of twine, then tied them around the grooves in the glass.

With this kind of product standard, they could clearly see the daily sales situation. It also made it convenient for more particular customers to record when they had opened their jam.

After tying all the twine, she sorted the jars into the cabinet and did not forget to count the stock made yesterday.

Daisy packed up the last few jars of jam for the orders to be delivered tomorrow.

“All twenty jars of jam we made yesterday sold out today?”

Mary had assumed that since Lobit Grocery had discounted its liquor today and business was booming, it would surely draw a large crowd over to buy groceries as well, affecting their own shop’s business.

Now it seemed that was not the case at all.

Daisy handed her the recorded accounts and said, “Our shop’s income is already very stable now. Besides, our sales aren’t limited to one kind of product, so it’s hard for us to be completely affected.”

Mary did not understand anything about sales categories. She only thought of Mrs. Lobit, who also made food at home to sell.

Mrs. Lobit’s cooking could only be called passable. Lobit had her make cooked food only to save costs.

You could even bite into wood splinters and little stones in Mrs. Lobit’s food. The three-farthing new goods sold in their shop were not that solid either. The tea was all dregs, and the candies were defective goods.

The people living nearby did not have much money to spare, and they were careful with every purchase. Once they had been burned there, they would not go back again.

Mary relaxed. She went back into the kitchen and turned the gas lamp brighter.

Calmly, she took bread and roasted sausages from one of the compartments in the stove. Three or four cast-iron pots sat on the range, some simmering meat broth, some boiling syrup, and there was still enough space left for someone to fry a pan of eggs.

Night gradually fell. The weather grew colder, and not a single star could be seen in the damp night sky. Lobit Grocery was still bustling, making Clark Street seem especially lonely.

Then, after dark, it began to rain again.

Across the street, the underground tavern’s business was affected by both the weather and human interference. Almost no customers came in, and Nathan closed the door with an indifferent expression.

The grocery store also closed early. The whole family, young and old, took off their damp coats, wiped themselves dry with towels warmed in the kitchen, then settled down and sat steadily around the kitchen table for dinner.

Daisy leaned comfortably back in her chair, reading the newspaper while pinching a piece of unsold garlic bread in one hand, dipping it into onion meat broth before feeding it into her mouth.

There was nothing particularly special in the paper.

Only the news that an attempted street assassination of a ruling party whip had failed was printed in bold capital letters on the front page.

Daisy had little interest in this sort of news. After skimming it briefly, she covered it up and was just about to focus on dinner.

Suddenly, she remembered something. After taking the knife and fork Mary handed her, she spread the newspaper over her knees again and read it carefully.

As Daisy looked at the black words on white paper, she caught a faintly strange scent between the dense lines of text.

“What are you looking at? Did the paper say something happened?”

Her grandfather came down from upstairs with an empty plate and entered the kitchen, catching sight of what Daisy held in her hands.

Daisy rolled up the newspaper and said, “There was an assassination attempt in the West End yesterday, but the attacker failed.”

Something so far removed from his own class could not draw Mr. Nash’s attention at all.

He shrugged, gave an “Oh,” and sat down.

After they finished dinner and cleaned up the kitchen, Mr. Nash and Fred busied themselves helping Mary prepare tomorrow’s cooked food.

They had several basins of old dough fermenting, kneaded biscuit blanks, washed bottles and jars together, boiled them to disinfect them, then poured in the finished meat broth and left it to cool.
Once the kitchen prep was done, all Mary would have to do when she got up tomorrow was slide the half-finished goods in front of her straight into the oven.

Daisy took Penny to wash up. They changed into the new cotton nightgowns their aunt had sent and prepared to rest.

London in January was not gripped by the harshest part of winter, but the cold lingered endlessly, making a warm bed especially tempting.

Without even thinking, Penny burrowed straight under the covers and got ready to sleep.

Seeing Daisy still sitting by the window in a knitted cardigan, she could not help finding it strange. How could Daisy be so indifferent to a warm bed?

She really was growing colder and colder.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” Penny asked, yawning as she closed her eyes.

Daisy shook her head and silently flipped through a stack of old newspapers.

Those outdated papers had nearly been used as toilet paper. She had rescued them two days ago while cleaning out the storage room on the first floor.

Daisy read them very carefully, turning page after page.

Usually, when she was searching for information with a specific purpose, she would only sweep through the headlines and section headings at a glance.

Only when she was killing time, waiting for something, would she read each page in such detail.

She forced herself into a state of flow, filling her mind with scraps of information until she could no longer feel time passing.

Dong-

Dong-

The neighborhood night bell rang. Daisy stood, exhaled softly, and was just about to turn away from the window.

Then, from both ends of Clark Street, came the faint sound of hooves.

Daisy immediately drew back the curtain, pushed open the window, and looked toward the street entrance.

At the junctions with the main roads of Jude Road and Dorothy Street, a black carriage had stopped at each end. A group of men jumped down from the carriages.

Bright gas lamps were carried by those dark silhouettes as they jogged down the street and spread out, sealing off the entire thoroughfare. The man leading them loudly barked orders at his subordinates.

These people were clearly police.

In an instant, the street was brightly lit. Residents pushed open their windows one after another and lit their kerosene and gas lamps.

Daisy looked farther away. It seemed it was not just nearby-the whole Whitechapel District was gradually lighting up.

The wind outside was bitterly cold, slicing across her cheeks like knives.

Without the slightest hesitation, she shut the window, pulled the curtains tight, and then began changing at an unhurried pace.

At this hour, in such cold weather, Daisy put on two extra petticoats and added a small knitted blouse underneath before slipping into a coat that hung down to her ankles. She tied her hair securely, then calmly wrapped shawl after shawl around herself.

She took a small brimmed hat and the leather wallet that held her money, then went downstairs.

Downstairs, her grandfather and father had already been drawn by the commotion outside. Halfway through washing up, they had opened the front door to check the situation.

Daisy went to the kitchen first, brewed herself a strong cup of coffee, and added creamers.

Tonight was destined to be sleepless. She needed caffeine.

After she swallowed the cup of coffee, hurried footsteps in riding boots sounded from the street outside.

Street constable Barjob was leading his trainee officers from door to door, knocking on every shop and grocery store.

Daisy set down her coffee cup and lifted the curtain just as a trainee officer arrived at the entrance to their shop.

The trainee officer showed his identification and did not even glance at the coins Mr. Nash offered him.

Mr. Nash was quite surprised. He was already very familiar with the trainee officer before him. If nothing had happened, the man would not have acted so distant.

In a strictly official tone, the trainee officer said to them,

“…By order, we are searching this street for black-market, smuggled, and stolen goods. A special search warrant has been issued by the magistrate.

“You had best cooperate with the investigation. Anyone who refuses will be obstructing official business and may be arrested on the spot.”

At those words, everyone inside the grocery store fell silent.

Father, son, grandfather, and granddaughter exchanged a few glances, and an understanding immediately formed between them.

After the trainee officer finished speaking, he turned his head and glanced down the alley. Seeing that Barjob was not there, he turned back to Mr. Nash and said in a low voice,

“Find all the purchase invoices issued by your wholesalers, especially anything for tobacco, liquor, and tea.”

With that, the trainee officer cleared his throat, took two steps back, and stood in the middle of Clark Street to prevent anyone from fleeing with stolen goods.

Inside the grocery store, Daisy and her grandfather took out the receipts they had already organized.

Although there were no smuggled goods in the shop now, they had only sold smuggled liquor the day before yesterday, and Mary was deeply uneasy.

Then she suddenly saw Daisy take out a purchase invoice issued by a liquor merchant from the cabinet. It bore the liquor merchant’s personal seal.

Mary was so astonished that she began muttering under her breath, and only then did Daisy, Mr. Nash, and Fred explain everything to her clearly.

A while later, Sergeant Barjob personally led men into Nash Grocery.

The officers searched according to the purchase invoices and found none of the smuggled goods on their list inside the shop.

Barjob looked somewhat disappointed. With another wave of his hand, he lifted his chin arrogantly and questioned them,

“Didn’t your family sell a cheap kind of Jamaican Rum two days ago?

“Who purchased it? Who sold it? Come with me to Scotland Yard and explain yourselves.”

Daisy nodded, then turned to Mary and said, “Open for business as usual tomorrow. We’ll be back by morning at the latest.”

She calmly pressed the hat onto her head, then said to Fred,

“There are still deliveries to make tomorrow. Grandfather and I will go together.”

…