After the doctor left, Arna returned to her second-floor office and sat down.
A few days ago, she had made herself a set of table and chairs. The window opened inward, positioned perfectly to see the children gathered around the tables downstairs.
Since no one was around, Arna hummed a tune and comfortably propped her legs up on the desk.
First, a basic inventory of the factory’s assets.
…Even though she was still quite poor and the factory lacked anything truly valuable, every table and chair was precious!
[Profession: Factory Owner]
[Factory Name: Rich Factory]
[Factory Status: Small Workshop]
[Employees: 11]
[Commentary: Can this even be called a factory? Isn’t it just a dilapidated workshop? But considering the headcount… it barely qualifies as a Small Workshop.]
[Unlocked Production List: Carriage Shock Absorber (Basic), Air Freshener (Basic), Double-decker wooden beds]
The Carriage Shock Absorber was a reward recipe automatically granted by the system after Arna had recruited the ten children.
She had managed to scrape together some funds to buy the necessary parts, finally giving the children something to do.
Fortunately, the price the system paid for the finished shock absorbers was quite high. Over the past few days, she had relied entirely on these earnings to balance her books and even save a little extra.
She could likely get a better price if she sold them herself, but Arna wasn’t in a hurry.
Her workforce was limited. If she overworked these ten skilled young pros, where would she find new people to replace them?
At that thought, Arna opened the employee status panel to check on each child.
Good. They had all eaten their fill at breakfast and were working hard. Their stats were slowly rising through their labor. Two or three of them were even glowing gold, indicating they were overperforming and producing higher-precision components.
Arna closed the panel with satisfaction.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. She quickly sat up straight and grabbed a book someone had left on her desk, spreading it open. “Come in.”
When Nancy entered, this was the scene she encountered: the factory owner, Mr. Essas, was intently focused on a book—likely an account ledger—with a cup of cold tea sitting beside him.
Even in the dim light, Nancy could see the dark circles under his eyes. Clearly, he had been exhausted lately as well.
“Please, have a seat,” he said kindly.
“Good morning, Mr. Essas,” Nancy said, sitting down somewhat awkwardly. “I just wanted to ask about today’s lessons. The children are learning their letters and arithmetic…”
She hesitated.
Arna looked at the panel, noticing a small green dot flashing with the emotion “Anxiety.” Curious, she asked, “What is it, Nancy?”
Nancy’s hands tightened on her skirt over her knees.
“I heard that several ladies visited yesterday regarding… the teacher position,” she said softly. “If you are looking for a more suitable candidate, I would understand. It’s just…”
Just what?
She didn’t know. Just as the neighbors whispered, her background was indeed disreputable. She certainly wasn’t fit to be a teacher.
“Oh, a few people did stop by yesterday.” Arna began to recall which NPCs had shown up, reaching into a drawer to pull out a package. “Mrs. White sent over some slates for the children to use for writing. It’s better than scratching in the dirt with sticks.”
As she handed the items over, she remembered Nancy’s other point. “Teacher position? No, no, I’m not looking for a ‘more suitable’ candidate.”
Thinking about that made Arna angry.
She didn’t know what mechanism she had triggered, but some NPC had stopped her yesterday out of the blue, self-nominating to be the children’s new teacher while ruthlessly belittling Nancy.
The woman had prattled on and on. Arna had already forgotten most of it, but the phrase “only fifteen shillings a week” was deeply etched into her mind.
Fifteen shillings! Fifteen!
Where did she get the nerve to quote such a high price?
Nancy was much better—low cost, hardworking, considerate, and had a good personality.
Nancy stared at the package, her chest tightening. “So, you don’t plan to—”
“No,” Arna said with a firm shake of her head. “Unless you’re planning to quit.”
At this, Arna became nervous herself.
Wait, was Nancy actually planning to leave?
Was this a conspiracy by a competitor? Sending someone to undermine morale and then poaching her core staff to make her factory collapse?
Business wars were so wicked! These capitalists really were black-hearted!
Fortunately, she was prepared.
Arna smiled slightly and pulled a key from the drawer.
“This is for you,” she said, trying to sound casual. “I recently cleared out a room on the second floor, right next to the children’s dormitory. It’s empty anyway, so you can use it for your midday rest if you like.”
Her gaze swept over the bruises on Nancy’s neck. “…Or you could just move in. It would make it easier for you to help me look after the children. I remember your home is quite a distance from the factory, isn’t it?”
Nancy instinctively looked up at Arna. The moment their eyes met, she felt as if she had been burned and hurriedly looked down.
“All right,” she said.
Nancy didn’t even know how she made it out of the office. She only remembered descending the stairs in a daze and supervising the children as they worked on parts for a while before time simply slipped away.
While the children were having lunch, Nancy went to see the room.
It was far from Mr. Essas’s office, tucked into another corner of the factory next to the children’s room. The space was narrow and small, containing a single bed, a stack of fresh straw, and a clean old blanket in the corner.
She stood frozen in the room for a long time, clutching the key, before her trembling hand finally hung it around her neck.
“Pull yourself together, Nancy,” she told herself, patting her cheeks. “You still have work to do this afternoon.”
But today seemed full of surprises.
As she was distributing the slates and assigning homework to the children, a carriage came to a creaking halt outside the factory.
The lead mare tossed her mane and snorted in dissatisfaction, drawing a wry smile from the driver.
An elderly woman stepped down from the carriage. Her grey-white hair was tucked neatly under her hat, and a basket covered with a linen cloth hung from her arm.
She spoke a few words in a low voice to the driver before slowly entering the factory.
The children with sharp noses had already caught the scent of butter and beef, and they began chattering excitedly.
The ever-clever Dodger stood up and scurried over to the old lady’s side.
“You must be the aunt Mr. Essas is always talking about—the kind and generous Mrs. Hudson!” he said sweetly. “Ma’am, those things look heavy. Let me help you!”
Mrs. Hudson laughed at his charm.
She pulled back the cloth to reveal golden-brown pies still radiating heat, along with several jars of soup. “I thought you all should have something substantial. Nothing restores strength like good beef and broth!”
Without needing to be told twice, the children all stood up.
They swarmed around Mrs. Hudson like sparrows, eager yet careful.
“Don’t rush!” Lucy said, acting like a little adult. “Go wash your hands first!”
Mrs. Hudson nodded at the girl. “That’s right. Listen to her, children.”
The children scattered, jostling and elbowing each other as they crowded around the washbasin, playing and laughing.
Only Nancy remained in her chair, her fingers tightening nervously on her apron.
It was the apron Mr. Essas had given her—free of stains or holes—claiming he had found it in some trash can.
But everyone in the factory knew that, just like his claims of “I found this food in a trash can, eat it quickly before it rots,” it was just one of his well-intentioned lies.
Seeing Nancy, Mrs. Hudson’s stern expression softened.
“Ah, come here, dear,” she said, beckoning her closer.
From the very bottom of the basket, Mrs. Hudson pulled out another small parcel, carefully tied with hemp rope.
When the kraft paper was opened, it revealed two pies. “This one is beef, and that one is apple and blackberry. These are just for you, my best helper.”
She spoke with a smile and a wink. “You have a special way with those little ones. My nephew says you’ve helped him immensely, like a sailor who knows the best sailor’s knots—and helping him is helping me, good girl.”
A flush spread across Nancy’s neck.
She took the two pies, hesitated, and then blurted out, “Why do you go to such trouble to look after me? I’m not… a respectable person.”
As the words left her throat, Nancy felt her face burning.
Wasn’t this how people usually saw her?
A thief, a person of self-degradation, or worse.
To her surprise, Mrs. Hudson blinked in confusion.
“Why would you say that, dear?” she asked calmly.
Nancy instinctively swallowed.
“I… I have no surname, no future. Your nephew—he shouldn’t be associating with someone like me. It’s not right, it’s not respectable—” she stammered.
She was telling the truth.
Her reasons for coming here hadn’t been pure. She hadn’t even truly intended to be an honest teacher. Behind her was Fagin’s plan, Bill Sikes’s threats and coercion, and so many other things.
None of it was good.
“Oh, stop that, girl!” Mrs. Hudson waved a hand, cutting her off, the lace on her cuff fluttering gracefully.
“A surname? Three generations ago, half the great surnames of the aristocracy were stolen from place names and pub signs,” she said dismissively. “As for a future? That’s just a fancy word for people who are hardworking and lucky.”
She reached out and tucked a loose strand of Nancy’s hair behind her ear with surprising gentleness.
The gesture was so tender it made the young woman’s throat tighten and her mouth go dry.
“You are here, and you are working hard. To me, that is more ‘right’ than anything else,” Mrs. Hudson said, lowering her voice. “If my nephew were stupid enough to listen to nonsense and let a good teacher like you slip away over trivial matters like a surname—well, he’d find out how his head likes the feel of my frying pan.”
As she spoke, she gave a knowing smile.
A strange emotion welled up inside Nancy. She instinctively bit her lip until a sharp sting spread through it.
By the time she realized she should say thank you, Mrs. Hudson had already moved among the children.
She began handing out pies and placing soup jars on the tables, her voice ringing out clearly over the din. “Now then! No one is allowed to sneak a second cup until everyone has had their first, or I’ll plug your ears with this spoon!”
Hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs, and Little Mr. Essas came flying down the stairs, clearly having heard Mrs. Hudson’s voice.
“Aunt, what about me—” He was as eager as a child, brushing past Nancy where she stood. “Save some for me! I want some too!”
He moved quickly, leaving a gust of wind in his wake.
In that breeze, Nancy suddenly realized that the pies in her hands were still hot.
They were as warm as the hands of someone who had just pulled them from the oven, as warm as a bed covered in fresh straw.
The compartment key still hung against her chest, swaying slightly, serving as a reminder.
To hell with the East End. To hell with Fagin and his conspiracy.
Thinking this, she gripped the pie tightly and took a large bite.
The aroma of the pie enveloped her like an embrace she had never dared to imagine. The sweet and tart flavors leaked from the pastry, filling her mouth and warming her from the tip of her tongue all the way down to her chest.
This wasn’t something she had stolen.
This belonged to her.