The afternoon on Oxford Street grew gloomier as the sky darkened, leaving the pavement slick and pedestrians hurrying along.
A rich aroma of coffee filled the air, mingling with the icy chill of sleet.
After a moment’s thought, Dolly tugged down the brim of her wide hat and led Penny without hesitation toward the newsstand opposite the wine merchant’s.
The sisters blended into the crowd, drawing no attention whatsoever.
The old newsstand, named “Mogaron Publications,” had a distinctly vintage facade. Its solid wood panels were adorned with faded gilded lettering, and the display window showcased first editions of classic works from the previous century.
This spoke to its long history—perhaps it had stood here since the eighteenth century, passed down through generations of the same family.
From outside, the shop appeared cramped, every inch packed with books, magazines, stacks of newspapers, and rows of shelves.
A narrow counter stood just inside the door, behind which sat a bearded old man. A small tray beside him held a half-finished cup of tea, and he was dozing with his eyes half-closed.
As Dolly and Penny stepped inside, a strong smell of ink and damp paper assaulted their senses, flooding Dolly’s nostrils unpleasantly.
She rapped her knuckles on the counter.
Tap, tap.
The proprietor slowly opened his eyes and looked up. Seeing customers, he straightened up and adjusted his cravat.
“Looking for something? I’ve got the widest selection of newspapers and magazines here.”
Dolly’s face was mostly hidden—her upper half beneath her hat brim, the lower half wrapped in a scarf.
Penny was dressed similarly, with only the tips of their noses, their eyes, and strands of reddish-brown hair visible.
Dolly pulled out a few coins. The Times was usually the cheapest.
“One copy of today’s Times, please.”
The shopkeeper pulled out the newspaper and handed it to her. Dolly flipped it open right there, pretending to skim a few lines before asking:
“Sir, might I ask you something?”
The proprietor drained the rest of his tea. He was used to discreetly dressed folks coming in to ask questions—after all, this was Oxford Street.
He replied lazily, “What do you want to know?”
“How has business been lately at that Helconsa Wine Shop across the street?”
“Isn’t it written in the paper?”
The shopkeeper grumbled in a muffled voice:
“A food importer lost an entire shipload after scammers forged the bill of lading and cleared it from the port.
“The batch of Jamaican rum Mr. Helconsa commissioned from that importer was on that very ship.
“A full sixty cases of rum, worth eight hundred pounds—gone just like that.
“Though the bank compensated him first, the same Jamaican rum started appearing on the black market in the East End.
“Selling for just a tenth of the price at Helconsa’s shop.
“Some small grocers have been buying the cheap stock from the black market and reselling it on the sly.”
Dolly asked curiously, “Aren’t these people afraid of getting caught selling smuggled liquor?”
“Caught?”
The newsstand owner chuckled as if he’d heard a joke, then mused:
“Scotland Yard won’t go looking for trouble. No police officer would touch a messy case like this.
“Besides, the bank manager who leaked the bill of lading to the fraudsters is dead, and the murderer hasn’t even been caught yet. Who’s going to investigate smuggling?
“And who even has the skill to get to the bottom of this case?”
After listening, Dolly couldn’t help but think:
Perhaps other police officers couldn’t, but there was certainly one who could.
She thanked the newspaper shop owner and turned to lead Penny out, boarding the carriage again at Oxford Circus and swaying all the way toward the East End.
Penny felt utterly bewildered by today’s journey. By the time they reached Whitechapel Road, it was already growing late.
At the paint shop recommended by the widow, Dolly bought a bucket of wood oil and some wood wax.
Then they headed home. Half an hour later, as the six o’clock evening bell chimed, they entered Clark Street.
At six in the evening, the sky began to take on a hint of blue twilight. As the time approached for workers to finish their shifts, every household opened their doors and windows, lit their gas lamps, and the alleyways filled with the smoky aroma of cooking and simmering soup.
She and Penny had only taken a few steps when they noticed a scrap of paper underfoot.
It was a flyer, soaked by sleet and rain, mottled and stuck to the pavement tiles.
Looking closely, it wasn’t the flyer she had written.
On this scattered flyer before them, the first line read “Lobit Grocery Store,” the handwriting barely legible.
Dolly chuckled for no reason.
Penny, who could also read, frowned and asked directly, “Is he copying us?”
The efficiency of this imitation was truly impressive.
Every product mimicked her sales model—whether it was discounts, price reductions, or buy-one-get-one-free offers, it was all the same.
Her shop sold three bars of soap for two pence, while Lobit sold four bars for two pence.
This was likely already a loss-making venture, aimed solely at drumming up attention.
She stood there for a moment, studying the prices of the items on the flyer, realizing that Mr. Lobit might be a highly emotional person. Then she left, satisfied, and took Penny home.
Inside Nash Grocery Store, there were hardly any customers in the evening, and the babies Mary had been caring for had all been picked up.
In the kitchen, bread was baking, and vegetable soup was simmering, giving off a smoky bacon scent.
It had to be said, the meals these past few days had been quite good.
Mary was tidying up the goods by the counter—these were items delivered free of charge today by the wholesaler after receiving Dolly’s order.
They were all familiar acquaintances who knew Lisa’s temperament well, so they wouldn’t dare pass off inferior goods to avoid disputes.
Mary was organizing the goods slowly, as she didn’t know the exact placement for all the items.
After Dolly and Penny entered the house, they took out the dried flowers from their bag.
As soon as Mary saw the dried flowers, she knew they had spent the afternoon at Covent Garden.
Dolly took over Mary’s task and began organizing the goods.
Mary stepped aside, somewhat displeased, and said:
“As soon as you left today, Lobit Grocery Store started handing out flyers all over the alley in the afternoon, copying everything from our shop.
Luckily, all the goods we needed to clear out were sold this afternoon.
It totaled two hundred and twenty-five pence, all in the drawer.”
Dolly nodded and politely thanked her for her hard work, which left Mary somewhat puzzled.
“What’s so hard about watching the shop? You’ve already taken care of everything else—all I had to do was keep track of the money.”
As Mary watched Dolly organize the items, what had been a chaotic mess of groceries quickly fell into order in her hands. She noted the quantities on paper, then turned and placed them in their corresponding spots, her familiarity with the arrangement of the shelves almost second nature.
Was this still her daughter?
Mary couldn’t make sense of it, so she simply stopped trying and helped Dolly count the goods against the list.
Today’s shipment was small, consisting mainly of new tea leaves and ingredients for making biscuits, aside from replenishing the inventory.
Mary held the ingredient list Dolly had prepared for the biscuits, glancing over it twice.
“The raw materials for these biscuits are all here. I’ve weighed the flour—nothing’s missing.”
She looked at the recipe, which was quite rich in ingredients, reminiscent of the styles found in French patisseries in the West End.
“Is the method complicated?”
“Not at all. It’s a type of flaky butter biscuit. I heard about the recipe at school—it’s called Diamond Cookies. Though, I’ve never actually seen anyone make them before,” Dolly added.
Mary said, “Why don’t I help you make them and give it a try? How would you know how to use the things in the kitchen? Anyway, with half the children to care for next week, I’ll have the time.”
Dolly nodded and asked her what had happened.
Mary shook her head. “A textile factory nearby shut down, and a few people on Clark Street lost their jobs. Naturally, they don’t need my help with childcare anymore. Lately, it’s been unclear why, but textile and garment factories keep going under.”
“I see.”
Mary sighed and added, “I wonder if the shirt factory in Notting Hill will be affected too.”
Mary’s parents had long passed away, and she had no relatives in London, except for her younger sister Annie, who was two years her junior.
Aunt Annie had married a pattern maker at a shirt factory in Notting Hill and worked as a typist in the factory. She had a son and a daughter, with the eldest son being two years younger than Dolly.
The two sisters were very close, but as ordinary people, they were busy with their livelihoods every day. Though they both lived in London, they rarely saw each other more than once a year.
It wasn’t just Aunt Annie; Dolly’s aunt Rissie was the same. The last time she had visited was when the old lady had taken a fall.
As Dolly listened, she opened the last two barrels of tea to inspect them.
Floral teas needed to be scented to develop their fragrance, and most of them were scented with fresh flowers.
In her past life, she had loved jasmine tea the most.
It was made from the first-picked large white-tipped buds as the base, paired with fresh jasmine flowers. The tea leaves were scented nine times with fresh flowers before being extracted.
Tea made this way, when steeped in water, showed only the leaves and no flowers, yet it was filled with the fragrance of jasmine without affecting the sweet aftertaste of the tea.
But here, the room was too small, and conditions were limited. For convenience, she could only use dried flowers to pair with the tea leaves, avoiding the need for a second round of drying.
The osmanthus flowers bought today still needed to be heated to thoroughly dry out the moisture before they could be placed in the tea canister.
Dolly first weighed the edible dried Damask roses, determined the proportions, and wrapped the dried flowers in some gauze.
Then, she carefully tucked them into various corners of the tea barrel, layering them several times to ensure the tea leaves could absorb the floral scent.
After hearing the method, Mary immediately took the osmanthus flowers back to the kitchen. She heated the heavy cast-iron pan, poured the osmanthus in, and dried them further.
Dolly again wrapped the dried osmanthus in gauze and tucked them into the tea barrel.
She also sprinkled a few ounces each of raisins and orange peel as embellishments.
Afterward, they began studying the method for making Diamond Cookies.
Making Diamond Cookies was very simple—it didn’t even require whipping.
The ingredients were only butter, powdered sugar, low-gluten flour, egg yolks, and milk powder.
These materials were also chosen by Dolly after thoroughly examining newspapers and researching the environment of this era.
Wheat grown in Northern Europe has a softer texture and lower gluten content, making it suitable for desserts.
Over twenty years ago, around 1858, an American named Gail established a powdered milk factory.
Dolly felt fortunate that the original setting of this book was the late 19th century; otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to develop many products.
The production process was also quite simple: melt the butter over a water bath, add sifted powdered sugar, and mix well.
Then, gradually add the appropriate proportions of egg yolks, powdered milk, and low-gluten flour, mixing again until combined.
Finally, shape the dough on a board into a long strip or use a cloth to form it into a triangle.
Coat it with a layer of coarse sugar granules, slice it, arrange it on a tray, and place it in the oven beneath the charcoal stove.
During dinner, everyone tasted these Diamond Cookies.
Just from the aroma, Penny felt her mouth watering. With a single bite, the crumbly biscuit immediately dissolved into crumbs, melting in her mouth and leaving behind a rich, toasted butter fragrance.
For Penny and the other family members, they had never tasted biscuits with such a texture before—it felt entirely novel.
While everyone else ate in a daze, Dolly remained quite restrained.
Before tasting, she rinsed her mouth and took a small bite.
After eating, she immediately realized that the temperature of the household stove wasn’t high enough, and the baking time was slightly too long.
The texture of the biscuits still wasn’t as crumbly as the bestsellers from her previous life.
However, given the current conditions, achieving this result was already quite good. It was more than enough to surpass most of the wholesale biscuits available in grocery stores.
…
Author’s Note: