A light snow had fallen last night.
In the alley of Clark Street, no more than seven feet wide, snow mixed with coal dust lay piled up, half-melted and half-frozen.
The slush was almost flowing into the underground tavern across the way.
At b25, a second-floor window was pushed open from the inside.
A middle-aged woman, thin and gaunt, wearing a white cotton bonnet, leaned out with an enamel basin and tossed out wash water. The hot water sent up a cloud of steam.
She slammed the window shut with a bang and climbed the ladder to the attic, intending to rouse her two daughters.
“Penny! Penny! Are you up yet? Penny! Time for school!”
In the room, Dolly opened her eyes on the single bed.
She silently got up, wrapped herself tightly in her worn slip, and shivered in the cold air as she put on her shoes and opened the door.
Indeed, none of this was a dream.
Mary, the middle-aged woman, knocked open the door and, without a moment to spare for her well-behaved eldest daughter, went straight to wake her younger daughter Penny, yanking off Penny’s blanket.
Instantly, the corn candy Penny had hidden under the covers was exposed. Seeing this, Mary flew into a rage and slapped Penny’s bottom.
“Stealing food again! Get your ass to school!”
Penny’s free school required attendance six days a week; only tomorrow was a holiday.
Stung by the fiery slap, Penny jolted awake.
Realizing her stolen treats had been discovered, she panicked and darted around the already cramped room—hiding under Dolly’s bed one moment, then scrambling downstairs the next.
Furious, Mary chased after her but paused mid-pursuit.
She turned her head toward Dolly, who was standing dumbly in the room, and said:
“Hurry up and get ready. You’ll take your grandfather out to restock later.”
Dolly stiffly replied, “Mm-hmm.” Perhaps realizing her dazedness seemed too rigid, she covered it up by rubbing her eyes and yawning.
Mary paid no mind and hurried downstairs to deal with Penny.
Soon, the voice of good-natured father Fred rescuing Penny drifted up from below.
“…Penny, go wash your face.”
Having just accepted her transmigration, Dolly faced the surrounding commotion in silence.
Having seen much of the world before, a mere transmigration was something she could face calmly, standing by the window.
It couldn’t be more troublesome than a warehouse fire, rivals poisoning products, or a partner dying without a will.
After a brief internal struggle, she finally accepted her circumstances and decided to start by combing her hair.
According to her memories, restocking was already a scheduled task.
With her grandmother bedridden, the shop was watched over during the day by her mother Mary, while the goods were restocked by either her grandfather Hank or her original body’s father, Fred.
All three of them had their own promised work to do—neither side could be neglected, yet they were all scrambling to manage.
On top of that, the shadow of murder cases spreading through White Chapel lately had made the neighbors reluctant to go out, and business had dwindled considerably.
It was only yesterday that Mary finally realized the Soap was almost sold out, prompting them to remember the restocking task.
Dolly shook her head and sighed, rummaging through the somewhat cramped little room.
On the small surface of the dresser lay Penny’s cloth doll, a small wooden comb, a red plaid hair tie, a half-empty bottle of hair oil, a tarnished standing glass mirror, and a secondhand storybook.
There was also an empty cardboard box that had held corn candy. The candy, stored in the paper box, had grown damp and sticky—who knew if eating it would cause a stomachache.
Dolly found the comb and mirror, then faced the mirror to tie up her hair.
The original body had a thick head of dry, reddish-brown hair, so thick it was almost unbelievable.
She combed it a few times, then suddenly noticed the face of the original body and froze for a moment.
Gray-green eyes, deep reddish-brown hair, a narrow face, high cheekbones, a straight nose—the classic genetic markers of ancient Celtic ancestry.
Even with her face completely expressionless, it made the rust-stained mirror look like a meticulously crafted oil painting by Sargent.
No wonder Grandmother was willing to invest in her—with a face like this.
In a slightly more respectable environment, with a little tidying up, the consequences would be unimaginable…
In her previous life, she had been considered pretty, and moving in social circles, she had seen many beautiful faces.
But when a beautiful face was her own, it was a different matter entirely.
Dolly pursed her lips, reluctantly feeling a complex, instinctive emotion about having crossed over into this body.
First, she ran a comb through her hair, then braided it with a dark green hair tie and coiled it at the back of her head.
After that, Dolly began searching the room for the clothes she would wear.
If she didn’t want to raise any suspicions, it was best to dress like a local.
She stood up and looked around the small attic bedroom.
The bedroom had low ceilings and was cramped, with the beams within arm’s reach.
On either side of the room were two single wooden beds, with a narrow aisle in between.
By the windowsill stood two clothing trunks, with a low dresser in the middle for the two sisters to use while combing their hair.
The walls of the room were plastered with layers of old newspapers to keep out the dust.
There were many nails hammered into the walls, holding the original body’s various hats, scarves, shawls, gloves, small leather bags, and all sorts of other girl’s things.
Nothing looked like it cost more than three Shillings.
Even under the beds were stuffed cloth shoes, low-cut leather shoes, and boots for all seasons, along with a leather trunk filled with old summer clothes, all emitting a foul smell of leather oil and wax.
The tiny room was crammed with the cheap belongings of two girls, resembling a dark, crowded nest where even the cold wind couldn’t penetrate, making a stove unnecessary.
Dolly rummaged through the trunk for a long time.
Finally, in order, she found a full set of undergarments: a corset, a blouse, a petticoat, a long skirt, and a round-necked tweed coat. The coat was princess-cut and as long as the skirt, covering her feet.
The clothes were mostly made of cotton and wool, in light brown and pale green shades, with matching pongee fabric trimmed with ruffles and a short row of off-white crocheted lace at the collar.
They looked somewhat worn, likely having been worn for two years, altered at the sleeves and shoulders, and then worn again.
The original body was a diligent person, keeping her trunk neatly organized.
Though the clothes were old, they were clean and carried a faint, simple scent of Soap.
Dolly put on a thick petticoat, pulled on a pair of knitted wool stockings, slipped into a dark green cotton long skirt, and finally picked up a brown tweed cloak.
After finishing these tasks, she slowly descended the narrow ladder that allowed only one person to pass at a time.
The stairs were made of thin wooden planks, with an iron railing, and everything creaked and groaned.
The air carried the musty smell of old wood and fermented bread.
The second floor of the house had two bedrooms and a narrow, few-square-meter storage room, which also doubled as a place for chamber pots.
As she reached the second floor, she encountered her grandfather, Hank.
Hank Nash’s nickname was “Shorty,” and he was indeed short.
He had the family’s hereditary reddish-brown hair, a full beard, fair skin with a rosy tint, and at fifty-five, he was still quite spirited.
He was holding a chipped white-glazed ceramic plate with buttered bread and a boiled egg on it.
In his other hand, he carried a hot water kettle, heading toward the bedroom as if to deliver food and washing water to his bedridden grandmother, Lisa.
For now, all three of her daily meals had to be taken in bed.
Meals were originally delivered daily by Mary.
Toilet needs and washing were the old man’s responsibility.
Dolly knew that this old man and her own father usually had heavy workloads.
They had to get up before dawn to receive milk, portion it into small jugs, and deliver it to dozens of households on nearby Dorothy Street and Jude Road.
Last time, Dolly’s father went alone to the market to stock up for the grocery store, miscalculated the accounts, causing the shop to lose a few Shillings, and was scolded fiercely by their grandmother when she checked the books.
So after a family discussion, this time they decided to rely on Dolly, the most educated in the family, for the restocking.
But because the recent murders were too unsettling, it wasn’t safe for a young girl to be out alone.
That’s why the old man was to escort her and help carry things, while Dolly’s father handled the milk deliveries alone, which was why the old man had time now to deliver the meal.
“Give it to me, I’ll come down in a moment.”
With that, Dolly took the plate and kettle from her grandfather’s hands and walked into the small room he shared with her grandmother.
The room had a window, now tightly shut, and contained a bed, a wardrobe, a small sofa, and in the corner, a chamber pot, a bucket, and various small items.
The room itself wasn’t particularly small, but with so many things, it felt cramped.
Lisa was lying in bed, covered with a blanket, coughing a couple of times.
Although she had fractured bones, it had been a while, and she could sit up now—she just couldn’t walk.
If they lived in a spacious house, she might have been able to try getting out of bed.
But this house was full of slanted roofs, steep stairs, and rooms too tight to move around in, so she was confined to bed.
Dolly found a washbasin in the corner, poured the hot water into it, then fetched a cloth to help Lisa wash up.
Lisa still didn’t know her granddaughter’s inner self had changed.
Lying in bed, wearing a slightly fancy knitted flower-patterned cap, she watched Dolly with a concerned look:
“How was business yesterday?”
“Not bad.”
Dolly handed her the buttered bread.
Lisa took a couple of bites but had no appetite, wishing she could immediately take over the grocery store work herself.
“Don’t try to fool me—my ears aren’t deaf yet. If things go on like this, we won’t even be able to pay the rent. I think you should move me downstairs; I’ll watch the shop myself.”
Lisa had a long face, curly hair, and wore a faded knitted shawl, growing more agitated as she spoke.
Whenever she closed her eyes, she could almost see Lobit Grocery Store at the end of the street seizing her business while she was ill.
“Focus on recovering first. If your condition worsens, who will we rely on for the business? They’re just waiting for you to fall so they can swallow us up.”
Dolly patiently smoothed her grandmother’s ruffled feathers.
She thought this old lady, in her current state, wouldn’t face any major issues, but if she pushed herself to work, her condition would likely worsen in the future.
Upon hearing this, Lisa indeed fell silent for a while, turning her head to the other side as she continued chewing the dry bread slice.
Seeing the old lady was somewhat compliant, Dolly thought to herself.
People who care about money are the easiest to persuade.
After reluctantly finishing the bread, Lisa took out the key she kept close to her chest and handed it to Dolly.
She told her to open the box in the dresser and take three Pounds Sterling for restocking.
These three pounds came from Lisa’s most deeply hidden savings.
Dolly took the small key from her hand, went to the cabinet, pushed aside a pile of miscellaneous items, and found the most concealed box.
Opening the box, inside was a pile of coins, each stacked in its own groove—Pound Sterling, Shillings, pence, and even farthings, totaling thirty pounds.
The pound coins were gold, the Shillings mainly silver, all engraved with the portrait of Queen Victoria.
In the original body’s memory, the exchange system for these currencies was roughly as follows:
One Pound Sterling equals twenty Shillings.
One Shilling equals twelve pence.
One penny equals four farthings.
The current price of wheat grains was two farthings per pound, with one pound weighing 450 grams.
One farthing could buy over 200 grams of wheat grains.
She quickly assessed what level of household wealth this thirty-pound foundation represented based on this.
…
Author’s Note: