The clock tower near Clark Street chimed several more times into the night as a light drizzle began pattering outside.
At home, Mary and Dolly, along with their grandfather, tidied up the remnants of their dinner gathering.
The person delivering the new stove tomorrow morning was likely to arrive very early.
While Penny was still flipping through the clothes her aunt had bought for her, Dolly urged her up and practically dragged her along as they both carried basins to the storage room to wash up.
This cramped house now finally had a bit of space to turn around.
Dolly hung the gas lamp on the wall, mixed a basin of warm water, placed a towel in it, then fished it out while still hot and pressed it against her cheeks to drive away some of the chill. She then gave herself a thorough wipe-down.
Even under such conditions, she still insisted that Penny use tooth powder and a wool brush to clean her teeth for a good while.
Penny initially resisted, but after Dolly suddenly described various dentist procedures in detail, she reluctantly complied, cleaning herself diligently to avoid future agony in a dentist’s chair.
After washing up, they climbed the narrow ladder to the attic.
Penny quickly burrowed into bed and fell asleep, while Dolly sat by the window again, opened a fresh stack of white paper, and began writing new flyers.
Morning brought a rare clear day, though the puddle-ridden road surface on Dorothy Street had not yet dried.
Outside Lobit Grocery Store, George used two buckets of water to wash away the coal dust from the steps.
Just as he finished the task, he heard his employer’s footsteps on the stairs behind him.
George wondered why Mr. Lobit had risen so early today.
He seemed to be in quite a good mood, humming a little tune all the way and not finding fault with him as usual.
Mr. Lobit walked straight to the newly set up Three Farthings product section in his store, casually pulled out a packet of broken tea leaves, shook some into a cup, and brewed it.
While sipping his tea, he carried the cup to the main entrance, where he could see the entire length of Dorothy Street.
Before long, he caught sight of the two Nash men, father and son.
The pair were delivering milk to the coffee shop. Fred carried buckets into the store while old Nash guarded the cart outside.
Lobit observed carefully but detected no negative emotions on the old man’s face.
On the contrary, the old man had a large stack of flyers tucked under his arm and was distributing them door to door.
Lobit felt somewhat puzzled.
He stepped outside, craning his neck to peer into Clark Street.
The alley was quite busy, with people coming and going from Nash Grocery Store. Just then, several female workers emerged from the alley entrance carrying large bags of bread and assorted food items. The rich aroma of bread instantly filled the air.
Lobit frowned deeply, spat fiercely, and ordered George to fetch one of the flyers to examine.
At Nash Grocery Store, strands of clear morning sunlight after the rain filtered through the narrow alley into the doorway. After two days of rain, the air in the East End was unusually clean for a while.
A gentle breeze swayed the brass bell hanging below the door. A rich, warm bread fragrance wafted with the breeze from the kitchen, permeating the entire alley.
The stove had been delivered at daybreak. It required no installation and could be lit and used immediately.
The first batch of bread baked that morning—two flavors totaling thirty pounds—had sold out the moment it was ready.
By the time Dolly got up, she could only have bread from the second batch.
Last night, Mary very restrainedly prepared two pots of meat broth pudding, portioning them into forty jars that had been sterilized in boiling water.
Early this morning, these pre-portioned puddings were completely sold out by the neighbors.
Dolly didn’t even get a chance to taste a bite. After simply washing her face and rubbing her eyes, she stood behind the counter collecting money, constantly helping customers flip the pudding onto their plates.
All the neighbors brought their own utensils and didn’t take the jars.
After tossing the empty jars into a wooden bucket to soak, Mary planned to wash them after the meal, boil them for sterilization, and make another batch in the afternoon.
Only after finishing the first wave of customers in the morning did they finally relax and start eating their own breakfast in the kitchen.
Dolly held a piece of raisin bread that had been buttered and toasted until crispy. She spread another layer of jam, added a fried egg, and topped it with another slice of bread.
With one bite, she mentally calculated the morning’s earnings from these ready-to-eat items alone: a total of two hundred and five pence.
If her estimate was correct, with the good weather today and such strong morning sales, they might once again break the barrier of earning a thousand pence in a single day.
Dolly’s goal was to maintain this figure every day going forward, expecting to earn ten pounds in profit within a week.
If everything went according to her plan, the next step would be to formally recruit Old Man Nash and Fred to work for her.
Although the two of them weren’t skilled at cooking or managing the shop, they were very familiar with all the big and small places in London and White Chapel.
Having them distribute flyers and handle large delivery orders would be most suitable.
Moreover, although Fred, her father, had a gentle temperament, he looked quite burly, and few dared to default on payments to him. As for her grandfather, he was a cunning man.
While thinking this, Dolly finished her breakfast and tilted her head back to sip the milk down.
Outside, Fred and Mr. Nash returned home as discussed the day before.
This morning, it was Mr. Nash’s turn to mind the shop, while Fred and Dolly went out.
Mary handed them bread and reminded Fred to bring back a basket of onions for her when he went to Whitechapel Road.
She only thought that Dolly and her father were going out today to buy some gifts for the Inspector to smooth things over when paying the sanitation fee.
Dolly stood up, wiping her mouth with a handkerchief.
“Yes, we’ve noted that. Are there any other seasonings we need to buy?”
Mary brought out another tray of coffee-flavored biscuits and a tray of Diamond Cookies from the spacious oven, saying:
“Buy some almonds too.”
Dolly nodded in agreement, then went to the wall to fetch her shawl, put it on, and donned her hat before walking out with her father.
…
On Whitechapel Road, Dolly and Fred sat for a while in the small Italian restaurant opposite the second-hand kitchenware shop.
After observing for a bit, Dolly became even more certain about what the people here were doing.
After finishing a cup of coffee, the public carriage approached its fixed stop.
They walked out of the shop, smoothly boarded the carriage, and headed all the way toward Oxford Street in the West End.
In the morning, the Financial City was quiet. Carriages on the streets moved leisurely, and employees of various companies were all in their offices.
The carriage continued westward through the Financial City, which in Dolly’s eyes had a strong “office drone” vibe.
From Covent Garden to Oxford Street, the theaters in this area were still resting at this time.
Generally, plays started around three or four in the afternoon.
Those who attend the theater usually rise around ten in the morning, enjoy a hearty brunch, and by two or three in the afternoon, find a restaurant near the theater for afternoon tea.
After the matinee, they head to clubs in the evening, then move on to various private parties and salons late into the night, with dances to aid digestion until the early hours.
Now, in the early morning, anyone appearing in the West End is dressed plainly, without exception.
Dolly and Fred alighted at Oxford Circus and made their way toward Oxford Street.
Helconsa Wines & Spirits, its deep crimson lacquer inlaid with brass lettering, presented a facade that was meticulously decorated yet not overly ostentatious.
Wooden mullions framed panes of clear glass, pieced together to form a vast shop window.
Inside the window hung layers of flannel curtains, which had already been drawn back.
Within, one could see walnut liquor cabinets polished to a flawless finish, neatly lined with displays of various spirits.
From premium to mid-range, and many affordable options, all were imported products.
Through the shelves, uniformed employees of the wine shop could be seen dusting the cabinets with feather dusters.
Behind the checkout counter stood a relatively young proprietor, dressed in an impeccably tailored handmade coat, yet yawning with an air of boredom.
The chime of a brass bell at the door prompted Robert to glance outside.
A plainly dressed young woman entered, while an even plainer, burly middle-aged man stood guard outside the shop.
Dolly walked unhurriedly to the counter, taking in everything about the wine shop.
There were about three or four full-time employees, and the shop’s decor, the goods displayed in the cabinets, and the size of the premises all quietly spoke of the establishment’s substantial resources and the owner’s deep pockets.
The proprietor before her was dressed in attire likely sourced entirely from Savile Row, worth more than an entire row of liquor here.
He was certainly no employee, yet he didn’t seem the type to have built his fortune from scratch.
He appeared to be a wealthy scion who had ventured into business on a whim.
She approached calmly, looked at the proprietor, and casually inquired:
“Sir, do you have Jamaican rum here?”
“Yes.”
Robert paid no mind to the customer’s plain attire. He stepped out from behind the counter, walked to the liquor cabinet on the west side, and pointed to a row of bottles in the corner.
“These are it. You can take a look.”
However, he was puzzled. Could it be that this person didn’t know this rum was currently circulating on the black market?
Why would she come to his shop to buy it when the prices were so cheap there?
Robert’s thoughts turned to the troubles surrounding this batch of goods. Although the bank had already compensated him for the principal, the market for this rum was now in disarray, and it would likely be difficult to sell in the future.
Following his gesture, Dolly saw only one type of Jamaican rum, priced at three Shillings per quart.
In this shop, it was considered quite affordable, yet for the general populace, it still fell into the mid-range category.
Unless it was for a holiday or a family celebration, no one from the lower classes would willingly spend two days’ wages on a large bottle of liquor.
Now, rum, with its strong aroma and wild character, was deemed unfit for refined settings.
Yet it was a military supply and remained highly popular among the common people.
Dolly had done her homework beforehand. Currently, England imposed heavy tariffs on such colonial spirits to protect its local gin and whisky.
At least one-third of these two shillings was due to the tariff.
“May I have a sniff?”
She asked again.
“Of course.”
He casually took out a sample bottle, opened it, and handed it to her.
Without even taking it, Dolly knew it was the real deal as soon as she caught the scent wafting from the bottle.
The current methods of rum processing were simple and imprecise, with each factory following its own practices, resulting in distinct flavors.
The intense tropical overripe fruit aroma she had smelled at the second-hand kitchenware shop was exactly this—rich in esters.
Dolly immediately began haggling with Robert.
…
Author’s Note: