Leaden-gray clouds filled the sky, threatening a sudden downpour at any moment. Since dawn, winds had swept through Clark Street, scattering hazy fog that drifted aimlessly through the streets.
At daybreak, Dolly descended the stairs wrapped in a dark blue shawl, her deep red hair braided and casually tied at the back, faint shadows lingering beneath her eyes.
In the kitchen, Mary was already bustling about. She emerged carrying a basin of steaming water and handed it to Dolly for washing up.
“Look how dark those circles under your eyes are—steam them a bit longer,” Mary said, patting her slender back.
Last night, Dolly had been preoccupied recalling the world background hidden within the original plot and the environmental events that might soon unfold, leaving her with little rest.
Rousing herself, Dolly quickly finished washing up, lifted the curtain, and stepped behind the counter. She took a cloth and wiped all the liquor-related writing off the blackboard, then wrote a notice stating they were doing their best to restock.
After completing this, she carried the blackboard outside, opened the main door, and hung it up.
Standing at her doorstep, Dolly gazed around for a long while. Though the sky was still dim at dawn, a warm yellow light already seeped from the alley leading to Dorothy Street, faintly visible through the fog.
Even from this distance, she could vaguely make out that Lobit Grocery Store seemed to be open for business.
Satisfied, Dolly returned inside. Footsteps echoed from the staircase behind her—Mr. Nash and Fred had just woken up and were coming downstairs, ready to head out.
“So early, and Lobit is already open.”
Mr. Nash emerged from behind the curtain. Hearing Dolly’s words, he flashed a sly smile and nodded. “Consider him diligent.”
A short while later, Mr. Nash and Fred pushed their cart out the door. Mary brought out a pile of steaming bread and meat broth pudding from the kitchen.
Not long after opening, neighbors began trickling in for breakfast.
“I’ll take two loaves of bread, two puddings without the tins… Dolly, have you sold out of rum? I saw Lobit’s selling some.”
Delanie leaned against the counter and asked curiously.
Dolly nodded, packing the bread into a paper bag and tipping the pudding onto Delanie’s plate.
“This batch of goods isn’t easy to come by. If Lobit has the means to get it, I’m genuinely impressed.”
Dolly then asked, “What flavor of bread would you like?”
Delanie pointed to the garlic-flavored one. Yesterday, she’d learned that Joel’s Coffee Shop on Dorothy Street was also selling garlic and raisin bread. She’d gone to take a look this morning, passing by Lobit Grocery Store on the way.
However, Delanie noticed that Joel’s loaves weren’t as large, so she sheepishly returned.
Delanie said, “It’s a bit embarrassing to say—we’re old neighbors, after all, so I should’ve come to your place first. But I’ve already checked, and what Joel’s Coffee Shop makes isn’t as good a deal as yours.”
Dolly shook her head, thinking Delanie’s sense of morality was too strong, her skin too thin.
“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. We’re the ones trying to earn your money—of course it should depend on each person’s ability.
Your money doesn’t grow on trees, so naturally, you should go wherever offers the best quality.
How many disappointments can mere sentiment and nostalgia endure? There’s no need to feel embarrassed.”
Dolly’s words left Delanie momentarily stunned, clutching her paper bag. She had never encountered a neighbor with such a mindset when it came to business.
Most neighborhood shops would take offense if you didn’t buy from them when you needed something, and word got around.
The customers queuing behind Delanie, much like her, had shopped around before coming here. Hearing Dolly’s words, they felt particularly at ease.
Dolly busied herself behind the counter, having worked on an empty stomach since dawn. It wasn’t until the seven o’clock bell rang and all the residents of the alley heading to work had left home that she finally had a moment of respite.
Dolly remained seated behind the counter, enjoying the bacon on her plate and dipping charred bread into the slightly congealed egg yolk while keeping track of the time.
Today was the day the Inspector came to collect various sanitation fees.
Starting from Dorothy Street, the old gentleman wouldn’t make his way to her shop until the afternoon.
Dolly bent down and opened the counter, revealing a box of expensive Cuban cigars. The wooden box bore the brand insignia of Partagás, and the price was enough to make anyone gasp.
These few cigars were sufficient to cover nearly a week’s wages for a laborer.
This brand was not only used by many high-end private banks as gifts to foster client relationships but was also trendy in various gentlemen’s clubs.
A whole box of the entry-level classic edition was perfectly suited for someone like the Inspector. Gifting cigars also made it easier to inquire about certain matters.
After finishing breakfast, Dolly wiped her mouth, drank an entire cup of black tea, and stepped out to take a stroll at the front of the alley.
Ever since the seven o’clock bell rang, the area in front of Lobit Grocery Store had become bustling, with countless people lining up.
The sky remained gloomy, and a cold wind whistled through. Dolly tightened her shawl, glanced around a few times, and returned to her own shop.
Lobit Grocery Store had also hung a sign outside advertising rum for sale.
The customers queuing outside were noisy, all drawn by the liquor.
Mr. Lobit stood inside the shop, looking quite pleased with himself as he surveyed the lively scene before him.
Following the complex rules of the black market, Lobit had seized the opportunity to buy at the base price, competing fiercely with other grocery store owners. He had gone to great lengths, nearly wearing out his lips, to purchase these few hundred bottles of rum from the storage room deep inside a second-hand kitchenware shop.
After the deal was done, the second-hand shop owner, who also dealt in illicit liquor, mentioned that he could source smuggled cigars and tea, asking if Lobit was interested.
Lobit, currently enjoying the sweet profits from the liquor, was still considering the matter. He planned to sound out the Inspector when he came to collect taxes today.
If there were no recent rumors or crackdowns, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to acquire some tea and cigars to sell discreetly.
Leaving George alone to manage the counter, Lobit strode out the door and stood at the street corner, looking around.
This morning, Lobit was unsurprised to encounter the owners of the other two grocery stores on Dorothy Road at the illicit liquor dealer’s place.
They, too, had seen the benefits Nash Grocery Store gained from selling liquor, investigated the leads, and found this dealer.
However, Lobit had been determined, spending a hefty sum to secure a purchase of several hundred bottles for himself, obtaining the lowest wholesale price.
His selling price today was even less than a Shilling per bottle. The other two small grocery store owners lacked the nerve, buying smaller quantities at less favorable prices.
Even though they also sold cheap rum now, their results couldn’t compare to his.
Lobit disdainfully averted his gaze and peered into the alley at Nash Grocery Store.
Compared to yesterday, Clark Street seemed quite deserted today. After breakfast hours, only scattered customers came by, far less bustling than the business at his own doorstep.
…
Dolly sat leisurely behind the counter, her back comfortably resting against the embroidered cushion of the high-backed chair. She reached out to flip open today’s edition of The Times and popped two almond chocolates into her mouth to chew.
The ink on the thin newspaper was still damp, and Dolly didn’t have a butler to iron it for her, so she carefully turned the corners to read the contents.
The most prominent section, as usual, only mentioned the legal proceedings related to the case and the speculations of various media outlets about the identity of the murderer.
Most print media believed the incident was inextricably linked to the Fenian Brotherhood.
The Fenian Brotherhood was a terrorist organization that had been highly active in London in recent years.
Composed of Irish members, they had consistently used violence to demonstrate their demands, aiming to pressure the government into making concessions and compromises on the Irish issue.
Whenever proposals favorable to improving Ireland’s land issues were rejected, the Fenian Brotherhood would emerge.
Over the years, they had been responsible for no fewer than ten bombing incidents, each targeting important landmarks in London, with various MPs and ministers also among their targets.
In the public eye, this group had become synonymous with all forms of crime and terrorism.
Moreover, the murderer had immediately committed suicide after being arrested to prevent information leaks—a clear hallmark of the Brotherhood’s methods.
Dolly flipped through other newspapers, where some argued that the incident might not have been the work of the Fenian Brotherhood.
London’s underground forces were complex and intertwined, with more than just one terrorist organization. It was possible that someone was deliberately framing them.
However, such rational voices were drowned out by more pointed reports, as the public preferred news with clear implications.
Dolly set aside these newspapers, which had nothing to do with her, and lowered her gaze to continue with her business.
Today’s business indeed seemed less lively than yesterday’s wine sales, but appearances could be deceiving.
From dawn until late morning, the forty pounds of bread and sixty bottles of pudding baked by Mary had sold out, and many Biscuits had also been sold.
When the old man and father went out this morning, Dolly hadn’t forgotten to ask them to purchase new tea leaves, dried flowers, and various other items that needed restocking.
Mr. Nash was clever enough to take samples of everything he needed to buy to avoid mistakes.
At the market, he simply purchased according to the samples.
The two twenty-pound barrels of tea leaves that Dolly had nearly sold out in recent days could be divided into sixteen hundred small bags, selling for four thousand eight hundred farthings, equivalent to five Pounds Sterling.
The combined cost of the tea leaves, dried flowers, and packaging materials was less than two Pounds Sterling, yielding a profit of three Pounds Sterling. This was already a sign that the product of floral tea and the sales method of three farthings had successfully passed market testing.
Now, the sales speed of other groceries in the store had also increased significantly, requiring restocking approximately every three to four days.
At noon, Mr. Nash and Fred returned after delivering milk, having purchased all the items the store was lacking.
Mr. Nash carefully handed over the tea leaves and miscellaneous goods they had brought back by cart for Dolly to inspect.
They held their breath, fearing they might fail the inspection or have bought something incorrectly.
Dolly carefully opened several tea canisters, checked the bottoms, then closed them, and took stock of all the other goods.
She nodded and announced, “No issues, all these items are fine.”
As soon as she finished speaking, both Mr. Nash and Fred breathed a sigh of relief.
“Of course, I followed your instructions carefully and checked each item one by one.”
Dolly put away the items on the counter into the cupboard, looked up at them, and said, “If you ever decide to stop delivering milk, why not come work for me? You could help with sourcing and delivering goods.”
Mr. Nash and Fred exchanged glances, somewhat surprised by Dolly’s suggestion, though they had been considering it themselves.
Just as Mr. Nash was about to say something, a child whose job was delivering notes hurried in from outside.
The child took two pennies as a fee from Dolly before handing over the note addressed to them.
They opened the note and found it was from Rissie.
In the letter, she mentioned that several tenants in her building were very interested in the grocery store’s food items and wanted to place an order for a batch of goods.
Below, she listed the quantities: Diamond Cookies alone amounted to five or six pounds, along with coffee-flavored biscuits, canned goods, flower tea, bread, and many other miscellaneous items and daily necessities.
This was enough to last them one or two weeks, with the total price of the goods coming to around six hundred pence.
These were all items that had been packed into a basket for Rissie to take home when she left the grocery store the other day.
Perhaps Rissie had shared these treats with her tenants, and they had developed an interest in purchasing them.
After all, the building she lived in was a relatively new apartment, spacious and not cheap, with a monthly rent of five pounds per floor.
There were currently three tenants: a railway engineer, a casting engineer, and a pharmacist.
The casting engineer lived with his family in two rooms in the attic.
The railway engineer occupied only a small single room, while the pharmacist lived with his midwife wife, and they had no children.
All three households had placed orders for the items on the list.
Dolly quickly gathered all the items on the list, carefully packaged them, double-checked the quantities, placed them into several baskets, covered them with dust cloths, and tied them securely with ropes.
Since there weren’t many milk deliveries in the afternoon, Fred volunteered to personally escort this batch of goods.
After lunch, he went to a second-hand furniture shop and rented a bicycle for a few pennies. He loaded all the baskets into the bike’s carrier, covered them with an oilcloth, put on a felt hat, and rode off to Camden to make the delivery.
Seeing that it looked like rain, Dolly reminded her father to put on his raincoat.
The distance from here to Camden was considerable—walking would take half a day for a round trip, but by bicycle, the journey would only take an hour or two.
This unexpected yet reasonable gain also gave Dolly some inspiration.
If the current dispute could end in her favor, she could immediately start planning a delivery service.
They could even arrange for a dedicated delivery vehicle.
Not long after Mr. Nash went out to deliver milk, dark clouds indeed drifted lower, pressing in from one side of the sky. The entire street grew dark, and sleet began to fall incessantly.
By the time he finished delivering milk to the remaining households and returned home, the Sanitary Inspector’s carriage had also arrived on Dorothy Street.
He arrived in a dilapidated carriage, accompanied by two young lackeys.
Sanitary Inspectors were dispatched and managed by the London City Council, considered less than ants in the eyes of the powerful and influential.
Yet in the eyes of ordinary small vendors and residents, they held considerable authority—a single word from them could lead to fines or ruin a business.
Dolly understood well that she hadn’t been transported into some mindless wish-fulfillment story. She had no connections, no influence, and was no aristocrat. Apart from going to great lengths to flatter this Inspector, she had no other options.
Everyone flattered this man, but she had to strive to outdo them all, to flatter him most deeply and sincerely.
Dorothy Street had the most vendors, most of whom were well-prepared. As soon as the Inspector arrived, they brought out their sanitation fees along with various prepared gifts and money.
The Inspector, wearing his worn-out uniform and carrying a hat under his arm, swaggered into several shops.
He ordered his young lackeys around—one responsible for collecting the sanitation fees, the other for holding an umbrella over the Inspector.
The Inspector didn’t linger long in any shop, yet the two pockets on his chest grew increasingly bulging.
Soon, the Inspector entered Lobit Grocery Store. Their business was particularly good today, catching the Inspector’s attention at a glance.
With his hands clasped behind his back, the Inspector walked into the store. Lobit, as expected, respectfully brought over a cup of hot tea and a towel, personally wiping away the nonexistent raindrops from the Inspector’s clothes.
“Lobit, your business is doing quite well today.”
He only cared about sanitation fees and had no interest in the gray-market activities on this street—those were matters for the police and tax authorities.
As long as the sanitation fees were paid in full, everything was negotiable.
Lobit smiled apologetically, leading the Inspector to sit behind the counter before bringing over a plate of greasy cream pastries.
“It’s all thanks to your care that our family is doing so well.”
As he spoke, he glanced sideways at his wife, who had brought the pastries, signaling her to fetch the gifts intended for the Inspector.
Mrs. Lobit hurried into the back room to search, returning after a while with several boxes, presenting them as if offering treasures.
The Inspector ate a few cream pastries, his expression casual, but his eyes were fixed on the boxes.
Lobit reached out, opened the boxes, and let the Inspector take a good look.
He added, “These are specially prepared for you. You must accept them.”
It was well-known that the Inspector enjoyed smoking cigars. Today, Lobit had spared no expense, preparing several boxes of the best-selling cigars from his store. The Inspector was quite satisfied upon seeing them.
As the Inspector prepared to rise from behind the counter, Lobit helped him up while inquiring about recent rumors regarding the crackdown on smuggled goods.
“I’ve heard things are tightening up lately. I wonder…”
“I can’t speak for other matters, but you can rest assured about this. It’s been this way for years—do you think it’ll suddenly change because of a few cases?”
The Inspector whispered, “Where do you think these goods come from?”
Hearing this, Lobit wore an expression of half-understanding, but his worries vanished entirely, and he no longer felt uncertain.
Meanwhile, the Inspector put on his hat and ordered his lackeys to take the cigars to the carriage.
He then swaggered into Clark Street, continuing to collect sanitation fees from the vendors and homeowners there.
By the time he entered Nash Grocery Store, it was already well into the afternoon.
Mr. Nash, Mary, and Dolly had all timed it perfectly, ready to receive this group.
They cooperated with the underlings to inspect the kitchen, warehouse shelves, and the cleanliness of the drains, and also paid the health fees in full.
The Inspector was quite disdainful of this small place and didn’t even bother to step behind the counter.
However, Mr. Nash had already moved a chair out in advance for him to sit on like a lord, serving tea and water and offering Biscuits.
“I heard your business has been doing well lately? How is it going? Is Lisa feeling better?”
The Inspector asked lazily.
Mr. Nash nodded in response, “That’s right, Lisa is much better now.”
The Inspector had already drunk a bellyful of tea and eaten many snacks earlier, so he didn’t touch any of these things now.
Seeing this, Mr. Nash brought out the high-end wooden box containing cigars from behind the counter.
“This is something we specially prepared for you—Cuban cigars, the brand most favored by gentlemen in clubs. As soon as I saw it, I immediately thought of you.”
The Inspector’s eyes lit up, and his hand unconsciously caressed the textured wooden box, engraved with the Partagas brand logo.
Mosana’s basic weekly salary was only three or four pounds, and he usually relied on tips to supplement his income.
The household finances were managed by his wife for expenses, so it was impossible for him to buy cigars. The number of times Mosana had smoked a box of cigars costing one or two pounds with only three or four cigars inside could be counted on one hand.
Mosana’s immediate superiors, the Secretary and members of the Whitechapel Sanitary Committee, usually smoked this brand of cigarettes and cigars, occasionally giving him one.
Mr. Nash, following the lines Dolly had taught him word for word, said to the Inspector:
“Someone of your stature, how could your taste be compared to ordinary people? Even if a pile of ordinary cigars were presented to you, what would that mean? Surely someone like you wouldn’t lack a couple of cheap ones?”
Dolly stood behind the curtain with her arms crossed, watching the Inspector’s expression through a gap.
His hand opened the lid, took out a cigar from the box, and brought it to his nose to smell it.
Hearing what Mr. Nash said, his face stiffened slightly, as if recalling the large pile of cheap cigars he had just received.
He cleared his throat, looking somewhat uncomfortable, and felt quite displeased with Lobit.
Both businesses were doing well, yet the Nash family was willing to give him a famous brand of good cigars, while Lobit tried to fool him with a pile of ordinary stuff, as if dealing with a beggar.
Dolly noticed his unhappy expression and mood, knowing this was exactly what she had hoped for. She gently released the curtain and continued to listen as Mr. Nash inquired about recent events in Whitechapel from the Inspector.
She had researched the upper structure of the health inspection system in the newspapers.
The Whitechapel District belonged to the Tower Hamlets parliamentary constituency, which encompassed a large area in the East End of London—an ancient political division.
As for the Whitechapel Sanitary Committee, the chairpersons of successive committees had all been former Members of Parliament who had represented the Tower Hamlets constituency.
The committee members were also nobles, gentleman landowners, and top wealthy merchants with assets in this area.
There were also a Secretary and health and medical advisors serving the committee.
Most of these individuals were also members of the Whitechapel Parish Council.
It often happened that in the morning, someone would propose a health policy in their capacity as a member of the Health Committee.
In the afternoon, this Mr. Jia raised his hand at the Parish Council meeting to approve the sanitation policy he had proposed.
Similarly, a Parish Council member who has achieved tangible results locally will gain recognition from their circle and community.
They may even rise to become the parliamentary representative for the constituency of Tavillage, stepping onto the real political stage from then on.
One could say that through this petty inspector who bosses ordinary people around, one can see the entire power structure of London in operation.
Dolly pondered something, then turned back into the kitchen and packed some steaming hot biscuits for the inspector’s underlings as well.
In the afternoon, the sky grew dim. Shortly after seeing off the esteemed sanitary inspector, the drizzling rain finally stopped, leaving only dark puddles on the road.
It was Fred’s first time cycling to Camden, and the trip took a while. He was delayed for a bit at Rissie’s place, where his brother-in-law Amber kept him for afternoon tea before letting him go.
As he rode past Lobit’s shop and saw the bustling scene there, his heart couldn’t help but tighten.
Lowering his head, he pedaled home, walked through the door, and brought in the basket and waterproof cloth.
He took off his raincoat, removed his felt hat, and shook off the rainwater.
After hanging these behind the front door, he pulled out a handful of shillings from the inner left pocket of his tweed coat.
He brought all the coins before Dolly, who was currently sitting behind the counter doing accounts.
Holding a quill pen, she drew a table on a piece of white paper that anyone who could read could understand at a glance.
“So, was the route easy to find?” Dolly looked up and asked him with her usual expression.
“How could I not know that place? Ten years ago, when you were still young, I worked in a piano factory in Camden. That area is close to the railway, has many large factories, and lots of skilled workers live there.”
After saying this, Fred suddenly remembered something and pulled a note from another pocket, saying:
“After I delivered the goods, the owners of the two houses next to your aunt happened to drop by. They tried the Diamond Cookies and each ordered five pounds, plus these…”
He hadn’t expected this money-making opportunity to come so suddenly, but it was normal for them to become hooked after trying the Diamond Cookies.
Once you start eating those little things, you just can’t stop.
Dolly looked up and took the two new orders, glancing over them.
There were biscuits, canned jam, flower tea, daily necessities, needles and thread—a total order worth five hundred and forty pence.
Fred calculated that he still had to deliver milk early tomorrow morning, so he could only deliver this batch in the afternoon. The second-hand bicycle rented for four pence a day would have to continue being leased.
After confirming they still had these items in stock, Dolly looked up and said seriously:
“If you ask me, you and grandfather might as well really come work for me.”
She counted on her fingers, making a reasoned calculation.
“Delivering milk keeps you busy all month, and at most you can earn eight pounds. But today, just from this one delivery of goods worth six hundred pence, we can make two hundred pence—that’s sixteen shillings.”
“If in the future we can deliver large orders worth three hundred to six hundred pence every day, then the monthly profit would be around ten to twenty pounds. But without a dedicated person capable of making long-distance deliveries, earning that twenty pounds won’t be easy for us.”
Seeing that her father was thinking very seriously, as if taking her words to heart, Dolly continued to press her point:
“Besides, it’s not just about deliveries. There’s also regular stock procurement, and occasionally covering shifts at the counter or handing out flyers.”
“Mom and I, both lacking in physical strength, find it quite unsafe to be constantly going back and forth outside for stock and deliveries.
If you could take night shifts, we could also keep the shop open a bit longer in the evenings.”
Dolly considered herself relentless when it came to recruiting unpaid staff.
After hearing her irrefutable argument, Fred indeed fell into deep thought, nodding as he said:
“Your grandfather and I have had the same idea. If things continue this way, it might indeed be feasible to proceed like this.”
“In that case, once the salaries are settled in a couple of days, I’ll go with your grandfather to look for someone willing to take on this job.
Once we find a replacement, we’ll hand over the work properly, ensuring the daily milk orders aren’t disrupted.”
Although the stable job and salary were hard to give up, Fred thought it over and decided his wife and daughter’s safety was more important.
He took off the towel, stepped outside, and wiped the mud and water off the bicycle by the door.
After wiping for a while, he turned back and called into the house:
“I think buying a bicycle like this would be a good idea, though this one today felt a bit hard to pedal.”
Listening, Dolly picked up a stack of coins from the table and counted them. There were more than six hundred pence, with a few extra.
This was the delivery fee. Nowadays, the European middle class still had the habit of tipping.
She said, “We could go to Whitechapel Road to buy a new, larger bicycle, preferably one with a rain cover.
In this regard, it’s better not to skimp. Saving money now might lead to constant minor issues and repairs, wasting time later.”
Dolly recalled the pitfalls she had encountered when starting her business in her previous life and shook her head helplessly.
She recorded the income figures in her hands. Including today’s delivery earnings, they could still achieve a profit of one Pound Sterling.
Fred agreed with Dolly’s words. After finishing cleaning the bicycle, he went to the secondhand shop to extend the rental for another day.
Then, Fred pushed the bicycle to look for the old man at home.
In the grocery store that evening, Mary came out from behind the curtain carrying a tray of freshly sealed, still-hot jam jars.
She took out the jars, threaded the date labels and store name labels prepared by Dolly onto hemp strings, and tied them into the grooves on the jar bodies.
This production standard made it easy to track daily sales and allowed more particular customers to record their jam opening times.
After tying all the hemp strings, she organized the jars into the cabinet and didn’t forget to check yesterday’s inventory.
The last few jars of jam were packed by Dolly for tomorrow’s delivery orders.
“All twenty jars of jam made yesterday were sold out today?”
Mary had thought that with Lobit Grocery Store offering discounts on alcohol today, business would be booming, inevitably attracting a large crowd to buy groceries along the way, which would affect their own shop’s sales.
Now, it seemed that wasn’t the case at all.
Dolly handed her the recorded ledger and said, “Our shop’s income is quite stable now, and the sales types aren’t singular, so it’s hard to be completely affected.”
Mary didn’t understand what “sales types” meant. She just thought of Mrs. Lobit, who similarly sold homemade food at home.
Mrs. Lobit’s skills could only be described as passable; Lobit had her make ready-to-eat food to save costs.
The food Mrs. Lobit made still contained wood chips and small stones, and the three-farthing goods they sold weren’t that substantial either—the tea was all dregs, and the candies were defective.
The people living nearby didn’t have much money to spare and were very careful with their calculations when buying things. Once they’d been cheated at Lobit’s, they wouldn’t go back.
Feeling reassured, Mary settled down and went back into the kitchen, turning the gas lamp even brighter.
She calmly took bread and roasted sausages from one of the stove’s compartments. On the stove, three or four cast-iron pots were simmering both meat broth and syrup, with enough space left to fry a pan of eggs.
Night gradually fell, and the weather grew colder. The moist night sky showed not a single star. The Lobit Grocery Store remained lively, making Clark Street seem particularly desolate in contrast.
Then, as darkness fell, it began to rain.
The underground tavern across the street saw almost no customers, affected by both the weather and human factors. Nathan indifferently closed the main door.
The grocery store also closed early. The whole family, young and old, took off their damp coats, dried themselves with towels warmed in the kitchen, then settled down peacefully to eat around the kitchen table.
Dolly leaned comfortably in her chair, reading the newspaper with one hand while holding leftover garlic bread in the other, dipping it into onion broth as she ate.
There was nothing particularly noteworthy in the newspaper.
Only one piece of news—about the attempted street assassination of a ruling party whip, which had failed—was printed in bold, capitalized letters on the front page.
Dolly wasn’t deeply interested in such news. After skimming it briefly, she set it aside, intending to focus on her meal.
Suddenly, she remembered something. After accepting the knife and fork Mary handed her, she spread the newspaper on her lap again and examined it more closely.
Looking at the black-and-white print before her, Dolly caught a whiff of something eerie from the dense lines of text.
“What are you looking at? Is there something in the newspaper?” Grandfather came down from upstairs with an empty plate, entered the kitchen, and noticed what Dolly was holding.
Dolly rolled up the newspaper and said, “There was an assassination attempt in the West End yesterday, but the attacker failed.”
Such distant matters, far removed from their own social class, didn’t attract Mr. Nash’s attention at all.
He shrugged and said “Oh,” then took his seat.
After they finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen, Mr. Nash and Fred busied themselves helping Mary prepare tomorrow’s cooked food.
Several basins of sourdough starter had fermented, and the biscuit dough had been kneaded. Together, they washed bottles and jars, sterilized them by boiling, and poured the simmered broth into them to cool.
With the kitchen preparations handled, Mary could simply put the semi-finished products into the oven when she woke up tomorrow.
Dolly took Penny to wash up. They changed into the new cotton nightgowns their aunt had given them and prepared to rest.
In January in London, although the oppression of winter wasn’t as severe, the low temperatures were particularly prolonged, making a warm bed especially tempting.
Without a second thought, Penny burrowed under the covers, ready to sleep.
Seeing Dolly still sitting by the window in a knitted cardigan, she couldn’t help but wonder how Dolly could be so indifferent to the allure of a warm bed.
She was becoming colder and colder.
“Aren’t you going to sleep yet?” Penny asked her, yawning and closing her eyes.
Dolly shook her head, silently flipping through old, past issues of the newspaper.
These expired newspapers had nearly been used as toilet paper, all rescued by her two days ago while cleaning out the first-floor storage room.
Dolly read with great concentration, turning page after page.
Usually, if she were searching for information with a specific purpose, she would only skim the headlines at a glance.
Only when she was killing time, waiting for something, would she examine each detail so meticulously.
Forcing herself into a state of flow, her mind filled with fragmented information, she became unaware of the passage of time.
“Dong—”
“Dong—”
The night bell of the district rang. Dolly stood up, exhaled a breath from her throat, and was about to turn away from the window.
Suddenly, faint hoofbeats echoed from both ends of Clark Street.
Dolly immediately drew back the curtains, pushed open the window, and peered toward the street entrance.
At the intersections of Jude Road and Dorothy Street’s main thoroughfare, two pitch-black carriages came to a halt. A group of people jumped down from the carriages.
Bright gas lamps were carried by these shadowy figures as they scattered in a jog, deploying across the entire thoroughfare. The leader loudly berated his subordinates’ movements.
These were unmistakably police officers.
Instantly, the street was brightly lit as residents pushed open their windows and ignited kerosene and gas lamps.
Dolly looked toward the distance. It seemed not just nearby—the entire Whitechapel District was gradually lighting up.
The cold wind outside the window sliced like a blade across her cheeks.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she reached out to close the window tightly, then drew the curtains shut before calmly changing her clothes.
On such a cold night, Dolly added two extra petticoats, layered a knitted undershirt inside, then slipped on an ankle-length coat, tied up her hair, and calmly wrapped herself in shawl after shawl.
Carrying a small brimmed hat and a leather wallet for money, she walked downstairs.
By the time she reached the lower floor, her grandfather and father had already been drawn by the commotion outside. Midway through washing up, they pushed open the main door to check the situation.
Dolly first went to the kitchen, brewing herself a strong cup of coffee and adding a creamer ball.
Tonight was destined to be sleepless—she needed caffeine.
As she swallowed the coffee, hurried footsteps of leather boots echoed from the street outside.
Street Constable Baljob, along with his trainee constables, began knocking on the doors of every shop and grocery store.
Dolly set down her coffee cup and lifted the curtain just as a trainee constable arrived at their shop entrance.
The trainee constable flashed his credentials, not even glancing at the coins Mr. Nash offered.
Mr. Nash was quite surprised. He had grown familiar with this trainee constable—if nothing were amiss, he wouldn’t act so distant.
The trainee constable spoke in an official tone:
“…Under orders to search this entire street for all black-market smuggled contraband. The Magistrate has issued a Special Search Warrant.
It’s best to cooperate with the investigation. Anyone who resists will be charged with obstructing official duties and can be arrested immediately.”
At these words, everyone in the grocery store fell silent.
The three—father, son, and granddaughter—exchanged glances, instantly reaching an unspoken understanding.
After finishing his statement, the trainee constable glanced sideways into the alley. Seeing Baljob wasn’t there, he turned back and whispered to Mr. Nash:
“Find all the invoices from the wholesalers, especially for items like tobacco, alcohol, and tea.”
After speaking, the probationary officer cleared his throat and took two steps back, standing in the middle of Clark Street to prevent anyone from escaping with stolen goods.
Inside the grocery store, Dolly and her grandfather brought out the invoices they had already prepared.
Although there were no smuggled goods in the shop at the moment, they had sold smuggled liquor just two days ago, and Mary was feeling uneasy.
Suddenly, she saw Dolly take out a purchase order from the liquor merchant, stamped with the merchant’s private seal.
Mary was quite surprised and muttered to herself, but Dolly, Mr. Nash, and Fred quickly explained everything to her.
A short while later, Sergeant Baljob personally led his men into Nash Grocery Store.
After the officers finished searching according to the purchase order, they found no smuggled goods listed on it in the shop.
Baljob was somewhat disappointed. With another wave of his hand, he arrogantly straightened his posture and interrogated:
“Did your family sell a cheap Jamaican rum a couple of days ago?”
“Who purchased it, and who sold it? Come with me to Scotland Yard to explain.”
Dolly nodded, turned to Mary, and said, “Open the shop as usual tomorrow. We’ll be back by morning at the latest.”
Calmly, she placed her hat on her head and said to Fred:
“We still have deliveries tomorrow. I’ll go with Grandfather.”