17 Repetition

After Lucy poured out everything all at once, she lowered her head, her heart filled with timidity.

She knew that Mr. Esas usually had a good relationship with Miss Nancy, perhaps even a very close one.

Miss Nancy was conscientious and responsible, quite kind to the apprentices. She rarely resorted to corporal punishment; most of the time, it was just a few taps on the palm or an hour of standing as punishment, and these measures were aimed only at the occasional mischievous child.

Lucy had also been cared for by Miss Nancy, which made her feel somewhat ashamed as she spoke those words.

Would Mr. Esas believe her? Believe someone who couldn’t read before being hired, who couldn’t even spell her own name properly?

Lucy did not know.

After a while, the room remained silent except for the rustling sound of paper stirred by the wind.

Tense and nervous, Lucy misread Mr. Esas’s silence.

“I’m not lying!” she said hoarsely, her voice tinged with desperate recklessness. “I heard them very clearly—”

When she lifted her head, her eyes widened.

It wasn’t the sound of paper rubbing, but Mr. Esas chewing on a piece of bread so dried out by the sun it was almost like stone.

—But that bread was just a long-dried prop, so hard even a mouse’s teeth couldn’t gnaw it. She only brought it over for show, not actually for Mr. Esas to eat!

“Hm, I know,” Arna mumbled, swallowing the bread crumbs resembling sawdust, pleased to see her stamina increase slightly.

Seeing Lucy’s expression as if she had seen a ghost, Arna paused for a moment. “...What’s wrong?”

Lucy didn’t speak, only staring blankly at Arna’s now empty hands.

After pondering for a moment, Arna suddenly understood. “You’re hungry too?”

Saying this, she turned and opened the safe. “Good thing I stored plenty of food in here…”

For the first time, Lucy saw the legendary safe filled with treasures.

Inside, it was almost overflowing with all kinds of messy things—many wrapped in brown paper were food items, while golden axes, swords, and pickaxes were crammed into a small corner at the back.

She was utterly dumbfounded.

Who would transform the most valuable gold into such objects and then squeeze them together with a bunch of random food?

Looking at Lucy’s bewildered face, Arna didn’t think anything was wrong.

She understood the situation somewhat; perhaps the child had never seen good food before and was a little stunned.

With that thought, Arna reached out and tossed a food bag containing a pastry into Lucy’s arms.

Lucy instinctively protected it, afraid it might fall.

Looking down, she indeed saw a small package of food faintly emitting a rich aroma of oil, unsure whether to feel moved or amused.

She guessed that, in Mr. Esas’s mind, those items were probably not as important as the food on top.

“All right, go eat,” Arna said generously, adding a comforting word. “I know about the other matters. You don’t need to worry.”

She still had high hopes for this diligent employee who consistently produced quality work for her.

Lucy nodded and turned to leave.

But as she reached the door, she asked quietly, “...The factory won’t close down, and you won’t go bankrupt, right, Mr. Esas?”

Arna had just raised a cup and taken a sip to soothe her throat when she choked.

“...Wait,” she said in disbelief. “Who said I was going bankrupt?”

* * *

Arna never expected that just because she had been lax for a few days and hadn’t gone out to earn extra money, rumors would start flying that her factory was about to close.

After seeing Lucy off, she slumped into her chair and sighed deeply.

Though Feigin and his gang had taken the bait, achieving their original goal, Arna couldn’t help but feel inexplicably uneasy.

With this in mind, Arna decided to take a walk.

She smoothly retrieved the carriage, sat atop the frame, held the reins, and pondered where to go for a stroll.

Before she could decide, a small figure suddenly jumped up beside her.

A clever boy named Dodge sat down with a grin, his hat crooked atop his head.

“Little Mr. Esas, kind gentleman, please give me a ride! I just asked Miss Nancy for leave because I plan to buy a pair of socks—my socks are in such a sorry state, they can’t even be patched.”

He blinked and spoke amusingly, “Although I’ve ridden in carriages before, I’ve never ridden in one driven by a gentleman!”

Arna glanced at him silently, recalling Watson’s previous riding experience, and kindly asked again, “Are you sure?”

Dodge, always scheming and not just seeking a simple ride, wouldn’t spoil his own plan now.

“Of course, sir,” he whistled, “let’s go!”

Arna lightly flicked the reins, and the horse, with which she had gained tacit understanding over time, began moving forward. The carriage bounced over the uneven cobblestones, wheels creaking.

“Where should I drop you off?” she asked. “I’ve never been to a sock shop; you’ll have to give me the exact location.”

Dodge grabbed the seat tightly and remained silent for a moment, his usual bluff vanishing.

Then he spoke, “Listen, sir, I’m not one to tattle. I guess Oliver was the first to tell you about Feigin, right? Feigin has gone mad.”

Arna’s eyes widened, and she instinctively slowed the carriage.

…What’s going on? Had two whistleblowing events been triggered?

“Saturday night, Feigin and his crew planned to knock you out. Nancy was supposed to slip some sedative into your cup while others cleaned your safe,” Dodge said without noticing Arna’s expression, making a grimace. “But she’s not enthusiastic about it—she only agreed because Sykes persuaded her.”

His voice lowered, unusually serious.

“She’s scared, Esas. Scared of me, or others. At least half of them don’t even want to do it, maybe you know, maybe you don’t,” he sighed. “But Feigin tried to make us see you as a fat cat.”

He wiped his face with one hand. Suddenly, the cocky boy disappeared, replaced by a weary, exhausted youth.

“I know, I might be too soft, not tough enough... but you gave us beds, blankets, and troughs enough to feed us,” he said with conflicted feelings. “It’s wrong to bite the hand that feeds.”

Arna looked at the boy and patted his shoulder.

“I understand,” she said lightly. “You don’t need to worry about this.”

Dodge’s eyes widened. “Then how do you plan to...” handle them?

Before he could finish, Arna blew a sharp whistle.

The horse immediately responded with a loud neigh and suddenly sped up.

Dodge yelped as the carriage lurched forward, clutching the side rail in fright; his hat nearly flew off.

“Ah! Warn me next time before you start!” he shouted over the roar of the galloping carriage. “Or are you planning to kill me before that guy finds out?”

Arna ignored him and urged the horse faster and faster.

“Where’s the fun in warning ahead?”

She even equipped the title she had earned last time, boosting the carriage’s speed by five percent.

“That’s so mean!” Dodge accused, but amid the flying speed, he struggled between terror and a forced grin.

The wind tugged at his oversized coat sleeves, making him stagger. Shops and passersby blurred past, as if everything was thrown behind him, leaving only a sense of relieved ease.

Though Arna said nothing to encourage him, he found some comfort in the reckless ride.

* * *

He couldn’t quite explain it, but it felt good.

The breeze carried the salty scent of the Thames, and Dodge suddenly laughed.

His expression loosened, growing lighter. “You must have a plan in mind, right, sir?”

“But I won’t tell you,” Arna said mischievously.

“That’s fine, I don’t want to hear it,” the overly mature boy shrugged, jumping down as the carriage slowed. “I’m off! Really going to buy socks.”

He landed skillfully, rolled, and waved as he walked off nonchalantly, as if no terrible secret had just been revealed.

Watching him depart so casually, Arna couldn’t help but laugh.

She parked the carriage near the riverbank, leisurely took out her fishing rod and bucket, and began fishing.

Luck was on her side today; soon, her bucket was full.

Realizing it was nearly noon, Arna lifted the heavy bucket and climbed onto the carriage.

Perfect for splitting some to feed the children and delivering the rest back to Baker Street.

When Arna entered the kitchen carrying the fish, a rich aroma wafted through the air.

The scent of butter was exquisite; she couldn’t help but inhale a few more times, feeling her stomach already a little fuller.

“Another extra meal today? Mr. Esas, you’re truly generous,” Mrs. Laura, the cook, praised the lavish lunch. “You know, few factory owners in the East End are as generous as you! I’m honored to work here.”

She took the fish and skillfully gutted and cleaned it for marinating.

Arna felt lighthearted listening to her. “It’s nothing, really.”

She washed her hands in a wooden basin nearby. Halfway through, a small voice came from the side.

“Mr. Esas?”

Arna looked up.

Oliver, who often liked to come help around this time, stood at the door, hands twisting the hem of his oversized apron, his complexion somewhat pale.

His eyes glanced at Mrs. Laura, then at Arna, his expression pleading.

“I—I hope I’m not bothering you?” he stammered. “I have something I want to tell Mr. Esas.”

Arna: …Could it be what I think it is?

Suspicious of the factory owners, she wiped her hands and pointed to the storage room nearby. “Let’s go.”

As the door closed behind them, Oliver began.

“Feigin is plotting something. He’s having the children stir up trouble, and Nancy—” He swallowed hard. “She might be helping, I think.”

So it was that matter after all.

Arna pressed her palm against her forehead, feeling quite troubled.

Factory owners, could you be any lazier? This is the third time the whistleblowing event has triggered!

She knew maxing out favor would trigger special events... but which game’s NPC special events are all about tattling?