The Happy Days of Being a Factory Owner in London – Chapter 12

Pie

This was not something she had stolen.

After the doctor left, Arna returned to her second-floor office alone and sat down.

            

A couple of days prior, she had crafted a desk and chair for herself. The window opened inward, perfectly positioned to give her a view of the children gathered around the tables downstairs.

Since no one was around, Arna hummed a tune and propped her legs up comfortably on the desk.

First up was a basic inventory of the factory’s assets.

            

…Even though she was still quite poor and the factory lacked anything of significant value, every single desk and chair was precious!

【Job: Factory Owner】

【Factory Name: The Wealthy Factory】

            

【Factory Status: Small Workshop】

【Employees: 11】

【Evaluation: Can this even be considered a factory? Isn’t it just a rundown workshop? But considering there are quite a few people… it barely qualifies as a small workshop.】

            

【Currently Unlocked Production List: Carriage Shock Absorber (Beginner), Air Freshener (Beginner), Wooden Bunk Beds】

The Carriage Shock Absorber was a production blueprint automatically issued by the system after Arna had recruited the ten children.

She had managed to scrape things together, buying some suitable parts from the store, and finally found a task to keep the kids busy for now.

            

Fortunately, the selling price of the finished shock absorbers to the system was quite high. She had relied entirely on this income over the past few days to balance her books and save up a small sum.

If she sold them herself, they would likely fetch an even higher price, but Arna was in no rush.

She only had so many hands available. If she exhausted these ten skilled apprentices, where would she find new people to work for her?

            

At this thought, Arna opened the employee status panel and checked the children’s conditions one by one.

Excellent. They had eaten their fill at breakfast and were working hard. The apprentices’ various stats were slowly increasing as they worked. Two or three of them were glowing with a golden light, indicating they were over-performing and producing higher-precision parts.

Arna closed the panel with satisfaction.

            

Just then, someone knocked on the door. She hurriedly sat up straight, grabbed a book someone had tossed onto the desk, and flipped it open. “Come in.”

When Nancy entered, this was the scene she saw. The factory owner, Mr. Aisas, was intently reading a book—likely a ledger—with a cup of long-cold tea resting beside him.

Even though the light was somewhat dim, she could still see the dark circles under his eyes. Clearly, he had been exhausting himself lately as well.

            

“Please, sit,” he said rather amiably.

“Good morning, Mr. Aisas.” Nancy sat in the chair, a bit fidgety. “I just wanted to ask about today’s lessons. The children have been learning their letters and arithmetic…”

She hesitated.

            

Arna looked at the little green dot flashing with the “Anxious” emotion on her panel and asked curiously, “What is it, Nancy?”

Nancy’s hands tightened on her skirt where they rested on her lap.

“I heard several ladies visited yesterday regarding… the teaching position,” she said softly. “If you are looking for a more suitable candidate, I can understand. It is just…”

            

It is just what?

She didn’t know either. Just as the neighborhood residents whispered among themselves, her background was indeed unrespectable. Naturally, she wasn’t fit to be a teacher.

“Oh, a few people did drop by yesterday.” Arna began recalling how many NPCs had visited, not forgetting to open a drawer and pull out a parcel. “Mrs. White dropped off some slates¹ for the kids to use for writing practice. It’s better than tracing in the dirt with twigs.”

            

Handing the items over, she finally remembered the other point Nancy had brought up. “The teaching position? No, no, no, I have no intention of finding someone new to teach the kids.”

At the thought of it, Arna felt a surge of annoyance.

She didn’t know what game mechanic she had triggered, but some random NPC had stopped her yesterday to recommend herself as the children’s new teacher, taking the opportunity to ruthlessly belittle Nancy in the process.

            

The woman had prattled on and on. Arna had forgotten most of what she said, but the phrase “only fifteen shillings a week” was still deeply etched into her mind.

Fifteen shillings! Fifteen!

Who exactly gave her the courage to quote such an exorbitant price?

            

Nancy was much better—her asking price wasn’t high, she was capable and considerate, and she had a good personality.

Nancy stared at the parcel, her chest tightening. “Then you don’t plan to—”

“No,” Arna shook her head firmly. “Unless you plan to resign.”

            

Saying this, she started to feel a bit nervous herself.

Wait, could Nancy actually be planning to leave?

Could this be a competitor’s conspiracy? First, send someone over to disrupt her factory’s order, then poach her core personnel, and finally cause her factory to collapse completely?

            

Business warfare is just too vicious! Capitalists really do have black hearts!

Fortunately, she had come prepared.

Arna smiled faintly and fished another key out of the drawer.

            

“Here, this is for you,” she said, feigning casualness. “I recently cleared out a room on the second floor, right next to the children’s dormitory. It’s empty anyway, so you can use it for your midday rest if you’d like.”

Her gaze swept over the bruises on Nancy’s neck. “…Or you could move in. It would be convenient for you to help me look after the kids more. I recall your home is a bit of a distance from the factory, isn’t it?”

Nancy instinctively looked up at Arna. The moment their eyes met, she hastily lowered her head again, as if she had been burned.

            

She said, “Alright.”

Nancy didn’t even know how she made it out of the office. She only remembered walking down the stairs in a daze and supervising the children as they made parts for a while. The time flew by in a blur.

While the children ate lunch, Nancy went to see the room.

            

It was far from Mr. Aisas’s office, situated in another corner of the factory right next to the children’s room. The room was narrow and small, containing a single bed, a neat pile of straw laid out, and a clean, old blanket resting in the corner.

She stood in the room for a long time, staring blankly while clutching the key, before her trembling hands finally hung it around her neck.

“Pull yourself together, Nancy,” she told herself, patting her cheeks. “You still have work to do this afternoon.”

            

But today seemed to hold quite a few surprises.

Just as she was handing out the slates and assigning the children their work, a carriage creaked to a halt outside the factory doors.

The sturdy mare leading it shook her mane and snorted in displeasure, drawing a string of wry smiles from the driver.

            

An elderly woman stepped down from the carriage. Her greying hair was tucked neatly beneath her bonnet, and a basket draped with a linen cloth hung from her arm.

She exchanged a few quiet words with the driver before slowly making her way into the factory.

The children with sharp noses had already caught the scent of butter and beef, and they began chirping among themselves.

            

And the Dodger, always the quickest on his feet, stood up and darted over to the old woman’s side in a flash.

“You must be the aunt Mr. Aisas is always mentioning, the kind and generous Mrs. Hudson!” he said, his words dripping with honey. “My lady, carrying all that must be heavy. Let me help you!”

Mrs. Hudson laughed, thoroughly amused by him.

            

She lifted the cloth, revealing golden-brown pies in the basket that were still radiating heat, along with several pots of soup. “I thought you lot ought to have something good to eat. There’s nothing better than prime beef and broth to build up your strength!”

She didn’t need to say it twice. Smelling the food, the children all stood up.

They swarmed around Mrs. Hudson like a flock of sparrows, eagerly yet cautiously craning their necks, hoping to get their share from the basket.

            

“Don’t rush!” said Lucy, the group leader. “Go wash your hands first!”

Mrs. Hudson nodded at the little adult. “That’s right, be quick and listen to her. Go wash your hands, children.”

The children scattered, elbowing each other as they crowded around the washing basin, playing around as they scrubbed their hands.

            

Only Nancy remained seated in her chair, the fingers resting on her lap nervously clutching her apron.

It was the apron Mr. Aisas had given her—free of stains and holes—which he claimed to have picked out of some rubbish bin.

But everyone in this factory knew that, much like his other claims of “I picked this food out of the bin, you lot better eat it quickly before it rots,” it was merely one of his well-intentioned lies.

            

Catching sight of Nancy, Mrs. Hudson’s previously stern face softened.

“Ah, come here, dear,” she said, waving for her to approach. “Yes, come quickly.”

From the very bottom of the basket, Mrs. Hudson pulled out another small parcel, carefully tied with twine.

            

She unwrapped the brown paper. Inside sat two pies. “This one is beef, and that one is apple and blackberry. Take them and eat.”

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “My nephew tells me you have quite the knack with these little ones, and it’s been a great help to him. Helping him is helping me. Good girl, you truly are a wonderful assistant.”

A flush of red crept up Nancy’s neck.

            

She took the two pies, hesitated for a moment, and then the words in her heart tumbled out: “Why go through the trouble of looking after me? I don’t seem like the respectable sort.”

The moment the words leaped from her throat, Nancy felt her face burning.

Wasn’t this exactly how people usually saw her?

            

A thief, a willing degenerate from the lowest class, or even worse.

To her surprise, Mrs. Hudson paused for a moment.

“Why do you say that, dear?” she asked calmly.

            

Nancy instinctively swallowed hard.

“I—I don’t have a family name, nor do I have a future. Your nephew—he shouldn’t be associating with someone like me. It isn’t right, and it isn’t proper—” she stammered.

Everything she had said was the truth.

            

Her purpose for coming here hadn’t been pure to begin with. She wasn’t even truly here to be an innocent teacher. Behind her stood Fagin’s schemes, Sikes’s threats and bribes, and a great many other things.

None of it was good.

“Oh, do leave off, girl!” Mrs. Hudson waved a hand, cutting her off. Her lace-trimmed sleeve fluttered with the motion, drawing a lovely arc in the air.

            

“Family names? Three generations ago, half the great names of the nobility were stolen from place names and pub signs,” she said dismissively. “As for a future? That’s just a fancy word for those who work hard and catch a bit of luck.”

She reached out, her fingers surprisingly nimble as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind Nancy’s ear.

The gesture was incredibly gentle. It made the young woman’s throat tighten and her mouth go dry.

            

“You are here, and you are trying your best. To me, that means more than anything else,” Mrs. Hudson said, lowering her voice. “If my nephew ever proves foolish enough to listen to idle gossip and lets a good teacher like you slip away over something as trivial as a family name—well, he’ll find out just how hard my frying pans are with his own head.”

With that, she offered a knowing smile.

An unfamiliar emotion welled up inside her. Nancy instinctively bit her lip, a sharp sting spreading across it.

            

By the time she realized she ought to thank her, Mrs. Hudson had already walked over to the middle of the children.

She began pressing pies into the children’s hands and setting the pots of broth on the table. Her voice rang out clear and loud above the din. “Good heavens! Nobody takes a second cup until everyone has had their first, or I shall be sticking this ladle right in your ear!”

Hurried footsteps sounded from upstairs. Young Mr. Aisas dashed down the stairs, having clearly heard Mrs. Hudson’s voice.

            

“Aunt, what about me—” he cried out, as eager as a child, brushing past where Nancy stood. “Save some for me! I want to eat too!”

His pace was swift, stirring up a gust of wind.

In the wake of that breeze, Nancy suddenly realized that the pies in her hands were still hot.

            

As warm as the hands of the person who had just taken them from the oven. As warm as a bed freshly laid with straw.

The key to the small room still hung against her chest, swaying slightly, reminding her of something.

Damn the East End. Damn Fagin and his schemes.

            

Thinking this, she gripped the pie tightly and took a forceful bite.

The savory aroma of the pie enveloped her like an embrace she had never dared to imagine. The sweet and tart flavors spilled from the crust, filling her mouth, warming her all the way from the tip of her tongue down to her chest.

This was not something she had stolen.

            

This belonged to her.

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