The Happy Days of Being a Factory Owner in London – Chapter 13
by MonoPatents
What the heck is this?
After patting each of the children on the head, Mrs. Hudson prepared to head back.
She carried her now-empty basket. “I’ll head back to Baker Street first. The carriage is still waiting for me—besides, you know 221B simply cannot do without a landlady!”
“Didn’t the maid you hired recently return from the country?” Arna had just finished one beef pie and was holding another. “Leave the cleaning to her. If she can’t handle it, I’ll go back and do it.”
She shrugged. “Aunt, you really ought to rest a bit.”
“I know,” Mrs. Hudson said affectionately. She pinched Arna’s cheeks, which were puffed out with food, but didn’t forget to complain, “But the one who worked until two in the morning last week has no right to say that.”
Arna let out a dry laugh. “You have a great memory, Aunt.”
Oliver let out a snicker, earning a glare from Arna. Unfortunately for her, over this past period, he had largely stopped being afraid of her.
He grinned at her and handed the washed jars to Mrs. Hudson, earning a warm hug in return.
After packing everything away, Mrs. Hudson climbed into the carriage with an elegance rare for a person of her age, waving to the group.
Bellies full of food, the apprentices returned to the table to continue their studies and work.
“…If you ask me,” Charley Bates whispered to the Dodger, “the Queen’s grandmother couldn’t make pies as tasty as Mrs. Hudson’s!”
The Dodger grinned and fished half a pie out of his pocket.
“We’ll eat it quietly later,” he said mysteriously. “I nicked it.”
Sitting beside them, Oliver’s eyes widened in apprehension. “Is that…”
Was it stolen? Did it belong to someone else?
“That’s just me and my silver tongue,” the Dodger said smugly. “Mrs. Hudson gave it to me herself!”
Before he could brag any further, he received a hard rap on the head, and the pie, wrapped in half a sheet of paper, was snatched away.
“No eating during study time,” Nancy said, tucking the pie away. “Dodger, if there’s a next time, you’ll be punished by skipping dinner.”
The Dodger’s face immediately fell. “Nancy, Mrs. Hudson gave that to me…”
Under Nancy’s stern gaze, he reluctantly switched to a respectful title. “Miss Nancy.”
“You’ll get it at dinner,” Nancy said. She folded the wrapping paper, slipped it into her apron pocket, and clapped her hands together lightly. “Alright, children, keep writing!”
Lucy, who had been quietly observing their interaction from the side, suddenly felt a tug on her sleeve.
She looked away, turning her head toward Bella, who was gripping the corner of her sleeve.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I think I hear a carriage,” Bella said uncertainly. “It sounds like someone else has come to the factory…”
Lucy listened for a moment.
The rumble of wheels rolling over the ground, the forceful thud of horse hooves, and the sharp crack of a driver’s whip cutting through the air.
It really was!
“Miss Nancy,” she called out. “We have another visitor!”
The visitor was the solicitor, Mr. Green.
The case he was handling was still being delayed in the Court of Chancery1. With nothing important to do for the moment, he decided to take a stroll over to Young Mr. Aisas’s factory before dinner to see how things were progressing.
Since the young man hadn’t come to him to mortgage the deed, things must be going passably well, right?
He took a carriage over, and as he drew near, he was shocked by the factory’s completely renewed appearance.
Stepping inside, Mr. Green felt another wave of disbelief at the sight of the spotless workshop and the children sitting around a long table, studying methodically.
…Who would have thought Young Mr. Aisas was actually this reliable?
He took a lap around the ground floor. Most of the spacious workshop lacked machinery; instead, there were numerous crates filled with parts of unknown purpose.
Footsteps sounded overhead. Mr. Green looked up to see Arna slowly descending the stairs, accompanied by a plainly dressed young woman who was likely the children’s teacher.
Sure enough, a person needs to see the world before they can grow. The young man looked much more mature now.
“I haven’t seen you in a few days, and you’ve already accomplished such a grand undertaking,” Mr. Green said with a smile. “I heard you were putting the factory back to use, but its current state far exceeds my expectations.”
Arna laughed. Beaming, she led Mr. Green into the office and leaned against the desk in a showy manner.
“How about it?” she asked proudly, pointing through the clear glass window that offered a full view of the factory interior. “Isn’t it great? What do you think my grandfather would say?”
He’d definitely give it a perfect score!
“A massive improvement. It’s much more respectable in here,” Mr. Green praised. “One might even call it remarkable.”
As for her second question, he actually gave it some thought. “Your grandfather… to be frank, no matter what you did here, he would be thoroughly confused.”
Given Old Man Aisas’s level of education, unless he had taken up mechanics in heaven, he would likely still be completely clueless about all of this.
Meeting Arna’s blank stare, he leisurely added, “But no matter what you do, he would be proud of you.”
Arna broke into a wide grin.
She picked up a component she had assembled herself from the desk and handed it to Mr. Green, passing him the blueprints along with it. “This is what we’re making. It’s used on carriages to reduce the shock of bumps. The cost isn’t high, and I’ve already tested it. It works pretty well.”
Mr. Green narrowed his eyes, examining it carefully. Legal terms swirled in his mind until they landed on a specific one.
“Hmm, not bad. But you must apply for a patent. Every industry has a flock of greedy, incompetent fools,” he remarked rather acidly. “As long as there’s a profit to be made, they’d steal a widow’s mourning dress.”
Imagining a bunch of men stuffing themselves into mourning dresses, Arna burst out laughing.
“Don’t be so quick to laugh,” Mr. Green said, raising his eyebrows in disapproval. “You need to consider other matters.”
He tapped his cane lightly on the floor. “I can help you draft the documents, but as everyone knows, you will need to pay a fee to the Royal Patent Office.”
“…Pay a fee?” Arna said blankly.
Aren’t these things just automatically approved once you apply? Most farming games don’t make you pay taxes to the mayor!
You even get to enjoy the legacies of the town’s predecessors—like being able to steal the mayor’s underpants to sell for cash, or digging up gold by smashing the graves of former residents.
Seeing the obvious hesitation on Arna’s face, Mr. Green sighed.
“It is worth every penny spent,” he said. “Mark my words, child.”
Before she could answer, the office door creaked open.
“I didn’t realize you had a guest, Aisas,” Watson said. He had just arrived and looked a bit embarrassed. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
He was carrying his medical bag, clearly having just returned from a patient’s home. A faint trace of iodine stained the sleeve of his white shirt.
“Not at all, my friend. We were just having a chat,” Mr. Green said. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Aisas?”
“Ah.” Arna snapped out of her thoughts. “Dr. Watson, this is my grandfather’s solicitor and friend, Mr. Green. Mr. Green, this is Dr. Watson, a friend of mine and my aunt’s lodger.”
Dr. Watson nodded politely. “An honor to meet you, Mr. Green.”
He hesitated for a moment, ultimately deciding to give them some space. “I’ll head downstairs for a bit. I can come back when you’re finished talking.”
“No, there’s no need. You’ve arrived at the perfect time,” Mr. Green said immediately.
As if remembering something, he turned to Arna. “Your factory is still missing one thing. Do you know what it is?”
Arna: “…Money?”
Well, it was true. She really was strapped for cash.
Mr. Green choked slightly on her response.
“No, it is a matter of labor compliance,” he said. “You know—never mind, you probably don’t know. Factories have strict requirements regarding the age and physical condition of their workers, with different regulations for different age groups. You need a doctor to issue an assessment certificate proving that the children you hire are of legal working age and fit for employment—or at least to convince the inspectors2 that you believe they are.”
Watson was left dizzy by this rapid string of words, but his sharp mind still caught the main point.
He muttered, “Pure bureaucracy.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Green said with a shrug. “My apologies, sir, but it is a solicitor’s job to identify these issues.”
“And what about solving them?” Arna asked curiously.
Finding both their gazes shifting toward her, she instinctively sensed something was wrong. “…Me? I have to do it?”
Seriously?
Fine. The player is the center of the world, the savior, the bearer of titles so numerous and complex they couldn’t be summed up in a few words—titles so long they’d be mocked for taking up too much space on the screen.
Arna let out a long breath. “I understand. I’ll take care of it.”
She walked the solicitor downstairs. It was nearly time for dinner.
Having spent the entire day crafting three crates’ worth of parts, and with a steady daily income from the children’s work, Arna really had no desire to continue ‘exploding liver’3 into the night.
When she climbed into the carriage and pulled the reins taut, she saw Watson already walking down the path of his own accord. He was completely silent, as if terrified of startling some horrifying monster.
So, Arna also muffled the sounds of her driving, stealthily trailing him from a moderate distance with the carriage.
Is this going to trigger a new cutscene? For instance, running into five gangs of robbers on the road and getting to fatten up my wallet?
Or maybe walking this road with a companion at this specific time triggers a special event, spawning some hideous monster that drains your Sanity points4 just by looking at it?
Arna trailed behind him, full of anticipation.
But even as she drove the carriage near the main road, she didn’t spot anything.
Finally, Arna couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Dr. Watson,” she asked, “what are you hiding from?”
Watson nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.
“Good lord!” He clutched his chest. “I was hiding from… Have you been following me this whole time?”
Arna nodded.
Watson looked at her in silence. He stared at her with the same wary expression he’d worn when she had taken him on that high-speed, careening carriage ride—an experience he had absolutely no desire to repeat.
Arna: “…Need a ride?”
Watson’s wary expression slowly morphed into one of pure terror.
“…I swear,” Arna said hurriedly, “I’ll go slowly.”
“You swear.” Watson hugged his medical bag to his chest like a shield. “No sharp turns, no sudden acceleration, and—God forbid—no jumping over obstacles.”
Arna raised two fingers, thought about it, realized that was probably wrong, and silently raised a third.
“None of that,” she declared solemnly. “I swear.”
Footnotes
- The Court of Chancery was a historical English court of equity. During the 19th century, it became notorious for its immense backlog and agonizingly slow proceedings, famously satirized in Charles Dickens's novel 'Bleak House'.
- A reference to the various Factory Acts passed in 19th-century Britain, which increasingly regulated the minimum working age and maximum hours for children. These laws required medical certificates to prove a child's age and fitness for labor, leading to the creation of factory inspectors to enforce compliance.
- 'Exploding liver' (bào gān) is Chinese gaming slang for playing excessively or 'grinding' for long, unhealthy hours.
- A common mechanic in survival, horror, or role-playing games where encountering terrifying events or creatures depletes a character's mental stability, often leading to negative gameplay effects.
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