The Happy Days of Being a Factory Owner in London – Chapter 23
by MonoGetting a Cut
Short on money!
Fagin ultimately couldn’t escape the fate of being carried away over someone’s shoulder.
After waving goodbye to Inspector Lestrade and his subordinates, as well as those tightly bound thugs, Arna cleared the carriage out from behind the factory.
It was getting late. She needed to head home early to prevent passing out on the spot while driving, only to wake up the next day back at her Baker Street residence and have to haggle with Doctor Watson.
Furthermore, Mrs. Hudson was among the passengers this time.
Arna parked the carriage at the main entrance. She was just thinking of going upstairs to call for Mrs. Hudson when she noticed a figure wrapped in a shawl slowly descending the stairs. She looked exhausted, but her footsteps were light with relief.
“Nancy?” Arna called out to her. “Did you see my aunt?”
Nancy nodded.
“She’s already asleep,” she offered a faint smile. “After getting the little ones settled, she immediately started dozing in an armchair. I coaxed her into bed. When the police were banging around downstairs, she didn’t even turn over.”
Arna blinked.
After all, the commotion downstairs had been quite loud.
Guessing what she was thinking, the smile on Nancy’s lips widened.
“She said she’s spent the last few years listening to Mr. Holmes play the violin at three in the morning,” she shrugged. “A few policemen are nothing.”
Holmes, standing at the front of the carriage, placed one hand over his chest and gave a rather dramatic slight bow. “I like that quote.”
Watson, who had also suffered the torment of the noise, snorted.
“Then it is best to let her rest. After all, people of her age need a quieter environment,” he suggested.
Arna quickly agreed.
“Then we’ll head back first,” she said. “Stay safe.”
Nancy nodded, hesitated for a moment, and then said, “She was very worried about you, you know, even though she might never say it out loud.”
Arna paused, then smiled.
“Yeah,” she said, her tone soft but reliable. “It’s all sorted out now. Don’t worry.”
In the apprentices’ dormitory, a blanket gave a quiet tremble.
It wasn’t until Nancy’s footsteps faded from the room that the Artful Dodger whispered, “Blimey, he actually did it. A complete victory1.”
Gasps and low laughter echoed through the dormitory.
Oliver blinked, dumbfounded, curled up in his bottom bunk.
“I… I thought I was the only one who told Mr. Aisas about this.” He was genuinely astonished.
Dodger snorted.
“Mate, look at the situation now. I’m afraid everyone snitched.” He tapped the headboard. “I bet even old Fagin’s cat would sell him out—if he actually kept a cat.”
Charley Bates popped up from another corner. “Yeah, I told him too.”
Oliver blinked. “So, when I thought my taking the initiative to snitch was a bit despicable…”
“Actually, we were all being sneaky,” another child chimed in, giggling. “But none of us expected him to be able to fight so many people, right?”
She made a face. “I thought I was going to be hanged by Fagin.”
A brief silence followed.
Dodger tugged at his blanket again. “It’s fine. Aisas said as long as we want to stay here, we can stay here.”
He sighed theatrically. “If he turns out worse than Fagin, I’ll steal the first horse I see and flee to France.”
Someone knocked on the wall next door. The children quickly shut their mouths, ceasing their discussion. They closed their eyes, their minds excitedly replaying everything that had happened over the past few days.
Arna, whom the children were just thinking about, was still on the carriage.
Pressed for time, Arna unleashed the full extent of her driving skills and equipped that honorary title, all just to get home on time before two in the morning.
She cracked the whip with a deranged enthusiasm. Without needing more lashing, the horse, which was already quite familiar with her, responded with equal fervor.
The wind howled past the sides of the carriage. The street lamps cast faint light, blurring the dim streetscape. The carriage wheels gave a shrill creak, and Watson’s fingers were welded to the carriage frame just like his previous rides.
Holmes, however, seemed to find the whole thing highly amusing. He spread his arms, embracing the oncoming wind, and after a while, even pulled out his pocket watch to start timing.
When Arna finally returned the carriage and horse amidst the complaints of the awakened staff, and stumbled into the living room with her companions, the time had unknowingly slipped to half past one.
Watson muttered complaints about “reckless youths,” but his body automatically moved toward his medical kit, starting to rummage for bandages and gauze to properly treat any injuries Arna might have sustained.
“As long as there are scrapes, they should be treated. You have no idea where the bacteria contaminating the wound might come from,” he insisted. “Aisas, come here quickly, I need to check…”
But the clock ticked to 2:05 AM.
Arna, with a biscuit stuffed in her mouth, was still standing by the fireplace. Hearing his voice, she turned blankly. Then her eyes closed, her knees buckled like a marionette with its strings cut, and she toppled straight down.
“Oh—good God!” Watson dashed over, barely catching Arna before her head smashed into the fireplace.
He expertly pressed two fingers against her pulse, his brow furrowing. “Fast, but steady… pupils normal… Holmes, help me grab the medical bag. I need to run more tests—”
Holmes was already crouching beside Arna, his head tilted, carefully observing her current state.
“Observe his breathing, Watson,” he said, grasping Arna’s left arm. “Breathing is smooth, complexion hasn’t paled, no shivering.”
He paused, releasing the arm. “He hasn’t lost consciousness from any trauma. He’s fallen asleep.”
The arm dropped naturally, without twitching.
Watson was stunned.
“…What?” he said, questioning his reality2.
Holmes let out an amused breath, then bent down in one fluid motion.
His slender arms effortlessly reached beneath Arna’s knees, his other hand supporting her back, and he lifted her up as if merely picking up a stack of books he had taken the trouble to organize.
Watson blinked, somewhat astounded. “Holmes, I can—”
“Considering the physical exertion of today’s events, you are also utterly exhausted. You would accidentally drop him, Doctor,” Holmes said calmly. He was already striding up the stairs, nudging the door open with his elbow. “Furthermore, given the incidents that transpired tonight, I would like my biographer to still be fully functional tomorrow.”
Arna’s head lolled against his shoulder, still sleeping soundly.
Watson opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He exhaled softly. “Right, good. I… I’ll brew some nerve-soothing tea then.”
Upstairs, Holmes placed Arna on the quilt with surprising care. He then pulled the blanket from underneath and draped it over her.
After completing this entirely unfamiliar routine, he turned to head downstairs.
At the doorway, he paused, looking back at the young factory owner still deep in slumber.
“Rest well, prospective magnate,” Holmes said softly. “Tomorrow, we shall discuss why you suddenly fainted.”
The door clicked shut.
The next morning, Arna opened her eyes right on time at six o’clock.
The first thing she saw was complete darkness.
—No way, did she die yesterday? If she did, where was the respawn point in this game?
And she had worked so hard to grow the factory to its current scale and even applied for a patent!
Damnable Developers! This is a factory management game, not a survival game! Shouldn’t a game-over restart only happen when she went bankrupt?
Arna angrily kicked and thrashed, striking out at the imaginary, detestable Developers. After a flurry of kicks, the unidentified black layer was finally kicked off, and faint light suddenly leaked in.
Only then did she realize that a blanket had been draped over her, blocking out the light entirely like some mysterious shroud.
Arna thought back carefully. She only remembered collapsing right on time at two o’clock.
…Fine, as long as she was still alive. Plus, the doctor hadn’t asked her for money, and she woke up lying in bed—there was nothing bad about that.
The absolute worst thing she could do right now was ask about the details.
What if, after she asked, the bug automatically patched itself, Doctor Watson immediately remembered the incident, and demanded a consultation fee, refusing to let her leave until she paid?
Arna got out of bed, cleared some items from her backpack into the chest on the floor, and grabbed her fishing rod and bucket, preparing to set out to fish.
Downstairs, Holmes—who rarely woke up early—was already sitting in his armchair, tapping his fingers against his knee.
“Ah, our prospective magnate is awake,” he teased. “Sleep well?”
Arna frowned, pushing her messy curly hair back. “…It was alright.”
She paused, then offered a friendly invitation. “Want to go fishing?”
Considering that her luck had been exceptionally good the last time Holmes fished with her, maybe bringing Holmes along would grant her a luck buff!
Holmes curled his lip. “A very tempting offer. However—”
He stood up and grabbed his coat from the hat stand. “I have other things to do today, such as chasing down a certain criminal who hasn’t been caught yet.”
Arna shot him a glance and stated flatly, “There is nothing more important than fishing.”
She refused to give up. “Let’s go fishing together, Holmes?”
“I’m afraid there is,” Holmes blinked. “For example, Monks.”
He shrugged, slipping on his coat. “Lestrade’s men might be satisfied with Sikes’s confession, but the real mastermind will remain at large, which is not an ending I wish to see.”
Arna raised her hand, asking like a good student. “…Didn’t we tell Lestrade about Monks yesterday?”
She was quite astonished. “Is Inspector Lestrade that forgetful?”
Holmes glanced at her.
“No, Lestrade feels that it’s merely a conjecture. More accurately, they see a closed case,” he waved his hand dismissively. “Whereas I see the shadow of an underlying conspiracy. That must be a much more interesting story. Besides, sitting around foolishly waiting for Monks to strike again is far too dull.”
With a dramatic leap, he cleared a hurdle of books and newspapers on the floor and extended the invitation. “Care to join?”
Arna said firmly, “No.”
She raised her fishing rod. “I’m going fishing. Goodbye.”
Holmes sighed regretfully and turned to walk toward the door.
One step, two steps, three steps.
After he silently counted five seconds, Arna’s voice rang out.
“…Tell me,” she asked in a deeply considered tone, “is that Monks quite rich?”
Since he seemed quite wealthy, could she get a cut of it?
Raising kids was very expensive! So was running a factory!
If this was a profitable venture—considering that her own factory, while not appearing to have much liquid capital, actually didn’t have much liquid capital either—Arna would be perfectly willing to join in.
“Perhaps. But the inheritance in this distribution case most likely belongs to two people. One is this manipulator named Monks, and the other should be your little employee, Oliver,” Holmes said leisurely. “So you might be able to get some money, but not a lot.”
He turned around, teasing, “The inheritance Monks’s mother left him has probably been mostly squandered by now.”
Arna’s face immediately fell.
“Fine, fine,” she muttered. “I’m going fishing.”
Saying so, she headed downstairs to find her carriage, with a cling-clang as she carried her bucket.
Footnotes
- A four-character idiom (dà huò quán shèng) meaning to achieve a complete and sweeping victory.
- A modern Chinese internet slang phrase (huáiyí rénshēng), literally meaning to 'doubt one's life' or 'question reality.' It describes a state of profound shock or disbelief when one's worldview is suddenly upended.
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