The Shadow of Great Britain

96: Chapter 56: What Did You Touch?

96: Chapter 56: What Did You Touch?

The girl holding an umbrella clung to Arthur’s arm, guiding him through the narrow, crowded streets.

Although it wasn’t Arthur’s first time in such places, the choking smell still made him involuntarily furrow his brow.

Although St Giles Church district was just as dirty, it was once a wealthy area, and one could still see its past splendor in some of the buildings and urban planning.

Tower Hamlets, on the other hand, had been poorly established from the start.

The roads here were built with a mixture of dirt and trash.

The alleys radiated a damp chill, and even the mortar was soaked with moisture, making it damp and sticky.

Although basic drainage ditches had been constructed next to the houses, they often became clogged due to long periods of neglect, with various black, rotten garbage stuck in the corners, emitting waves of stench so potent that one whiff could make one dizzy.

However, one couldn’t fully blame the people of the East End; after all, if a district housed docks, shipbuilding, brewing, slaughterhouses, and the leather industry that required urine for tanning, it was difficult to avoid such poor sanitary conditions.

Perhaps sensing that Arthur had slowed his steps, the girl thought he was suspicious and hurriedly reassured him.

“Sir, you probably haven’t been here before, right?

I would like to find a clean hotel too, but we hardly see such a thing around here.

In our line of work, we usually take guests to our own rented places.

If you don’t believe me, you are free to look around.

If you do find a hotel, then consider this job done for free.

I won’t charge you a shilling.”

In this respect, the girl was telling the truth.

Indeed, it was difficult to find a hotel in the East End of London, mainly because two hundred years ago this area was just farmland adjacent to London.

The Colbruk Family, who held the local land rights, had always treated this area as a manor estate; the land in the East End was sold off in small plots and eventually leased out in long strips.

These lands had lease terms that lasted decades or just a few years.

Countless shabby, cramped houses were built up on these narrow plots, with no concept of urban planning for public buildings or roads.

Perhaps those pub owners, greedy for every penny, might manage to squeeze a few more stools into the already narrow pathways.

Therefore, it was not surprising that there were very few buildings like hotels, which occupy a lot of space.

To put it nicely, the architectural layout of the East End was like an artist’s impromptu piece of inspiration.

To put it harshly, this was humanity personally interpreting what actions could be considered anti-human.

Under the girl’s lead, Arthur passed through two narrow, dark alleys and arrived in front of a dense row of back-to-back houses, constructed from red bricks with blue roofs.

They were jammed together, with numerous windows on the red-brick walls making them look like two blocks of cheese forcefully crammed together by a maniac.

Beyond that, what most impressed Arthur was its unique structure — perhaps because it was situated at the intersection of three narrow streets, the house was designed in a triangular shape.

The protruding part of the triangle was a rusty red door; pulling it open revealed a narrow staircase just wide enough for one person.

To maximize space utilization, underneath the staircase was even crammed a locked compartment.

From the dusty, cotton-lint-stained footprints on the floor, it seemed likely that the tenant worked in a nearby textile factory.

The girl’s rented room was upstairs inside, and as Arthur followed her into the room, he glanced around and found the environment better than he had anticipated.

There was a clean, tidy bed, windows that allowed for decent lighting, plus a teapot and cooking utensils on a small round table, along with a wardrobe against the wall.

The fullness of life assured Arthur that this was likely truly the girl’s residence, perhaps that was also why she targeted foreign sailors.

Foreign sailors, unfamiliar with the land, often didn’t stay long in London, and even if she tricked them, there wouldn’t be much repercussion.

But targeting local sailors might make her consider the potential consequences that could arise.

Everyone knew that sailors working on merchant ships were mostly no easy marks.

Some of them chose to make a living at sea not just for the pay but also because they had unspeakable secrets that prevented them from continuing to stay in their hometown.

The records of major crimes at Scotland Yard also supported this view; the 1811 Ratcliffe Highway serial murders in the East End of London were suspected to have been the sailor’s doing.

At that time, since the case could not be solved for a long time, the local Magistrates’ Court almost faced the wrath of the angry public.

To deal with these emotional masses, the magistrate had no choice but to order the arrest of a suspect.

Although, according to Arthur, that suspect might not necessarily have been the real murderer.

For he had never confessed to his crime, but instead inexplicably chose to hang himself in jail.

But the dead ultimately do not speak, and since no further murders ensued, the Magistrates’ Court firmly declared it a suicide due to his fear of punishment, even parading his body on a hay cart for public display.

The angry and superstitious public, to prevent the murderer from resurrecting, even went so far as to climb onto the hay cart and drive a nail into his chest.

Arthur had slowly become accustomed to such stories.

That was the nature of the era—barbaric with a hint of civilization.

You say it’s unjust—yet, it indeed went through a trial procedure.

You say it follows the law—yet, this case is permeated with an inexplicable air of eeriness.

If we delve into it, it resembles a dark comedy filled with black humor, the inevitable melancholy always revealing a trace of the ludicrous.

Arthur sat on the edge of the bed, puffing rings of smoke from his pipe.

He was pondering those cases he had seen.

When he came back to his senses, he noticed that the girl had, at some point, slipped off her long dress, revealing her pale thighs and a tightly laced corset.

Thinking he was shy because he hesitated to move, the girl smiled and leaned closer to him.

“What’s the matter?

Are all the men in India as reserved as you?

I’ve never been to India, but I’ve heard from sailors that it’s full of wool, spices, and tea.

Many young masters from the gentry families in our country go to work for the East India Company for a few years, and when they return, they become rich overnight.

Your father must have been one of them, right?

How did you end up becoming a sailor?”

While smoking, Arthur asked, “You’re quite unlike most ladies, who know mostly of pretty dresses and cosmetics, yet you understand India.”

This compliment greatly pleased his companion, who graciously slid her hand into Arthur’s coat.

“To tell you the truth, I was actually born in Cambridge.

A few months ago, when I came to London from the countryside, there was a Cambridge student on the same carriage.

His father was formerly an employee of the East India Company.

I heard all this from him.”

Arthur glanced at the girl’s hand that had slipped into his coat, shook his head slightly, and sighed, “I’ve said, don’t randomly touch my things or put your hand in my coat, or you might touch something you shouldn’t.”

The girl thought Arthur was flirting with her, her eyes twinkling with amusement, “You men always say that.

Let me feel, what is it that I shouldn’t encounter?

I guess it must be…”

Suddenly, she felt something cold and hard in the inner pocket of the coat.

The smile on the girl’s face froze, as she cautiously felt around the object.

After a moment, her gaze towards Arthur turned panicked and fearful.

She had realized what it was; although rare, whenever it was encountered, it often meant someone would die.

“You… You…”

The smile had vanished from the girl’s face, and her voice trembled as she spoke: “I’ll give you anything you want, I don’t need the money from this job, just please, don’t hurt me.”

Arthur drew on his cigarette, slowly exhaling a plume of smoke, his accent returning to normal as he spoke.

“Don’t be afraid, lady.

I have no intention of harming you.

Just treat me as a regular client.

I’m not familiar with the rules of your line of work, so let me ask, what’s the next step?

Do you start screaming now, or shall we proceed with the official routine?”