The Shadow of Great Britain

449: Chapter 249: Marvelous Journey (5K4)_3 449: Chapter 249: Marvelous Journey (5K4)_3 And those who delicately held plates, eating as if they feared swallowing their slender, white fingers with a bite, were the hired maids and governesses.

Their incomes were slightly better than the laundry maids’, and with lodging provided by their employers, they naturally had more disposable income.

For them, occasional indulgences were entirely acceptable.

Meanwhile, those gathered around the round tables, sipping their beer like high society savoring wine and occasionally puffing on their slender, long-stemmed ladies’ pipes—releasing thick smokescreens that didn’t seem to dissipate—were the dazzling beauties donning fashionable wide-brimmed hats.

As for their identities, there was no need to elaborate further; after all, there weren’t that many professions available to ladies in those times.

In just a short while, Arthur had spotted several girls he had seen in Fiona’s company.

The girls seemed to sense someone appraising them; they turned their heads and caught Arthur’s gaze.

A few of them paused before they too recognized Arthur.

Seeing this, Arthur had no choice but to remove his hat and nod to them apologetically, as a form of greeting.

To Arthur’s surprise, the girls’ reactions to his greeting varied: some smiled and returned his gesture, some whispered and giggled with their companions, and others winked at him mischievously as if waiting to see him become the butt of a joke.

Just as Arthur was puzzled by their behavior, he suddenly heard a wandering singer’s voice rise from the stage.

“I’m a vagabond, and just last summer, I heard that Manchester’s railway had opened for travel.

After gathering horse dung for three months and stealing two geese from the village, I finally had enough to become a first-class passenger.

With trepidation, I boarded the train; its whistle roared, and the steam swept across the station platform, causing the ladies’ long dresses to billow wildly.

From that moment on, I understood why bees are so fond of colorful flowers; because they are yellow, white, red, purple—resplendent in all their multicolored glory.

I banged on the window, shouting and whistling at them.

I cried out: ‘Ladies, do stand still there, for I, transforming into a bee, am about to dive in for the nectar!’”

With these lyrics, the wandering singer provoked raucous laughter from the women in the tavern, accompanied by the clinking of beer glasses as they guzzled down their drinks.

Perhaps it was the alcohol at work, or maybe a need to relieve the pressures of life, but there were girls in the audience who shouted at the wandering singer: “Edward, have you been harvesting honey nonstop for a week?

Your voice today isn’t as clear as last week’s!”

The wandering singer, Edward, was not to be outdone, as he yelled back at the audience: “You wanton women, tone it down a bit!

The show has only just begun!

I’m warning you, don’t you dare start a flood so soon!

Do you really want the place to stink even more?”

However, his taunts were merely another joke in the eyes of the audience; after all, engaging with the singer was one of the entertainments available in the Penny House.

“Edward, go to hell, if you ask me, you can’t earn much from flapping those lips of yours all night long.

You’d make money faster by selling your ass than singing!”

Any observer would likely have their life principles shaken by such a scene, probably unable to comprehend where all the frail ladies commonly seen in London’s streets and alleys had gone to.

Martin, who followed Arthur, also found the scene embarrassing and, scratching the back of his head, suggested: “Mr.

Hastings, perhaps you’d like to sit in the private room on the second floor first?

My Penny House isn’t always like this, it’s just an unfortunate coincidence today.

Of course, the performances here truly can’t compare to those musicals you’re accustomed to hearing.”

Martin had thought that even if Arthur didn’t get angry, he would at least be embarrassed beyond measure.

Unexpectedly, Arthur just took out a matchbox, struck a light, and leaned against the door smoking, “Actually, this song isn’t too bad; it’s full of the scent of life.

Moreover, I spent today at Scotland Yard listening to sermons, prayers, and hymns—so much so that I’ve gotten a bit carried away.

Listening to the bees gather honey now is just what I need to clear my head.

Otherwise, I won’t be able to negotiate with clients in a serious manner.”

“Negotiate with clients?”

Upon hearing this, Martin felt a shiver in his heart.

He pondered for a moment, and it seemed as though he understood something.

With a smile playing at the corner of his eye and sweat on his forehead, he started, “Mr.

Hastings, if I may say, a person of your stature should be conducting business in the West District.

The girls in the East End are simply not a match for you.

Moreover, it’s not safe or private here, and it could easily lead to trouble for you later on.”

Having said this, Martin hurried to the counter and fumbled around in the cupboard below for a while before extracting a tattered booklet and secretly handing it over to Arthur.

“What is this?”

Martin glanced around and then whispered, “Don’t ask too many questions.

This is something good, which will definitely be of decisive guidance for a newcomer like you.”

Arthur looked down and opened the cover, which was so blurred that the text was illegible, and saw a line of bold title on the title page—”Bernie Harrison’s Amazing Journey Ranking.”

Upon seeing the title, Arthur immediately recalled a similar banned publication list at Scotland Yard.

If he remembered correctly, the name of that prohibited magazine was—”Harris’s Covent Garden Brothel Ranking List.”

Speaking of this magazine, its history was quite long.

As an annual magazine first published in 1760, it sold over two hundred and fifty thousand copies over more than thirty years until it was forced to cease publication in 1794 under the stringent censorship of Parliament.

Just because “Harris’s Covent Garden Brothel Ranking List” was no longer updated, it didn’t stop similar underground publications from surfacing every now and then.

No matter how hard Scotland Yard tried, there were always those that slipped through the net.

However, the copy Martin passed to Arthur was particularly interesting, given that the name Bernie Harrison left an especially deep impression on him.

After thinking for a bit, Arthur still tucked the magazine into his chest pocket without a word and then gave Martin an encouraging look, “Mr.

Martin, next time you have something like this, remember to keep it aside for me.

I need this, and I believe my soon-to-arrive client will need it too.”

Martin asked with a grin, “Oh?

Is your client also a newcomer?”

Arthur just smiled, and lightly shook his head, “I don’t know, but I guess he probably won’t be a newcomer.”

Curious, Martin inquired, “Why do you say that?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, “Simple, because he’s French, and he’s from Paris.

Although London is quite bad at the moment, as far as I know, it doesn’t hold a candle to Paris just yet.”

“Ah…”

With sudden understanding, Martin burst into laughter, “No wonder you became a police officer; you always think things through.”