In the end, Jenkins found no vase-like object behind Papa Oliver. The old man simply shook his head.
“No need for you to move it. The family left the vase at a friend’s house for now. It’s very close to our shop. They’ll deliver it themselves tomorrow morning and collect the final paynt.”
“So...”
“So you’re free to go. I’m off to the church—soone just delivered a letter. They’ve found sothing interesting in the northern hills.”
With that, Papa Oliver walked past Jenkins, waving a hand over his shoulder.
“Enjoy your rare holiday, young man.”
It feels like every day is a holiday.
He only dared to think it, watching as Papa Oliver made his way toward an empty carriage parked on the street.
“In that case, I might as well try my luck at the cetery. How could I have forgotten to commune with that cultist’s spirit last ti?”
Shaking his head, he plucked the just-awakened Chocolate from his collar and set him on his shoulder, but his plans were imdiately interrupted again.
“Baron Williams, I didn’t expect to see you here!”
With a resigned sigh, Jenkins turned around. Standing in the alley was none other than the young Liverpool he had just encountered in the bookstore.
“Good afternoon!”
The young man greeted him again with excitent, then added apologetically:
“I’m sorry for bothering you at the club entrance last ti.”
“It’s quite all right.”
Jenkins shook his head. “But a friend of mine says that for a proper gentleman, trespassing on private property without permission is a serious breach of etiquette.”
“Yes, ha, that’s because...”
Liverpool scratched his hair, about to explain further, when soone else recognized Jenkins.
“Mr. Williams!”
It was the little girl, Fini Faithford, waving excitedly from the window of a second-floor apartnt nearby.
“Oh, Cousin Liverpool!”
Jenkins glanced at George Liverpool.
“That’s Uncle Stress’s ho over there. Do you know my distant cousin, Fini?”
It took Jenkins a mont to unravel the connection between the young man and Fini Faithford, but he gathered that they were at least acquainted.
“This is such an honor!”
Liverpool exclaid, his face flushing red with excitent.
“I understand now! The person my uncle ntioned who helped Fini—that was you! You truly are a kind man. Would you like to co up for a bit? Uncle Stress has been saying he wants to thank you personally!”
“Well...”
Jenkins felt himself facing his least favorite kind of social situation, but he was particularly bad at refusing such well-intentioned invitations.
“Alright, thank you for the invitation. I suppose I have so ti this afternoon. Yes, I believe so.”
In the illusory world created by the Cursed Item, Jenkins had realized sothing was amiss before he ever went upstairs, so he had no idea what the Stress family’s ho actually looked like.
But after being warmly invited inside, he found it was much as he had imagined.
Like most poor families of the era, the Stress family was a large one. The eldest daughter, much older than Fini Faithford, already worked in a textile factory, while the youngest boy was still cradled in the arms of a slightly plump Mrs. Stress.
With so many people, the small house felt rather crowded. The children’s attention was imdiately captured by the small cat on Jenkins’s shoulder, while Jenkins himself politely greeted everyone and discreetly surveyed the room.
The place was reasonably tidy, though clearly impoverished, and it was evident the family had a diligent homaker. An indescribable sll hung in the air, which Jenkins assud was the lingering scent of their lunch, leading him to conclude that the diligent homaker was not a very skilled cook.
From what he knew, families like this often had ager incos, constantly struggling on the brink of starvation and bankruptcy. The family’s breadwinner, Mr. Stress, worked as an accountant at the docks. While this didn’t require life-shortening physical labor, it wasn’t enough to significantly improve their financial situation.
In the original Jenkins’s mories, before the Williams family had made their fortune, old Mr. Williams had owned a small shop in the dock district. The young Jenkins had seen countless poor n like Mr. Stress and thus had a keen understanding of the living conditions of the lower class.
Once a family like this lost its source of inco, they could only survive by selling off their belongings. If their situation worsened and they still couldn’t find new work, the family was basically dood to fall into ruin forever.
But from the look of things now, everyone in the Stress family was all smiles, and none of their furniture seed to be missing.
Could he have found a new job so quickly?
Jenkins wondered.
Although the Stress family was poor, they were filled with a vibrant, thriving energy. They hosted Jenkins warmly. Even though the teacups were chipped and the tea was of poor quality, Jenkins was quite pleased with his visit.
During their conversation, Jenkins learned that Fini Faithford’s parents had been very close with the Stress family before they died. After their accident, the Stresses had even considered adopting her.
But with the birth of a new child in their own family, the idea was dropped. Little Fini, it seed, was not very lucky. Before the winter began, the plump homaker had suggested the girl move in with them, but the church had found her before she could make a decision.
The visit lasted until about half-past four in the afternoon. Before he left, the family enthusiastically pressed two pairs of knitted woolen gloves into his hands.
This was Mrs. Stress’s side hustle; besides doing laundry for others, she also occasionally took on knitting jobs to supplent the family’s inco.
Jenkins needed to get to the church for Miss Bevanna’s combat class, and Fini had to head back as well, so the two of them left together.
“They’re so warm and welcoming.”
Jenkins remarked as they walked out of the alley. He glanced back. The living conditions here were even worse than what the Williams family had endured before their rise, and there were countless such alleys throughout the city.
“Yes, Baron Williams. My aunt’s family is always like that.”
“...Why do you call ‘Baron Williams’?”
He asked curiously. Before, the girl had always called him “Mister.”
“Cousin Liverpool just told that when addressing a noble gentleman with a title, you shouldn’t use ‘Mister’ anymore. You should use a higher form of address, like ‘Lord,’ or just use the title directly...”
The girl answered honestly, with no intention of hiding anything.
“There’s no need for that. The title ans little to . I’m a devout believer.”
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