Mrs. Gaerte eyed Jenkins with suspicion, then pinched the paper packet in her hand. She could feel the thickness of the banknotes inside. Unless the man was playing a cruel joke with a stack of one-penny bills, the sum of money was simply staggering.
She wanted to call out to the young man and ask more questions, but when she looked up, he had already walked away. By the ti Mrs. Gaerte rounded the gate and stepped onto the street, the man had vanished completely, as if he had never been there at all.
She clutched the money tightly, knowing it was the last hope for her broken family. Her husband had driven them to bankruptcy with his addiction to that expensive tobacco, but the family had to be held together sohow.
The thought of her late husband brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes. As she lowered her head to wipe them away and walked back ho, she failed to notice that the middle-aged man she brushed past was, in fact, the very sa young man.
Jenkins had circled back, but this ti, he had co for the Barnard family. He had no reason to connect with them now, but he couldn't resist the urge to co and see how they were doing.
Nearly half a year had passed since Mr. Barnard’s death, and the speed at which ti flew by astonished even Jenkins. He could still vividly recall that night, and the admirable man who, even after death, had ventured into his dream for the sake of his family. This, perhaps, was the strength of ordinary n, and Jenkins deeply admired people like him.
He had intended only to stand outside the house for a mont before leaving, but he was surprised to see a "For Sale" sign posted next to the mailbox. Alard that Mrs. Barnard might be short on money, he took a chance and rang the bell.
Soone was ho—it was indeed the middle-aged woman. Jenkins, using a clumsy local dialect, briefly explained that he was interested in buying the house, then cautiously probed further.
“Hello, I must admit I’m curious if there’s a problem with the house. Why are you in such a hurry to sell it? I noticed on the sign that the agent’s final date is the middle of next month. Is sothing wrong with the property?”
The middle-aged woman’s face was etched with sorrow, though she looked slightly better off than her newly widowed neighbor.
“No, sir, it’s just that I’m leaving the city. You see, I have three children to care for, and life is difficult even with a hired maid. My parents in the countryside have offered to take in, which is why I’m so eager to sell.”
Six months had slightly eased the pain of her husband’s death, but it had also been long enough to etch a few more wrinkles and white hairs onto her weary face.
Relieved that the situation wasn't as dire as he had imagined, Jenkins made an excuse and departed. It was better for him not to get involved with them any further; that was the best thing for the Barnard family. Past experience had taught Jenkins that anyone or anything connected to him inevitably found itself entangled in greater trouble.
He had assud the matter was resolved and turned his attention back to Ruen. Every evening, he would go there to walk through the snowy fields with his friends, enjoying what felt like a genuine holiday.
But things were never as simple as Jenkins hoped. On Saturday afternoon, he was yawning and stroking Chocolate, regretting that he had stayed out so late in Ruen the night before.
Just as he was drifting off, the shop door was suddenly thrown open.
Papa Oliver, Chocolate, and Jenkins, all lulled into a drowsy state by the comfortable warmth of the shop, jumped in fright. They looked up to see a small boy standing in the doorway.
This was one of Papa Oliver's street informants, a boy who helped the antique shop by scouting out competitors' news or delivering letters. A few days ago, he had even spent a whole morning watching a train for them. Of course, Papa Oliver never failed to compensate them generously.
“Your letter, sir!”
The boy pulled an envelope from his patched cotton coat, stood on his tiptoes to place it on the counter, and then called out a loud greeting to Jenkins. After taking a coin from Jenkins's hand, he scurried away.
“You really startled . A second ago, I was dreaming the house was on fire and Chocolate was gone...”
Jenkins slumped back over the counter, soothing the cat as he began to ramble about his dream. Papa Oliver raised a hand to silence him. He had already opened the letter, and his brow was deeply furrowed.
“The entire Gaerte family is dead. They were found in the cetery.”
His tone was grave, and Jenkins could even detect a hint of fury in it.
“Who did you say... huh?”
It took him a mont to realize who Papa Oliver was talking about. “How is that possible?”
Jenkins couldn’t believe the news. “You an, Mrs. Gaerte and her children...”
“Yes. At the cetery in the east of the city. It happened this morning; the police are likely still investigating. Are you busy this afternoon? If not, co with .”
“I’m free.”
Jenkins replied instantly. He stepped out from behind the counter, took a greatcoat from the rack, and handed it to Papa Oliver. While his ntor tended to the fireplace, he quickly changed into his own clothes, pulled his black hat over his head, scooped up Chocolate, and prepared to follow Papa Oliver out the door.
“Please wait a mont.”
He turned back, walked to the counter, and picked up his cane.
“Alright, now I’m ready.”
Nolan City was surrounded by nurous ceteries, a necessity for its vast population. Excluding private family plots like the Augustus family cetery, most of the public graveyards were concentrated near the hills in the city’s northeast.
Fini's relatives, as well as Jenkins’s own maternal grandparents, were buried there.
Jenkins and Papa Oliver took a carriage from Fifth Queen's Avenue, near the docklands in the west, and crossed the entire city to reach the cetery. The streets were unusually crowded, as if for so festival Jenkins had forgotten. The journey took a full three hours, and by the ti they arrived, the sun was already touching the horizon.
Chocolate slept through the carriage ride, only stirring when the vehicle ca to a stop. The cat nimbly climbed onto Jenkins's shoulder, and together they stepped into the cetery.
At dusk, the air in the graveyard was exceptionally heavy with moisture and fog. As they ventured deeper, visibility dropped sharply. The water vapor condensed into a thick mist, mingling with the city’s smog to create a strange, pungent odor.
Jenkins suspected a new steam factory had recently opened nearby; there was no other reason for the air to be like this.
He followed closely behind Papa Oliver, walking along a stone path for ten minutes before turning onto a narrow trail that wound between the tightly packed tombstones. They continued deeper into the grounds until they could see a crowd of people gathered in the distance, many of them in police uniforms.
Through a gap in the crowd, both Jenkins and Papa Oliver saw the horrific scene.
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