Chapter 61 Return to London 23 The Lost Secret
"Are you all right, Lancaster?"
As soon as Hazel got into the carriage, she couldn't wait to go over. Her vision was blocked from time to time, so she couldn't be sure whether Lancaster had been stabbed by the dagger. She was worried. The dagger was so rusty that if he accidentally cut himself, he might get tetanus.
Lancaster was very satisfied with her closeness and let her touch everything without saying a word. Her deliberate alienation and change of subject an hour ago made him feel uneasy and uneasy.
Lancaster was about to speak to her comforting her after she had finally finished examining both of her arms. However, before he could say anything, he turned his head sharply and sneezed unexpectedly.
Heather couldn't help but smile at his dark, annoyed expression. Lancaster was now wearing only a white shirt, dusty from having just walked through the grimy alley. His hair was tangled and he looked listless, like a large, deflated dog.
Seeing her smile, Lancaster relaxed as well, pulling out a black robe from under the carriage seat and wrapping himself around it.
After laughing, Heather felt much more relaxed. Then she asked, "What happened there just now? Is London also so chaotic now?"
Lancaster imitated her, leaning his head back against the wall. "I guess the bailiffs are going to confiscate the houses and other belongings of those who owed rent, which is what angered the workers."
Heather: "Are salaries in London that low these days? Or are rents too expensive? Why are so many people unable to afford rent?"
Lancaster patiently explained, "A normal salary is enough to cover the rent on this street. It's likely the factory closed down and they're left with no money to pay. They'll first sue the factory owner in the ordinary courts for breach of contract and nonpayment of wages. But if the owner has already transferred the property, they'll need to apply to the Court of Chancery for an injunction to freeze the assets. The Court of Chancery has a complex process involving written interrogatories and depositions, and due to institutional constraints, there's a serious backlog, so it's unlikely to close a case for three to five years. Meanwhile, they might have been sued by the landlord in the ordinary courts, which simply enforce the law and send officers to enforce it violently."
Heather frowned. "So that's how it is. No wonder they're so angry. It's clearly the Court of Chancery's inefficiency, coupled with the fact that the ordinary courts simply enforce the law without considering other cases comprehensively. In the end, innocent people bear the entire loss."
Lancaster stared at her delicate, wrinkled face, and it was hard to describe the feeling in his heart.
"The disconnect between the Court of Chancery and the Court of Common Pleas is a long-standing historical issue. Actually... that's what I've been busy with for the past week. Insider information suggests an invisible hand is pushing these two systems to break down barriers and merge and reform." He wasn't good at acting, so he could only look away, evasive. "Didn't you want to hear what I was working on before?"
Heather belatedly realized a hint of stiff grievance: "Ah... I just..." Her conscience was tormenting her: "Well, I'm just afraid of finding out that you're using some high-sounding words to prevaricate me. I can never fully understand you. Sometimes I find something amiss afterwards, and I always feel weird inside."
Lancaster finally understood what it felt like to shoot himself in the foot. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry for not telling the truth earlier. I'm not a lawyer who's short of work. I just wanted you to trust my motives and to find more opportunities to contact you. I didn't expect to lose your trust."
His words were too blunt. Hazel blushed and put her finger to her lips. "Shh, stop talking. I know you're doing something meaningful. In fact, I didn't care before whether you were hiding anything. My niece once said that Mr. Darcy told her that you had an unusual network of contacts in London, and she asked me to be careful that you had ulterior motives. I didn't care at the time because we hadn't really met many times. I only regarded you as a partner and an ally."
Heather chose those two words carefully, and Lancaster keenly understood her unspoken meaning: she meant that they were now more than just allies, perhaps true friends, or something he desired more. Lancaster felt a dark sense of joy, yet at the same time, he grew increasingly anxious about the day the truth would be revealed. Tormented by these two emotions, he wanted nothing more than to capture Darcy, the one who had spoken nonsense, and vent his anger.
Heiser continued, "In short, you have to focus on doing what you are doing now. I think those judges and those stubborn vested interests will try their best to stop you. They will exclude those who are different, just because you are different from them."
"Am I different from them?"
No, like them, he wasn't subjectively interested in exploiting the common people and selling privileges. But for the past decade, he'd watched helplessly as this massive ship buried countless injustices deep in the ocean, never once considering doing anything about it. Even this time, when he wanted to push for reform, it was simply because the current system's role as a judge's executive officer was too demanding. Too many trivial matters filled his schedule, making it impossible for him to continue playing the role of a casual lawyer seeking work. Even after his drastic merger of the two houses, he remained the supreme ruler behind the scenes, free from the heavy workload of daily affairs.
Under Heather's righteous gaze, Lancaster began to reflect on himself for the first time. "You are always so kind and compassionate."
Heather's eyes widened. "I'm not particularly kind, nor do I pity them. They and I are never two completely unrelated groups. I can't sympathize with them from a high position. Perhaps 'empathy' would be a more accurate term."
"Furthermore, you are indeed different from other people of privileged backgrounds. Although you possess a more unique temperament than many nobles, you don't treat the poor as low-value, expendable goods like they do. You protected me, but didn't kill that young man. You are definitely different from them at heart."
The carriage stopped, and they had arrived home. Lancaster didn't move, his gaze fixed on Heather until her earlobes were bleeding. He finally spoke, "I hope one day I can live up to your words."
Lancaster opened the car door and jumped out, extending his hand to Heather. His tone was particularly gentle in the cold wind: "I've sent someone to the venue to inform your nieces. Someone will be responsible for escorting them home safely after the meeting. We had a little accident today. Don't think too much about it, don't worry, and go to bed early."
Heather took his hand and felt the reliable strength: "I know, you should be careful too."
"Oh, by the way," she took two steps and turned to look at the person who had seen her off. "Mrs. Mason invited me to the masquerade ball next Tuesday in the ballroom on the top floor of the Covent Theatre. It's a charity ball. If you're free, you can come find me."
After saying that, she didn't look back, picked up her skirt and ran into the house in two steps.
Lancaster looked at her graceful back and said to himself, "Masquerade ball? Then I must go."
The next morning, Elizabeth was about to set off for Charlotte's house with Sir Lucas.
"Lizzie, take this letter to Charlotte for me."
Elizabeth was very curious about what her aunt wrote. She didn't know when her aunt and Charlotte became so close.
Heather explained, "It's a wedding gift for her, and there's something she knew from London that I was asked to pass on. Also, I wanted to collaborate with her on some plant planting, so I wrote to ask her opinion."
"Plants? Put Charlotte in charge?"
"That's right." Heather pulled a packet of seeds from an envelope. "Business at the aromatherapy parlor has been booming lately, but the hottest products are still rose and geranium essential oils. Unfortunately, they all need to be grown in a greenhouse, and I'm having trouble finding a suitable location in London. The greenhouse plantations in the suburbs have been raising prices lately. I've done some research, and the soil in Hunsford County is suitable, and it's not far from London. If Charlotte is willing, I'll send someone over to guide the construction of the greenhouse. Flower farming is a respectable hobby, and it's very profitable. If Charlotte uses the name of a charity for the parish people, Mr. Collins will support her."
Elizabeth understood this was a great opportunity to make money. "Charlotte will definitely agree. Once the news is confirmed, I will send a letter as soon as possible."
Heather hugged her niece, directed the men to help her secure the full boxes to the roof of the car, and thanked Sir Lucas who was waiting.
"Sir Lucas, I'm in a hurry this time and don't have time to invite you to my home. I will definitely invite you in advance next time I have the chance."
Sir Lucas looked at the exquisite house in a prime location and agreed repeatedly. It was not difficult to imagine that everyone would hear about Mrs. Lawrence's new house when he returned to Longbourn.
Heather watched the carriage go away, then turned to Mary and said, "Is everything going well yesterday? I was too tired last night and left you two alone there. I really should thank Mr. Darcy."
Mary shook her head. "Aunt, please go in and have a good rest. I can handle the rest by myself. But you won't be able to thank Mr. Darcy for the time being because he has left London too."
"Huh? Where did he go?"
Mary pondered for a moment: "I forgot the name of the place, but it shouldn't be too far. He said he wanted to visit his aunt now while he's not busy. But I think this is probably just an excuse. Miss White and Mrs. White's offensive was too strong yesterday. I think Mr. Darcy was a little overwhelmed. Maybe he wanted to avoid the limelight." Mary smiled like a little fox.
Going to visit his aunt, isn't that Mr. Collins's benefactor, Lady Catherine? Well, isn't this the same destination as Elizabeth's? If I remember correctly, the classic first confession took place here.
Heather decided to write to Elizabeth every few days. Although she couldn't be there in person, it would be nice to watch the live broadcast first.
"Come on, Mary. I'm not tired either. Let's go to the salon. It's going to open soon."
Heather has been enjoying a period of great success lately. The subscription sale concluded successfully, and the aromatherapy salon's reputation has been growing. More and more posts are arriving at 12 Paddington every day. Heather chose a few afternoon tea parties and spent some time there, meeting many wealthy women. Furthermore, Heather and Mrs. Banks have become renowned in the world of newly wealthy wives. Some even call them true pioneers of women's welfare and the queens of botany, though it's unclear whether this is due to Mrs. Banks's influence.
While the salons of established aristocrats rarely visited, that didn't mean they were completely unaware of the situation. This week, Heather launched a portable balm box, using beeswax as a base and blending plant essential oils. It can be used as both a hand cream and a light fragrance for wrists. Both Mrs. Banks and Mrs. Mason gave some away for free at the ladies' tea party, and Heather has already received three or four inquiries about how to customize the gift boxes.
She planned to continue the promotion subtly at the masquerade ball tomorrow night. Those ladies had plenty of money, so they would be more tempted if the price was set higher. If this line was marketed well, the profit might be higher than the store service.
Heather was leaning against the windowsill, reading the letters one by one. The morning sunlight slanted down on her unmade-up face, making her look like an unmarried girl.
Mrs. Johnson hung the ironed dress on a hanger in the corner and prepared to leave quietly. As she opened the door, she glanced at Heather's focused profile and said softly, "Madam, the dress has been prepared according to your requirements. In the third box at the bottom of the wardrobe is the mask you bought in France. The last time I checked, it was still intact and not tarnished at all."
Without even looking up, Heather responded, "Mary and I planned to go shopping this afternoon and buy a new one. That was ages ago."
Mrs. Johnson paused and added, "It's just that that's your favorite mask. You may not be able to buy such a custom-made one in London." After that, she said nothing more and quietly retreated.
Heather looked up from her letter at the closed door. Mrs. Johnson never said a word while she finished her makeup. She always followed through without a second thought, unless she insisted on asking for advice. Mrs. Johnson knew she would be choosing a mask while shopping that afternoon; it was a topic she had discussed with Mary at the breakfast table for at least ten minutes.
Heather thought for a moment, slid down from the windowsill, and walked barefoot to the wardrobe.
The box was placed very low down, and Heather had to struggle to drag this unassuming grey box out from the bottom. Perhaps it was because when they first sorted it out, they found that there was nothing useful inside. It was just ornaments and wood carvings collected by Earl Laurence. He only needed to use these things to exchange them when he was really broke. So the box had been thrown in the Gardner family's warehouse until it was placed in the most inconspicuous place in the new house.
The mask was in a small box in the middle of the box. It looked like it was worth some money. The golden panel was inlaid with some rubies and diamonds, and a long diamond chain hung from the left. You can imagine how graceful it would be when worn.
But Heather didn't like such grand and conspicuous things, so she put the mask back into the box and planned to buy a new one in the afternoon.
Just as she was about to close the box, Heather suddenly realized that the design of the box was not very reasonable. From the outside, the height of the box was clearly enough to put the mask down, but when the box was closed, the mask was almost pressed against the lid, with not even a trace of extra space. Heather remembered the cigar box she and Lancaster had found in the back mountain.
The bottom of the box is too high.
Without hesitation, she took out the mask and placed it on the bedside table. Then she picked up the scissors beside her and cut along the red velvet lining at the bottom.
"Oh my God!" Heather exclaimed softly. Inside was a thick stack of letters, carefully pressed together. Such specially hidden letters must contain important secrets.
Fortunately, this is her own room, and no one can come in without the owner's consent. Heather sat down on the floor and carefully picked up the envelope on top.
The letter was well preserved, without any signs of moisture or exposure to the sun. However, there was neither an address nor a signature on the cover, as if the letter was afraid of revealing any information.
Heather opened the envelope curiously, wanting to see who wrote the letter to the original owner that was worth keeping.
"Good afternoon, Jason."
Huh? The recipient of this letter was actually Mr. Johnson, the butler. Then why did it appear in the compartment of the mask box? Heather continued reading with a puzzled look in her mind.
“The secret letter has been received.
Thank you for your loyalty to the Empire, risking your own life to deliver evidence of Mr. L's transfer of assets and treason. In the midst of war, rest assured that the traitor will receive the punishment he deserves.
The first-class ticket you want will be delivered to you by Pierre, the dock warehouse manager, on the day Mr. L is beheaded. I wish you, your wife and daughter good luck.
P.S. At your request, we've verified that your mistress, Mrs. L, has had no correspondence with the British in the past seven years, nor has she had any involvement in the transfer of property. We will send someone to inform her of her husband's tragic death on the street. She is welcome to leave the house and go wherever she pleases. We wish this woman, who has been kept in the dark, the best of luck.
Heather put down the letter.
Oh my god, wasn't Mr. Johnson a loyal servant of the Earl's family? Didn't the Johnsons have children? Earl Lawrence was actually sent to the guillotine by his loyal confidants? And didn't the original owner do anything in the process?
Boom, boom
There was a knock on the door. Heather pushed the box under the bed and stood up quickly. Then she realized that in her panic she had not put the letter back in her hand. She had to tiptoe to the windowsill and put the letter in the book.
"Madam, the pear tea you ordered is ready." It was Lena.
Heather breathed a sigh of relief. Unlike Mrs. Johnson, who was reserved, Reina had a strong desire to express herself. Over the past six months, she had already given several people, right in front of Heather, a moving account of her life. She had been kidnapped and brought to France before she could fully recall the past, then spent her childhood wandering from orphanage to farm and circus. It wasn't until she was twelve, when the circus disbanded, that she was rescued by a passing Mrs. Lawrence, who had become her personal maid.
Whether from the original owner's memory or from Reina's behavior, she is a trustworthy person.
"Come in," Heather said loudly.
Reina walked in carrying a porcelain tray, pouting and complaining, "Madam, I just prepared the tea in advance, but for some reason, Mrs. Johnson insisted that it wasn't hot enough and told me to drink it myself and make a new bowl. But I drank it and nothing happened to me!" Reina glanced at the closed door and whispered, "Is this what Madam always talks about as menopause?"
Heather paused with her hand holding the spoon. "Mrs. Johnson, it suddenly occurred to me, didn't she ever have any children? I mean, maybe a daughter who died young?"
Reina was confused: "No, I once heard an old servant in the Earl's Mansion say that Mrs. Johnson knew that she was infertile before she got married, and Mr. Johnson knew it too, but they still had a good relationship. There should be no daughter, except that when I left France before, you asked me to pretend to be their adopted goddaughter, saying that this would give me a reason to accompany the goddaughter home to find her relatives, hahaha." Reina didn't know what she thought of, and she laughed inexplicably.
Heather was also infected by her. After drinking it in one gulp, she put down the spoon and walked to the bed and threw herself on it. "Hey, the bed is still comfortable. I really don't want to do anything that requires my brain."
Reina ran over and sat on the blanket beside the bed, like a cheerful puppy. "I just don't want to lie in bed every day. Going to an aromatherapy shop, shopping, or some other party would be fun. It would be great if Lucy was here too. She was so envious of me when I received her letter last time."
Heather looked at her sideways, propping her head on her elbow. "Hey, Reina, have you ever thought about looking for your original family?"
Reina thought for a moment. "I think about it sometimes, but not most of the time. Over the years, I can't even remember what my parents do for a living, or if I have any brothers or sisters. It's just that when I occasionally smell the damp chimneys in the alley, I feel a sense of familiarity. Perhaps my parents were just ordinary workers?"
They chatted casually like this for quite a while until Reina remembered that she had not yet oiled her leather shoes for going out in the afternoon, and she hurriedly left the master bedroom.
Heather reopened the box under the bed and began to read the important letters that were carefully hidden one by one. It was the best way for her to get closer to the soul of the past.
The next day, the masquerade ball arrived as scheduled.
During the Regency era in the early 19th century, influenced by the Protestant Ethic and conservative ideologies, upper class society was deeply divided on the subject of masquerade balls. Conservatives and some older aristocrats emphasized solemnity and restraint, and the anonymity and entertainment of masquerade balls irritated their sensitive nerves.
However, it remains a popular, niche, retro hobby. Many young noblewomen host small, private masquerade balls, and receiving an invitation signifies acceptance into a prominent circle. Of course, some who don't receive an invitation attend directly upon hearing the news. As long as they are well-dressed, well-built, and have a good appearance, they are warmly welcomed. However, for safety reasons, only those who are familiar with the dance are allowed to dance; others must remain upstairs until a woman invites them.
The invitation Mrs. Mason handed over had the royal seal on it. It was said that a certain royal lady who had used the hand cream gift box had personally invited Heather to join her social circle. Mrs. Mason secretly told Heather that the social circle of this royal member was of good quality, and the identities of those who could join were not too outrageous, which was very suitable for business development.
Lancaster wrote to say he'd be late for the ballroom due to an urgent meeting. Heather curled her lips, grabbed her newly purchased off-white lace mask, called Mary, and excitedly headed next door. Anna had just finished a big deal and happened to know the host, so she asked someone to get her an invitation so they could go together.
"I guess there must be a lot of important people attending today. This is our first time attending a real aristocratic ball." Heather was looking forward to the gorgeous costumes and masks.
Mary only cares about whether they can double their revenue next week: "Hmm, maybe we can develop ten loyal customers!"
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