Hidden in the crowd
Rose emerged from a drainhole hidden among the reeds on the riverbank, far from the main estate building.
In the dim light of dawn, her hair and clothes were covered in mud. The wind blew against her face, making her shiver with cold.
She glanced at the icy river, gritted her teeth, and jumped in. She needed to wash herself clean; someone covered in mud and reeking of sewers would never be allowed to board a train.
The river water was icy cold, and she shivered, splashing water on her face. Once she was completely clean, she staggered ashore. By then, she no longer felt the cold; instead, she felt a warm sensation.
Her movements were stiff as she tried to pull her striking long blonde hair back and tore off a piece of fabric from her dress to cover it. The fabric was wet and dripping cold water.
It was already fully light. She dared not linger, and walked along the riverbank towards the train station she remembered.
The train station holds too many memories of the past. In his few moments of freedom, Sherlock loved to go there to observe the travelers coming and going.
They also encountered Eurus there, mistaking him for a woman in a hurry. That was her first meeting with Eurus, though she didn't know it at the time.
Memories surged through her, and before she knew it, she had arrived at the station. Rose pulled her headscarf down and walked to the ticket window to inquire about the earliest freight train leaving London.
The staff member behind the window, still half-asleep and without looking up, said, "We can't leave. All trains, passenger and freight, are completely shut down."
Rose's heart sank: "Why?"
"The government ordered a major railway safety inspection."
"Check...what?"
The staff member waved impatiently, "We haven't received any specific instructions yet. We heard the sheriff went to the dock first. Don't ask anymore, just go."
A chill ran from Rose's feet to the top of her head. How swift, Mycroft! You've traveled all the way back to London from Dartmoor overnight, even using that as a pretext to block traffic to other cities.
In that instant, Rose realized how dangerous her act of buying a ticket was. She immediately turned around and practically ran away from the station.
As soon as she turned into a narrow alley next to the station that was piled with clutter, she heard a flurry of footsteps behind her.
She held her breath and peered through the gaps in the clutter. She saw a squad of uniformed, stern-faced soldiers rush into the station. The sheriff at the head of the squad was showing his badge and shouting, "Search warrant! From the Ministry of the Interior! A young blonde woman! An international criminal! Search thoroughly!"
Rose covered her mouth, suppressing the gasp that escaped her throat. Without further hesitation, she turned and blended into the newly awakened and gradually bustling streets of London.
———
Rose's experience at the train station made her realize that every exit in London had been closed. She had to hide and wait for things to calm down before finding an opportunity to leave.
Even if Mycroft had extraordinary connections, he couldn't force the capital of the British Empire to close its doors forever.
Before that, she needed a job, a place to stay, a place Mycroft would never have imagined or ever set foot in.
She entered a noisy, dirty market on the lower reaches of the Thames, the air thick with the stench of industrial pollution. A throng of people mingled, vendors and laborers jostled about, and a few dirty children sat at the street corner.
Only in such a place would a woman with a headscarf and wrinkled clothes not attract strange looks. Because people are too tired, and there are too many strange people here, no one has the energy to explore other people's stories.
Rose found a cheap restaurant with a sign that read "Aunt Mary's Kitchen." The storefront was greasy, the tables and chairs were worn out, and the proprietress was shouting loudly, seemingly in dire need of staff.
She was a plump woman with a rough face but kind eyes. “I need a job,” Rose said as she approached the landlady. “I can do anything, wash dishes, serve food. Just give me a place to stay and some food to eat.”
The proprietress sized her up. Although the woman looked disheveled, her overly refined features and upright posture were still out of place in this setting. "You've gotten yourself into trouble, young lady?" she squinted.
Rose lowered her eyelashes, her voice trembling with emotion: "I can't stay in my hometown anymore, my stepfather..."
The landlady nodded knowingly; the women's tragic stories were all more or less the same. She patted Rose on the shoulder: "Okay, stay. Room and board included, wages paid weekly. Just call me Aunt Mary." She paused, then asked with some confusion, "You're not married yet, are you? Why are you covering your hair?"
Rose made her decision immediately: to dye her hair. She gave a vague answer, and the next day, she used her first week's advance to buy the cheapest brown hair dye.
In the humble shed in the restaurant's backyard, she watched as her brilliant blonde hair in the mirror was gradually covered by a dull brown, and a sense of relief welled up within her. She had buried Miss Holmes with her own hands, and the feeling was strangely peaceful.
Sure enough, the next day, the streets of London were plastered with the most wanted posters for "a blonde woman suspected of stealing state secrets."
Rose remained hidden in the crowd of onlookers, coldly watching as a few people approached. They claimed to have seen similar women in schools, factories, or on the streets, but Rose knew they were only attracted by the high bounty.
She worked even harder, clumsily learning to wash dishes, mop floors, and cook. She deliberately changed her gait, hunching her back slightly and making her voice hoarse. She even tried to use vulgar jokes to deflect the drunkard's advances, just like the other female workers, and to deal with difficult customers with street smarts.
The smells of sweat, oil, and hair dye—things she used to avoid at all costs—are now generously protecting her.
———
Every night, she lay wearily in bed, yet her heart felt light. The tangled past seemed like a distant memory, and those she loved, hated, and missed were gradually fading from her world.
Only occasionally, just occasionally. She sat at the wooden table by the shop entrance, watching the young boy and girl chasing each other through the dusty glass. The boy had eyes as blue as the Atlantic Ocean, and the girl's skirt fluttered like the wind.
At this moment, her hand holding the milk jug would always pause slightly.
For the eighteen years after she was taken from the orphanage, she lived within those blue eyes.
Those eyes were sharp, like frozen ice. But when they looked at her, they would melt into an endless sea.
Her momentary daze stemmed from the owner of those eyes.
Do you still frequently examine cigarette ash under a microscope? Do you still enjoy playing the violin by the window? Do you still unconsciously tap the table when deciphering codes? Do you still cheerfully say good morning when you see a skull?
How are you?
The milk was about to overflow the rim of the cup, so she stopped and used her apron to wipe away the spilled milk.
———
Aunt Mary liked this beautiful and hardworking girl very much. One evening, she took Rose's hand and told her to stop working for a while.
Rose felt a surge of tension. Had the landlady discovered something? She hesitated before sitting down. Mary poured her a glass of milk and said earnestly, "Annie, my son Tom works at a spinning mill. He's an honest and hardworking man. What do you think... would you like to marry him? Once you're married, you'll have someone to rely on."
One problem after another arose, and Rose's heart pounded. Looking at the sincere light in Aunt Mary's eyes, she quickly weighed her options.
The woman before me possessed both the simple kindness of London's lower class and a harmless scheming.
Agreeing would allow me to integrate more completely into the environment, gain a more secure hidden identity, and cede potential searches. As for marriage, that was only a temporary solution; once I found an opportunity to leave London, none of this would be a constraint anymore.
Two blushes rose on her face, half from acting and half from nervousness. She lowered her head and, like a shy girl, softly hummed in agreement.
Aunt Mary was overjoyed: "How about three weeks later? It's a bit tight, but good times wait for no one!"
“Okay,” Rose agreed.
"That's wonderful!" Aunt Mary hugged her tightly.
She felt the warmth emanating from her body, along with the lingering smell of cooking oil.
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