Detective Mary

Chapter 30

Holmes's meaning was simple: they split up, Mr. Bentley going to Mr. Hamp to explain the theft of the contract, and they, while it was just happening, going to find the workman.

As soon as it was done, Mary parted from Mr. Bentley in the street with her skirts, and followed the detective to the slums.

The Victorian bourgeoisie was in the midst of a dramatic upswing, and while the growing prosperity of industry and technology brought new opportunities and a new outlook on society, it also brought with it a widening gap in wealth and class.

In the south of England, agriculture was the mainstay, and when she lived in Longbourn, she was far from the city and there were no factories. The idyllic pastoral life and her father's status as a squire did not give Mary a strong sense of reality to the book knowledge she had received before she traveled through time and space.

But it was different in London.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes comes looking for a dismissed workman, and naturally the workmen of London live in very different surroundings from the ladies and gentlemen.

Even with her twenty-first century knowledge, Mary, who had never experienced this part of history, did not realize this until she stood in the middle of a barren, run-down neighborhood.

Walking into the slums, Mary felt as if she had entered another world - the gray streets, the low-slung houses, and the men and women in the streets wearing cotton clothes with patches on the sleeves, the dark and dirty images made her clean clothes seem out of place.

Fortunately Mary was not fond of fancy dresses, and Lydia would have startled the inhabitants of the place with her always beautifully embroidered hat.

Mary was now sufficiently conspicuous.

Even though she was neither intimidated nor disliked, the stares of the passersby made her subconsciously feel uncomfortable.

As for Holmes, who was walking ahead of her, he was much more discreet.

Mr. Detective had changed his dress to something less conspicuous, and his shabby overcoat and shoes blended into the dusty street without any obstacle, and he looked no different from the inhabitants of the place.

"Sir," Mary spoke, "I'm not going to hold you back, am I?"

Mr. Holmes sniffed, perhaps slowing his pace slightly in case Mary lost him in the slums.

"What do you think?" He asked without answering.

"What?"

Mary was stunned, then responded, "About this secret meeting between Captain Carter and Mr. Hamp? Actually, I'm a little confused as to their motives."

Holmes bowed his head, signaling Mary to continue.

After receiving the go-ahead Mary continued, "Assuming that the two of them knew each other beforehand and were accomplices, then the one recommending Mr. Bentley to change his supplier, and the other abetting the others in stealing the contract, their motives conflicted. So it seems to me that they should not have known each other beforehand, or they knew each other beforehand but for different purposes."

"You don't have proof of that."

"Yes, it's all speculation on my part," Mary answered truthfully, "and I haven't figured out the key to it yet, because these two hypotheses are capable of leading to two very different results."

If there was no prior acquaintance, then Captain Carter's failure to steal the contract and his secret meeting with the mill owner who recommended the change of supplier would seem ...... rather like preventing Mr. Bentley and his associates from changing cotton merchants.

If it is a prior acquaintance, but the purpose is different, first recommended Mr. Bentley to replace the cotton supplier, and then see him not sign the contract and sent to steal, this behavior is quite the meaning of destruction of evidence.

Mary thought about it, really can not think of which is more likely.

"I think," was all she could muster, "that finding the worker who was dismissed might be a useful clue to confirm the possibility."

Mr. Holmes nodded, "Exactly."

He didn't say much, but a nod was enough for Mary to drop her heart. It seemed she could still keep up with Mr. Detective's train of thought!

"So, do you know where the worker is, sir?" Mary asked readily.

"Follow me."

He led Mary around the corner into a long indoor alley.

People were coming and going all around them, and Mary brushed past a number of pedestrians in old clothes. The overhead was covered by a dark ceiling, the light and cold breeze dispersed for the most part, and the air smelled of kerosene and less-than-perfect air, giving Mary a half-hearted reprieve to get used to it.

Immediately afterward, she heard a cheerful song coming from one of the rooms.

It was a crowd of people, both men and women, all gathered around a table at the same time, not minding each other, raising their glasses and singing. It was like they were enjoying a rare moment of leisure after the day's work was over.

Sherlock Holmes pushed his way straight through the door.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen."

He took off his tattered hat and spoke directly, "Is Henry Decker in, please?"

The pronouncement of Henry Dyke's name threw the entire chamber into silence. After a few moments, a man nearest Mr. Holmes stood up, "What do you want with him?"

Mary's eyes widened slightly.

The accent, it was Irish.

There was a terrible famine in Victorian Ireland, and a massive reduction in the production of potatoes, on which the locals depended for their livelihood, led to many Irish people choosing to flee their homeland.

Strictly speaking, the root cause of the famine remained the exploitative plunder of the bourgeoisie. After Cromwell incorporated Ireland into Britain, the British aristocrats carried out a large number of land annexations, resulting in the peasants having no land to plant and having to use cheap and prolific potatoes to sustain their lives.

And now that the famine was over, most of the Irish traveled far across the ocean to the United States of America. Some also came to London, where their labor was far cheaper than that of native Londoners, and were quite hostile and living in worse conditions as a result.

Mr. Holmes did not say that the workman dismissed by Mr. Hamp was an Irishman.

"We want to help him." Mary cleared her throat and spoke seriously.

The youth who had opened his mouth to ask the question gave a look.

Mary could not see his expression in the dimly lit room, but knew that the youth must be full of disdain at this moment.

The youth plainly regarded Mary and Mr. Holmes as an unsophisticated young lady and the poor man she had hired to show her the way. He looked the clean and decent Mary up and down and spoke, not exactly politely, "With all due respect, miss, this is not a place for you to come."

"Why can't I come?"

"Why?"

The youth snorted out a laugh, "Not afraid of getting lice feces and grease stains on your pretty shoes, young lady? Take my advice, you'd better hurry back, dressed like that, this is no place for a guy like you in clean clothes."

Any other young lady, even if she had the courage to step into this place, she was afraid that she would be made to blush by this disdainful tone.

In the eyes of the workers, an unmarried lady like her, pampered and well-fed, the so-called "help" was nothing more than unhelpful pity and condescending charity.

Workers may be short on food and drink, but they also have human dignity.

But it wasn't as if Mary was on a whim to help the poor, thus she just raised her eyebrows, "Friedrich Engels also walked into the workers' shelter in Manchester wearing clean clothes, if he were standing in front of you, would you talk like that too?"

"You-"

The youth was choked hard by Mary, he was never expecting a girl from a rich family to be able to directly carry out the great name of Engels.

Mary justifiably spoke, "Both of his lovers are still your Irishmen!"

She was telling the truth: Engels, the other founder of Marxism, the proletarian who defended to the death the dignity and status of the working class and fought all his life for communism, was the son of a factory owner.

But it didn't hurt that he was aware beyond his own class attributes and beyond his time, did it?

"Engels is a man," the man sitting beside the youth couldn't help but speak up, "You're a girl, and you want to be Engels? What are you fooling around with, get out of here, young lady, or don't blame us for not being polite!"

"What do you mean a girl's family fooling around?"

Before Mary could say anything, there was a chorus of boos from the girls at the other end of the table, and the redhead at the head of the table heaved her glass onto the table and clasped her arms and scolded, "What's wrong with a girl's family, did you men pop out of the cracks of a rock without us women?"

Men: "......"

The redhead glared twice at the man who was about to kick him out, and slowed her tone, "Henry he's just been sacked from the Hampstead factory, miss, and is in a very bad mood and is resting, so it's best not to disturb him."

Sure enough moving out Engels was useful.

After all, they were working class people, even if they hadn't been taught about communism or studied the theoretical knowledge of Marxism. But mentioning the proletariat everyone, Mary could feel that the atmosphere in the room was significantly eased.

At least, the young redhead was speaking politely.

"I know you do not trust me," Mary took the opportunity to speak, "but one must always trust my companion, mademoiselle. He is Sherlock Holmes, the London detective, and it is in connection with Henry's dismissal that he has come."

"Holmes?"

The man who had just spoken out of turn spoke incredulously upon hearing the detective's name, "He's the ...... Holmes?"

Several Irish youths couldn't help but whisper to.

Well, it seems that the name of Mr. Holmes works exceptionally well even in the slums.

Eventually it was the red-haired girl who stood up as a representative, "I didn't realize it was Mr. Detective and his friend, so all's well that ends well. You guys come with me."

Mary: "......"

I should have known to just introduce Mr. Holmes! Mary cried and laughed that his name worked better than Engels.

"Forgive our vigilance, miss," the redhead said as she lifted a candle from the chamber and gestured for Mary and Holmes to follow her, "Henry has been abruptly dismissed and the overseer's reason for it is that he is stealing-Henry is more honorable than steel, there is no way he could have stolen anything. When the overseer of the Hamp factory says that, no factory will be willing to employ him after that; there must be something wrong in it."

"Mr. Holmes thinks that Henry Dyke heard clues that he shouldn't have."

"...... That explains it."

The redhead breathed a long sigh of relief as she slowed her pace and looked back at Mary and Mr. Holmes, "The detective is here, that's wonderful, you'll clear Henry's name, won't you, sir?"

"I will find out the truth."

"Thank you," said the redhead, "and what about you, ma'am? And what am I here for?"

"I'm also here for the truth," Mary replied politely, "Just call me Mary."

"Such a coincidence?"

The redhead gave a surprised look, "My name is Mary too."

That was nothing unusual. There were literally countless young girls named Britain up and down the entirety of Great Britain, so Mary just quirked her lips, "Engels' wife is also named Mary, so maybe it's fate?"

The redhead with the same name let out a lost laugh at that, "It would be a true honor, my lady."

"Thank you."

"I should be the one thanking you," the redhead spoke from the heart, "I'm afraid Mr. Sherlock Holmes is the only one in all of London who cares if we live or die."

Sounds like the detective has a high place in the hearts of the poor.

And looking at how familiar he was when he entered the slums, I'm afraid that before he moved into 221b, Sherlock Holmes had already been running back and forth in the various neighborhoods of London, perhaps helping the workers solve cases? That's why he has such a good reputation.

"I care about the truth."

The detective himself spoke coldly, "Where is Henry Decker?"

"Right here."

The redhead said, pushing open a door on the left hand side of the alley.

The door was as dilapidated as the entire neighborhood, and as she pushed open the wood-paneled door, an extremely unpleasant smell emanated from it. Before Mary could react to what it was, a pair of large, bony hands behind her covered her mouth and nose.

His strength was considerable, and Mary stumbled, and slammed right into the man's arms - it was Holmes who pulled her in.

"Hold your breath!"

The detective opened his mouth and droned.

He pulled away from Mary, not forgetting to warn the Irish redhead, "Careful, there's-"

No sooner had the detective's words left his mouth than a dark shadow burst out of the room.