Chapter 493: Chapter 493

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 payment.”

“So...” Orıginal content can be found at novel·fire·net

“So you’re free to go. I’m off to the church—someone just delivered a letter. They’ve found something 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 cemetery. How could I have forgotten to commune with that cultist’s spirit last time?”

“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.

The young man greeted him again with excitement, then added apologetically:

“I’m sorry for bothering you at the club entrance last time.”

“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 someone else recognized Jenkins.

It was the little girl, Fini Faithford, waving excitedly from the window of a second-floor apartment nearby.

“Oh, Cousin Liverpool!”

Jenkins glanced at George Liverpool.

“That’s Uncle Stress’s home over there. Do you know my distant cousin, Fini?”

It took Jenkins a moment 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 exclaimed, his face flushing red with excitement.

“I understand now! The person my uncle mentioned who helped Fini—that was you! You truly are a kind man. Would you like to come up for a bit? Uncle Stress has been saying he wants to thank you personally!”

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 some time this afternoon. Yes, I believe so.”

In the illusory world created by the Cursed Item, Jenkins had realized something was amiss before he ever went upstairs, so he had no idea what the Stress family’s home 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 immediately 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 homemaker. An indescribable smell hung in the air, which Jenkins assumed was the lingering scent of their lunch, leading him to conclude that the diligent homemaker was not a very skilled cook.

From what he knew, families often had meager incomes, 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 memories, 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 men like Mr. Stress and thus had a keen understanding of the living conditions of the lower class.

Once a family lost its source of income, 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 doomed 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 seemed to be missing.

Could he have found a new job so quickly?

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 seemed, was not very lucky. Before the winter began, the plump homemaker 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 supplement the family’s income.

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 me ‘Baron Williams’?”

He asked curiously. Before, the girl had always called him “Mister.”

“Cousin Liverpool just told me 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 means little to me. I’m a devout believer.”