The Shadow of Great Britain

448: Chapter 249: Marvelous Journey (5K4)_2 448: Chapter 249: Marvelous Journey (5K4)_2 Upon hearing this, Martin was startled at first, then bleated with delight, “Mr.

Hastings, I can’t believe you would trouble yourself over such a trifle.

How on earth can I thank you?

Damn!

It truly is an incomparable honor to be friends with you.

What would you like to eat today?

I’ll head to the kitchen right now and get it ready for you.”

Having said this, Martin couldn’t help raising his voice as he shouted towards the kitchen, “Annie!

Annie!

Mr.

Hastings is here—get the grape pudding and tomato meat pie ready, his favorite dishes!”

Martin yelled for a long while but received no response, prompting him to slap his forehead and mutter under his breath, “That lass must be slacking off again, probably got distracted delivering wine to Pennies house.

Mr.

Hastings, please don’t worry, I’ll go there and drag her out.”

Arthur was not particularly bothered by the slow service; after all, he hadn’t come here today specifically to eat or drink.

Compared to grape pudding and tomato meat pie, he was clearly more intrigued by the Pennies house Martin had mentioned.

“What is Pennies house?”

“You don’t know what Pennies house is?”

While apologizing with a chuckle, Martin explained, “Well, it’s quite normal that you wouldn’t know, it hasn’t been popular for long and it mainly entertains the ladies.

My burly male customers would rather not spend a penny to listen to a few tunes; they’d prefer to spend it on a couple more robust beers.”

Saying this, Martin pointed towards a room at the back of the tavern, separated from the main hall by a blue cloth curtain, “See that room there?

That is the Pennies house reserved for the ladies.

For just a penny, they can have a whole night of entertainment here.”

Though the entertainment here isn’t as classy and refined as a formal theater, nor as thrilling as the shows on the south bank of the Thames River, Martin’s Tavern’s Pennies house isn’t worthless.

“Our singers here are certainly the top-notch in the East End.

You won’t find a better singer than him.

From six to ten, as long as the beer flows, he can sing non-stop for four hours.

And our dwarf performers, do you know how difficult it is to crawl through a ring of fire and tumble around?

Especially in the cramped space of Pennies house, it’s really not easy.”

Amused by Martin’s intriguing introduction, Arthur couldn’t help but grow curious about visiting the Pennies house himself.

He fished a coin from his pocket, flicked it into Martin’s hand with a flick of his thumbnail, and then rose to his feet, “Before my guests arrive, I hope Pennies house can bring some amusement to my tedious waiting.”

“Mr.

Hastings, how could I possibly take your money?”

Martin had instinctively attempted to stuff the penny back into Arthur’s hand, but Arthur pushed it back, “Mr.

Martin, earning money through business is a right bestowed by God.

Besides, this penny, compared to what I’ll spend next, is merely a light appetizer; please, keep it.”

With that, Arthur advanced towards the Pennies house.

He lifted the deep blue curtain of the room, and the clandestine nature of this tavern corner was fully revealed to him.

Perhaps because stingy Mr.

Martin worried that onlookers outside might sneak a peek at the show in Pennies house, the room had no windows.

It was lit solely by two dancing kerosene lamps hanging from the ceiling.

Beneath the dim, yellow light that cast a warm glow, the room was smoky.

Arthur sniffed gently, quickly recognizing the composite scent of beer, tobacco, and various cheap perfumes.

While this aroma was not particularly delightful, compared to the sweat and vomit remains reeking from the bodies in the main hall, Arthur found it not too disagreeable.

He scanned the room’s setting and layout.

The stage was quite rudimentary, merely a pair of curtains made from floral cloth hanging as makeshift backdrops; even the stage itself was assembled from several wooden beer crates.

On this cramped stage, which could accommodate only four adults standing side by side, sat a disheveled busker with a windpipe, his clothes washed to a pale white.

This did not deter him from rolling up his sleeves, puffing his cheeks, and preparing to give an all-out performance.

After all, this was his territory.

The audience, seated or standing below the stage as Martin had described, comprised young women in their teens or twenties.

The mixture of perfume, tobacco, and beer Arthur had smelled earlier emanated from them.

Perhaps due to the limited space in the room or perhaps because Martin wanted to collect more ticket money, he was unwilling to place too many dining tables in the area; the room only had one large communal round table for the ladies to place their beer glasses and plates on.

As a renowned detective from Scotland Yard, Arthur could easily deduce their occupations, experiences, and backgrounds from their attire and spending habits.

Those standing by the wall listening to the music were mostly laundry women with rough fingers and patched black dresses, covered with headscarves.

Their earnings were modest, so spending a penny for an evening’s entertainment was already a significant expenditure; naturally, they were reluctant to order more drinks or even a few pieces of bread and half a sausage.