The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 854: After Modification: Chapter 3 Nightingale Mansion

The night falls, and the gas street lamps cast flickering shadows, illuminating the hurried pedestrians on the cobblestone road.

Although it is already dusk, the vicinity of Covent Garden remains crowded. As for why?

As the Britons’ saying goes—God gives people a mouth and also a pair of hands. If the hands need to work, the mouth must eat.

For most of the economically disadvantaged worker population, they don’t have leisure time during the day to shop for the week’s food. Only in the evening when the factories are resting, do they begin their purchasing at the market on their way home from work.

Even though the remaining goods on the market at this time are not as fresh, correspondingly, the street vendors wouldn’t charge the standard price for fresh food either.

For penny-pinching worker families, being able to buy discounted goods, there is nothing more exciting than this throughout the day.

Moreover, the second-hand goods and discounted food circulating in Covent Garden Market not only attract workers but also make those striving to maintain a decent mid-class lifestyle often wander here.

Although Britain may currently rank quite high in the proportion of wealthy populations globally, to maintain a family of six with a full stomach in London, they need at least a yearly expenditure of 54 British Pounds 10 Shillings and 4 pence.

And if this family of six wants to live a decent mid-class life, under the premise of hiring a maid, their minimum expenditure will reach 230 British Pounds. If they want to go further and plan for the future of their four children, they additionally need to save 75 British Pounds yearly for the future’s high cost of higher education. This means that their family’s annual income must reach at least 305 British Pounds.

Such high living costs and the Britons’ inherently vain nature make many mid-class gentlemen and ladies occasionally consider using second-hand goods of ‘ninety-nine percent new’ instead of those expensive brand-new dresses.

And in such a noisy market area, there’s an odd place, through a narrow alley, where a lavishly decorated white Regency-style building appears. Lanterns hang in front of its door, the candlelight can be vaguely seen flickering through the curtain’s gap.

The ignorant gentlemen and ladies marvel at the grand decoration of this new apartment, hoping they can move into such a house in the future.

But those who are aware, even the most devout believers, would not step here, for they know, this is a place of indulgence hidden in the city’s shadows, a blasphemous sin.

Unfortunately, quite a number of quirky gentlemen in London still enjoy coming here for judgment.

Nightingale Mansion, the cage where countless iron men meet their end.

Would you like to taste the wet whip?

Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you, in 19th century London, besides the Army, Royal Navy, and various expensive public schools, you won’t find a more authentic whipping than here.

The gate of Nightingale Mansion was gently pushed open, the wind chimes rang accordingly, and several gentlemen in black coats stepped into this tempting world, embarking on an unforeseen adventure.

Their arrival did not attract much attention nor cause much noise. Contrary to popular imagination, this place is quite silent. Apart from the occasional crisp sound of whipping and a few subdued moans, you can’t hear anything else.

Arthur took off his hat and glanced at the decoration of the reception. The interior decor was luxurious, with exquisite classical oil paintings hanging on the walls, the carpet was thick and soft, every step felt like walking on clouds. The air was filled with the mixture of perfume and tobacco, the gramophone at the reception desk slowly rotated, and the low music echoed in the room.

It can be seen that the lady who arranged this place has a good taste because the music playing on the gramophone is exactly Chopin’s most famous piece created in London, “A Minor Waltz—Dedicated to Hastings.”

And the oil painting hanging on the wall, it is a “Jesus Crucifixion,” Jesus was hung high on the cross, his head drooping powerlessly, while around him, a circle of women wept and wailed for him, Mary Magdalene and her led female followers.

Just as the painting shows, every customer who comes here will go through trials like Christ, fully illustrating the principle of Nightingale Mansion that customers are God.

In a corner of the room, a dignified blonde lady was reclining on a sofa, her skirt slightly lifted, revealing a segment of her snow-white thigh. And in the other side of the ballroom, a young gentleman was dancing with a black-haired lady, her fingers gently slid across his cheek, their gazes locked tightly, as if the world around them had vanished, and it seemed another rich guy was about to spend big.

Louis and Great Dumas looked around at the environment, the nature of the two Frenchmen instantly awakened, revealing an ambiguous smile.

Only at such moments, Arthur would unquestionably agree that Louis Bonaparte had absolutely pure French blood in him, though not necessarily from the Bonaparte Family.

Great Dumas elbowed Arthur, coughed and asked: “I say… Arthur, are you sure there’s no other service here? Just simple whipping?”