Chapter 13: Patents

After gently touching each of the children’s heads, Mrs. Hudson prepared to return home.

She slung the now-empty basket over her arm and said, “I’ll head back to Baker Street first. The carriage is still waiting for me—and besides, you know, 221B just wouldn’t be the same without a lady of the house!”

“You recently hired a maid who came back from the countryside, didn’t you?” Alna, still holding another beef pie after finishing one, suggested. “Let her handle the cleaning. If she can’t manage, I’ll take care of it.”

She shrugged. “Auntie, you really ought to rest a little.”

“I know,” Mrs. Hudson said affectionately, pinching Alna’s chubby cheek bulging from the feast, before grumbling, “But someone who worked until two in the morning last week has no right to say that.”

Alna gave a dry laugh. “Your memory is impressive, Auntie.”

Oliver chuckled softly, earning a glare from Alna, but unfortunately for her, he hadn’t been so intimidated by her lately.

Smiling broadly, he handed the cleaned jars to Mrs. Hudson and received a warm hug in return.

Mrs. Hudson gathered her things and then, with a rare elegance for her age, climbed into the carriage, waving to the group as she left.

The apprentices, their stomachs full, returned to their seats and resumed their studies and work.

“…If you ask me,” Charlie Bates whispered to Doug, “even the Queen’s grandmother’s pies wouldn’t taste better than Mrs. Hudson’s!”

Doug grinned and pulled half a pie from his pocket.

“We’ll sneak a bite later,” he whispered mysteriously. “I got it myself.”

Oliver’s eyes widened with nervous anticipation.

“Is that…”

“Stolen? Someone else’s?”

“Of course it’s me who told on him,” Doug boasted, “and it was given to me alone!”

Before he could boast further, a sharp knock landed on his head, and the half-wrapped pie was confiscated.

“No eating during study time,” Nancy snapped, pocketing the pie. “Doug, next time, I’ll punish you by not letting you have dinner.”

The clever boy’s face fell instantly. “Nancy, that was from Mrs. Hudson…”

Under Nancy’s stern gaze, he reluctantly corrected himself to, “Miss Nancy.”

“You’ll get it at dinner,” Nancy said, folding the wrapping and tucking it into her apron pocket. Then she clapped her hands softly. “Alright, children, back to writing!”

Nearby, Lucy, quietly observing the lively interactions, suddenly felt a tug on her sleeve.

She looked away and turned her head to see Bella holding the edge of her sleeve.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I think I heard the carriage,” Bella said uncertainly. “Looks like someone’s coming to the factory again…”

Lucy listened carefully.

The sound of wheels rolling over the ground, the steady pounding of hooves, and the sharp crack of the coachman’s whip in the air.

It was true!

“Miss Nancy,” she called out loudly, “there’s another visitor!”

*

The visitor was Lawyer Green.

His ongoing case was still dragging in the Supreme Court, and with no urgent matters at hand, he decided to take a stroll through Little Essex’s factory before dinner to see how things were progressing.

No one had come to him to mortgage the deed recently, so things were likely going well.

As the carriage approached, he was struck by the factory’s fresh, renewed appearance.

Stepping inside, he saw the spotless workshop and the children sitting orderly around the long table, diligently studying. For a moment, he was taken aback.

…Didn’t expect Little Essex to be this reliable.

He circled the factory, noticing most of the floor space was empty of machines, but many boxes filled with mysterious parts were stacked about.

Footsteps sounded above, and looking up, Lawyer Green saw Alna slowly descending the stairs, accompanied by a plainly dressed young woman who was likely the children’s teacher.

Indeed, people needed to see the world to grow, and Alna now appeared much more composed.

“It’s been a few days, and you’ve achieved quite a feat,” Lawyer Green said with a smile. “I heard you were repurposing the factory, but this far exceeds my expectations.”

Alna beamed and proudly led Lawyer Green to the office, leaning against the desk for emphasis.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, gesturing toward the brightly lit factory visible through the glass. “Pretty impressive, right? What do you think my grandfather would say?”

Surely, a perfect score!

“A huge improvement. Much more respectable,” he praised. “Quite remarkable.”

When it came to the next question, he truly pondered before answering. “Your grandfather… to be honest, no matter what you do here, he would probably be confused.”

Given his grandfather’s old-fashioned views, unless he had studied mechanics in the afterlife, he likely wouldn’t understand any of this.

Seeing Alna’s puzzled look, he added thoughtfully, “But whatever you do, he would be proud of you.”

Alna smiled broadly.

She picked up one of the parts she had personally assembled and handed it to Lawyer Green, along with the blueprints. “This is our product. It goes on carriages to reduce shocks. It’s inexpensive, and I’ve tested it—it works pretty well.”

Lawyer Green narrowed his eyes, examining it carefully. Legal terms swirled in his mind until one stood out.

“Not bad. But you need to apply for a patent. Every industry has greedy and incompetent people,” he said bluntly. “If there’s profit to be made, they’d even steal a widow’s mourning dress.”

Imagining a group of ruffians stuffing themselves into mourning clothes, Alna burst out laughing.

“Don’t rush to laugh,” Lawyer Green raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. “There are other things you need to consider.”

He tapped his cane on the floor. “I can draft the documents for you, but as you know, you’ll have to pay the Royal Patent Office.”

“...Pay a fee?” Alna asked, bewildered.

Isn’t it just granted once you apply? Most farming games never mentioned paying taxes to the mayor!

Sometimes, you could even benefit from the town’s legends, like stealing the mayor’s underpants to sell or digging up gold by raiding the graves of former residents.

Seeing the hesitation clearly on Alna’s face, Green sighed.

“It’s worth every penny, mark my words,” he said.

Before she could respond, the office door creaked open.

“I didn’t hear you had visitors,” Watson said, slightly embarrassed. “Hope I’m not disturbing you.”

He carried a medical kit, clearly just coming from a patient’s house, with a faint stain of iodine on his white shirt sleeves.

“Perfect timing. We were just discussing patent fees,” Green said. “Introduce yourselves, Essex?”

“Oh,” Alna snapped out of her thoughts. “Dr. Watson, this is my grandfather’s lawyer, Mr. Green. Mr. Green, this is Dr. Watson, my friend—and one of my aunt’s tenants.”

Dr. Watson nodded politely. “A pleasure, Mr. Green.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to give them space. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll come back when you’re done.”

“No, you’re just in time,” Lawyer Green said immediately.

He seemed to remember something and turned to Alna. “Your factory is missing one thing, you know?”

Alna: “...Money?”

Indeed, she was quite short on funds.

Lawyer Green was momentarily speechless.

“No, labor compliance,” he explained. “You know—or rather, you probably don’t. Factories have requirements for workers’ ages and physical conditions. Regarding various age-related issues, you need a doctor to provide an assessment certificate to prove that the children you employ are old enough or at least convince inspectors that you believe so.”

Watson was a bit dizzy from the legal jargon but caught the gist.

“Bureaucracy,” he muttered.

“Yes,” Green shrugged. “Sorry, sir, but it’s our job as lawyers to spot these problems.”

“So how do we solve them?” Alna asked curiously.

Seeing both their gazes fixed on her, she instinctively felt uneasy. “...Me? Really?”

Could it be true?

Well, the protagonist is the center of the world, the savior, with so many titles no two or three words could sum them up, leading to some joking that this segment couldn't hold so many honorifics.

Alna sighed heavily. “I understand. I’ll handle it.”

She escorted the lawyer downstairs as dinner time approached.

After assembling three boxes of parts all day and with steady income from the children’s work, Alna had no desire to burn the midnight oil.

As she drove the carriage, tightening the reins, she saw Watson walking quietly along the path, as if afraid to disturb some terrifying monster.

Alna eased the carriage’s pace, quietly following at a respectful distance.

Could this trigger a new event? Perhaps an encounter with five bandits, fattening her wallet considerably?

Or maybe this road at this time, with the two of them together, would trigger a special effect—something so hideous it would drain one’s spirit just by a glance?

Alna followed eagerly.

But as she neared the main road, nothing happened.

Finally, she couldn’t hold back.

“Dr. Watson,” she asked, “what are you hiding from?”

Watson almost jumped at her voice.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, clutching his chest. “I was hiding… that you’ve been following me all along?”

Alna nodded.

Watson silently gave her a wary look—the same expression he wore while racing alongside her on the road, unwilling to relive that experience.

Alna: “...Want a ride?”

Watson’s wary expression slowly shifted to panic.

“I swear,” Alna hurried to assure him, “I’ll go slow.”

“You swear,” Watson held his medical bag like a shield in front of him, “no sharp turns, no speeding, and—God forbid—no jumping obstacles.”

Alna raised two fingers, thought better of it, and quietly raised just one.

“No,” she declared solemnly, “I swear.”