"It's real, no doubt about it."
"My goodness..."
Mr. Bentley and I looked at each other. Mr. Miller also looked at me with suspicion.
"Anyone who can write such an amount on a cheque without hesitation is certainly not an ordinary person. Hanslow, you said that person was 'Alexandrina,' right?"
"Yes, Mr. Miller."
"Is it an alias, or could it be... their real name?"
Mr. Miller shook his head and muttered.
"No way, it couldn't be. That noble person wouldn't read children's fairy tales, and even if they did, they wouldn't like them..."
I couldn't hear him well, but it seemed he didn't know her.
Now that I think about it, it was a peculiar name. Usually, the female form of Alexander is Alexandra.
Anyway.
"What do you think, Mr. Miller?"
"... You're asking if you can use it?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"Hmm."
Mr. Miller crossed his arms. As someone who knew him fairly well, I found this sight quite unusual.
Goodness. Mr. Miller contemplating something other than buying a cricket team!
"... It's right to use it."
"Are you sure?"
"Anyway, it's money that came in. It's only right to use it."
In that case, it would be proper to use it for the charity fund.
Mr. Miller said so, and I nodded in agreement.
It was an outrageous amount. It was enough to slap the landlord's grandfather in the face.
I couldn't say I wasn't tempted.
As a human, it's normal to be unable to resist a fortune flashing before your eyes.
But it wasn't given as pocket money. It felt like an investment from someone who heard my story.
"Well, let's consider it a successful business pitch. If I got this much profit from one deal, that's something."
Thinking that way made me feel more at ease. After all, it was my achievement, wasn't it?
Even if there was no bonus.
"Well then, Mr. Bentley, please handle this."
"Ah, yes. Understood, Mr. Author. And Mr. Miller, what about the request I made?"
"The Rothschild family has gladly accepted. They said they would send someone soon."
"That's a relief."
Both Mr. Bentley and I sighed with relief.
What we requested through Mr. Miller was a financial accountant to handle the finances of our foundation from the Rothschild family.
Mr. Miller's painting company... well, it was more of a hobby for him, and it was a small elite group, so it was difficult to pull someone from there.
The scale was much larger, and it required detailed adjustments.
So, we decided to hire a professional acquaintance in this field.
When it comes to finance, Jews are the go-to, and when it comes to Jews, it's the Rothschild's, right?
That's what connections are for, after all.
There's no point in saving excellent connections.
Anyway, we decided to leave this matter to Mr. Miller.
Since fundraising involved dealing with high society, this time I hired Mr. Miller as a management consultant.
"Anyway, Hanslow, watch out when you go down. How could you cause such a ruckus without informing your employer?"
"Ha, haha."
Well, I had nothing to say.
Honestly, the only place I planned to visit was Guildford in Surrey, where Mr. Lewis Carroll lived, but I ended up coming to London to start a study book business.
"If you're sorry, go shopping later. The children were crying their eyes out, asking why Hanslow wasn't coming."
"Oh. Yes."
"Ugh. They didn't seem so sad when I went on a business trip..."
"..."
Mr. Bentley and I just looked away from the sorrowful father.
The more you console someone, the sadder they feel.
"By the way, Mr. Bentley, what happened to the reading session while I was kidnapped? There must have been additional requests."
"Well, there were. We stalled for time and then had the tenor from the resident opera company fill in for about ten minutes."
"Ah, that's a relief."
In such situations, follow-up is always crucial.
Customer satisfaction comes first!
... Wait, if we could've asked that tenor from the start, I wouldn't have had to go through all this trouble, would I?
As I was about to protest, Mr. Bentley spoke first.
"Oh, by the way, Mr. Author. We received a request from the Savoy Theatre."
"What is it?"
"Well, through this incident, they wondered if we could properly adapt 'Peter Ferry' into a play."
"A play?"
So, are we talking about media mix, or rather, commercialisation?
***
The Savoy Theatre was originally a new theatre built in 1881 in the Earl of Savoy's Palace in the West End.
At first, it was a success.
The Savoy Theatre, which specialised in a genre known as 'comedy opera', a witty and popular form of opera, quickly became a popular theatre, and the theatre owner Richard D'Oyly Carte was filled with laughter every day.
... But that didn't last long.
"Gilbert, Sullivan!! You dirty scoundrels. You both betrayed me in one go!?"
William Gilbert and Arthur Sullivan, who were once the star playwright duo of the Savoy Theatre.
The two gradually fought over reasons common in artistic collaborations, such as wanting to increase their share and desiring to perform serious plays. They also frequently quarrelled with the theatre owner, Carte.
Carte somehow managed to keep this shaky combination together and put on a new production, but... he knew as soon as the curtain went up.
This was a disaster.
A real, epic failure.
"The stopgaps I brought in to patch things up all failed miserably... really."
Carte said this as he chewed on headache medicine.
There were two plays on the table.
These were plays he had produced to somehow cultivate playwrights to replace the Gilbert and Sullivan duo.
Especially in the latter case, he had tried collaborating with two fairly famous novelists... but while it was original, the result was simply dreadful.
The plot was vulgar, the lyrics didn't fit, the music was mediocre, and there was nothing particularly attractive about it.
It was fortunate that his other source of income, the hotel business, was thriving; otherwise, the theatre business would be completely ruined at this rate.
"There is only one way left."
Richard D'Oyly Carte said this to his son and successor, Rupert D'Oyly Carte.
"A work that the public knows so well that it doesn't need advertising! And a work that the high society, especially the royal family, knows well enough to willingly sponsor! We need to adapt such a work into a play and perform it! That's the only way!"
"Well, I understand what you're saying..."
Rupert muttered reluctantly.
His gaze fell on the two books on the table.
"Do we really need to use these works? Well... they're popular and have royal attention, but..."
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Well, let's just do what we've been doing."
"The Gondoliers" or "Utopia, Limited" weren't these titles already big hits at the Savoy Theatre?
Creating a new play requires an enormous amount of effort.
What could be more troublesome than that?
However, Carte Sr. was extremely displeased with his son's lacklustre suggestion.
"Do you want me to endure the humiliation of just putting on fixed repertoires one after another? Absolutely, absolutely not!!"
"But... Hanslow Jin is too suspicious, no matter how I think about it."
As Rupert said this, his gaze fell on some small newspapers containing almost fabricated articles about Hanslow Jin's identity.
Most were favourable, suggesting he might be a half-elf or a hidden handsome prince, but some were negative, claiming he was an accomplice of the recently captured Jack the Ripper or a demon's henchman deceiving human civilisation.
Of course, Rupert knew that this was probably coming from the anti-Hanslow Jin factions.
Wasn't he already deeply resented by the nobility because of ?
Society is broad yet narrow.
The rumour that the Royal Literary Society was eager to bring down Hanslow Jin had already spread throughout London.
"Well, setting aside the devil or angel talk, the Jack the Ripper story is quite plausible, isn't it? Hanslow Jin's books started getting published not long after Jack the Ripper disappeared. It's suspicious that the author hasn't revealed his identity until now."
A Polish barber named Aaron Kosminski as the real Jack the Ripper?
How many people had Scotland Yard apprehended as Jack the Ripper over the years?
And look at Vincent Villiers.
The delicate yet rough depiction, as if he had walked those back alleys himself, was clearly written by someone who had been there a few times.
Though not verified, the secret passages described in the story were probably there too.
And... wasn't that more intriguing?
Rupert nodded his head unknowingly.
If Hanslow Jin or Jin Hansol had seen this, he would have lamented, "Conspiracy theorists exist in every era," but unfortunately, he wasn't there.
In the meantime, Rupert continued to let his imagination run wild.
"He writes during the day and prowls the back alleys at night, looking for material for his work. When he finds an intriguing story, he takes the knife in his pocket... Argh!"
"Honestly, you always say the most unnecessary things."
But Rupert's father, Richard D'Oyly Carte, hit him on the back of the head as he spoke.
"At the end of the day, does it matter if he's a murderer or royalty? You fool, are we in a position to be picky about rye or white bread?"
"No, that's a bit unfair."
"Quiet! This is necessary for the survival of our opera company."
Even if he were a murderer, as long as he brought in money, he would be a saviour. Carte said this boldly.
"Think about it. How low-risk and high-return this is."
Since it's already popular, we don't need much advertising.
As it's an adaptation, there's no need to hire a star playwright.
Fairy costumes might take some effort, but we can reuse the ones from the recent reading and concert.
Moreover, these weren't even originally made by the Savoy Opera Company. They were used by the royal family at the Crown Prince's wedding, collected by the publisher, and then used for the recent event.
The settings from Other plays can be used.
The Academy can use the castle background from Hamlet, and the lake and forest from will suffice.
Moreover, "Peter Ferry and the Fairy Forest" is primarily character-driven, so there won't be unnecessary crowds of actors at any one time.
This means significant savings on costume and set production.
"Most importantly! Isn't this the favourite work of the Crown Prince and his wife?"
We might even get royal sponsorship just for producing the play.
Who knows?
"Ugh, it's a hassle..."
Rupert D'Oyly Carte scratched his head, thinking.
Still quite young, he found work bothersome.
Honestly, he just wanted to laze around, scratching his belly, reading newspapers filled with amusing conspiracy theories, and making easy money.
And his father, Richard D'Oyly Carte, knew his son's disposition very well.
"Honestly, having children is..."
Should he really entrust the future of the Carte family to this lazybones?
Perhaps reviving this brat's spirit should come before any new productions. This thought often crossed his mind.
"Anyway!"
No, for now, let's focus on saving the theatre. He wasn't going to die just yet.
Reprimand him after success, after success.
"This is too good an opportunity to pass up. We must secure a contract before someone like Augustus Harris or Charles Wyndham snatches him up!"
Rupert saw potential in this.
Augustus Harris of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, and Charles Wyndham of the Criterion Theatre were both theatre giants, no less than his father.
Of course, they might just be drooling over it while keeping an eye on society, as Carte had been doing.
But that's all the more reason... to find a way to secure a contract, isn't it?
"It doesn't matter which singer or director he wants."
Richard D'Oyly Carte growled.
"By any means, we must capture Hanslow Jin! That's the way to save our Savoy Theatre!!"