─"Yes, author. Don't worry, most of the daycare centers have been closed, and we've arranged temporary accommodations for the teachers and students' families who were employed by the foundation."
"Really? Well done."
I felt a sense of relief as I listened to the report over the communicator.
Although I hadn't been too worried, it was reassuring that nothing I had feared had happened.
In fact, everything had been taken care of more cleanly than I had expected.
Hmm, this is why it's essential to hire professionals for legal and financial matters.
─"I apologize. We should have contacted you first, but..."
"No, it's fine. As long as you've handled it well, there's no need for me to intervene."
After all, the situation had developed so suddenly.
Honestly, who could have predicted such a large-scale operation would occur out of the blue?
It was truly a case of 'the ruler's whim.'
Besides, I've been travelling all over the place recently, haven't I? With so many business trips, it was hard to keep in touch properly.
Not just a cellphone, I didn't even have a pager back then.
─"Ah, no. Actually, that's part of it, but there's something even more important."
"What is it?"
─"You purchased land under the foundation's name in the Whitechapel district, didn't you? It was meant to build a school or library once enough people had gathered, and the time was right."
"Ah, yes, that's right... Wait, don't tell me..."
─"Yes, it turns out it's included in the redevelopment zone. The government wants to buy part of the area where the road is being redeveloped at the official land price. How should we handle it?"
The official land price... So, that means the price is roughly...
"What? That much?"
I was so stunned that I nearly dropped the receiver.
The official land price is usually lower than the actual transaction price. But the amount they were quoting now was several times what we originally paid for the land.
Moreover, from what I'm hearing...
"And that's just part of it?"
Yes, they want to buy only part of the land, not the entire plot.
It's strange—government officials usually don't make things this complicated. Is this just how things work in England during this period? Is it some kind of intense sense of duty that makes them divide things up so meticulously?
─"Yes, it's quite curious. This is the first time I've encountered something like this... It took some time to confirm, which is why we were delayed in contacting you."
It certainly didn't seem like an ordinary situation.
─"Apparently, the reason is that the purpose of the land is for public facilities, which is why they've shown leniency."
"Hmm, since when did they start paying such close attention..."
It felt a bit like an excuse, but I decided to let it slide.
If they were to take away the land we had acquired out of necessity, we would have to start over with everything, from construction design to scheduling, not to mention the money we'd lose.
Well, isn't it better to just go with the flow?
"Anyway, there's no major problem for us, right? Any changes we should be aware of?"
─"No, not really. If anything, it seems that the area we were planning to develop will now be the center of the new Whitechapel. I'll keep you updated if anything new comes up."
Oh, that's very good news. It feels like we've struck gold, though it was mostly by chance.
"Alright, understood. Please contact me if anything comes up."
─"Of course."
"Ah, if you're free, could you and Baron Ferdinand visit us here?"
─"Is there something important?"
"It's Mary's 5th birthday."
Mary Clarissa Miller, the third daughter of the Miller family.
She's already turning five. She's running around, reading and writing, calling out, 'Hanslow, Hanslow!'
Of course, there's no particular tradition in England that places much importance on a child's 5th birthday. Coming of age ceremonies are more significant if anything. Even in Korea, the first birthday is the big one, and after that, it's just so-so.
But the Millers' in-laws are quite an esteemed family.
Given the recent events, they decided to throw a grand birthday party while they were in London.
Looking at how much effort Miller is putting into making up for his absence due to work, you can't help but see him as a devoted husband and doting father.
It also helped that he recently succeeded in selling off a series of Katsushika Hokusai woodblock prints I'd brought back from Dartmoor, bringing in a substantial sum of money.
And as a result...
"Ha ha, Mr. Miller, congratulations."
"Why, if it isn't the Earl of Cadogan! Please, come in!"
"Fred! How have you been? Congratulations!"
"Minister Bayard! Welcome! It's good to see a fellow countryman!"
"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Miller! I'm George Herbert."
"Oh, the new Earl of Carnarvon, is it? I heard you're getting married soon? Congratulations."
"Ha ha, thank you! I'll be sure to send you an invitation when the time comes, so please do attend."
Among others, there was also old man Desmond, Mr. Carstairs, and the daughter-in-law of the Sheldon family.
Even though we only sent out a few notices, the party quickly grew in size, turning from a simple birthday party into a small social gathering.
Given Mr. Miller's reputation and the number of people he knows, it's not surprising.
Though he's lived modestly, once he decided to show his strength, his true status became apparent... just as I was thinking this.
"Pardon me. Frederick, it's been a while."
"The Earl of Rosebery, is it! Ha ha, no, I should be calling you Prime Minister now!"
"Ho ho. Though I'm practically a prime minister in name only."
... Who? The Prime Minister of the British Empire? What's he doing here?
I stared blankly at the middle-aged man, a peer of Mr. Miller, shaking hands with him.
Listening to Mr. Miller, it seems he really is the Prime Minister... but I can't be expected to know all the British Prime Ministers. At most, I know 'Peace in Our Time' (laughs), Mr. Gallipoli, the Iron Lady, and maybe someone else.
But even so, isn't he too young to be a prime minister? Mr. Miller isn't even in his fifties yet.
As I pondered this, I heard the low murmuring of the political figures gathered in the corner of the social hall behind me.
"Hmph, he's shamelessly making appearances."
"Let it be. He'll be out soon enough."
"Instead of doing his job as Prime Minister, he spends his time tending to horses. Is he not ashamed of himself before his mentor?"
Ah... it seems this man is already well-known as a playboy. Come to think of it, Mr. Miller was quite the playboy too.
Could they have bonded over polo or horse racing? That might make sense...
Anyway.
Even after figuring this out, I stayed nearby, holding my drink, eavesdropping on their conversation.
Since they were high-ranking political figures, I thought they might know something about the redevelopment.
Sure enough, they were discussing it.
"By the way, did you hear? The Whitechapel district redevelopment project."
"Ah, yes, I heard. I can't understand it. Building new homes for those vagrants."
"Not to mention the expansion of the infrastructure... it seems like an enormous amount of money is being poured in."
"Phew, with so much work to do, what a whim this is..."
"Ha ha, perhaps Her Majesty the Queen has become more sentimental in her old age?"
"Surely not. The Dwarf Chieftain wouldn't shed a tear even if you pricked her."
Well... it's common to hear people badmouth the king when they're not around, but those are some pretty harsh words.
And considering the term 'Dwarf Chieftain,' it seems they might be readers of mine. I never imagined that a character from my story would be used as a code name for the Queen.
Meanwhile, their conversation continued.
And what they said was certainly something I couldn't ignore.
"Some say it's the influence of the Crown Prince and his wife."
The Crown Prince? The one I had a match with yesterday? What is this about?
"The Crown Prince, that is, does he not favour 'Vincent Villiers,' that novel?"
"Ah, that book by Hanslow Jin. I'm well aware of it. It was entertaining, but..."
"Hmph, a blasphemous piece of work, if you ask me... Anyway, there's mention of redeveloping the East End in that book too. Though, back then, it was the docks on the north bank of the Thames, not Whitechapel."
"Hah! Are you saying the Crown Prince is manipulating state affairs based on such a profane book?"
"Well, it's hard to say it's state affairs... but it's concerning to see the Crown Prince leaning toward such radical ideas."
"Hmph, I've heard his tutor said his knowledge level is like that of a railway porter. No wonder he's so easily swayed..."
Having heard enough, I quietly withdrew. It seemed I'd learned all I needed to know.
Moreover, though there's still some distance between us, it's hard to stand by and listen to someone badmouthing a person who's asked to be my friend.
I made sure to remember everything. What would happen to those gentlemen's necks if I passed this information along?
But that aside… I see.
"So it was thanks to His Highness, the Crown Prince!"
Yes, now it makes sense.
I do recall writing about something like that in *Vincent Villiers*, and if the Crown Prince, who is said to enjoy my works, were aware of the relevant content, it wouldn't be surprising.
It made much more sense and was far more convincing than the idea that Her Majesty the Queen, who has no connection to me, would suddenly introduce a poverty relief measure and start a project.
Wow, even if he lacks some social skills, he's clearly a deeply considerate person.
How could he have given me such a generous allowance without saying a word?
The next time we meet, I'll have to open a bottle of wine instead of just offering whiskey.
Apologies to Mr. Miller, but it's His Highness, the Crown Prince, who will be drinking it. Please bear with me.
'So, could yesterday's visit have been related to this?'
Hmm… But there didn't seem to be any such indication. If anything, he seemed more like he was just beginning to get to know me… maybe?
I barely had time to ponder this feeling, like the gears were slightly out of sync.
"Everyone! Please give me your attention for a moment!"
At Mr. Miller's shout, Lady Clara emerged from inside, holding today's star, Mary, in her arms.
On either side of her were the adorable twins, Maggie and Monty, each holding a glass of juice.
Mr. Miller, though holding a wine glass in one hand, skillfully took the child and lifted her up.
Then, showing her to the guests, he spoke loudly.
"As the father of this child, I would like to once again welcome all the guests who have gathered today. This may be my third child, but I want to thank God for allowing all my children to grow up healthy."
Several guests nodded. In this era, simply being alive was considered lucky. After all, didn't Prince George's brother die young in his twenties?
In such a time—without penicillin or cold medicine—making it to the age of five was an achievement worthy of celebration for Mary.
With practiced ease, Mr. Miller raised his wine glass and spoke.
"It's best not to drag on with the toast, isn't it? So, everyone! Let's have a toast to my daughter, Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller, wishing for her continued health! Cheers!!"
"Cheers!!"
With his lead, glasses were raised high, splashing drops into the air.
The guests drained their glasses.
But I couldn't.
'What… did he just say?'
Agatha.
Not Mary Clarissa Miller, but Agatha Mary Clarissa Miller…
'Agatha Christie !!??!'