The detective is dead, I did it.

Chapter 22 Ktura's Ramblings

When Li Ang woke up in bed, the sky outside the window was just beginning to lighten.

To be honest, he didn't sleep well last night.

The bed is too soft.

After sleeping on hard wooden planks in the slums for over a decade, the sudden change to a four-poster bed with a velvet mattress is quite unsettling.

He tossed and turned until he finally drifted off to sleep in the middle of the night.

When she opened her eyes, Ktura was curled up in her arms. It seemed that apart from everything around her and the unreal feeling beneath her, everything was no different from what they had experienced in the slums.

As usual, without waking her, I got out of bed, went to the window, and looked at the gray-blue sky outside.

Smoke was already billowing from the distant chimneys; the early shift workers in the factory area were tending the boilers. Thanks to some bastard's improvements twenty years ago, the factory no longer echoed with the deafening roar of machinery and the whirring of gears.

There should already be people queuing at the dock. Foremen usually select the day's laborers around this time; if you arrive late, you won't even have sacks to carry.

London has no shortage of people. Your presence or absence makes no difference.

Li Ang quickly washed up and went downstairs to the restaurant on the first floor.

Charlotte was already seated in the main seat.

Today she wore a light gray shirt with a dark blue vest over it, a silver tie at the collar, a dark knee-length skirt, and white stockings.

Her long white hair was tied into a low ponytail, giving her a unique and neat look.

At that moment, she was using a silver fork to pick up a small piece of fried egg and elegantly put it into her mouth when she saw Li Ang standing at the door and spoke.

"Assistant, it seems you don't have the habit of sleeping in."

"People who like to sleep in would have died long ago in the slums." Li Ang walked into the restaurant, stopped opposite Charlotte, and prepared to sit down.

The dockwork started before dawn.

Before that, the foreman would stand at the entrance and select the day's laborers. If you arrived late, you wouldn't even have a chance to be chosen and would have to slink back home hungry.

"Come and eat." Charlotte put down her fork and pointed to the chair next to her. "Sit here, it's closer to me."

Li Ang glanced at her, walked around to the other side, and sat down in the chair to her right.

A maid quickly brought over a tray containing many breakfast dishes commonly seen in TV dramas, some of which Li Ang couldn't even name.

Looking at the dazzling array of dishes before him, he asked, "Do you usually eat this for breakfast?"

Although I had tried my best to imagine the lives of nobles, I still didn't expect them to be so extravagant.

The value of this breakfast alone is probably enough to feed the slum dwellers for a whole year.

"Of course not." Charlotte picked up her teacup and gently blew on it.

Li Ang felt a little relieved. So today was an exception; that made sense.

"It's just two more dishes, it's really nothing."

"Of course, if you have any favorite foods, assistant, you can let me know. I'll have the chef prepare them."

"..."

Charlotte hired the head chef of a well-known nearby hotel. After the food was prepared at the hotel, it was delivered to her in an insulated box by a special person, which can be regarded as another form of "takeout".

"Never mind," Li Ang said, picking up his fork. "I'm not a picky eater."

He forked a piece of smoked meat and stuffed it into his mouth, followed by a fried egg, potato pancakes, and fish and chips, a staple of British meals.

Their table manners weren't exactly elegant, but they weren't rude either. After all, someone who'd lived at the dock for over a decade could cultivate the greatest courtesy of not making smacking noises while eating.

Charlotte had almost finished eating.

She didn't eat much; she only tasted one or two bites of each dish, and the total amount she ate was less than a third of her plate.

She elegantly wiped her mouth with a napkin, then placed her hands on the table, looking at Li Ang, "Assistant, how did you sleep last night?"

"It's alright," Li Ang said honestly, "but the bed is too soft."

"Then I'll arrange for someone to take the mattress away."

"No need. I've always been very adaptable."

Just then, footsteps came from the stairs; it was Ketula coming down from upstairs.

She had changed into an old dress she brought from the slums. Although it had some patches, it was very clean. Her hair was also neatly combed, with her long golden hair tied into a braid that hung down in front of her chest.

While washing up, she noticed the fragrant soap and some unidentified small bottles on the counter. It was as if the towel next to her had been soaked in the scent; when she picked it up to wipe her face, she could smell a pleasant floral fragrance.

As a textile worker who had to get up before dawn every day, she actually got up less than fifteen minutes later than Li Ang.

When she woke up and saw the white light coming in through the window, her first thought was—oh no, she's late, the foreman is going to yell at her.

She even instinctively rolled out of bed and frantically searched for clothes to put on.

It wasn't until she stood up and gradually regained consciousness, looking at the unfamiliar yet spacious room, that she slowly remembered that she and her brother had moved out of the slums.

Ketura stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the restaurant.

At the long dining table, the older brother was sitting next to Miss Charlotte, eating breakfast heartily, while Miss Charlotte, holding a cup of black tea, tilted her head and was saying something to him.

She couldn't figure it out.

Why would Charlotte Holmes, the noble, elegant, and beautiful detective, choose her own brother as her assistant? Besides being tall and handsome, what else is so special about her brother?

Could it be... that my brother is actually her gigolo?

Ketura had overheard the older female workers in the factory discussing this before.

It's said that the wives of nobles had a peculiar fetish: they enjoyed abusing young, handsome men, especially ordinary people without connections or family background, because even if something went wrong, they could easily smooth things over.

Ktura gripped the stair railing tightly.

Although she didn't think Miss Charlotte was the kind of vicious woman, her brother's physical and mental health was the most important thing.

She decided to observe the other person carefully. If Charlotte was really that kind of bad woman, even if it meant going back to that dirty slum, she would never let her brother stay by her side.

With such mixed feelings, Ketula went down the stairs.

"You're awake?" Charlotte put down her teacup, smiled at her, and said, "Come and have breakfast."

Ketura nervously walked to the dining table and sat down next to Li Ang.

The maid brought over a plate, lifted the lid, and found it to be exactly the same as the one in front of Li Ang.

Ktura's eyes widened in surprise.

What is this? The Last Supper? It's such a lavish meal!

"If there's anything you'd like to eat, just tell Donald, and he can prepare it for you," Charlotte said, pointing to the old butler on the other side of the table.

The old butler bowed slightly, a gentle smile on his face.

"Thank you, Lady Charlotte!" Ktura quickly stood up.

"No need to be so formal, just call me Charlotte."

"How can that be!" Ktura shook his head repeatedly, his voice a little softer than before.

She didn't even want to think about what would happen if she offended the other party and caused her brother to lose his job as an assistant.

"I...may I call you Miss Charlotte?"

"Yes, of course."

Ketura breathed a sigh of relief, sat down again, and carefully picked up his knife and fork.