The carriage slowly came to a halt in front of the gates of the Morstan mansion.
When William opened the door, a cold gust carrying fine snow blew into the carriage.
Russell stepped out first, then turned and extended his hand toward Mary inside.
The girl gently placed her slender hand in his palm and gracefully alighted from the carriage with his assistance.
The Morstan mansion still towered imposingly before her eyes, but most of the right-side wall was charred black, and what had once been Arthur Morstan's study was now covered with scaffolding and waterproof tarps. A faint burnt smell still seemed to linger in the air where the snow had not completely covered it.
"The construction workers will arrive first thing tomorrow morning, Miss."
William quietly followed Mary's gaze and said, "For the safety of the residents, the passageway leading to the main study on the second floor's right wing has been temporarily sealed."
"The living room and study were unaffected by the fire, so they remain as they were."
"Thank you for your hard work, William."
Mary nodded lightly. Her gaze lingered on the fire-damaged areas for a moment, and a trace of sorrow flashed in her eyes.
"Let's go inside."
As they pushed open the heavy gates, the interior of the mansion was still brightly lit.
In the spacious hall, maids and servants in neat uniforms were already lined up in two rows, waiting.
When they saw Mary walking in behind the butler, they all bowed their heads in unison.
"Welcome home, Miss."
None of them dared to look directly at the heir who had been caught in the whirlpool of upheaval, nor did anyone whisper about her long hair having returned to its original pale yellow.
The servants who had served in this mansion for many years knew better than anyone that, with the fall of that absolute power, the rightful owner of this mansion was now only this seemingly fragile young girl.
Mary handed her cashmere coat to Mel, smiled, and looked around at everyone.
"Thank you all. A lot has happened in the mansion over these past two days, and I am grateful for your efforts."
"This month, everyone will receive an additional half-month's salary as compensation. William, please handle the arrangements."
"Yes, of course. You are truly generous."
William bowed respectfully.
Hearing this, the servants in the hall, though they still lacked the courage to raise their heads, visibly relaxed their tense shoulders, and a few voices of gratitude could be heard.
She had skillfully used both kindness and strictness to effortlessly capture everyone's hearts.
Russell stood to the side, quietly watching the scene.
"Dinner is ready and will be served in the small dining room."
William said, "All dishes have been prepared lightly seasoned according to the guest's preferences."
"Additionally, the invitation letters and correspondence regarding those visits have been placed in your temporary study."
"Could you bring dinner to my study? I would appreciate it if you could do the same from now on. It doesn't need to be an extravagant meal — a balanced one is sufficient."
Mary said.
"Understood."
William nodded lightly, then withdrew.
The servants in the hall quickly dispersed. Thanks to the new master's gentle whispers, the mansion's massive and complex machinery began moving in an orderly fashion once more.
The two entered the study. Once the door closed, Mary could finally shed her aloof and expressionless demeanor.
The girl's previously straight back immediately relaxed. She walked toward the desk and looked at the unopened letters placed on it.
"Wow, there are so many."
Russell couldn't help but remark that he could tell there were at least ten just by looking.
Essentially, every relative of the Morstans had written a letter. Even among the lesser-known relatives, some had written letters of condolence in hopes of obtaining a share of the inheritance.
"They've really been working hard."
Mary said this curtly, then picked up the letter opener and began opening the letters one by one.
All of these letters required replies. She couldn't simply throw them into the fire and burn them just to finish the task.
"Russell, read the letters for me," she said, her attitude and tone shifting to something businesslike.
"Having Moriarty as a secretary must mean the head of the Morstan family is becoming increasingly extravagant."
Russell said this, but still obediently took all the letters and sat on the sofa with one in hand.
"This is a privilege I earned by putting myself up as collateral," Mary smiled as she placed the letters on the table and picked up a pen.
"Then let's begin."
Russell cleared his throat as if preparing to play a role.
"Um — To my beloved, unfortunate niece."
"Upon hearing the news of my dearest brother Arthur's passing, I am filled with deep sorrow.
As your father's closest brother, how could I bear to watch you, a frail girl who hasn't even graduated yet, face such a vast and complex family business alone?"
"London's business world is like a den of dragons and tigers. Those ruthless capitalists will devour you whole."
"Therefore, I have booked a train ticket to London for next Wednesday and will temporarily stay at the mansion. During this time, I will fully support the management of the East End textile factory and the South Bank shipping warehouse until you find a suitable partner."
After reading this, Russell paused for a moment, raised one eyebrow, turned the letter over, and showed it to Mary.
"The signature even says 'Uncle George is always reliable.' Isn't that touching?"
"Touching?"
Mary sat behind the large mahogany desk, fiddling with the gold-trimmed Parker pen in her hand.
Hearing those words, she couldn't help but let out a mocking laugh, a glint of derision in her emerald-green eyes.
"George Morstan, Father's hopeless younger brother."
"Over the past five years, he had borrowed at least twenty thousand pounds from Father for horse racing and reckless investments, and to this day has not repaid a single penny."
"Now that Father has fallen, drawn by the scent of blood, he was the first to rush over."
She straightened her back, uncapped the fountain pen, and spread out a sheet of high-quality wax paper that gave off a faint fragrance.
"Please reply for me, dear secretary. And help me with the wording."
She lowered her eyes, smoothly slid the pen tip across the paper, producing a pleasant "shhh" sound.
"To my dear Uncle George."
"Thank you for your concern even in the midst of grief."
"Your loyalty to the Morstan family is truly moving."
"However, although Father has fallen, the rules he established during his lifetime remain in effect as an iron law governing the operations of Morstan."
"The managers of the East End textile factory are very responsible, and the South Bank warehouse is operating smoothly."
"Moreover, the mansion is now filled with the smell of medicine and burnt odors. I cannot expose your precious body, which is recuperating in Yorkshire, to London's cold and disasters."
"By the way, while organizing the belongings in Father's study, I happened to find a loan contract for twenty thousand pounds signed by you three years ago. It must have been a misunderstanding. To prevent misuse, I have stored it in the Morstan family's highest-security safe deposit box."
"Your most devoted niece, Mary Morstan."
After finishing the letter in beautiful cursive script, Mary gently twisted her wrist, placed the pen beside the inkwell, then took out a seal and stamp to seal the envelope.
For the next thirty minutes, the two repeated the same task until the final letter was sealed with wax and stamped with the Morstan family crest.
"Thud."
Mary casually tossed the brass stamp onto the table and stretched lazily.
The previously tense curves of her neck and shoulders relaxed with this movement. The fit snugly against her body accentuated the girl's budding elegant figure.
"Reading all that made my throat dry."
Russell folded the worthless letters in his hand into paper airplanes.
"These probably aren't useful anymore, right?"
He asked.
"Yeah, burn them."
Mary nodded. "I've finished the replies. William will send them later."
With permission, Russell sent the paper airplanes one by one toward the destructive fireplace, like moths drawn to flame. They turned to ash.
"Knock, knock, knock."
Just then, there came a gentle knock on the heavy oak door of the study.
"Miss, Mr. Watson, dinner is ready."
From outside the door came Mel the maid's polite voice.
Mary straightened her clothes slightly. Her voice was soft, with a faint pitiful hoarseness.
"Please come in, Mel."
The door opened, and Mel pushed in an elegant three-tiered food cart.
On the cart were several delicate yet light dishes: clear pigeon soup, perfectly grilled lamb chops with mint sauce, a vegetable salad, and two steaming cups of black tea.
"Butler William said you must have been tired from school today, so he gave special instructions to the kitchen to prepare clear soup."
"And since Mr. Watson will be returning to Baker Street after dinner, I only prepared black tea."
Mel quickly arranged the dishes on the small round table beside them. Her gaze briefly lingered on Mary's long pale-yellow hair, and out of guilt, she quickly lowered her head, unable to look any longer.
"Please give my regards to William."
Mary nodded lightly. "You should rest too. Russell will be with me."
"Yes. Please enjoy your meal."
Mel bowed lightly, backed out of the study, and quietly closed the door.
"Alright, let's eat first."
Russell said this, then picked up a teacup and moistened his throat.
"Besides these relatives, are there any letters from business partners that require replies?"
Mary gracefully rose from behind the large desk and walked toward the serving cart.
The girl sat on the armrest of the not-too-large single leather sofa, right beside Russell's arm.
She picked up a roast lamb chop with golden glistening fat, skillfully and elegantly cut off a small piece with a silver knife and fork, and dipped it in the vibrant green mint sauce.
However, instead of putting it in her own mouth, she twisted her wrist and brought the appetizing lamb chop to Russell's lips.
"Mrs. Hudson's dinner was lavish, but the distance from Kensington to Baker Street is considerable."
"Mr. Moriarty, please have a little. Consider it an appetizer before the main course."
The girl tilted her head slightly. Her long pale-yellow hair cascaded over her shoulder, the ends brushing against Russell's collar and causing a slight ticklish itch.
Russell glanced at the appetizing lamb chop in front of him and, without refusing, leaned forward slightly, took the chop from her hand, and put it in his mouth.
"It's delicious."
Russell took a bite and commented, "I don't know if it's the cooking time or the mint sauce, but it's perfect."
"The Morstan family chef hadn't lost his touch even after the head of the family had fallen."
"As long as sufficient payment is made, they will naturally do their best."
"This applies to chefs as well as business partners."
Mary withdrew her hand with satisfaction, cut off a small piece for herself, put it in her mouth, chewed carefully, and swallowed. Then she slowly took out a handkerchief and wiped the corner of her lips.
The previously charming yet ambiguous atmosphere had undergone an extremely natural transformation, replaced by one of composure and sharpness befitting a person of high status.
"Unlike those poor relatives who are greedy for money and always think they can get something for free."
"Those who wish to cooperate with Morstan Enterprises are all cunning old foxes who won't act until they see clear benefits."
"They don't care whether Arthur Morstan has become a vegetable or not. There is only one thing they care about —"
"Can the Morstan family still be said to have value in continuing the cooperative relationship? And as their young successor, can you continue to bring them substantial profits?"
Russell took a sip of black tea and picked up where she had left off.
"I think someone will soon come to cause trouble for you, or perhaps test you."
"Then let them come."
Mary said, "I was just in need of a suitable opportunity to show those people my muscles."
"Don't you need my help?"
"Appetizers are still edible."
The girl smiled.
"Then let's watch how the new mistress of the Morstan family handles things."
Russell picked up the appropriately warmed cup of black tea and raised it slightly toward Mary, as if paying tribute to the rapidly growing business empire.
"Waiting and waiting is futile."
Mary chuckled softly. After taking a sip of black tea, she placed the delicate bone china teacup down.
The girl extended her soft arm around Russell's waist and pressed her face against his black coat, as if trying to absorb his warmth and breath.
"As the next head of the Morstan family, do you intend to simply stand by and watch me struggle alone to build everything up?"
She blinked pitifully.
"There will be additional charges."
"But I've already paid everything."
Mary tilted her head back, gently kissed Russell's lips, and used the tip of her tongue to lick away the scent of black tea remaining on them.
"It's getting late, so I have to go back."
Russell gently pinched her cheek, ending the sweet goodnight kiss.
"Mrs. Hudson is probably still waiting for me. If I don't return soon, a skilled detective might come to Kensington to collect the debt."
Hearing Charlotte's name, Mary let out a small snort like a kitten protecting its food.
"What an unreasonable creditor."
She muttered to herself, but she knew Russell really had to leave.
Like a virtuous wife seeing her husband off, she personally straightened Russell's coat collar and smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles on his shoulder.
"See you at school tomorrow, Russell. Be careful on the way. Stay over when you have time."
"Don't stay up too late writing letters either. Get some rest early."
When he pushed open the gates of the Morstan mansion, the cold London winter wind mixed with icy snowflakes blew against his face.
William had arranged for an unobtrusive yet comfortable carriage to be parked in the courtyard.
"Mr. Watson, this way please."
The old butler courteously opened the carriage door for him.
"Thank you for your trouble, William."
Russell nodded lightly and got into the carriage.
With the sharp crack of the whip, the wheels rolled over the snow-covered cobblestone road, slowly driving away from this wealthy district.
…