Back in the office, most people were still drowsy, including Jenny, who was yawning repeatedly. She glanced curiously toward Mr. Eliot, then lowered her head to finish half a cup of tea and started dealing with the pile on her desk. A few minor writers they had collaborated with had written to Mr. Eliot; she opened and read those letters. From a corner of the office, she heard the sound of Mr. Eliot and Clare talking. Mr. Eliot was strict, flipping through the documents they had handled while asking random questions. Jenny kept an ear on the commotion, sorted the letters, and at the very bottom found a note the mail clerk had brought up for her. It was from her mother, saying she had sent Katie to school in the past two days, packed her bags, moved into the boss's house, and tried working for a day. The trial went well; she was satisfied with the treatment, and the family had no complaints. Mrs. Jones said she planned to stay long-term. She earned thirty-two dollars a month for four weeks, and after paying for Katie's school, she could save half—faster cash than raising livestock on the farm back home. She asked Jenny to go to the rented house that afternoon, bring her a box of things from under the bed, and sell the rest of the stuff in the house to a secondhand shop, as she wouldn't renew the lease. Jenny planned to slip out early that afternoon. She put the note away and continued organizing the letters. Just as she was about to get to work, a crisp sound rang out. Someone had dropped a porcelain cup, followed by Mr. Eliot's dissatisfied voice. "How many times have I told you? How many times have I taught you? Do I have to personally handle even minor deletions? Do you think this paragraph is necessary? Can you give me one, two, three reasons?" Clare quickly shook his head. "Yes, it was my oversight." Mr. Eliot found only one or two errors in Clare's work, which was within his expectations. Then he turned to William, and his tone changed completely. "As for you, if you don't want to work, you can leave. There's no need to mess up the annotations like this. Look how many you've missed..." Mr. Eliot scolded Clare and William harshly. William bowed his head and took the scolding. He had handled many manuscripts, and a third of the annotations didn't meet Mr. Eliot's standards. "It's not entirely his fault. He's worked very hard these past few days and did all this work alone. Annotating is the toughest job," Clare said, defending William. "Oh, so he was busy? Then why didn't you ask Polly and Cowens for help? Is he the only one in the office?" Mr. Eliot shot a glare at Clare and William. "You knew it was difficult. If you don't have the ability, don't take on so much. You didn't do it well, and now you act wronged. Do you think I should tell you it's okay to make mistakes, that results don't matter, as long as you tried?" William's face turned pale as he shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant." "Good. I thought you were that stupid." Mr. Eliot turned away, cold-faced, telling them to take their work and go fix it. The office staff, having overheard this intense, oppressive reprimand from the corner, all became cautious. Jenny waited a while before taking the sorted letters to Mr. Eliot. After he reviewed them, she returned to her desk to write replies. She showed the finished letters to Mr. Eliot, and only after he was satisfied did she send them all out. By the time she finished, it was nearly noon. Seeing William working alone, Jenny walked over, patted his shoulder, and offered to help with some of his tasks. William turned to look at her. He could tell she genuinely wanted to help, not to mock him. He didn't want to admit he was inferior, yet he felt his reluctance was petty—especially when she was so open, it made him even more uncomfortable. "No, it's fine. I can handle it." Seeing that he still refused, Jenny knew the issue wasn't over. She nodded without saying anything else. "If you're sure, I'll go for lunch." She left the office and, just a short way down the hall, ran into Frank, who was waiting with Cowens. They were about to go out, and Frank, as if by chance, invited her to join them for a quick meal downstairs. The three of them went downstairs and found a small restaurant to eat. Jenny had been busy with the exhibition lately and rarely had the chance to sit with Cowens, so she asked how he was doing. Cowens had originally been the person in charge's clerk, working under Frank as secretary, but now he'd been demoted to a window clerk. Surprisingly, he wasn't as dispirited as expected and seemed to have moved past his heartbreak. "Collecting manuscripts is tedious, but at least I can avoid people. I spend most of the day downstairs, so I don't have much contact with Clare and the others in the office." Jenny smiled. "That's true. When I was downstairs, I felt that doing the job well gave a sense of accomplishment—much better than bickering with those people in the office." After listening, Cowens hesitated, then shared his thoughts with Frank and Jenny in a low voice. "Mr. Eliot has only one assistant, one typist, and the three of us clerks—you, me, and Polly. Among us, you, Jenny, are closest to Mr. Eliot and have the most authority. Polly works under Clare, so she has less. I'm at the bottom." Cowens thought for a moment. "Being at the bottom, I see the clearest. Look at what happened to William today. He's afraid Polly and I will outshine him, and he's wary of you too. He thinks he and Clare are on the same side, so he only focuses on guarding against us, not realizing that he and Clare are in competition. Clare doesn't want you to succeed, Jenny, and he certainly doesn't want William to do well either." Jenny shrugged. She knew who was behind it. After lunch, she exchanged a few private words with Frank, away from Cowens, then hurried back to the office to finish up other odds and ends early. After returning the materials Mr. Eliot had borrowed from upstairs, seeing that it was almost time to leave and nothing else was pending, Jenny used the excuse of delivering a congratulatory card to a prominent writer to leave early. At the rented house, Jenny settled the rent with the landlord and sold off all the secondhand items she'd used for a few weeks. Those things had been bought from a secondhand shop, so selling them back didn't cause much loss. By dinner time, she had finished everything, picked up two boxes, and took a carriage to the apartment next door to Frank's place. She had told Frank at lunch that her mother had become a maid at the boss's house next door, so they should try to meet less around there. Her mother, Mrs. Jones, was a formidable woman, bold and sharp-tongued. If she found out about Frank, she'd probably pester him endlessly. Frank didn't see it as a problem—after all, he wasn't someone to be ashamed of. In fact, he was rather looking forward to it. If someone like Mrs. Jones confronted his mother, the tactics his mother usually used against respectable people would probably fail. Jenny marveled that the boss had chosen to live in that house long-term, instead of near the chief partner. It seemed he was entirely focused on work. The carriage slowly stopped by the house. Jenny got off and didn't knock at the main door but went around to the other side. She descended the steps leading to the basement and knocked on the small door of the servants' hall. An older male butler in uniform came out. Jenny explained her purpose. Seeing the butler's stern demeanor, she mentioned her position at the company. The butler's attitude softened slightly. After checking her ID, he led her into the servants' hall. The butler was very serious and cautious. It took Jenny some probing to find out how her mother had ended up working there. Working in such a wealthy household offered far more prestige than an ordinary job. Even minor supervisors from the company had to be polite to the servants when visiting the boss. According to the butler, the house usually had only one resident master, occasionally entertaining the boss's secretary, subordinates, friends, and other businessmen. They had only hired ten servants. During the interviews, Mrs. Jones was the only one who listed trapping rats and raising livestock as personal skills. The other candidates boasted about repairing pianos, polishing silver, or having served a duke and knowing all sorts of etiquette. But the boss didn't need any of that. The house was in a good location but very old, inevitably infested with rats, which posed a great threat to the boss's stored books and documents—a top priority. The butler learned from the secretary that the boss disliked cats and dogs, so he immediately hired Mrs. Jones, giving her the same high salary as the housekeeper. Mrs. Jones's main duty was feeding the two caged pigeons in the attic. When servants encountered rats, they called her to set traps. Because there were few servants, Mrs. Jones had a small single room, though it didn't get sunlight, she had made it cozy and complete. In her mother's room, Jenny opened the boxes and helped arrange things. Before long, Mrs. Jones came downstairs after finishing her work. As soon as she saw Jenny, she closed the door and started talking endlessly. She spoke of how luxurious the upper floors were, the running water and flush toilets, and the boss's habits. Jenny chatted with her for a while. Seeing it was getting late, she said she should head back early. Mrs. Jones followed her out. As they reached the servants' hall, they suddenly heard voices coming from the stairs leading upstairs. Turning, they could see the stairwell. The butler was standing downstairs, talking to the secretary, Mr. Benjamin Rog, about some matter. Seeing this, Jenny stepped forward and greeted Mr. Rog. During the book fair, when she had been running errands for the boss, she had exchanged a few words with the senior secretary, Rog. "Jenny, what are you doing here?" Rog naturally remembered her. He asked curiously and learned that Mrs. Jones was Jenny's mother. A look of delighted surprise spread across his face, as if he had just found someone to help. "What a coincidence! I have an urgent matter and need someone to lend a hand. Are you free?"
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