Time was like the Thames River in early winter London. It might look calm, but it continued to flow steadily forward.
Eventually, the promised day arrived.
Today's London was completely different from the London of before.
When Russell opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was a bone-chilling cold.
He instinctively pulled back, glanced out the window, and then stopped in slight surprise.
It was snowing in London.
After a long wait, this was the first snowfall of the year in London.
There was no howling wind or rumbling thunder. It fell quietly during the long night while everyone was still asleep, as though it had been long awaited and carried some kind of fate.
Outside, everything was covered in snow.
Snowflakes drifted down like angel feathers, and a thin layer of white snow had already accumulated on the streets. Occasionally, a carriage would pass by, leaving two black tracks, but they were quickly covered by fresh snow.
Even the most insightful poet would have no choice but to offer heartfelt praise upon witnessing this city.
"It's snowing," Russell murmured, leaning against the window and exhaling white mist that quickly disappeared into the clear air.
He reached out and caught a falling snowflake, watching as the transparent hexagonal crystal melted into water in the warmth of his palm.
Another season of white photo albums has arrived.
Russell got up, put on a warm coat, and went downstairs.
In the living room on the first floor, the fireplace was already lit.
Mrs. Hudson was an extremely capable hostess. In winter, she always lit the smokeless coal in the fireplace early in the morning so that the two young people wouldn't shiver from the cold air when they came downstairs.
Russell went into the kitchen and skillfully sliced bread, lit the stove, fried bacon and eggs, and brewed steaming black coffee.
While the aroma of coffee mingled with the caramelized scent of butter filled the first floor of 221B Baker Street, dragging, casual footsteps echoed precisely on the stairs.
Charlotte came downstairs in a large nightgown and slippers.
Her hair was even messier than usual, resembling an unkempt magpie's nest. There was still a trace of drowsiness in her gray-blue eyes.
However, when she caught the scent of coffee drifting in the air, her eyes finally regained focus.
"Morning."
She walked to the dining table, pulled out a chair, sat down, and curled up in her loose clothes like a lazy cat.
"Morning."
Russell pushed a cup of hot coffee toward her. "It's the first time it's snowed in London this year."
Charlotte picked up the coffee cup, blew on it to warm her hands, and casually looked at the falling snow through the slightly fogged window glass.
"I saw it."
She took a sip of coffee. Her tone was indifferent, with almost no admiration or affection for the snowy scenery.
"It's Friday today."
She glanced at the calendar and said.
"Yeah."
Russell nodded readily.
"La Dame aux Camélias."
She suddenly said something completely unrelated.
"Hm?"
"A courtesan suffering from tuberculosis died alone in her Paris apartment on a snowy winter day. Before she died, she never got to see the man she loved."
Charlotte looked up and gave Russell a mischievous smile.
"I have to say, Mary Morstan has a certain tacit understanding when it comes to choosing the performance and the weather."
"This heavy snow today really creates a wonderful atmosphere. You'll probably be trapped in the private box all night, listening to the performers coughing up blood."
"..."
Russell was momentarily at a loss for words.
This famous detective was also an unparalleled genius when it came to ruining the atmosphere.
"We can't just watch the first two acts?"
Russell sighed. "At least there were sweet moments before."
"If you ignore the fact that that sweetness was a false illusion built on deception and money, then of course you could."
Charlotte picked up her coffee cup and drank it all in one go.
"Go early and come back early. Don't forget your umbrella. If you catch a cold and someone doesn't make breakfast on time tomorrow morning, that would be troublesome."
"It would seriously affect the progress of my experiment."
"If improving your quality of life in exchange for experimental results moves me even more."
Russell called out from behind.
"The two are somewhat equivalent."
Charlotte climbed the stairs without looking back, heading to the second floor. All that remained was her proud, somewhat unapproachable retreating figure.
…
Imperial College London.
The first snow had covered this ancient city in a pure white veil.
The withered ivy vines were coated in white ice crystals, and the Gothic clock tower looked even more majestic amidst the wind and snow.
When Russell entered the lecture hall, everyone was talking about the first snow, so there were far fewer gazes directed at him.
He sat next to Mary as usual, greeted her, and chatted about trivial things.
The girl always answered patiently, but her words were filled with unconcealable anticipation.
Finally, amid the waiting filled with anxiety and expectation, the bell signaling the end of the last class rang, marking the end of all classes for the week.
Russell and Mary walked out of the school building side by side.
"I have to go home and change first."
Mary stood in front of the carriage parked at the school gate and exhaled white breath.
She reached out and straightened the collar of Russell's coat. The gesture was as natural as a wife seeing her husband off.
"A carriage will come to pick you up at Baker Street around 7:30 tonight."
She looked up and stared straight into Russell's eyes.
"Yours?"
"No, I rented it."
Mary smiled.
This time, instead of standing on tiptoe to kiss Russell on the cheek, she walked hurriedly toward the family carriage.
"See you tonight."
The wheels kept turning, crushing the ice and snow on the road.
Russell stood there, watching the carriage bearing the Morstan family crest gradually disappear around the corner.
A cold wind blew past. He looked up at the gray sky, and for some reason, an indescribable emotion suddenly welled up in his heart.
It felt as though, in the midst of an apparently peaceful winter afternoon, a massive gear had emitted a dull roar and begun to turn irreversibly.
The carriage glided smoothly through the drifting first snow and eventually slowly passed through the heavy black iron gate of the Morstan residence.
Looking out the car window, the courtyard that had once been meticulously maintained was now covered in snow, with ice crystals clinging to the bare branches.
Mary stepped out of the carriage, her black leather boots making a sound as they stepped on the thin layer of freshly fallen snow.
She looked up at the brightly lit mansion. Her blue eyes, which usually revealed suppression or disgust, showed none of that expression today. Instead, there was a kind of calm, as though she was about to be released from prison.
"Welcome back, Miss."
The butler, William, had been waiting at the front porch since early morning to fold her umbrella, which was covered in snow crystals.
"Where's Father?"
Mary asked casually as she handed her slightly chilly coat to a maid.
"The master is in his study."
William answered politely. "He instructed that dinner would be late tonight, so he needs to quietly handle paperwork before dinner and doesn't want to be disturbed."
"I see."
Mary gave a light nod. Her obedient and reserved demeanor was the very image of the perfect daughter that London's nobility dreamed of.
Without hesitation, she lifted her skirt and stepped onto the stairs covered with thick wool carpet, heading back to her room.
"Mel, prepare the bath."
"Yes, Miss."
Mel, who had been waiting inside, immediately turned and headed toward the bathroom.
Soon, steam rose from the half-open bathroom door, and the luxurious scent of rose essential oil and sweet fig filled the room.
Mary removed her uniform, which was still damp from the cold outside, and stepped barefoot onto the warm, polished marble floor.
She stepped into the white porcelain bathtub and felt the hot water wash over her ankles, calves, and slender waist, eventually enveloping her entire body.
Several vibrant red rose petals floating on the water's surface formed a striking contrast with her snow-white skin.
She closed her eyes and felt the hot water gradually relax her tense muscles.
The water flowed over her skin, as though performing a sacred baptism, washing away all the stagnation and suppression that had accumulated in this mansion over the past eighteen years.
Thirty minutes later, Mary emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a pure white silk bathrobe.
She sat in front of the vanity while Mel gently dried her long silver hair with a dry, soft towel.
"Miss, which dress will you be wearing tonight?"
Mel asked in a low voice, avoiding looking at Mary's bottomless eyes reflected in the mirror.
"That one… the white one I bought last Christmas."
Mary thought for a moment before answering.
"There's no need to rush. You can put it on later. Just prepare the clothes for now."
"Understood… Miss."
Mary changed into the casual loungewear she usually wore so that no one would think she was about to go out.
Mel had already left the room, leaving her alone.
She picked up a thin eyebrow pencil and carefully drew her eyebrows and eyes. Then, she took a small amount of pale pink blush on her fingertips and gently blended it onto both cheeks. Finally, she applied a thin layer of rose-colored lip gloss to her lips.
The girl in the mirror looked pale and pure like a white camellia trembling in the winter snow, with a lovely, transparent quality.
The wall clock made a dull sound as the hands steadily moved toward 6 p.m.
"It's almost time."
Mary stood up, smoothed out the wrinkles in her loungewear, opened the door, and walked downstairs with light steps.
In the hallway on the first floor, the butler William was carrying an exquisite silver tray holding a bone china tea set and a freshly brewed pot of Darjeeling tea, heading toward the study.
"William."
Mary stopped and called out softly.
"Miss."
The old butler stopped and gave a slight bow.
"Is Father still in the study?"
Mary asked curiously as she looked at the steaming tea on the tray.
"Yes. Is there something you need?"
William nodded lightly.
"I made Father angry a few days ago, so I was wondering if I could find an opportunity to apologize."
Mary said, looking slightly embarrassed.
"After thinking about it for a long time, the last thing I came up with was… brewing tea for him and having a slow chat."
She looked at William.
"So, could I have the tea?"
Hearing this, William looked at the young woman in front of him, who was as sensible and elegant as always, and a relieved expression appeared in his aged eyes.
There was no grudge between father and daughter that could disappear overnight.
"Of course, no problem, Miss."
He respectfully handed over the silver tray.
"Thank you, William."
"You're welcome. The master usually drinks his tea with two ice cubes and one tablespoon of milk."
"Got it."
Mary smiled, took the tray from William, and walked toward the study.
After confirming that there was no one around, she paused for a moment.
The girl freed one hand and took out a neatly folded white paper packet from her sleeve.
She gave her hand a light shake, and the paper wrapping opened, revealing an extremely fine powder that had already been ground.
She poured all of the powder into the teacup, then walked toward the heavy dark oak door of the study with a calm and elegant gait.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
Arthur Morstan's low, authoritative voice came from inside the door.
When Mary pushed the door open, the study was filled with the scent of Cuban cigars and rich whiskey.
The fire in the fireplace wasn't burning very brightly. Arthur Morstan was sitting in a large leather armchair, holding a thick stack of documents.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, he looked up and saw Mary carrying the tray.
A flash of surprise appeared in his eyes, but it was quickly covered by his usual arrogant and omnipotent demeanor.
"Why is it you?"
He asked casually.
"William was in the hallway just now. I saw that you're attending a dinner party tonight, so I was worried you might be tired and brought it myself."
Mary walked to the desk, placed the tray down, picked up the teapot, and poured tea into the teacup.
The steaming hot tea poured from the silver teapot created amber ripples in the delicate bone china cup.
The finely ground white powder dissolved quietly into the boiling water like first snow illuminated by sunlight, blending into the rich aroma of the tea without leaving a trace.
Mary's hands did not tremble.
She skillfully used tongs to pick up two sugar cubes and put them into the cup, then poured in a spoonful of fresh milk.
When she gently stirred the contents of the cup with a small silver spoon, a soft, pleasant clinking sound could be heard.
"Father," Mary said, holding the now perfectly warmed cup of tea as she walked around the large mahogany desk and approached the man.
Arthur Morstan set down the documents in his hand, lowered his gaze to the steaming cup of tea, and then looked up at his daughter.
Mary met his gaze. Her clear blue eyes held obedience, gentleness, and a hint of cautious flattery.
It was exactly what every father wished to see in his daughter's eyes.
"Why are you being so well-behaved today?"
Arthur picked up the teacup, brought it close to his mouth, and gently blew on it to cool it.
Mary followed his movement with her eyes, staring as the rim of the teacup slowly approached his lips.
"I made Father angry a few days ago," she said quietly. There was a hint of guilt in her voice. "I've been thinking about it, and I realized it was my fault."
Her voice was very soft, as though carried away by the gentle breeze blowing into the study, carrying just the right amount of remorse.
A faint trace of contempt appeared in Arthur Morstan's eyes. He knew this was nothing more than an excuse to lower the other person's guard so she could escape later, but he couldn't stop himself from enjoying this moment of superiority.
"Mary, I'm glad you understand."
He spoke seriously, then took a sip of tea.
"That Russell Watson is truly an outstanding young man. Talented, promising, and intelligent."
"If he can abandon his unrealistic ideas and focus on working for the Morstan family, I have no intention of treating him unfairly."
He paused and looked at his daughter's face.
"But Mary, you have to understand that your and his identities are different."
"He could be a pawn or a useful weapon, but nothing more."
"Mm."
Mary bent her knees slightly, her voice growing even smaller.
Arthur nodded in satisfaction.
"That's good."
Arthur sank deep into his chair, looking somewhat relaxed.
He picked up the teacup, blew on the rising steam, and then took a sip of the rich, smooth tea with sugar and milk.
Mary also picked up her teacup and took a sip.
After drinking a cup of tea, Arthur Morstan felt as though his body had become much warmer.
He set the teacup down and said in a relaxed tone,
"I have to attend a very important dinner tonight. It's the year-end gathering of the London Chamber of Commerce, and many important figures are expected to attend."
"I won't be taking you this time. Wait until I come back. Then we'll talk about your future plans."
"Yes, Father."
Mary responded submissively. "Please enjoy your dinner."
Arthur nodded and picked up the documents again to look through them.
Time passed minute by minute.
Arthur Morstan set down his teacup. He had intended to flip through a few more pages of the Chamber of Commerce report, but he was soon overcome by an irresistible drowsiness.
The drug was taking effect faster than expected.
Perhaps it was because he had really been working too hard on Chamber of Commerce business these past few days. Or perhaps the whiskey he had drunk earlier had accelerated the absorption of the drug.
"Father? Are you tired?"
Mary asked softly at the perfect moment.
"It's nothing…" Arthur rubbed his temples and leaned wearily against the back of the large leather armchair. His speech was already slurred.
"I've probably been too tired lately. I'll take a short nap. Make sure no one disturbs me."
"Alright, you should rest a little."
Mary answered quietly.
The moment he finished speaking, the man's breathing gradually deepened and then became steady.
Mary stood there, silently observing for five minutes.
She reached out and gently waved her hand in front of Arthur's eyes, but the man didn't react.
Those eyes, once filled with arrogance and haughtiness, were now pressed down by heavy eyelids, unable to lift or share anything.
Seeing this, Mary reached out and gently shook Arthur Morstan to check his reaction to the outside world.
After confirming that he was truly asleep, a cold, emotionless smile finally appeared on the girl's lips.
"Good night, Father."
….