Chapter 67

Chapter 67

Mentor

"As you said the House of Commons seats are 670. Among them quite a few are ones who come out once or twice per session they say there are quite many."

That I also seem to have heard somewhere.

Although modern-style parliamentary democracy started from Britain, most of the seats were still occupied by nouveau riche, gentry, and traditional nobles.

And the reason they obtained the member seat was not because they truly had intention in politics, but because they wanted to make it a symbol revealing social status there were many.

It wasn't only the Conservative Party. The Liberal Party was also not much different.

The laborer-friendly policy the Liberal Party advocates was also in the end only self-satisfaction that elite nobles feel while practicing their philosophical ideals, not that they truly represented real laborers that talk.

Moreover, even the contact means among members wasn't proper in the era, so even just staying in one's own constituency or hometown in the provinces situations of missing parliamentary activity occurred countless times.

Parliamentary paralysis due to lack of quorum.

Too frequent so now it's not even newspaper article distance. Still thanks to kindly explaining the content that welfare policy couldn't pass again due to a few seats short in the previous article, I roughly remembered the number of seats.

It's a thing that makes one sigh.

By any chance later Britain almost collapsing isn't because of this?!

I looked at Detective Holmes with absurd eyes.

"That is, Holmes, no Mr. Doyle's words are obtain only the seat and abandon the duty such...?"

Shrug.

He only shrugged his shoulders and didn't give a particular answer. But to me it sounded like words to do exactly that.

No, is it okay to recommend such a thing openly?!

No matter how long I've lived in Britain I with modern person's spirit if seeing politicians who don't do politics a strong impulse of wanting to hit the back of the head comes.

So I decided to just turn the topic. No matter how Mr. Doyle as long as he's a person of the past the gap of common sense between us was an unavoidable problem.

"By the way what's the matter from early morning? Surely it's not that you came because you were curious about the matter that happened yesterday?"

"Oh, were you caught? Mr. Durand. However I sincerely came because the situation was curious. If picking the most interesting place in current Britain, I would pick this restaurant without hesitation."

Isn't that a very rude remark, Mr. Doyle?

"Jellied eels it seems you put out a definite solution now, and the rest time will solve. Now I understand. If people eat a lot of delicious grilled eel the eel price will naturally rise, and then jellied eels that sold with cheap price as a weapon will lose price competitiveness and naturally disappear. You were aiming even up to such a part, right? As expected amazing."

...I didn't think that deeply?!

The disappearance of jellied eels, as Mr. Doyle said under the assumption that grilled eel maintains popularity was a matter that would definitely happen sometime.

No matter how commonly eel is caught in British rivers and the price is cheap, environmental pollution due to industrialization can't be avoided.

The abundant catch of eel will also dry up sometime that sound. Then whether grilled eel or jelly it won't exist in Britain. It was a perfect solution.

"I'm also very curious what dish you'll eliminate next. Do you have something in mind?"

From here it was really a problem.

The point that jellied eels is the worst everyone agreed, but last time too the second worst food no one picked and ended.

It was the sound that there are too many to choose so it's trouble.

I wanted to eliminate all the crazy haggises that give off rotten urine smell, but someone said they dislike sardine pie, someone said they dislike pea pudding or smoked herring too.

Sardine pie the appearance is terrible, pea pudding the color and texture that appetite refluxes, smoked herring the fishy smell was too strong so each had sufficient reasons.

If there was Marmite I would pick this as the worst British food ingredient too, but fortunately by my peanut butter there will be no more place for Marmite to stand.

Anyway unless openly doing a survey in the newspaper it was a problem with no answer.

So I frowned my expression.

"This time is really difficult. After jellied eels what would be the worst... The sense really doesn't catch. There are too many worst things!"

But Detective Holmes rather brightened seeing such my reaction.

"Oh, when the heart is unsettled and good thoughts don't come out going out and getting outside wind is the best. Why did the philosopher Kant go out for a walk every day? All because the heart was gloomy."

"Yes? What sophistry is that... I'm a person who walks every day though?"

Where is there a person who walks as often as me?!

In this era other than walking there's nothing enjoyable at all! To the point horse riding practice at Windsor Castle was the most fun lately!

By the way Earl of Derby, you promised to lend a horse and while I forgot suddenly washed your mouth clean? I have to question this later?!

"How is it? If there's no particular schedule, would you accompany my walking course? Mr. Durand, today I have the feeling of wanting to have you by my side without fail."

"Hmm."

Mr. Doyle in the end this was the main point?

Does everyone have the habit of moving the words they want to say to the very back?

Anyway I nodded. I was inwardly curious what activities Britain's best influencer usually does. The restaurant Miss Edith will do well as usual.

"Good. I borrowed a carriage from Inspector Reid of the London Metropolitan Police. Let's go together. It will be a good mood change."

"Do you even need a carriage?! Where are you going?"

"Well, I'll leave that as the fun of guessing."

###

Where on earth is Mr. Doyle trying to head?

With a question running the carriage for about 30 minutes the place we arrived was Covent Garden.

A place dense with numerous stall vendors and shops.

Usually trading fresh vegetables or fruits, fish etc. food ingredients and even obtained the nickname of London's largest food warehouse, but in fact what really made this place famous was separate.

It was exactly flowers.

Covent Garden was also a place where London's largest flower market was located.

Britons gave various flower languages to flowers, and liked to gift or use for decoration.

Especially from the heyday of Her Majesty Queen Victoria called the era of romance the flower industry prospered tremendously they say.

Because Her Majesty loved flowers so much she was greatly influenced there?

As one can easily know seeing the rose garden of Windsor Castle, in the upper class how well one raises flowers was also regarded as a kind of honor.

Thinking about it putting flowers at the center of life also seemed like a unique culture of Britons only.

Strangely in Britain there were really many flowers cultivated for ornamental purposes.

The kinds of vegetables or wild greens people eat aren't that many, but flowers grow really well anywhere without discrimination.

Thanks to the humid environment because rain often falls? Vegetables need abundant sunlight to grow well but flowers adapt regardless of climate. Flowers bloom even in deserts or tundra, right?

Mr. Doyle loitered for a long time in front of one flower shop in Covent Garden. In the meantime I quickly finished two grilled eels at a nearby stall. This one spread quite salty sauce? Has deformation already started?

But what on earth is Mr. Doyle looking so hard at? Flowers, it somehow didn't match his mystery novelist image.

"Mr. Doyle, by any chance do you like flowers?"

I asked half-doubting. As expected he shook his head.

Even if Britons like flowers, not everyone knows well about flowers. The upper class employed gardeners and cultivated flowers, and ordinary people mainly women liked flowers, so if a middle-aged man like Mr. Doyle enjoys flowers he couldn't help but receive puzzled gazes.

Most men treated flowers only as decorations or gifts without deep knowledge.

I decided to give a little help for this not delicate man.

"If you're going to use for a gift you can just ask the clerk in front there about the flower language, right?"

"That's the problem. I haven't decided yet exactly which flower language to choose."

"What kind of person are you trying to give the gift to?"

"That's... It's my mentor."

"Mentor?"

"Exactly speaking, it's the mentor of my teacher when I attended the University of Edinburgh. So he's no different from a mentor to me too."

The teacher's mentor?

Thinking about it Mr. Doyle, before being a mystery novelist he was a medical doctor.

The character Watson that appears in the Holmes series was in fact the writer's ego that talk.

But the teacher's mentor, then the age would be tremendously old? I understood why Mr. Doyle is pondering so carefully.

"How about this purple aster flower? It symbolizes hope and patience. The white snowdrop is also good. Because it symbolizes purity. Dahlia also has attractive clear color. It would be a good choice to give to a respected teacher. Pink heather also contains the meaning of respect."

"Hmm."

"If deciding is difficult just give as a bouquet. Anyway no matter which flower you give they'll be happy. In the end it's a gift, right?"

"I'll do that. Thank you. But how do you know flower languages so well?"

I absolutely couldn't say I memorized while doing crossword puzzles of newspapers and magazines as a pastime.

Anyway here wasn't his final destination was clear.

The carriage left Covent Garden and entered London's complex streets again.

The direction was west. This side city area was also a place I was coming for the first time.

For now from people's attire it was clearly different.

From noble young ladies carrying lace parasols embroidered with embroidery, to gentlemen in suits with bowler hats escorting them.

Hotels, high-end shops, salons and clubs dense, literally upper area.

"Mr. Doyle, where is here?"

"It's Mayfair. It seems you're coming this direction for the first time."

"Yes, and somehow the thought that the walking course is getting quite long also comes."

"Ahem. The throat is dry so let's just get one cup of tea and go."

Mayfair! Here was a place I only heard by rumor. Because there was absolutely no matter for me to come up to here.

If Belgravia is a historic rich village lined with mansions of nobles and wealthy families, Mayfair was a newly emerging rich village.

Even if the size isn't big there were many luxurious and elegant buildings lined up.

Is the person Mr. Doyle said is a mentor of noble family origin?

But in the end the place the carriage stopped was a small 1st floor house with a not large front yard attached.

Covered by surrounding big buildings even sunlight doesn't properly enter.

The garden seemed not managed for quite a long time, unpulled weeds grew quite lushly.

It seems a bit like an abandoned house...? Is it okay to chase in here? It would be okay, right?

While following Mr. Doyle and trying to enter I suddenly stopped my footsteps.

"..."

"Why?"

"No, there a cat..."

Is it a stray cat? Why is it spreading a place in front of the entrance? And that not one or two?!

"It seems cats the mentor raises. He really likes cats. Shoo shoo, move aside a moment!"

In the end only after Mr. Doyle chased the cats away could we knock on the entrance door.

A moment later, a woman with brown hair wearing black clothes with a tired looking face opened the door. Is it a maid?

"What's the matter?"

"Ah, I'm Arthur Conan Doyle. I came to see 'Nurse Flo'."

"Yes? Arthur Conan Doyle?! Ja-wait a moment!"

As soon as she heard Mr. Doyle's name she was startled and ran inside. As expected recognition befitting London's best influencer.

Since there's no video media one couldn't immediately recognize face to face but the name was soon the business card.

Soon she appeared again and opened the door and said.

"Come in! Please wait in the reception room for a moment! It seems it will take a little time until she comes out."

The inside of the house was quite clean and neat differently from the appearance.

White wallpaper and decorations finished with various flowers.

Furniture made of oak also seemed well managed so as not to be old.

Would the bouquet Mr. Doyle carefully brought also be hung on one side there?

And cats crawling the corridor anytime anywhere... Cats?!

What are there so many cats?

"Haha... It seems the cats he raises increased more in the meantime. It seems over ten?"

Mr. Doyle also seemed surprised at the number of cats.

"By the way Mr. Doyle, you said let's walk and Covent Garden then Mayfair... Surely you're going to another place? Did you even make a plan to cross London?"

"Haha... I'll buy until evening."

"Oh!"

"I'll just greet the mentor and go. Because there's a letter I have to receive. The next destination isn't that far. It's on the way back. Today's real destination."

This person, thinking of going to another place! In the end here was also only an intermediate stopover that talk!

Creak.

While trying to stay quiet the sound of wheels rolling was heard from afar.

A wheelchair, and an old woman with white hair tightly tied with a white scarf sitting there.

The physique looked small and frail, but that gaze contained strong intelligence and elegant dignity.

And before Mr. Doyle took off his hat and greeted she first made a bright smile.

"Conan! You said you'd appear when the new Holmes series is published, finally you made up your mind firmly! There was worth waiting! Moreover what's that bouquet? You chose quite sensibly! Thank you, Conan!"

"Nurse Flo. Have you been well?"

"Thanks to you! I ate the peanut butter that's popular lately and the joint pain that was a headache for decades eased a bit! But who's the tall young man next to you? He's quite handsome!"

"Ah, I'll introduce. This side is Jean-Paul Durand, my friend I recently became acquainted with. And this side's mentor..."

"Wait, my introduction I'll do. Jean-Paul Durand. A familiar name I think I've heard somewhere. I'm Florence Nightingale. I'd like you to call me Nurse Flo full of affection."

While saying so she playfully winked at me.

Florence... Nightingale?! The woman with the lamp?

The angel in white?!

She was still alive in this era?! It's almost fifty years since the Crimean War ended?!

I barely held the mouth that was about to drop open!