050 Old Neil’s method of repaying money

At half past seven in the evening, at the Moretti family dining table.

"Claire, why do you, as an advisor, need to arrive early? Aren't the emergency affairs of the security company more dangerous?" Benson speared a piece of potato from the beef stew, subtly expressing concern about the morning's events.

Carefully spitting out the bone from the pan-fried fish, Claire replied preparedly, "A batch of historical documents needing immediate transport to Beckland. I must be present to inventory and ensure nothing is missing. You know, those fellows who only brandish fists have no acquaintance with the ancient Gufzak text."

Hearing his response, Benson, having chewed his food, couldn't help but sigh, "Knowledge is indeed crucial."

Seizing the opportunity, Claire took out the remaining £5 note and handed it to Benson, "This is the extra reward I received today. You also need a decent outfit."

"£5?" Both Benson and Melissa exclaimed simultaneously.

Picking up the banknote, Benson examined it repeatedly, half surprised, half puzzled, "This security company is truly generous..."

His weekly wage was £1.10 shillings, exactly £6 for four weeks, only £1 more than this extra reward!

And with that salary, he supported his siblings, providing them with a decent place to live, allowing them to eat meat two or three times a week and receive a few new clothes each year!

"Do you doubt what I say?" Claire intentionally countered.

Benson chuckled, "I don't think you have the ability or the courage to rob a bank."

"You are not a person who lies," Melissa paused her fork and knife, earnestly responding.

I, I am now a habitual liar... Claire suddenly felt a bit ashamed.

Although it was a reality forced upon him, his sister's trust still filled him with melancholy.

"Today's affairs were urgent and important. I played a quite pivotal role... That's the reason worth £5," Claire explained briefly.

In a sense, what he said was all true.

As for the forthcoming £5 budget - the money he had initially set aside to join the divination club, he intended to keep it hidden. Firstly, bringing £5 home would genuinely startle his brother and sister, making them suspect he was engaging in illicit activities. Secondly, he needed to save up some money for the study of being a "diviner" and the mastery of mystical knowledge, accumulating funds to purchase additional materials.

Benson contentedly took a bite of oatmeal bread, pondering for a dozen seconds, "My current job doesn't require too fancy clothes. Well, more accurately, clothes made of too fine fabric. The ones we have at home are sufficient."

Before Claire could interject, he volunteered, "With this extra income, we truly have savings. I intend to buy a few more accounting books for deeper study. Claire, Melissa, I don't want my weekly wage to still be under £2 in five years. You know, my boss and my manager, their heads are filled with crap, and they spew out nothing but a foul stench."

"An excellent idea," Claire agreed, then smoothly guided, "Why not take a look at the grammar books in my room? To become a truly respectable person, to earn a sufficiently handsome income, this is a critical factor."

Perhaps, before long, the civil service exam will be available in the Kingdom of Rune, and early preparation could yield significant advantages...

Benson's eyes brightened as he listened, "I did forget about that. Come, let's toast to a bright future."

He didn't drink the dark rye beer but poured the oyster clear soup into three cups, lightly clinking them with his brother and sister at the same time.

Draining the clear soup, Claire glanced at Melissa, who was grappling with the pan-fried fish, and chuckled softly, "Besides Benson's books, I think Melissa also needs a new dress."

Melissa lifted her head, shaking it repeatedly, "No, I think it's best..."

"To save it," Claire supplemented for her.

"Hmm," Melissa nodded firmly.

"In fact, if we don't pursue fancy fabrics and the latest designs, it won't be too expensive, and we can save the rest of the money," Claire stated with an air of indisputability.

Benson chimed in, "Melissa, do you want to wear old dresses at Selena's sixteenth birthday dinner?"

Selena Wood was Melissa's classmate and good friend, from a fairly well-off family. Her brother was a corporate lawyer, and her father was a senior employee at the Tingen branch of the Beckland Bank.

However, their so-called dinner was just friends gathering for a meal, chatting, and playing cards.

"Okay," Melissa muttered, lowering her head, then vehemently speared a piece of beef stew.

After a moment of silence, she suddenly remembered something and hastily raised her head, saying, "Mrs. Shode next door sent a maid to deliver a business card. She hopes to visit us semi-formally on Sunday afternoon, that is, tomorrow afternoon at 4 o'clock, to meet the new neighbors."

"Mrs. Shode?" Claire looked completely blankly at his brother and sister.

Benson lightly tapped the edge of the table with his finger, appearing to ponder, "Mrs. Shode from 4 Narcissus Street? I've seen her husband; he's a senior corporate lawyer."

"A senior corporate lawyer... Perhaps he knows Selena's brother," Melissa said with a hint of excitement.

We are at 2 Narcissus Street... Claire nodded slightly, "Getting to know the neighbors is necessary, but as you know, I still have to go to the security company on Sunday, and only Mondays are my day off. Please apologize to Mrs. Shode on my behalf."

As he said this, he recalled the neighbors from his childhood in the past life, recalling the neighbors from the Iron Cross Street apartment, and couldn't help but chuckle lightly, "Semi-formal visit... Aren't neighbors supposed to be naturally acquainted, naturally in contact?"

"Haha, Claire, you don't understand," Benson explained casually and cheerfully, "You've read quite a few newspapers lately, but you haven't come into contact with those magazines provided for households, provided for women. They refer to households with incomes between £100 and £1000 as the middle class, proclaiming them as the backbone of the entire kingdom and praising the middle class for not having the arrogance of nobles and tycoons, nor the rudeness of the lower class."

"These magazines simplify many of the rituals of aristocratic socializing, using them as markers of the middle class. The distinction between intimate visits, semi-formal visits, and formal visits stems from here."

As he spoke, he shook his head and chuckled, "Generally speaking, gentlemen, ladies, and young ladies who consider themselves part of this class pay particular attention to such details. Their visits to neighbors and friends, between 2 and 6 in the afternoon, are called morning calls."

"Morning calls?" Claire and Melissa both asked in astonishment.

What kind of visit between 2 and 6 in the afternoon counts as a morning call?

Benson put down his knife and fork, shrugged, and laughed, "I don't know either. I've only read a few magazines brought by my female colleagues. Hmm, maybe it's because you're supposed to wear morning dress for the visit..."

Originally, morning dress referred to the attire for Mass and gatherings, later referring to daytime formalwear, distinct from evening wear.

"Alright, remember to buy some good coffee beans and tea leaves tomorrow morning, and also get some small scones and lemon cakes from Mrs. Sloan. We can't afford to be impolite in front of our neighbors," Claire chuckled, dipping the remaining bread into the meat juice, sandwiching it with potatoes, and putting it in his mouth.

...

The next day, which was Sunday morning.

After finishing the last sip of the poor tea, Claire set aside the newspaper, put on his half-height silk hat, grabbed the silver-handled black cane, leisurely left the house, and took a public carriage to Zoetland Street.

He greeted Roshan, who had just finished the night shift and was heading to the rest room to sleep, and made his way down to the underground.

At the corner, he met a member of the night shift team, Lora Leighton, also known as "The Sleepless".

She was a lady who appeared quite aloof, with slender eyebrows, large eyes, and silky black hair.

"Good morning, Miss Leighton," Claire greeted with a smile.

Lora glanced at him with her deep blue eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly in acknowledgment.

As they were about to pass each other, Lora suddenly stopped and said, looking ahead, "Ritual magic is a very dangerous thing."

Ah... Claire was momentarily stunned. When he turned around, all he could see was her retreating figure.

"Thank you," he frowned slightly and called out to Lora Leighton's receding figure.

Turning left at the corner, he quickly found Neil, the guard at the armory, and Brett, who shouldn't have been there.

"Let's go, to my house. I've already collected the corresponding materials, and Brett has agreed to help me guard," Neil said with a smile.

Claire was surprised, "Not here?"

Neil lifted a silver box and clicked his tongue, "There's no space here to practice ritual magic."

Claire didn't ask any further questions and followed Neil back to the surface. Then, the two of them took a public carriage and arrived at the outskirts of the North District.

Neil's house was a detached building with a garden in the front, where roses and golden mint were planted as "materials".

As soon as they entered, there was a carpeted porch with two high-backed chairs and an umbrella stand inside.

Through the porch was a spacious living room, with light-colored wallpaper on the walls, dark brown flooring, a floral-patterned rug in the middle, and a heavy round table.

Comfortable benches and seats surrounded the round table, along with a piano.

"My late wife loved music very much," Neil pointed to the piano and casually mentioned, "The sofa and coffee table are in the living room... Let's do our ritual magic in the living room today."

"Alright," Claire replied somewhat hesitantly.

Neil put down the silver box and smiled, "Let me demonstrate a ritual magic for you first, pay close attention and remember."

As he spoke, he took out a piece of parchment paper from the silver box and drew strange patterns on it with specially formulated, tranquility-scented black ink.

Claire looked and looked again, realizing that Neil seemed to be, more or less, drawing up a bill!

When Neil filled in the corresponding "30" and the pound symbol, Claire couldn't contain his confusion and bewilderment, "Mr. Neil, what kind of ritual magic are you going to perform?"

Neil coughed twice and replied very seriously, "Today, I'm going to use magic to settle that £30 debt."

Can it really be done like this? Claire's eyes widened, his mouth half open.