Chapter 156: William in English, Guillaume in French (10) Manchester, the city where the cotton textile industry was the most developed in Great Britain.
Not far from Manchester lay a vast hunting ground on Pig District, and today it was once again crowded with nobles aiming for the deer-hunting season, holding reins in their left hands and rifles in their right.
Bang!
Another gunshot rang across the open grounds, and a deer that had been wandering through the distant woods collapsed onto the ground, crimson blood spilling out.
"A hit! A hit, Viscount!"
"Haha! My aim is excellent today!"
The nobleman called the Viscount laughed heartily as he handed the rifle, still steaming from the shot, to the attendant who had followed him.
"By the way, have you seen the newspaper recently?"
"A newspaper? In the middle of hunting? What strange nonsense are you trying to start now? If it's about London politics, find someone else. I have no interest."
The Viscount frowned and answered his friend.
If one had come to the hunting grounds with a rifle, one should quietly hunt deer. There was no need to concern oneself with the noisy affairs of the world.
However, the Viscount's friend pursed his lips as he loaded a lead bullet into his rifle and spoke.
"What do you mean, nonsense? What kind of man do you take me for? Anyway, it's precisely because you're so fussy that even after attending Eton and Cambridge you still have no friends except me."
"What?"
"In any case, that jewel Princess Charlotte received — it was made by French craftsmen! And not just any craftsmen, but those who once served the royal household!"
"France? Why France?"
"…Do you live with your eyes and ears closed? You do know that Guillaume de Toulon is currently in London, don't you?"
"Ah, that mad revolutionary who drove out two kings? Of course I know."
Even if the Viscount spent most of his time hunting deer in northern Manchester, he could not avoid hearing about what had happened in France.
After all, he was still a nobleman. It would be ridiculous for a member of the upper class not to know the name of the revolutionary who had expelled two kings.
"That's right! And the French craftsmen he brought with him to Britain are said to be astonishingly skilled! Since Her Royal Highness the Princess likes their work, that says everything. Those frog-eating Frenchmen really do know how to make luxurious things. I still can't forget the Palace of Versailles that I saw when I visited France with Professor Adam Smith."
"Hm…"
"I've already arranged my schedule. Why don't you take your wife and visit as well? Otherwise you'll surely embarrass yourself at the next social gathering."
"Sigh… this will cost a fortune again."
The Viscount forced a bitter smile and accepted the rifle that his attendant had reloaded, resting his finger on the trigger.
Although luxury within the royal household had declined since King George III ascended the throne, the lives of the nobility themselves were inseparable from extravagance.
The moment one fell behind fashion or dressed in a way unbefitting a noble title, one became the target of gossip. In the end, there was no choice but to pour enormous sums into luxury every quarter.
Royal craftsmen? And French at that? Any noble he knew would shout How can we resist this? and immediately rush to London.
"Tch. If we're going to order clothing and jewelry, it seems I'll have to stay in London for several weeks."
Money itself was not a problem. After all, he was a Viscount who owned a large cotton mill in Manchester. A little more labor squeezed out of the workers would more than cover the expense.
What truly irritated him was that ordering clothing and jewelry for himself, his wife, and his children meant spending days living in London.
Coats, trousers, hats, shoes, bags, accessories. Buying even one item was troublesome — and he would have to search everywhere for all of them. If it were a gun or a horse, he could simply buy it immediately.
Like fathers everywhere forced into shopping trips regardless of the era, the Viscount sighed deeply and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
"You missed! Raise the barrel two inches!"
"Damn…"
Perhaps because his thoughts were unsettled, the bullet struck the ground rather than the deer.
"Tch. Pack up the equipment. I'm not in the mood for hunting today."
"Yes, my lord."
The small ball fired into the sky by Guillaume de Toulon was sounding an alarm through the once-calm society of British nobility.
"Ah, that was a good sleep."
I rose from the bed, rotated my stiff shoulders, and placed a kettle above the fireplace where wood burned quietly.
While waiting for the water to boil, I changed my clothes and ground the coffee beans I had already measured, placing them on a filter.
"Piiiiiiiii—!"
Soon the kettle screamed loudly. I approached the fireplace as slowly as possible and carefully poured the boiling water through the filter holding the coffee grounds.
When the kettle was finally empty, the Guillaume de Toulon special coffee was complete — something that had become such a routine during the days I was ground down daily under the monsters of Versailles and Paris that I now felt restless if I did not drink it.
After adjusting my clothes, I left my bedroom with the carefully prepared coffee and greeted the employees of the Ears of the Nation who had already come to work.
"Good morning, Mr. Maréchal."
"G-good morning, Your Excellency."
The leather craftsman.
"Good morning, Mr. Vacheron."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
The watchmaker.
"Good morning. Slurp."
"Y-Your Excellency! You're awake!"
And finally Mr. Boehmer.
After taking a sip of the indispensable modern necessity — my morning coffee — I opened the curtain of the second-floor window of the rented London building used as both office and residence of the Ears of the Nation.
"Oh. Mr. Boehmer, what's that?"
"What do you mean what? Those are angry customers, Your Excellency!"
"Oh really? Interesting."
"Y-You find that interesting?"
Slurp.
Ignoring the incredulous look from Boehmer beside me, I took another sip of the steaming coffee.
The scene in front of the Ears of the Nation Luxury Hall was truly spectacular. This must be what they meant by a crowd filling the doorway.
"Do you know where I came from? Liverpool! Liverpool!"
"Liverpool? And you're acting proud? I came all the way from Sunderland!"
"Open the door! Open the door!"
"L-ladies and gentlemen! There is still one hour until the Ears of the Nation opens!"
"What do you mean opening hours? If customers have come, shouldn't the door be opened immediately?!"
Ah, the power of marketing.
Even though it was not yet opening time, look at those lofty nobles standing in line at the entrance. From one perspective, they were nothing but stacks of money.
God exists. His name is marketing, and he walks the world in the form of money.
As I smiled with satisfaction, already feeling as though I had eaten my fill, Boehmer spoke anxiously.
"Y-Your Excellency, please open the doors immediately!"
"Mr. Boehmer, this may sound self-congratulatory, but don't you think I make excellent coffee? I doubt even the King of Ethiopia could brew it better."
"Your Excellency, those people are nobles! What if they become angry and leave?!"
Slurp.
"Good heavens! I'm going mad!"
Boehmer rubbed his face with both hands in despair at the stubborn young man before him.
But if he too stood around doing nothing, today's business might be ruined. Shaking his head to regain his senses, Boehmer spoke again.
"Your Excellency! At this rate the customers will break down the doors! What should we do?!"
"Wow. This reminds me of something I saw in a zombie movie."
"Your Excellency! Please stop saying incomprehensible things and open the door!"
"Open the door? No, just continue working until opening time."
"W-what?!"
Customers had arrived, yet the shop would not open. What kind of logic was that?
"Hey! Shop owner! Come out!"
With the customers this furious?
No. This was impossible.
Inside Boehmer's mind he could already see himself and his colleagues weeping as they boarded a ship back to France after being expelled from Britain.
"…Your Excellency, at least say something to the customers. Tell them you will open at the proper time!"
"Well, if you insist."
I placed the empty coffee cup on the window ledge and shrugged.
"I'll go negotiate with them for a moment."
"Good morning. I am Guillaume de Toulon, proprietor of the Ears of the Nation."
"You finally came out! We came all the way from Sunderland! We have no time to waste, so please let us in immediately!"
"We came from Devon!"
"I am from a count's family!"
What an enthusiastic welcoming crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Ears of the Nation Luxury Hall opens every day at nine in the morning. Since there is still plenty of time, I recommend looking around the area and returning later."
"How can the shop owner speak like that when customers have arrived?!"
"Opening time is a promise made both to our customers and to our employees. I cannot break that promise."
I shook my head firmly.
"Are you saying we are not customers?!"
"Of course you are customers. But as I said, it is also a promise to my employees. No matter how many times you ask, my answer will remain the same. Please come back at nine."
"What arrogance!"
Yes. I expected that line.
I took a deep breath and spoke to the noble who had shouted.
"And what if it is arrogance?"
"…What?"
"The Ears of the Nation Luxury Hall uses materials of the highest quality and gathers craftsmen of the highest level in Europe — no, in the entire world. Nowhere else can produce the same quality and elegance as our company."
"How can you guarantee such a thing? Like a true Frenchman, you exaggerate shamelessly!"
"Hm. I suppose Her Royal Highness Princess Charlotte has poor taste as well then. After all, she wears the ruby silver ring crafted by our artisans."
"…Ahem."
I had not told a single lie. The Ears of the Nation truly would be made with the finest materials and the finest craftsmen.
"We accept customers after observing every aspect of the person who will wear our goods — status, wealth, and above all, dignity. Dignity in respecting others. If you still insist after hearing this, then we simply will not sell."
Luxury business was always a business of confidence.
If you are not of the right class, we will not sell to you.
Only with such an attitude could a luxury brand maintain its quality and prestige.
Think about the fate of luxury brands that sold their products cheaply to hooligans just to earn a few coins.
Do you understand now?
If you don't like it, make your own and wear it.
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