Chapter 4: Run, Jane, Run (3)
When we locked the door of our boarding house and came downstairs, Jefferson was calling for a carriage. “Coachman!”
The coachman, seated high on the carriage, came running from afar, slowing down with a series of “Whoa, whoa” until he stopped in front of us.
After hearing Jefferson’s destination, the coachman shot a hesitant glance at the addresser and then at Liam and me. He seemed to recognize us, probably aware of our notorious involvement with London’s crime scenes, and was assessing whether he should allow us onboard.
I cleared my throat and whispered to Liam in a low voice, “It looks like our reputation has spread quite a bit.”
Suppressing a smirk with his hand, Liam addressed the coachman sternly and decisively, “This is a time-sensitive matter. I’ll pay extra if we arrive as quickly as possible. Hurry.”
As someone living in the modern era, I’m not exactly sure about the exchange rate back then, but I imagine that one pound was worth at least a few dollars. Considering the high value of the pound relative to the dollar, trying to convert the currency with today’s standards is futile. However, I do recall that a family could live comfortably in the outskirts of London on about 100 pounds a year.
Liam’s sense of money might be even looser than mine.
The coachman, motivated by the promise of extra pay, drove us swiftly through the streets to the hospital’s attached morgue, receiving a five-pound gold coin for his efforts. That was a substantial sum for a single carriage ride. In the impoverished East End, this amount could provide shelter from the cold for several months.
Since it was his money, I didn’t complain further, and the coachman, delighted, bowed deeply as he bid us farewell. Jefferson, too, seemed unsettled by how freely this young man was spending his money.