shadow of britain

Chapter 697: Does Ridley dream of the gallows?

As the sun sets, the London fog quietly descends on the streets of Covent Garden like a thick veil.

The gas lamps flickered with a pale yellow light in the fog, the wheels made a dull echo as they rolled over the bluestone slabs, and an inconspicuous carriage stopped silently at the back door of Nightingale Mansion.

Arthur got out of the car with his cane, and before he could knock, the door creaked open.

The blonde bowed and saluted, "Welcome home, sir. Madam Ivan is waiting for you."

Arthur took off his hat and nodded slightly in return, then took a mask from the other party and put it on his face, then walked into the mansion.

Compared to two years ago, the interior decoration of Nightingale Mansion has not changed much, and what can be heard are still the ambiguous conversations half-hidden under the velvet curtains. Those noble gentlemen who are obsessed with "punishment" and "control" are now wearing various ribbon masks and indulging in the extraordinary order of London at night.

But Arthur was in no mood to stop and admire, even though he might run into many old friends here, such as Mr. August Schneider, Assistant Under-Secretary of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

He went straight up the spiral staircase leading to the third floor and pushed open the carved oak door with familiarity.

Fiona was leaning on the sofa, wearing only a burgundy gauze nightgown, with curly black hair draped over her shoulders. Her eyes were moving, with a sly smile on the corners of her mouth: "You are finally here. I thought you were reluctant to leave your old chair in Scotland Yard."

Arthur took off his coat and casually placed his hat on the corner of the table. He glanced at her bare legs, but his tone was as cold as usual: "I just reminded Ledley this morning who has the most important say in the Police Intelligence Bureau."

Fiona sat up from the sofa and whispered in his ear half-seriously, "Then you have to change into the Scotland Yard uniform. If you wear that uniform every time you go to see him, I guarantee he will probably wet his pants in his dreams."

"I don't care what he dreams about. He can even imitate Guy Fawkes in his dreams and bury explosives under the Palace of Westminster to blow up Parliament." Arthur turned his head with a calm look in his eyes: "But I need him to promise me that at least when he is awake, he will work hard for me."

Fiona listened to Arthur's words, slowly walked to the wine cabinet, picked up a bottle of Portuguese Madeira wine, brushed off the dust from the bottle, and slowly poured him a glass.

"It seems that my dear Sir Arthur Hastings is not in a good mood tonight." She handed the glass to him: "Is the Duke of Wellington's commission going poorly?"

Arthur did not take the wine, but sat on the sofa, supporting his chin with one hand, staring solemnly at the dancing flames in the fireplace: "Conroy is a cunning guy, and Wilcock is not as docile as he seems. I need to investigate the people around them, but I can't alert the Ministry of Internal Affairs or the Palace Affairs Office. I always have to be doubly careful when it comes to matters involving the royal family."

Fiona turned and sat beside him, draping her legs over his knees. "Then why didn't you come to me? Have you forgotten that the ears and eyes of Nightingale Mansion are always closer to the heart than the spies of Scotland Yard?"

Arthur took the wine glass slowly and took a sip. "I came to see you. Do you think I came here today to spend the winter in this 'monastery'? Fiona, I'm just not used to the word 'ask for help'. Besides, it's not good to have a good reputation for opening a career with a woman. I'm Arthur Hastings, not Adolphe Thiers or Talleyrand-Périgord of France. In the field of 'nepotism', Britain has Benjamin Disraeli as the leader."

Fiona rolled her eyes. "What a touching courtship. Your expressions of affection are more suspicious than the numbers on your customs forms."

"I'm so sorry. You know I'm better at creating political scandals than making sensational speeches." Arthur put down his glass and leaned back on the sofa. "Besides, an emotional book is like a tax return. If you fill it out too clearly, you'll end up paying more tax. And these days, even diplomats can't afford the extra burden. Unfortunately, I don't even have the status of a diplomat anymore. I'm Arthur Hastings, a commoner in the countryside of York."

"You are still the same. You should know that it is hard for people to love you with your character." Fiona raised her eyebrows and said, "Give three-fifths of your heart to Britain, one-fifth to the king, and one-fifth to yourself. The remaining tenth is probably with me."

"I disagree with you."

Fiona got angry when she heard that. She stared and asked, "Don't I deserve even a fraction of a cent?"

"That's not the case. You can take the remaining fifth. But, dear, I think the remaining tenth is definitely in the hands of the bullet. After all, this has been notarized for me by the Privy Council and the doctor."

Fiona was just about to take advantage of the opportunity to throw a tantrum, but Arthur's sudden joke suppressed her anger.

She couldn't help laughing, but then she felt that being coaxed so quickly would make her look innocent, so she deliberately asked in a cold voice, "But you're not here to talk tonight, are you?"

Arthur glanced at her with a half-smile: "I am here to find my soul. And the best place in London to redeem my soul is not Westminster Abbey, but Nightingale Mansion. Well... at least my friend Mr. August Schneider thinks so."

"Yeah!" Fiona replied unhappily, "He comes to our place to spend money quite often. For that Hessian guy, our box is much more useful than the confessional. But..."

Fiona leaned back on the sofa and crossed her legs slowly. "If your soul fell here, I dare say it will never be redeemed unless I take the whip myself. But I want to know which poor soul has troubled you and made you walk all the way through the fog to talk to me. Don't tell me the answer is on the page. If you continue to play tricks on me, don't expect me to help you. After all, you said it, Arthur Hastings, a commoner in the countryside of York."

"Ledley," Arthur said briefly, as if he were reading a short message, "I don't trust that guy. This guy who doesn't do anything without profit is the kind of person who even dreams about how to evade responsibility. Even if there's already a fire in his dream, he'll pour a glass of wine and a cigar before deciding whether to jump out the window or tell on the culprit."

"Then why did you go to him for help?" Fiona seemed to have a lot of opinions about Ledley: "You have so many trustworthy old subordinates in Scotland Yard, any one of them is better than him."

"Good character and strong ability are two different things." Arthur replied, "And in this case, letting someone with good character and strong conviction to execute the case is more likely to cause problems."

Fiona curled her lips noncommittally: "Perhaps the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel came to you for this reason."

Arthur wanted to say a few more words, but was left speechless by Fiona's words. He paused for a long time with his mouth half open, but his embarrassment made Fiona laugh.

Fiona saw that the big money sponsor she had met after a long absence had a dark face. She stopped wiping the tears from her eyes and started discussing work seriously: "Okay, okay, I know you and Ridley don't get along. So are you going to deal with him, or tie him up?"

Arthur didn't have much hope to begin with, and when Fiona got angry like that, he retorted, "You talk as if you have a plan." "Of course." Fiona leaned forward triumphantly, "Did you know that he's been coming to my place a lot in the past two years?"

"Oh." Arthur replied, "So what? Do you want me to take a few tapes back? You have many important people here. If I make Radley's affairs public, it will only make those distinguished guests feel insecure, and it will also leak out that there are recording devices in Nightingale Mansion. If it angers everyone, it will not end well. Radley's nature is different from Bernie Harrison's case back then. He is not at the point where everyone will turn against him when he falls."

Fiona corrected lazily, "Perhaps, but Radley didn't just come to my place to enjoy himself."

"Hmm?" Arthur raised his eyes and frowned slightly.

"He is using your name to deceive others." She said slowly, "More than once, guests mentioned your name when enjoying services at Nightingale Mansion. They said that Radley often mentioned his old friendship with Sir Arthur Hastings in private. Radley said that he would be the only heir after you left. Others said that he once hinted that you left Scotland Yard because of political loss of power... or even betrayal."

"Betrayal?" Arthur repeated, his voice as low as the sound of a gunshot at the Tower of London.

Fiona slowly approached and whispered in his ear, "Of course you know how this kind of news spread. Ledley controlled several lines closely related to the parliament in the Fifth Division and made friends with some new nobles. After you left, he took the opportunity to expand his power. But this is not the point."

At this point, Fiona paused deliberately and licked her lips. "I know why he is so eager to consolidate his power and cover up the past. Because he is afraid, because he has a weakness, and it is the kind of weakness that can kill him."

Arthur couldn't help but put the glass in his hand on the coffee table, leaned forward, and asked in a low voice: "You mean, what case did he handle that was enough to ruin his reputation?"

Fiona stared at Arthur, the corners of her mouth slowly raised. She gently lifted Arthur's chin, with a hint of teasing in her eyes: "He doesn't know how to appreciate the beauty of a lady."

Silence, a short and oppressive silence.

Then the firelight flickered slightly, revealing the faintly tightening outline of Arthur's profile.

"you sure?"

“I rarely say something I’m not sure about.”

Fiona took out some letters and a handkerchief embroidered with the words "LK" from the drawer. "LK" was the abbreviation of Ledley King's name.

"These letters were left by him when he sent his 'friends' to book special services. He didn't come, but he wanted to see it. He wanted to see another man being whipped, humiliated, and then 'comforted'. He wanted details, descriptions, and records."

Arthur stared at the stack of letters for a long time before he reached out and picked up one of them, unfolded it, and read it silently. The handwriting of the letter was a little hasty, and the content was explicit and obscure, just like a poor creature hiding in the dark and suppressed for a long time.

Arthur read silently for a moment, then suddenly sighed softly, folded the letter and put it back in its place.

"I didn't realize that Ledley had this talent. His writing is even more literary than Elder's 'reportage'."

Fiona smiled and said, "I knew you would like this secret."

Arthur leaned back in his chair and took a sip of red wine. "I don't like it that much. But compared to checking Conroy's family tree, Chaledley's nightlife is obviously more entertaining. At least Conroy won't use the king's warrant to explain why he made his male servants wear corsets."

Fiona was delighted to see that her unintentional act had helped Arthur so much. "Ledley wanted to hide, but he underestimated women's curiosity, especially those who make a living from it. Those old men in Parliament who claim to defend Christian virtues, at most pray for the country's moral revival during the day and secretly book my VIP room at night. But if Ledley's affair were to get out, then... we all know what this means. Once evidence is made public, even if he is not hanged for it in the end, this incident will be enough to ruin his reputation. At least he will definitely not be able to stay in Scotland Yard."

"Yes, in this country, reputation is a very strange thing..." Arthur's tone was as soft as the mist outside the window: "Some people's reputation is based on defeating France at the Battle of Waterloo 20 years ago. Some people's reputation is because they have supported parliamentary reform in Parliament for 30 years. And some people... As long as they are not caught, they can continue to be hypocritical."

Fiona shrugged. "So which category do you belong to?"

"I'm one of those people who used to have a reputation. As for now... I can only use other people's reputation as a bargaining chip."

He stood up, walked to the fireplace, picked up the fireplace tongs and poked the fire. "Is Radley's reputation worth burning? That depends on whether he is obedient."

"So you're going to threaten him with this?"

"No." Arthur turned and said, "I intend to let him know that if he doesn't cooperate, I don't even need to threaten him. I just need to let Ridley know that if my reputation continues to be 'silent' in Britain, then others will soon speak for me."

Fiona smiled and shook her head: "I didn't take the initiative to attack him, but I made him dream of the gallows every night."

"He won't be hanged. At least someone of his status won't be hanged." Arthur said calmly, "But I guarantee that he will lose the Five Places, lose the support of those hypocritical people in the parliament, and eventually become so destitute that he dares not even step foot on the threshold of Nightingale Mansion."

"My dear." Fiona hugged Arthur's waist and said, "You are much more decisive now than before. It seems that your trip to Russia was not in vain."

"I'm just being realistic." Arthur lowered his head and adjusted his cuffs. "Ledley is smart, but never wise. I have to admit that I didn't handle the Caucasus issue very well, and I had to leave the diplomatic system because of it. But Ledley's biggest mistake was that he mistakenly thought I couldn't play poker anymore. I'm not a big poker player in British politics, but at least I'm qualified to be held in the hands of the Duke of Wellington and Sir Peel."

(End of this chapter)