shadow of britain

Chapter 709: Why didn’t you tell me about this good thing earlier?
Before Whitstone could speak, Arthur took the lead, broke the bread and placed it in front of him: "Would you like some jam? I remember when you were neighbors with Louis in the 'safe room', you ate several bottles of raspberry jam a day."

"I don't like that stuff now." Whetstone pushed the jam bottle aside. "It's too sweet and it can make you get angry easily."

"Getting angry?" Arthur opened his eyes wide and pretended to be shocked. "When did you become obsessed with witch doctors? Should I ask a herbalist to drink tea with you next time?"

"Don't try that on me!"

Although Whiston was harsh with his words, his hand unconsciously picked up the piece of bread that had just been spread with butter, took a bite, and chewed slowly and carefully.

Arthur picked up the teacup and took a sip. "Are you satisfied with the laboratory you rented near the financial city? The beautiful environment, quiet and comfortable atmosphere, this kind of place is most suitable for scientific research."

When Whetstone heard Arthur mention the lab he rented, he immediately became furious: "Stop talking about it! That was the second stupidest thing I've ever done in my life, second only to meeting you."

Arthur pretended to be confused. He knew that Wheatstone would not be satisfied with the place, but he still asked knowingly: "Why? Isn't the prime location in the City of London enough to satisfy you? That's the center of London."

"Yes! The center! The slaughter center of London and even England! The damn Smithfield open-air market, from Monday to Sunday, you can hear the wailing and groaning of animals every day!"

All old Londoners know that London has many distinctive markets. For example, Covent Garden Market, where the coffee stalls are located, is famous for its luxury imported food and all kinds of second-hand goods, while Billingsgate Market on the Thames is the largest fish market in the world. Every morning you can buy fresh Thames carp, plaice, smelt, flounder, salmon, eels, minnows and other local London species there.

As for Smithfield mentioned by Wheatstone, it is an older place than Covent Garden Market and Billingsgate Market. About five or six centuries ago, it was already the main horse and livestock trading market in London.

Smithfield trades horses every Friday, trades mainly in hay Monday through Wednesday, and has large markets on Thursdays and Saturdays.

On market days, about 2500 cattle and nearly 15000 sheep are brought here for trading. Such a huge trading volume inevitably leads to congestion, but unfortunately, in London, the roads leading to all city center markets are narrow and difficult to find. Therefore, on trading days, the streets near Smithfield are simply hell on earth.

Old Londoner Dickens had always hated Smithfield Market and often criticized it in his novels and news reports.

As Dickens put it:

On market days, the ground of Smithfield is covered with dirt and mud almost ankle-high. The whistles of the drivers, the barking of dogs, the mooing and jumping of the cattle, the bleating of the sheep, the grunting and squeaking of the pigs, the shouting of the vendors, the shouting, cursing and quarreling on both sides of the road, the ringing of bells and the roar of the crowd...

The sheer number of animals packed into such a small space made all kinds of extreme cruelty commonplace. To get the young bullocks into their allotted pens, the poor animals were constantly punished and tortured—prongs driven into the delicate places of their hooves, their tails twisted, their spines pounded with agony. The drivers roared, growled, screamed, cursed, shouted, whistled, and brandished short sticks, hitting the animals mercilessly. The cattle were tied to the rails with ropes so tight that their swollen tongues popped out, then their leg tendons were cut and their hind legs were beaten hard until they were lame.

The market had such a bad reputation that many tanners refused to use hides from Smithfield, and the Society for the Protection of Animals was so outraged by the abuses that took place on a daily basis that they petitioned Parliament for an inquiry in 1828 in an effort to shut down the market.

But unfortunately, although Parliament conducted a detailed investigation and held hearings into the abuses of Smithfield Market, nothing could impress the callous City of London government.

Even though the parliament has repeatedly called for the market to be relocated to a more spacious and quiet location, the City Development Corporation could not give up the annual rent of 1 pounds that the market brought, and tried every means to postpone the relocation plan as much as possible.

And judging by the current situation, their delaying tactics have been very successful. Three years have passed since the parliament asked the market to relocate, but Smithfield is still there.

"Do you know what I often see when I do experiments? A whole cart of cows! The cows, horses and the roar of the driver sound like Vikings fighting in front of my window. Every time I go out for lunch at noon, the ground is covered with blood and fragments of internal organs. If you don't believe it, you can go and see the cracks in the stone slabs at the door of my laboratory. They are all covered with animal feces. And the afternoon before yesterday, I was halfway through my experiment when I heard someone knocking on the door. I just pushed open the door, and a mad cow rushed in directly from the street. With just one kick, it kicked over my phonograph and telegraph, including the bracket and wires. Can you imagine the scene of an instrument worth dozens of pounds struggling between the horns of a cow and the hooves of a horse? I can tolerate old equipment and insufficient funds, but I can't tolerate a slaughterhouse outside my laboratory!"

Arthur listened to the rant at his leisure, tapping his fingers on the rim of his glass.

"So..." He deliberately dragged out the ending of the sentence, as if asking casually: "Are you planning to change laboratories?"

"Of course!" Whetstone replied immediately, with a tone of anger that was almost shameful. "I should have changed it a long time ago! That place is not suitable for living, let alone doing experiments!"

"So where are you planning on moving to?"

"How would I know?" Whiston scratched his hair in annoyance. "I just want to find a lab that's not next to a slaughterhouse and doesn't require stepping on sheep manure to enter. It doesn't matter if it's smaller or more run-down, as long as it's quiet. By the way, don't you want me to forgive you? If you can find me a good place to go, I'll forgive you for kidnapping me to Göttingen."

Hearing this, Arthur pretended to be embarrassed and said, "I'm not saying anything, Charles, but places like this are really hard to find in London. At the east and west ends of Oxford Street are Carnaby Market, which sells grain, and St. George's Market, which sells meat. There is the Oxford Market near Portland Street, Shepherd's Market to the west of Curzon Street, and Hungerford Market not far from the Strand... To be honest, I once counted when I was patrolling the streets. There are an average of 14 stalls selling fish or fruit per mile in London. If you really want to be quiet, you can only move to the countryside."

When Whiston heard this, he felt as if his ears were filled with the cries of various vendors.

就连眼前都堆满了1便士一份的栗子、1便士16个的核桃、2便士1磅的葡萄、1便士3条的雅茅斯腌熏鲱鱼，抑或是4便士一顶的帽子和半便士3对的鞋带儿。

Of course, what is even more unbearable than the hawkers’ cries is the sound of housewives bargaining.

These ladies are far more difficult to deal with than their husbands. When they go to the butcher's shop to buy meat, they act like the queen is inspecting it. And when the shopkeeper sees these ladies arriving, his already busy mouths become even more annoying.

"Look at this piece of meat. It's really good, I promise... It was originally 9 pence and a half a pound, but I want you to be a regular customer, so I'll only charge 1 pence."

The housewife argued with the butcher for a few words and then pretended to leave.

Then the butcher rushed out of the shop to ask her to stay: "Okay, how much are you willing to pay?"

The housewife's offer of 8 pence per pound was rejected. After some discussion, the two finally agreed on 1 half pence.

However, even if the thrifty housewife wins, she will still insist on asking the butcher to add more mutton fat, and the butcher will "reluctantly" accept it after grumbling a few words.

Although most of these housewives who came to shop were poor and could not even afford bags, so they had to lift the four corners of their aprons to wrap the things they bought, this did not prevent these ladies from moving swiftly among the shops selling walnuts, black shoe polish, vegetables, braces, combs, paper and pens, and even corn medicine.

For Arthur, who is used to living on the streets, this is the flavor of life. Although he doesn't like this noisy environment, how can you prove that you live in the city without noise?
It was normal for women to haggle and be delighted by a discount of a farthing.

It is human nature for men to sneak into the street barber shop to tidy up while their wives are buying groceries, and feel lucky that they have avoided the fate of becoming their wives' "basket carriers".

But for Wheatstone, all of this was called purgatory.

He muttered, "Is there no peaceful place in such a big city like London?"

Arthur put down his teacup and said, "Are you planning to hide in the cellar?"

Whetstone glared at him. "A cellar is better than a cowshed! I'd rather get rheumatism than hear a heifer screaming all night long!"

Arthur raised his eyebrows when he heard this. "If Elder heard what you said, it would be enough to be expanded into a Nottingham romance novel."

"Don't use that low-level novel writer to provoke me! I won't fall for it!" Whiston said as he tore off a corner of the bread he had not finished eating. Looking at his ferocious expression, it seemed as if what he was chewing in his mouth was not bread but Arthur's flesh.

"Speaking of which, Charles, I've been thinking about a question recently. Don't laugh when I tell you this. I guess only someone like you can answer this question."

Whiston was still chewing something and mumbling incoherently, "What's the problem? Do you want me to analyze some suspected encrypted menu or invoice for you again?"

"No, no, I won't play those tricks this time." Arthur said sincerely, "I was just wondering, how can people concentrate on their work? I'm not particularly intolerant of noise, but it's still not easy to find a place where no one will disturb me."

Whiston licked the edge of the butter and replied without hesitation: "What's so difficult about it? Go to St. Martin's Church next to Trafalgar Square. You lay there for three days and no one bothered you."

Arthur was planning to continue, but when Whiston said this, he was choked.

But before long, Arthur responded with a dark face: "Charles, I wanted to give you the quiet place I found. But since you don't value our friendship, I think I'll just forget about it."

After saying this, Arthur picked up the gloves on the table and asked the boss to pay the bill.

When Whetstone saw Arthur was about to leave, his eyes rolled, and he immediately put into practice the trick Arthur had used on him before. He pretended to be sarcastic and provoked him, "Arthur, if you can't find a suitable place, just tell me directly. I know you are not the same as before, and those policemen won't listen to you. Even if I want to stay in the 'safe house' for a while, you don't have the power to invite me in. Now I suddenly ask you to help find a house, and you really have no power. But, for such a small matter, you have to sacrifice our friendship, this is..."

Arthur slammed the table and said angrily, "Charles, I am no longer an assistant police inspector. I have even been stripped of my status as a diplomat, but that doesn't mean I am a useless person who can't do anything! If I say there is such a house, then there is one! Moreover, the place is quiet and peaceful, far away from the slaughterhouse. There are no hawkers and only a few sparrows at most."

Whiston was not angry at Arthur's scolding, but laughed in his heart.

How many years!

It's time for Wheatstone to crush that bastard Hastings!

"That's just like you, Arthur!" He exclaimed seriously, with a hint of admiration in his tone. "I thought you had been working in the diplomatic field for the past two years, and your temper had been worn away by salons. I didn't expect you still have the stubbornness you had at Scotland Yard."

"Stubbornness is reserved for old friends." Arthur snorted coldly, "You still look down on me from the bottom of your heart. In the final analysis, you think I am a useless snack who can only use the power at hand to get convenience."

"How can that be possible?" Whiston waved his hand quickly. "By the way, where is the place you mentioned? Is the rent expensive?"

Arthur looked very angry. He took off his hat and fanned himself while replying, "Rent? Why would I need to pay rent if I'm here? To tell you the truth, the University of London is planning to build a physics laboratory. Mr. Faraday was originally the director of the laboratory designated by the management committee, but judging from his attitude, he doesn't seem to be happy to leave the Royal Society. So now they are focusing on William Sturgeon and David Brewster. Of course, if possible, their top priority is Mr. John Dalton."

"John Dalton?!" Whetstone nearly choked to death on his tea and coughed several times. "Isn't that old man the darling of Manchester University? Why would he want to come to London? Besides, he's almost deaf and can't hear the explosions from his own experiments. It's strange that he's willing to move."

At this point, Whitstone began to criticize the other two candidates: "As for David Brewster, his Edinburgh Encyclopedia is indeed well compiled, but he is a Scotsman and has never had close relations with universities in England. And Mr. Sturgeon... does have some knowledge in electromagnetism, but in terms of academic systematization, it is still a bit lacking."

Arthur snorted, "So, none of them are suitable, and only you are suitable?"

"Oh my," Whiston said, and immediately acted modestly. "Arthur, my good brother, please don't misunderstand me. I didn't say I was suitable. I just said that compared to them, I was 'slightly' less unsuitable."

Arthur looked up at him and said, "What you said is no different than 'I may not be perfect, but I'm better than all of you'."

"That means you understand." Whetstone spread his hands without disguising, "Be reasonable, Arthur. I'm not afraid of loneliness, or lack of funds, but I'm afraid of bulls and mercenaries. Do you think I'm suitable to go there? Besides, I went to the University of London. I'm not more useful than the three of them, but at least I'm the most obedient."

"You're obedient?" Arthur noticed that the offense and defense had changed, and immediately returned Wheatstone's arrogant behavior: "You are lying with open eyes. The Royal Society asked you to give a speech, but you couldn't get anything out of it. Although the director of the physics laboratory does not need to give lectures often, he must at least train a few apprentices. Are you sure you have the ability to do so?"

"Speech-giving is definitely not my strong point, but training an apprentice is another matter..."

Whiston held up a finger and assured him solemnly, "I know I have a bad temper and I'm not very sweet, but as scholars, don't we seek those empty words? Don't we want to have people to teach us, to have a place to study, and to have some achievements? If you give me such a place, I guarantee that you will have achievements within five years and a successor within ten years. I promise you that if I really have that quiet place, I will be able to make some achievements sooner or later. Try to recommend me to them. You know me. I may be a bit talkative, but I have a good heart and I am not lazy with my hands."

Arthur lowered his head and took a sip of black tea. After a moment, he slowly spoke: "I can try to help you convey your message to the committee, but as for whether it will succeed... I can't guarantee it."

"Of course, you are no longer an assistant police commissioner, and you are not a diplomat now. To put it bluntly, you are just an outsider in the University of London." Whiston muttered quietly, but immediately turned around and put on a smile: "You are right, this kind of thing cannot be forced, we should be content with what we have."

"Don't try that." Arthur shook his head and put his hat back on. "I said we'd give it a try, so that's it. Don't get your hopes up. The committee is still ruled by those old guys who are dawdling. If you really expect them to pass it right away, I advise you to go back to the bullpen and dream on."

(End of this chapter)