shadow of britain

Chapter 712: The Bad Seed of Scotland Yard

In London, the most beautiful scenery always revolves around the squares scattered around the city.

The squares in the West End are fashionable, those in the North are elegant, Holborn and Oxford Street in the south are outdated and ancient, and Portman Square in the north is magnificent, as is Grosvenor Square in Mayfair, where the upper class gathers.

Of course, benefiting from the growing wealth of Britain, London has also seen the emergence of a number of pretentious nouveau riche squares in recent years. Most of these squares are located in Chelsea, Kensington, Islington and the south bank of the Thames, where the new wealthy class live.

But if you ask me, which square is the one where Arthur feels most comfortable?
He didn't like hanging out with lords in elegant and fashionable places. Belgrave and Berkeley Square were bastions of aristocratic life and residences of gentlemen and wealthy people, but Arthur didn't think of himself as a nobleman. He had never been educated at Oxford or Cambridge, and he couldn't speak a standard Eton accent. Unless it was necessary, he had no interest in going there and making himself uncomfortable.

Although in the eyes of the upper class, Arthur's occasional York accent is always more noble than the London accent, but compared to the high-end accent that can only be cultivated in the Eton campus, hey, this former police star is still a peasant. Forcing yourself to fit in with their circle is, in most cases, completely asking for trouble.

But just because Arthur doesn't like places where aristocrats gather doesn't mean he likes going to suburban squares that match his nouveau riche status.

Although most of the people gathered there were of similar social status to him, a group of real middle class in Great Britain: Anglican priests, army and navy officers, mid-level officials in judicial and medical government departments, university professors, prestigious primary and secondary school principals, engineers and architects, as well as various emerging professions, such as accountants, journalists, surveyors, insurance agents, police station chiefs and small shop owners.

However, even though they are all middle class, there are still differences among the middle class.

For the poorer ones, their annual family income would fluctuate around 100 pounds. Although these people lived a good life, they were not rich enough to afford servants.

So in a way, they can also be classified as the leaders of the lower class.

Of course, they themselves would certainly not be willing to accept this title, and if you dare to deny to their faces that they belong to the middle class, you'd better be careful or you might get punched in the nose.

In order to prove that they belong to this class, they will grit their teeth and spend the remaining part of their family income on maintaining a decent appearance.

No matter how busy I am, I have to go to the theater at least once a week and plan a trip every year.

The host and hostess must have at least three sets of clothes to cope with various occasions, including casual clothes, social clothes, and formal dresses that can be used to show off when encountering big occasions.

You should have a set of high-end tableware at home to entertain guests.

The male owner tried his best to have artistic taste and took great pains to decorate his home within a tight budget.

The hostess tried her best to learn the food recipes used in high-society banquets introduced in various family magazines.

Compared to these guys who are trying their best to maintain their middle-class status, the families with an income of 100-300 pounds are obviously much more comfortable. Most of these families can afford the salary of a full-time maid and are the backbone of the British middle class.

But a comfortable life doesn't mean they don't torture themselves.

People go to high places and water flows to low places. This principle is the same everywhere.

A family with an annual income of 100 pounds may restrain themselves from moving towards an upper-class lifestyle due to limited budget, but the situation is different for families with an annual income of 100-300 pounds.

The representative in this regard is Arthur's old friend, Mr. August Schneider, Assistant Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.

Arthur once asked him to go hunting in the suburbs. When Arthur arrived at his house at seven in the morning, Mrs. Schneider ordered the maid to serve the following breakfast recipe: grilled herring, grilled mackerel, meat pies, fried bacon, boiled eggs, baked potatoes, oatmeal and bread with jam.

According to Schneider himself, excluding the "big business" with Arthur, his legal income was about 120 to 150 pounds a year, and his annual expenditure on food and drink exceeded 70 pounds.

Of course, this is just the cost of family meals. Since he has to work on weekdays, he usually has to eat out for lunch, which alone costs 30 pounds a year.

After all, being a diplomat is a very respectable profession. If you eat poorly for lunch and your colleagues in Whitehall Street see you, they may not say anything, but they will laugh at you behind your back.

Meals alone cost 100 pounds, and the Schneiders also had social needs. Mrs. Schneider, in particular, was a loyal fan of great musicians such as Mendelssohn and Chopin. Recently, she had been encouraged by other "Whitehall ladies" to develop the "bad habit" of collecting art.

Therefore, one can imagine how great the cash flow pressure on the Schneider family is.

It's no wonder that Schneider often goes to Nightingale Mansion to relieve stress. No matter who it is, most people would want to whip themselves when they see a room full of invoices when they get home.

Due to his lack of money, Schneider often did some "small business" secretly in the past, but since he met Arthur, he really understood what it meant to fleece Great Britain and steal from Vienna. In this business, the bold ones will die of overeating while the timid ones will starve to death.

The proceeds from his one-shot deal with Arthur were enough to keep Schneider incorruptible for twenty years.

So, are the middle class with higher incomes than Schneider's family, those with incomes above 300 pounds, doing well?

In fact, this is not entirely true, because human desires expand step by step and are never satisfied.

This group of upper-middle-class people often have the highest probability of bankruptcy.

This is partly because they try to match the living standards of the upper classes.

The house had to be big, like a castle. Mr. Audley Ende of Essex hated the smell of the kitchen and the dirty vegetable washing water, so he built the kitchen 250 yards away from the dining room.

But he just wanted to eat hot meals, so he built a track in the house specifically for serving food, so that every time he ate, it was like a train entering the station.

On the other hand, these people like to invest when they have some dirty money. Whether it is the stock crash on the London Stock Exchange in 1826 or the collective default of South American government bonds, they have never avoided it!
Although Arthur also has these bad habits, he does not have all of these characteristics.

He knew that with his current financial resources and social status firmly at the top of the middle class, as long as he was willing to "condescend" to social occasions in Chelsea, Kensington and Islington, he would surely be regarded as a central figure by the "flattered" middle class.

However, after meeting such figures as the King of France and the Tsar of Russia, he felt that it was a loss of face to stand with this group of nouveau riche, and the flattery of the nouveau riche did not cause any fluctuation in his heart.

He doesn't want to go to the aristocratic places, and he can't expect Sir Arthur Hastings to visit the middle-class salons. So where should this guy be placed?

To be honest, this old cop's favorites are Pantone and the streets around Leicester Square.

What is the reputation of this place in London?

Let me put it this way, if you are a tourist from out of town, you can stop a horse-drawn carriage for hire. As long as you tell the driver about your sorrow of "the night is long and I am alone", there is a 90% chance that the driver will take you to this place.

Dissolute, cunning and hopeless, this is Leicester Square, the prostitutes' nest in 19th century London.

Of course, don't think that these girls look weak and start having ideas that are not in line with the idea of ​​free trade.

Because besides the girls, there are also scammers, robbers and thieves everywhere on the streets.

Even in internal Scotland Yard documents, the suspect was often referred to as the "Leicester Square Explorer".

As you can see, Arthur is a Leicester Square explorer.

Of course, so did his friend Mr. Elder Carter.

Even Disraeli's party rival, the despised "woodcutter" Gladstone, often came to Leicester Square for adventure.

However, the three gentlemen had different purposes for their adventure.

Gladstone was still the same, he came here to persuade women to become good women.

Because of this, he almost got into big trouble.

A tabloid reporter once witnessed the Tory political star talking to a strange woman in Leicester Square, and thought that Gladstone was here to look for women. He threatened Gladstone to pay him to keep quiet or he would publish the news in the newspaper tomorrow.

As for Mr. Carter, his purpose here is really hard to explain. Readers who want to know more about this should circle the 1st of next month in red on their calendars and ride to the nearest train station on that day to queue up to buy the latest magazine "Spark" published by Empire Publishing Company.

In his new work "The Mad Knight of Leicester", Mr. Elder Carter will deeply analyze what kind of filthy place this hotel square filled with various hotel signs with foreign names is.

In Leicester Square, what kind of sparks will fly between the exiled Pole, the Italian supporting actor singing opera, the mediocre French ballet supporting actor, the German musician, the impoverished tutor, the translator and the manager of a small casino.

Arthur stood on a corner of Leicester Square, in front of a mobile cooked food cart with a sign saying "Prince of Wales".

I don’t know why, but these cooked food vendors always like to give their stalls signs that show patriotism, either “King William” or “Jack of the Union”. Even the “Iron Duke” that they hated a few years ago has now become a golden sign and is hung on their carts.

However, the vendors must have their own reasons for doing this. Although Arthur has not verified it, the reason why they insist on doing "patriotic business" is probably because "patriotic business" can indeed help them increase sales.

These street foods actually tasted no worse than those sold in stores, at least Arthur couldn't tell much difference, not to mention that their food was so cheap.

On the street, you can buy a piece of fish and a piece of bread for 1 penny, which is a good choice for Scotland Yard patrolmen who don’t have time to have a proper meal.

But the cheapness of things did not mean that Arthur would buy all kinds of food. For example, he did not dare to buy meat pies on the street.

Will's biscuits may be delicious, but the premise is that you have to be sure... there is no cat meat or something more terrible in it...

The legend of human meat buns is not unique to China. The story of Sweeney Todd killing his customers to make human meat pies has also been circulating on the streets of London.

Although such rumors have never been confirmed, given the current environment in London, especially since Arthur had once handled murder and corpse-selling cases, he had no choice but to refuse street meat based on the mentality of believing it rather than not.

Instead of letting him eat a bite of street pie, you might as well let him eat a frog like the French.

But apart from pies, Arthur is quite fond of street snacks, such as the common strawberries and currants.

Although these two fruits are often referred to as workers' food, which may not sound very high-end, this does not prevent the public from liking them.

Put a handful of currants in your pocket, sit down and order a glass of mint water when you are tired, eat muffins if you want to have them at noon, drink rice milk if you want to have it, at worst you can skip the week, and have a beer and roast chicken before getting off work in the evening. The beer should be a large glass, without any water added.

That was what Patrolman Arthur Hastings thought after walking eight miles in the morning. And now, a few years later, that is what plainclothes Constable Mike Cowley of Scotland Yard's Criminal Investigation Department is thinking.

"What a fucking idiot!" Cowley looked around and after confirming several times that his boss, Charles Field, was not nearby, he sank his buttocks onto the stool and placed two pennies on the counter of the mobile cart: "I want a mint water and a portion of potatoes, the kind that are hot and smoking."

Arthur, who was sitting next to him, looked at Cowley and said, "I want some potatoes, too, but it doesn't taste right to drink mint water. By the way..."

Arthur raised his hand and called the child who was wandering around the stall: "That one, yes, it's you, the pockmarked little gentleman."

When the kid heard someone calling him, his eyes lit up. He took off his tattered felt hat and put it on his chest, bowed slightly and said, "Sir, do you need me to run an errand?"

Arthur took out a shilling from his pocket and said, "Go to the nearest tavern and cut some ham for me. And two glasses of beer, one for me and one for the gentleman sitting next to me. The rest is yours."

The child was so happy to receive such a big job that he couldn't stop smiling: "Don't worry, sir! We'll be there soon!"

Upon hearing this, Cowley quickly said, "Thank you for your kindness, sir, but you don't need the beer."

Arthur smiled and asked, "Why? Are you a Puritan? Don't drink?"

"That's not the case." Cowley said helplessly: "I still have to work in the afternoon."

"It's just a beer. It won't take any time."

"That's what I thought. But the place where I work has its requirements, and my boss might be nearby. If he sees me, then..."

Arthur crossed his legs and asked, "Why? Is your boss a bad guy?"

Cowley winked and said, "You know, there are always those people. He is unhappy himself, so he wants his subordinates to be unhappy with him. Think about it, except for a crazy guy, who would come to Leicester Square in the middle of the day? Isn't this a place where people usually come at night?"

Arthur nodded slightly. "That seems to be the case... The people who come here at noon are either tenants nearby or tourists. Who among the office workers would come here? Hmm... So, your job is a little special?"

Cowley drank the mint water in a secretive manner, and without looking at Arthur, he pretended to be deep and said, "Some things may be good for you. Since you are a good person, I will remind you that although you look like a decent person, if you unfortunately have some bad ideas, don't reach out casually, especially today, don't reach out, or you will be arrested."

"Ah..." Arthur seemed to have suddenly realized something: "You are this?"

He made a handcuff gesture toward Cowley.

Cowley didn't agree. He raised the mint water and gestured to Arthur: "Cheers."

Arthur took the beer glass brought by the errand boy and clinked glasses with Cowley: "I see."

Cowley was just about to brag a little more to Arthur, but when he looked at the face under the hat in the sunlight, he felt that the facial features under the hat looked so familiar, as if he had seen him somewhere.

After taking a look, Colillo suddenly pinched his chin and said, "Don't tell me, I don't know why. Don't think I'm trying to get close to you, but I really feel like I've seen you somewhere..."

"Really?" Arthur took a sip of beer. "I bet I've never seen you before. I have a great memory, especially for faces. If we've met, I'm sure I'll remember you."

“No, no, no…” Cowley replied, “You may not have seen me, but I have definitely seen you.”

He racked his brains for a while and thought hard: "Are you a famous person? A well-known actor? Have you ever directed a play in a theater in the West End?"

"I have."

"That's what I was saying!" Cowley asked excitedly, "Are you the one who played Macbeth?"

"You misunderstood, I'm not an actor." Arthur replied, "I'm a playwright, and some theaters in the West End have staged my plays."

"Playwright? That's impressive! Which play did you write..."

Just as Cowley was about to ask all the questions, he suddenly felt someone slap him on the shoulder.

Cowley turned his head, intending to see who the blind man was.

But as soon as he turned his head, Cawley was almost frightened to death.

That was his immediate superior, Inspector Charles Field, Deputy Chief of the Metropolitan Police's Criminal Investigation Department.

Field's face was dark, and he scolded his subordinates: "I am really blind! How could I pick you out of a bunch of people to train you intensively..."

But before he could finish, a glass of beer was handed to him.

Arthur smiled and pointed to the stool beside him: "Have a drink, Charles, you haven't had lunch yet?"

Field looked at Arthur who was acting as a peacemaker, took a deep breath, and suppressed his anger.

However, he still lowered his voice and cursed beside Cowley: "Son of a bitch, you can't even recognize the person whose portrait is hung at the entrance of Scotland Yard, and do you usually use those two eyes on your nose to breathe?"

(End of this chapter)