shadow of britain

Chapter 780 For the sake of our shared surname Hastings, let's give our brother a hand!

Perhaps it was because it was their first meeting, and they weren't familiar with each other.

So the conversation could only start with reminiscing about the ancestors of the Hastings family. Fortunately, Arthur had a good grasp of history, and several of the Hastings family ancestors were prominent figures in British history, so the two chatted without any hiccups along the way.

Arthur even subtly corrected several historical inaccuracies about their ancestors made by his newly met "distant cousin."

The firewood crackled and popped in the fireplace, and the servants served tea and small French pastries.

The Marquis of Hastings pointed to the portrait above the fireplace, an oil painting of a middle-aged soldier holding a saber, wearing a red and blue dress uniform, and with a blue ribbon, symbolizing a member of the Knights of St. George, hanging on his right shoulder.

“This is what my father looked like when he was in office in India.” The second Marquis finally spoke, his tone tinged with a forced pride: “When this painting was done, he had just won the Battle of Pasigimgarh and had not yet been impeached by those gentlemen sitting and drinking tea in London.”

Arthur smiled casually: "Your father was indeed a remarkable man, fighting his way from North America to India, from the Irish Parliament to the House of Lords in London, and then to the Governor's Office in Calcutta... When I was a child in York, I would occasionally hear old people talking about nobles, and they would mention figures like him."

“My father…” The Marquis’s eyes flickered slightly: “He was the last person of that era who could be hated by both the Whigs and the Tories while riding a horse.”

Arthur chuckled, “I think such an assessment proves he’s on the right track and is a man devoted to the public good. I’ve heard that the old Marquis’s India case lasted almost five years. Although he ultimately preserved his reputation, he seemed to have no intention of returning to politics afterward. Although George IV still appointed him Governor of Malta, everyone knows that it was merely a way to find him a comfortable place to retire.”

“He’s tired of it,” the Marquis replied curtly, picking up his teacup but not drinking. “He feels that he has spent his whole life working for Britain, only to be met with suspicion from his colleagues and cold shoulders from Parliament. He hasn’t been to St. James’s Palace since that trial.”

Arthur said softly, “But his reputation in Ireland remains to this day. There are many Irish veterans in Scotland Yard who speak of your father almost as if he were a saint.”

The Marquis shook his head slightly and said, “But so what? Once this generation is gone, few will remember his achievements and virtues. I don’t want to criticize my people, but, as you know, the British are always forgetful.”

At this point, the Marquis suddenly changed the subject: "I've read several reports about you. The gunshots at the Tower of London, the arrests at Golden Cross Station, the memorial service for Inspector Robert Culley... I heard from Flora that you helped to revise Princess Victoria's deeply moving eulogy?"

“Those were just coincidences,” Arthur replied modestly. “I was just doing my job, and the reporters just happened to write about it in a very dramatic way.”

"Is that so?" The Marquis put down his teacup and replied with a smile, "To be honest, every time I see these reports, I feel that God might be too biased towards us. No matter what era it is, there are always one or two Hastings who are blessed by God. When they encounter danger, they always manage to turn the situation around and always manage to achieve great things. The Hastings who was blessed by God in the previous generation was my father. And in this generation, it is obvious that person is you."

Arthur smiled calmly upon hearing this.

He lowered his head slightly and stirred the sugar cube in his teacup with a silver spoon: "George, you flatter me. I don't think I can compare to your father or Uncle Francis. I'm just a country bumpkin who was lucky enough to live through a turbulent time. If I'm any better than others, it's just that I've had a bit more luck."

When the Marquis heard Arthur finally change his tune, he was not angry at all; instead, he finally felt relieved: "But Arthur, you have to admit that luck is essential for success, and in many cases, luck is even more important than ability. You didn't fall at the Tower of London that night, and my father didn't fall at the Battle of Bunker Hill. That's why you both had the opportunity to showcase your talents. Our brother Frank, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky."

"Frank?"

“That’s right, Frank Abney-Hastings, the son of Uncle Charles Hastings. Do you know them, father and son?”

After a moment's thought, Arthur remembered who this person was.

Sir Charles Hastings, a major general, was the son of Lady Lanny, a famous 18th-century Parisian socialite, and the uncle of the first Marquess of Hastings, the 10th Earl of Huntington.

By now, you probably understand what's going on. That's right, Charles Hastings is the illegitimate son of the 10th Earl of Huntington, and also his only son.

Charles Hastings' son, Frank Abney-Hastings, was actually an acquaintance of Arthur's whom he had never met.

Arthur chimed in, “I’ve heard General Thomas Kirkland mention him before. There aren’t many Royal Navy officers who can earn General Kirkland’s praise, but Frank is one of them. He participated in the Battle of Trafalgar as a cadet at the age of 11. If I remember correctly, he was on the HMS Neptune, under the command of Sir Thomas Fremantle, facing off against the Spanish flagship, the Sant Trinity.”

When the Marquis heard Arthur mention his cousin who had died young, his eyes brightened considerably: "That's right. When I was a child, I often heard my father praise our elder brother. Back then, everyone said he would definitely have a bright future. But... unfortunately, he had a bad temper. After the Battle of New Orleans, he fell out with the Admiralty and even resigned from active duty in the Royal Navy in a fit of pique. Later, in order to make a living and to prove himself, he went and joined the 'Toxin Fleet' led by General Thomas Kirkland, and fought for the Greeks in the Greek War of Independence."

Arthur nodded slightly and said, “General Kirkland always admired Frank. He told me more than once that Frank was the most outstanding naval officer in the British volunteer force at the time. In the critical moment when Athens was besieged, it was he who cut off the Ottomans’ sea supply line. And in the Battle of Salona Bay, Frank almost single-handedly annihilated a small Ottoman fleet. It’s just a pity… he was indeed a bit unlucky. In the end, like Lord Byron, he died in the defense of Mysolonggion. However, I heard that the Greeks respected him very much. They held a state funeral for Frank, erected a monument for him, and buried him in the Greek Naval Academy.”

Arthur was never stingy with praise for such figures, and he said, "I have no doubt that if Frank were alive today, he would be highly valued in the Royal Navy. Even if the Admiralty didn't like him, he could still get a position in the Greek Navy where he could make the most of his abilities."

“That’s right.” The Marquis spoke slowly, and he couldn’t help but sigh, “If he were still alive, their lineage wouldn’t have declined to this extent.”

“What happened to their line?” The Marquis pushed aside the teapot, gesturing for a servant to pour him and Arthur some sherry. “Frank had an older brother named Charles. You may know that because their line was my great-uncle’s illegitimate son, we’ve always had a good relationship. After my father died in 1826, I inherited the title and entered the House of Lords, and I handed over the Leicester constituency seat, which was under my control, to Charles. From 1826 to 1831, he held that position steadily, but… as you know, Leicester is a city constituency, so after the parliamentary reforms, my control over that seat was much weaker. As for Charles, he naturally lost that seat.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur finally had a clue as to why the Marquis of Hastings had summoned him today.

Although the Marquis of Hastings was not very involved in politics, it did not mean that he was completely unaware of what was happening in politics.

Moreover, his sister, Miss Flora Hastings, was a lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of Kent.

Therefore, he could probably guess how Arthur orchestrated the memorial service for Robert Culley and how he used it to boost Princess Victoria's popularity and help Disraeli, a young MP with no connections in London, win the Toulhamlett constituency.

To put it bluntly, although Arthur had never run for office, he was an impeccably competent campaign assistant.

Moreover, Arthur currently wields considerable influence in many parts of London, and what truly excites the Marquis of Hastings is Arthur's title as Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Imperial Publishing Company.

You may not believe Arthur Hastings, but you cannot disbelieve the persuasive power of The Englishman, you cannot question the professionalism of The Economist, and you cannot ignore Empire Publishing's ability to influence public opinion.

In short, this will be a good relative.

Marquis Hastings slowly raised his glass, stared at the amber liquid for a moment, and then drank it all in one gulp.

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth: "Arthur, my brother, I don't want you to think I'm a snob. But I invited you here today not just to catch up."

Arthur smiled but didn't reply.

He doesn't actually dislike this kind of overt snobbery; what he dislikes are those who are snobbish without realizing it, who have limited abilities but are full of ulterior motives.

“Charles has been disheartened all these years,” the Marquess sighed. “The reforms of 1832 caused many minor nobles to lose their foothold in Parliament. You and I both know that after the Parliamentary reforms, the Leicester constituency, once lost, is unlikely to be regained.”

“But as you just said, the British are forgetful.” Arthur smiled gently. “The voters are too. They may be angry today, but they may forget tomorrow. George, you should have told Charles to contact me sooner. Although it might not be of any use, it would at least give us more hope.”

The Marquis shrugged helplessly and said, "Who would have thought you were our brother back then? If Flora hadn't gone home temporarily and mentioned your background to me, and if the pastor at my aunt's house hadn't happened to know about it, we brothers might still not have been able to recognize each other."

“That’s true.” Arthur pulled out his notebook from his pocket and scribbled on it. “But it’s not necessarily a bad thing that you’re coming to me now. After all, last-minute cramming for a congressional election isn’t very useful. We need to start planning years in advance. Although I’ve always been lucky, I can’t guarantee that I’ll happen to run into an opportunity to help Charles in his election campaign before the next one.”

"You already have a plan?" The Marquis was greatly surprised by his brother's efficiency. He had previously imagined that the reunion of the brothers would go smoothly, but he did not expect it to be this smooth.

Arthur wrote a few lines in his notebook, then suddenly looked up at the Marquis: "George, our cousin Charles, what are his specialties? Besides being a member of Parliament for Leicester, what other positions has he held?"

"His position? He served as Derbyshire Sheriff for six or seven years, but of course, that position ended after the Whig-led municipal reforms."

"A sheriff? You mean, he used to be a sheriff?" Arthur's eyes widened slowly, and a smile appeared on his usually stern face. "My God, George, you're not kidding me, are you?"

"Why would I lie to you about something like this?" The Marquis, seeing Arthur's expression, couldn't help but ask with delight, "What brilliant idea have you come up with?"

Arthur nodded slightly and put the notebook into his jacket pocket: "You should have heard Flora say that I'm now the Provost of the University of London, right?"

"Yes, I know. I heard you hold multiple positions at the University of London, handling academic affairs as well as teaching electromagnetism and constitutional history. But, if I may be frank, Arthur, it's fine to make Charles a sheriff, but if you're planning to make him a professor... Of course, I'm not saying your idea is bad. The University of London is a stronghold of liberals, and getting a degree there would definitely be beneficial in gaining favor with the city's voters, but..."

“No, George, you’ve misunderstood me. I never said I wanted Charles to teach natural philosophy and history to students.” Arthur smiled, picked up his sherry, and casually crossed his legs. “Back in Scotland Yard, although I often encountered setbacks, I did do some small things for the police force. First, I established the police intelligence system. Second, I promoted the professionalization of the London Police Force. As for the third… it was the London Police School, jointly built by Scotland Yard and University College London.”

Upon hearing this, the Marquis was taken aback at first, then his face lit up with joy: "Arthur, you mean..."

Arthur raised his glass and gently clinked it against the glass, producing a crisp sound. His voice followed: "I believe that bringing in a senior sheriff to the London Police Academy would be absolutely beneficial to the school's development."

(End of this chapter)