shadow of britain

Chapter 795 Hurry to Lancaster Gate and invite Sir Arthur Hastings
The air at Kensington Palace is always calm in the evening.

The corridors were filled with the faint scent of waxed wood floors. Maids and servants moved in hushed tones, as if any sound higher than their footsteps would be disrespectful to the palace.

However, Princess Sofia just wanted to scream at that moment; she even felt like she was suffocating.

"He publicly proclaimed himself the princess's son?" Her voice trembled, even slightly distorted by fear. "Flora, he... he didn't say... he said he'd behave... Conroy promised me, he promised the child would be well-behaved..."

“Yes, Your Highness.” Miss Flora Hastings spoke in a calm tone, even deliberately lowering her voice so as not to disturb the servants outside: “It is said that he was so drunk that he was staggering. When he saw the police officers coming in to arrest people, he felt it was disrespectful to him. If the Scotland Yard officers had not been quick-witted, he would have almost drawn his gun and fired.”

"Draw a gun and fire? Is no one hurt?"

“It seems two officers at Scotland Yard sustained minor injuries, but nothing serious.” Flora’s expression was grim. “However, on the way to Scotland Yard, he kept shouting that he was His Majesty the King’s nephew, your son. Scotland Yard didn’t believe him, but just to be on the safe side, they sent someone to Kensington Palace to verify the situation.”

Princess Sofia shuddered upon hearing the words "Old Bailey" and "the Court of Thrones," staggering two steps before collapsing into the gilded sofa as if someone had shoved her from behind.

“You’re saying Scotland Yard sent people? They want to interrogate him? No… they can’t interrogate him, that kid… no matter what he did wrong, he can’t go to court… he can’t stand in the dock in handcuffs, he can’t!”

Princess Sofia swayed as she stood up, then stumbled to the dressing table, yanked open a drawer, and frantically rummaged through the receipt book at the bottom: "I paid! I paid it all, every year... every year! Didn't he say he wouldn't say a word as long as there was money?"

As she flipped through the pages, she muttered to herself, "For years, I've been doing exactly what Conroy told me to do, transferring money on time every year without missing a single penny... I even bought him the finest wool suits, at the tailor shop on Regent Street. He said more than once that he wanted to be an officer, and I even helped him find someone. Why, why does he still go to those kinds of places to cause trouble? Why does he call out my name? Why, why does he always have to get into trouble..."

Flora Hastings tried her best to appease the king's sister, but Princess Sofia seemed unable to listen to anything at this point.

She gripped the corner of the table, muttering to herself incessantly, "No, no, I can't let them ask me... I can't be asked to come forward... If I deny it, they can ruin his reputation... But if I admit it, it'll be a royal scandal... They'll say I seduced my father's servant... They'll say I'm a whore... I'm a disgrace to the royal family, a woman hiding in a crack in the wall with a child..."

“Your Highness, please don’t worry. I’ve already detained the officer who came to report for you. He’s waiting in the south wing and doesn’t dare leave without permission. I told him you’re not feeling well and can’t see guests for the time being.” Flora helped her sit down and whispered in her ear, “Scotland Yard hasn’t officially opened a case yet, there’s still a chance.”

Princess Sofia looked up abruptly, as if doused with a bucket of cold water: "Did you tell him?"

“No.” Flora’s answer was short and firm: “I know this is not something I can answer.”

“What should I do?” Sophia gasped for breath. “What about Conroy? I need Conroy. He said I could go to him if I needed anything, he said I could rely on him when I needed it…”

Flora knew things were going badly. She whispered, "Your Highness, Sir John Conroy accompanied the Duchess of Kent and Princess Victoria to Clermont yesterday. He won't be back until noon the day after tomorrow at the earliest."

Princess Sofia looked as if she had been choked, her face turning deathly pale. "What do we do then? Do we have to give Scotland Yard an answer right now? Go ask him, can we wait until the day after tomorrow?"

Flora shook her head: "If we insist on dragging it out until the day after tomorrow, it's tantamount to admitting it."

"What if we deny it?"

"I just sounded out the officer. From what he said, if you deny it, they might transfer him to Old Bailey's criminal court on charges of assaulting a police officer and grievous bodily harm. And considering that Thomas is also suspected of defaming the Royal Family, the possibility of the King's Bench Court getting involved cannot be ruled out. The most embarrassing thing is that since the Robert Culley incident, Scotland Yard has been unusually tough on assault cases, so they usually don't release people easily. In the worst-case scenario, Thomas's interrogation could begin within forty-eight hours, and it seems that Fleet Street has already gotten wind of it."

Princess Sofia's body trembled violently in the chair, her hands gripping the armrests so tightly that her knuckles turned white from the force.

“Fleet Street…” she repeated softly, as if the name were a death sentence to her.

“How could they have known so quickly?” Princess Sofia suddenly looked up, her eyes filled with fear. “Was it someone in the police station who leaked the information? No… was it some reporter? They’ll investigate, they definitely will. They’ll go to the bank… to check if I have any contact with that child… They’ll also question the wet nurse, the servants, the doctor from back then… Once they start investigating, I’ll lose everything…”

“Your Highness!” Flora stepped forward and firmly placed her agitated hand on hers. “Please calm down.”

"I can't calm down!" Sophia's voice was already hysterical and shrill. "How can you expect me to calm down? He's my son! My son with Garth! If this secret gets out... my whole life will be ruined! Everyone will say I'm filthy, despicable, that I seduced my father's servant, and I'll become a symbol of disgrace to the royal family! If my mother knew this in the afterlife, she would curse me!"

Her voice trailed off, as if something had choked her. A look of terror and self-loathing crossed her face, and her knees buckled, causing her to collapse onto the carpet.

Flora reacted quickly, helping her back to the sofa and covering her trembling legs with a blanket.

“Your Highness, please listen to me. Panic is useless now. You are the daughter of George III, you cannot lose control. Please believe me, this situation is not hopeless.”

“What room for maneuver?” Sofia sobbed. “I can’t even control my own son… He gets all foul-mouthed when he’s drunk, Scotland Yard has something on him… If he causes another scene, my name will be in the newspapers tomorrow! Those reporters will draw cartoons about me, write satirical poems about me! Flora, I’m fifty-six years old, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life being pointed at and talked about by minor characters in operas. Flora, I beg you, you’re so smart, you know what to do, you must know…”

At this point, Princess Sofia slowed her speech, and a flicker of struggle appeared in her eyes.

Miss Flora Hastings took a deep breath: "You need someone who can keep Fleet Street in check and get Scotland Yard to release people."

"You mean Conroy?" Princess Sofia urged hastily, "Quickly have horses prepared and rush to Clermont Manor to bring him back to London tonight."

“No, no, Your Highness, distant water can't quench a nearby fire,” Flora explained. “Besides, even if Sir John Conroy rushed back overnight, he'd still need time to smooth things over; there simply isn't enough time. You need to find someone reliable and in control in London.” Princess Sofia nodded vigorously, gripping Flora's hands tightly as if they were a lifeline: “Do we...do we have someone we can trust?”

"some."

"Who?" Princess Sofia practically jumped up from her chair. "Flora, who is she?"

Flora Hastings’ voice was very soft, as if afraid that it would be blown away by the wind: “Sir Arthur Hastings.”

“Arthur Hastings…” Princess Sofia uttered the name hesitantly, as if recalling something: “You mean the one… the one who taught Victoria to write Shakespearean sonnets?”

“Yes,” Flora nodded. “He also served as Assistant Superintendent of Police at Scotland Yard, and is now the Provost of the University of London. More importantly, he is the Chairman of the Board of Directors of Imperial Publishing Company and is very influential in Fleet Street.”

Sophia looked uneasy. "I...I've met him a few times, but I don't really know him. Victoria seems to respect him quite a bit, but...can he be trusted?"

Flora paused slightly: "He is my distant cousin."

Princess Sofia was stunned, as if she didn't immediately grasp the weight of those words. Only after a few seconds did she slowly speak: "You said... Sir Arthur Hastings is your relative?"

“A distant relative,” Flora added softly. “He belongs to the Earl of Huntington’s lineage.”

Princess Sofia gripped Flora's hand tightly: "Can you...can you try? Go to him, beg him...just say it's me, beg him...I have no other choice. Tell him that as long as he can suppress this matter...silence Fleet Street, prevent Scotland Yard from filing a case, holding a trial, conducting a trial, or leaving a criminal record, I'll give him anything. Money, real estate, titles, collections, a recommendation to the Order of Knights—anything I can do, even things I can't, I can try to get for him..."

However, Flora gently shook her head and interrupted her in a mild tone: "Your Highness, you don't need to rush to make these promises. Sir Arthur Hastings is not the kind of man who will turn around at the sound of gold coins."

Sofia looked up anxiously. "But what else can I give him? I have nothing but these things. Flora, are you saying he might not want to see me?"

Flora smiled gently and reassured her, “I’m not sure if he’d be willing to see the princess, but if you go to him as a mother, he’ll definitely come. My cousin has always had a special respect for people who have the courage to take responsibility.”

……

The fire crackled in the fireplace, casting an orange glow on the ceiling, while the night breeze in Hyde Park, carrying a drizzle, pattered against the windowpanes.

Having just returned from the Admiralty and finished a day's work, Third Secretary Elder Carter tossed his coat and hung it on the brass hook by the door.

It was indeed very cold outside, but that didn't stop the new bureaucrat, who had only been on the job for a few days, from shivering as he complained to Arthur, "I've really had enough of the Admiralty!"

Arthur put down his teacup and peeked out from behind the newspaper: "Why are you so angry, Elder?"

“You have no idea what happened to me today.” Elder went to the table, poured himself a glass of liqueur, and downed it in one gulp. “I arrived at the Admiralty at nine o’clock, barely had time to warm my chair, when some bald civil servant came at me with a ship tonnage table from the last century, yelling, ‘Mr. Carter, you didn’t color this column light gray yesterday afternoon.’ I asked him why it had to be light gray, and guess what he said? He said, ‘Because that’s what the predecessor did.’”

Arthur lowered his head and took a sip of his black tea: "They sound quite loyal to tradition."

"Loyalty my ass!" Elder rolled his eyes. "The work in the Navy Department is all about bickering over trivial matters. They have no idea what efficiency is."

Arthur yawned: "The Navy Department's working hours are from nine to five, but most people are home by three in the afternoon. You actually say they're inefficient? Come on, Elder, don't struggle with this. You'll be qualified when you can skillfully use 'we are studying it' and 'there is no conclusion yet' to fool your superiors."

“I’ve already been doing that.” Elder angrily pulled out a chair and plopped down. “I’ve been wandering around the offices since after lunch. Only an idiot would sit still and work!”

“You’re right, Elder.” Arthur stretched. “Those who sit at their desks and do the work rarely get promoted. Those who wander around offices, at least, become familiar faces. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to do any work at all; it just means you need to prioritize. A person’s energy is limited, but work is never-ending. Those files you see at the Admiralty—tonnage tables, navigation manuals, supply plans—none of that matters. What matters is knowing who’s looking at them, who isn’t, who’s making changes, who’s dragging their feet, who talks a lot about reform in meetings, but secretly inserts their own agenda into the reform agenda…”

Before Arthur could finish speaking, a series of clicking metallic sounds suddenly rang out from the foyer, as if someone were gently tapping a brass bolt, the echoes faintly heard in the wind and rain.

Arthur frowned slightly and listened for a moment.

“Your doorbell needs some oiling,” Elder clicked his tongue. “It sounds like a crane winch on the docks. But in this awful weather, who’s going to come knocking? The postman? Or the newsboy?”

"Yes, who could it be?" Arthur took a sip of his black tea and smiled slightly. "You know no one should come tonight."

A short while later, there was a click as the door opened, followed by the sound of Becky's footsteps approaching.

She was wearing a blue and white striped apron and a freshly ironed headscarf, and looked slightly nervous.

"Sir, someone from Kensington Palace has come and says... says they have urgent business to discuss with you."

(End of this chapter)