shadow of britain

Chapter 796 Hastings, the Public-spirited Man

I have lost my position, but not my faith. As long as His Majesty's government remains, I will remain his loyal servant.

—Arthur Hastings, *Fifty Years of Life*

The rain was still falling, the fine rain threads cascading down, washing the stone steps of Kensington Palace spotless.

The black Brougham carriage slowly made its way along the gravel path, its wheels making a steady sound as they rolled over the pebbles in the puddles, as if even the rhythm was in sync with the royal family's thoughts.

Before the coachman could even turn around and open the door, the passenger inside had already deftly put on white gloves, his knuckles completely concealed, his posture composed.

Immediately afterwards, the carriage door clicked open from the inside.

The boots landed lightly on the damp stone steps, barely splashing a drop of water. Then the silver-tipped cane hit the ground with a sound that was neither too loud nor too soft, but it struck the crack between the bricks, as if it had already sealed the fate of this royal farce.

The attendants waiting inside the palace gate had been waiting for a long time, but they only rushed forward as if waking from a dream when the silver-tipped cane struck the ground.

“Sir Arthur!” The leading squire, dressed in a long red and gold-trimmed coat, his hair plastered to his forehead by the rain, his boots soaked through, paid no heed to his own plight and instead eagerly held up a long-handled black umbrella to shield Arthur’s head: “We have been waiting for you for a long time.”

Arthur simply nodded, half of the light and shadow under the umbrella falling on his left shoulder, while the other half remained in the darkness and raindrops.

“Please follow me.” The attendant lowered his voice and carefully led Arthur through the garden corridor with its dripping eaves: “His Highness is waiting for you in the west living room.”

At the end of the corridor, the warm light from the fireplace peeked out from the gaps in the heavy wooden door.

The servant stopped by the door, about to knock, when he heard a soft female voice behind him.

"You can go back now. I'll take care of things here."

Arthur looked in the direction of the sound and saw a figure half-hidden among the colonnades; it was Miss Flora Hastings.

Arthur stopped and said gently, "Good evening, Flora."

Flora nodded slightly: "Her Highness the Princess is restless. She hasn't eaten anything all night and has ordered the maids to burn all the newspapers and letters."

Upon hearing this, Arthur was only slightly taken aback. He said with feigned surprise, "Burning all the letters and newspapers? This doesn't sound like the princess's usual style. I've always thought she was a very gentle person. What could have happened?"

Flora lowered her head, her voice a few decibels lower than before: "You know, the gossip in the palace never stops."

Arthur didn't reply, but simply gazed at her silently. The silence wasn't overtly oppressive, yet it inexplicably instilled unease.

This was a common interrogation method he used at Scotland Yard. The suspect was placed in the center of an empty room, while the interrogator sat in the shadows. There were no clocks or windows in the interrogation room, only the occasional sound of footsteps and dripping water. Then, just a slight silence was enough to naturally increase the person's anxiety.

If the suspect can withstand this onslaught of anxiety, Arthur will usually send in a new, more affable interrogator. The interrogator, sitting in the shadows, remains silent throughout, while the newcomer engages in friendly conversation with the suspect. This combination naturally creates a stark contrast for the suspect, making them highly wary of the silent interrogator while simultaneously encouraging them to confide more in the "good interrogator," thus leading them to reveal information on their own.

However, Flora is clearly not a suspect, nor does she possess the level of resilience and psychological pressure expected of a murderer.

"Your Highness is worried that someone might use the rumors in the newspapers to disrespect the royal family tomorrow... As you know, many members of parliament also have foul mouths, she just wants to protect her own reputation."

Arthur tilted his head slightly, his expression not changing much: "Oh? Which newspaper?"

Flora hesitated for a moment: "It's The Times, and maybe the Morning Post and..."

“Hmm…The Times and the Morning Post?” Arthur hummed softly, then asked after a moment, “What did they write?”

“Someone wrote some extremely irresponsible things,” Flora said, downplaying the issue. “They said His Highness was unwell recently because of… some indecent rumors and some unfounded accusations about His Highness’s private life.”

The air seemed to freeze for a moment. In the dark corridor, the only sound could be the dripping of water from the eaves, one drop at a time, striking the stone slabs.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and replied with a smile, "So it's just a small matter."

As he spoke, he took out his pocket watch to check the time, then nodded to Flora: "The Times and the Morning Post usually finish printing between one and four in the morning and start sending them out at five in the morning. At this hour, their articles probably haven't been sent out yet. I'll go to Fleet Street later and go to the editorial office to talk to their editor-in-chief in person."

After speaking, he nodded slightly, tipped his hat to Flora, and then turned to leave decisively.

But just then, a voice suddenly rang out from behind Arthur.

"Sir Arthur Hastings, please wait!"

The voice wasn't loud, but it pierced through the rain. Arthur immediately stopped, because he recognized it as the voice of Princess Sofia Matilda Hanover.

The door opened a crack, and the fireplace burning birchwood cast her shadow on the doorframe. She was wearing a plain white dress and a shawl woven with gold thread, the tassels of which were still swaying slightly, showing how quickly she had gotten up.

Arthur composed himself, then slowly turned his head and asked in surprise, "Your Highness?"

"Please come in." Her voice was a little hoarse, and her eyes were red, clearly she had been crying. "Sir Arthur."

Arthur did not act immediately, but first turned to look at Flora beside him.

Flora clearly knew what he was worried about, and she simply nodded slightly: "The situation is urgent right now, so please don't stand on ceremony. Please come in." Arthur then stepped inside, and the warmth of the fireplace enveloped him.

Princess Sofia stood guard by the door and waved to Flora, saying, "Come in too, Flora. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked you to keep it a secret for me."

The living room door closed slowly. Princess Sofia did not return to the sofa chair. Instead, she stood in front of the fireplace, her hands clasped together, her knuckles gently rubbing against each other, as if only in this way could she sustain the little security she had left.

Seeing this, Arthur also stood by the chair, neither sitting down nor approaching Sophia, but maintaining a polite distance from her, which was nothing short of considerate to Princess Sophia at that moment.

“Sir Arthur.” Princess Sophia hesitated for a long time before finally mustering the courage to speak. Her voice was so low that it was almost inaudible: “You are a smart man. I know that you have probably already guessed something from those clues.”

She paused slightly, glancing at the pocket watch that Arthur hadn't yet put away: "I called you here today not only for Fleet Street, but also for Scotland Yard. Tonight, a young man named Thomas Garth was arrested in the Covent Garden Market area, and I hope you can persuade Commissioner Rowan to release him without charge. Of course, I hope you will keep all of this quiet."

Arthur didn't immediately ask about Thomas Garth's identity, but instead said, "Your Highness's willingness to speak suggests you've carefully considered the matter beforehand. However, even so, I'd like to confirm one thing first: do you know what crime he committed?"

"It seems to be an assault on a police officer, and also intentional injury... Of course, there might also be some offenses concerning the reputation of the royal family..."

For Arthur, Princess Sophia's words were enough, but he still asked for confirmation: "Like the Fitzclarence family?"

Upon hearing this, Princess Sofia's breath hitched slightly. Her hands, which had been clasped in front of her abdomen, suddenly loosened, and her fingers curled up as if she were subconsciously trying to grab something, but she couldn't grasp anything and could only awkwardly stop in mid-air.

“You’re right.” She awkwardly looked away: “Just like them.”

The so-called FitzClarence family refers to the ten illegitimate sons of King William IV and Lady Jordan during his youth. The name FitzClarence means "sons of Clarence," as "Duke of Clarence" was William IV's primary noble title before his accession to the throne.

Admitting to this shameful affair in front of Arthur seemed to relieve Sophia of a great burden. She even took the initiative to say a few more words: "But at least Fitzclarence can be called 'His Majesty's heir,' while what about me? I can't even give my little Thomas a proper identity. I know I shouldn't ask you for help, and I know how dangerous this is... but I really... really can't think of anyone else who can help me."

“Your Highness, I am very grateful that you told me the truth. My God, if you hadn’t told me these things, I would have almost messed things up…” Arthur sighed and muttered to himself, “Your Highness, I am not here today to judge you or evaluate your actions. I am here simply because you summoned me. And the reason you summoned me is certainly not because I have held any position in the government, but because you are willing to trust me and believe that I am capable of handling this matter properly.”

“Of course, Sir Arthur, I trust you unconditionally.” Princess Sophia grasped at a straw. “I swear to God, I have nothing left to hide. As long as you can get my little Thomas out of Scotland Yard and shut up Fleet Street, I guarantee you will receive the greatest reward I can offer.”

Arthur hesitated for a moment, then waved his hand. "Your Highness, we can put the matter of payment aside for now. I don't intend to make any promises immediately, as that would only appear frivolous. But I can tell you, Your Highness, you are not alone. You can trust me, and this matter is not as unsolvable as you think. London appears impregnable on the surface, but it is merely maintained by a series of mutually concealing facades. You are the King's daughter, the Princess of Hanover. For the sake of the royal family's reputation, it is inconvenient for you to step forward now..."

Arthur's words struck a chord with Princess Sophia: "Sir Arthur, you truly..."

At this point, Arthur smiled confidently: "I'll handle Thomas's matter. But I hope you won't shoulder everything yourself anymore, and that you won't let those damned newspapers control your emotions. In the future, if you encounter similar situations, don't panic or get flustered, but remember to inform me promptly. Your Highness, it's fortunate that you found me in time this time; otherwise, if it had been three or four hours later, even if I had been willing to intervene, it would have been too late."

Princess Sofia nodded heavily, her lips trembling slightly, but at least she was able to sit down steadily: "Thank you, Sir Arthur, I really don't know where else in the world I can find such a kind person as you."

Arthur bowed slightly, solemnly performing a royal audience on one knee: "I have been here all along, Your Highness. I will return to report to you in one hour."

……

Arthur straightened his cloak and stepped out through the heavy wrought-iron gates of Kensington Palace.

He lit his pipe, slowly exhaled a smoke ring, and just as he stepped down the last stone step, heavy footsteps came from his side, shattering the brief tranquility.

Sir Arthur.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and looked in the direction of the voice. It was Mr. Hughes Jr., the younger brother of Captain Richard Hughes, who was the Scotland Yard officer sent to Kensington Palace to inform them of Thomas Garth Jr.'s arrest.

Little Hugh took off his hat, took a breath, and clearly had run all the way here.

Although he didn't particularly enjoy associating with these important figures, he had no choice; his brother always repeatedly told him that if he ever encountered Sir Arthur Hastings, he should at least go up and say hello.

When Arthur saw the boy, he casually asked, "How's your brother doing at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs lately?"

"He said it was alright. Although the work was quite busy, it was at least more comfortable than when he was a military policeman in Russia. He no longer had to brave the wind and rain. Sitting in an office, at least he had a shelter from the wind and rain."

Arthur nodded slightly and said, "That's good. By the way, Hugh, go back to the station and tell them to release Thomas Garth once he's sober."

"Huh?" Little Hugh was taken aback. "You... how did you know we arrested a drunkard named Thomas Garth?"

“Your brother should have taught you, Officer Hugh, not to ask questions you shouldn’t ask; it won’t do you any good.”

Young Hugh recalled what had happened that evening and suddenly understood something: "I see, Sir. But what about Commissioner Rowan? He just said last month that he would crack down on assaults on police officers... Have you discussed it with him?"

“Of course.” Arthur took out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “Busy?”

"Huh? You mean me?"

Arthur smiled and nodded: "If you're not busy, I'll buy you a cup of coffee to warm you up."

"But you just told me to go back to Scotland Yard..."

"No rush. If you leave now, I'll be sitting here alone in the coffee shop for an hour. Think it over. Leaving me there alone won't do you any good for your promotion."

(End of this chapter)