shadow of britain

Chapter 828: Raising troops and mobilizing crowds
The sea breeze from the harbor carried a fishy smell and blew against the wooden windows of the sheriff's office in gusts.

Arthur leaned against the window, a dark red glow swirling around the cigar between his fingers, and pale gray smoke slowly dissipating.

The sheriff, who was over fifty years old, sat behind a large desk against the wall. He wore a navy blue single-breasted tailcoat with brass buttons engraved with the red and white horse emblem of Kent. A pocket watch chain hung in the inner pocket of his dark brown corduroy waistcoat.

The White Horse Emblem of Kent

This was a rather old-fashioned local sheriff. Instead of wearing the fashionable silver-white wig like the sheriffs in the city, he followed the local tradition that had been passed down for centuries and wore a wide-brimmed felt hat.

This wasn't the first time he had met Sir Arthur Hastings.

He remembered it was in the spring of 1832, on the eve of parliamentary reform, amidst national turmoil, at the ceremony where the Duke of Wellington reviewed the national sheriffs.

The Union Jack fluttered in the wind in Piccadilly Circus as the Duke of Wellington rode his beloved horse "Copenhagen," surrounded by cavalry and Scotland Yard mounted police, past a formation of national sheriffs.

At that time, the man who was riding a tall, black horse in white gloves, a tailcoat, and a top hat, not far to the right rear of the Duke of Wellington, was none other than the spirited Scotland Yard police representative.

He sat upright, holding the reins firmly, his gaze not sweeping over the crowd, nor nodding to anyone, but calmly scanning the rows of solemn faces.

The old sheriff heard from his colleagues near London that this was the famous Assistant Commissioner of Police of Scotland Yard, Mr. Arthur Hastings, the most promising man in all of Scotland Yard and even the national security system. At the same time, he was also the guy who commanded the joint investigation of the three police districts of England, Scotland, and Wales in that shocking murder and body theft case that shocked the nation.

From that moment on, the old sheriff knew that this young man was no ordinary person. On his way back to Ramsgate from London, he even discussed with other sheriffs in Kent what kind of position this young man would eventually hold.

Some people are not optimistic about this young man who is still inexperienced, while others think he may succeed in the future, but it would be too hasty to conclude that he will definitely become a big shot.

But the old sheriff was in the minority among them. He had a very good impression of the young Arthur Hastings, not only because they had exchanged a few words at the banquet after the parade, but also because of the character he had analyzed from those words.

He made a bet with someone that this kid would not only rise to a high position in the future, but would do so in the near future.

Sure enough, not long after, he read about the Tower of London incident in the newspaper.

The only unfortunate thing is that the young man was not very lucky. Although he got the job done, he accidentally lost his life.

Later, the old sheriff gradually forgot about this person until recently when he saw the name Arthur Hastings in the newspaper again.

At the time, he thought it was just a young man with the same name, but when he saw this old friend on the beach in Ramsgate a few days ago, he suddenly realized that the most promising young man in all of Scotland Yard back then had actually come back to life!
Perhaps it's not quite right to say it like that, but the old sheriff insisted that it was not his fault that he had this feeling, but rather that there were far fewer reports in Fleet Street about Arthur Hastings' recovery than about his death back then.

When the old sheriff first met Arthur, he thought he had seen a ghost. It wasn't until the two sat down and exchanged pleasantries that he finally understood what had happened.

It turns out that he not only didn't die, but was also assigned to work at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Later, due to differences in political views with the Foreign Minister, he resigned from Whitehall in a fit of anger.

He didn't harbor much ill will towards Arthur; on the contrary, he quite enjoyed listening to his stories about Germany and Russia.

Arthur talked to him about current affairs and police reform.

He chatted with Arthur about horse prices, land rents, and other trivial local matters, and of course, he would occasionally lash out at the Whitehall bureaucrats.

The old sheriff always believed that there was no problem with having professional police in big cities like London, but in rural areas, such as Ramsgate, traditional sheriffs appointed by the royal family were more effective.

Putting aside other factors, the high administrative costs of professional police officers alone are beyond the reach of rural areas.

If the government were willing to foot the bill for local law enforcement, he would certainly be all for it. But the reality is, Whitehall doesn't want to spend a penny more, yet they want to establish a professional police force—where in the world is there such a good deal?
Although the old sheriff spent most of his life working in Kent, that doesn't mean he lacked insightful observations.

At least on the issue of local security, his judgment was very accurate.

As he said, the Municipal Council Act passed last year abolished 178 almost hereditary local municipal councils, handed over the power of city management to local councils elected by citizens, and registered municipal property and required the annual disclosure of financial expenditures.

However, the position of sheriff was not abolished; the bill merely transferred the power to appoint local sheriffs to the city council, without mandating the establishment of local police departments in each area.

The old sheriff and Arthur, a young man thirty years his junior, got along well on most topics, except for policing. The sheriff repeatedly emphasized that respecting local traditions was the most beneficial measure for national stability, while Arthur had a particular fondness for modern city policing.

However, to the old sheriff's surprise, the issue that had been debated just two days ago had so quickly turned into a real event in front of him.

Princess Victoria was in critical condition, and as Ramsgate's highest authority for security, he had a duty to protect members of the royal family in an emergency.

Therefore, Sir Arthur Hastings requested that he immediately sign and issue a search warrant for the Albion villa.

Although, in theory, except for the King’s own residence which is exempt from prosecution, the magistrate has the power to issue a search warrant for any residence on reasonable suspicion.

However, if the residence belongs to a member of the royal family, it is highly taboo both politically and in terms of etiquette.

If a search is absolutely necessary, it requires very strong grounds and usually necessitates special authorization from the Ministry of the Interior or even the Privy Council. Therefore, when Arthur approached the sheriff, his first reaction was to immediately report the situation to the County Sheriff of Kent, who would then contact the Ministry of the Interior and the Privy Council to apply for special permission.

The old sheriff removed his finger from the medicine purchase list: "According to regulations, I should first report to the county commandant, who will then inform the Ministry of the Interior and the Privy Council. Once the order comes down, we can all give an explanation."

Arthur didn't move, only lightly tapping his cigar on the windowsill: "Waiting for the password is etiquette. Not waiting is a matter of life and death. But what Her Highness is facing right now isn't a matter of etiquette. Mr. Murphy, to be frank, if you're willing to sign the search warrant today, that's fine. But if you're not willing to take that risk, then I've already decided to force my way into the Albion villa. If you want to follow the rules, then I, the potential criminal, am right here. Are you really going to detain me here?"

The old sheriff was unnerved by Arthur's words, and he knew Arthur was right.

If he refuses to sign the search warrant, and Arthur tries to force his way into the royal family's residence, then he must arrest the other party, otherwise he would be committing a serious dereliction of duty.

However, if his arrest of Arthur led to Princess Victoria's death from illness, he might not have been at fault procedurally, but he would have secretly incurred the resentment of countless people.

What will the city councilors who nominated him as sheriff and His Majesty the King who issued his appointment letter think of him?

The old sheriff, steeling himself, asked, "Sir Arthur, I don't doubt your credibility, but this is a serious matter. Are you sure the situation is really that serious?"

“I’ll give you four pieces of confirmation.”

Arthur pointed his finger and said, “First, refusal of medical care. My friend, Mr. John Snow, was turned away at the gates of Albion Villa, and he has determined that Her Highness is critically ill. Second, evidence. The frequency and dosage of Laudame and malt in this prescription are illogical. If you don’t believe me, you can immediately summon the local doctors and ask them to see if these drugs are safe to eat like candy. Third, do you remember when you last saw Her Highness on the beach at Ramsgate? That was two weeks ago! Fourth, and most importantly, I have a handwritten letter from Lady Lyzen, a lady-in-waiting at Kensington Palace, which clearly states that Her Highness is dizzy and nauseous, and has had a high fever for several days. Her cheeks are now very swollen, and Sir John Conroy is trying to use this opportunity to coerce her into signing an agreement to extend her regency and appoint Conroy as the Queen’s private secretary after her accession to the throne.”

Arthur slammed the letter in Lady Lyzen's handwriting onto the table: "The original letter is right here. I will send someone to London tonight to bring it back and present it to His Majesty the King. If His Majesty still thinks that our search of Albion Villa at this time is against the rules after reading the letter, then I will have a clear conscience."

The old sheriff's hand hovered over the letter. He had read it before, but nonetheless, these things still felt too detached from reality to him.

He couldn't fathom how someone could go so crazy, especially with the Duchess of Kent present. He couldn't understand why, if Conroy truly threatened Victoria's life, the Duchess of Kent, as her mother, wouldn't try to stop him, and instead it was Arthur Hastings, someone who seemed to have no connection to Kensington Palace, who came to plead for the Prince's help.

The old sheriff took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He stared at Arthur's face, trying to find any trace of deception in the other man's expression, but no matter how he looked, all he could see was absolute certainty.

“Sir Arthur, I mean no offense, but I must ask, how do I know this isn’t a play you made up yourself? If this letter is a forgery, then I’m being put on the fire by you.”

Arthur wasn't annoyed; he simply picked up his coat from the coat rack. "Mr. Murphy, I've worked in police intelligence for just as many years as you have as a sheriff. If I were to forge letters, it wouldn't be just for a quick visit to the Albion Villa. If you're worried about trouble, just pretend I wasn't here today, and I won't tell anyone that I was here before breaking into the Albion Villa."

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, the door to the sheriff's office was pushed open.

Several armed men stood outside the door, the leader of whom was naturally the sharpshooter Thomas Plenkitt.

When Arthur saw them arrive, he immediately asked, "Have you informed Mr. Dumas and Mr. Carter?"

“The notification has been given.” Plenkitt holstered his revolver. “Mr. Dumas, Mr. Carter, Mr. Disraeli, and Mr. Dickens have all gotten out of bed. From what they’re saying, it seems they’re planning to split up and go to the four directions—east, west, south, and north—to wake up the newspaper reporters staying in various hotels throughout the city.”

Upon hearing this, the old sheriff's eyebrows furrowed into a deep line: "Calling a reporter?"

He asked in a deep voice, "Are you planning to put this whole thing on the Fleet Street front page? Do you know what that means?"

Arthur flicked the cuffs of his coat and said calmly, "It means that if anyone at the Albion villa is obstructing the Crown Prince's treatment, their name will be known throughout Britain before dawn tomorrow. Mr. Murphy, aren't you worried that signing this order will cause trouble? Then I'll let the trouble grow legs and go find them automatically."

Plunkett grinned. "The gentlemen are happy to make this trip. They say that if there's anything shameful, it should be shown to the public."

The old sheriff's hand hovered over the brass seal on the table. Suddenly, he gritted his teeth and slammed the seal onto the search warrant.

“Alright, we’ll do as you say! It’s suspected that unidentified criminals have infiltrated the Crown Prince’s safety. Sir Arthur, to prevent any accidental clashes, I’ll take my men through the front door, and your men through the back door. Seal off all exits. However, I have one condition: once we’re inside, no one is allowed to leave the house alone until the truth is ascertained.”

Arthur took the order, folded it, and stuffed it into his pocket: "Mr. Murphy, I swear on my honor that you made the right choice this time."

The old sheriff took a deep breath: "I hope the Duke of Wellington hasn't misjudged you, Sir Arthur. You'd better not lie to me, or the consequences will be severe."

Arthur nodded, then waved his hand, and several former members of the police intelligence bureau immediately retreated outside the door. Before long, their footsteps disappeared into the sea breeze along the corridor.

Murphy also stood up, buttoned his coat, and his shoulders slumped slightly, as if he were draping his years of accumulated prestige over himself.

He yelled towards the door, "Where is he, Birdett?!"

A series of thumping sounds immediately came from the end of the corridor, and a middle-aged constable with a flushed face rushed in. Before he could catch his breath, he reported, "Here I am, sir."

"Tell Harlow, Tate, and Mason to assemble in the front hall immediately, with batons and handcuffs, right now! Also, Croft and Baxter, have them go to the stables to fetch the horses, go around the seaside path, and keep an eye on Arthur Hastings' men. Finally, call Pearson, bring a copy of the search warrant, and come with me!"

(End of this chapter)