shadow of britain

Chapter 843 Hastings, are you really that clueless, or are you just pretending?
Rain lashed against the carriage windows, blurring the glass as if covered in a layer of gray mist. The carriage wheels rolled over the cobblestones, making a heavy, wet screech.

Arthur leaned against the corner of the car seat, twirling his newly bought ebony cane in his hand, and absentmindedly tapped the floor.

He turned his head and looked at Richard Hught beside him.

Hughes's overcoat collar was still damp with raindrops. His years of service in the Russian military police had instilled in him a habit of always keeping his chest up and head held high, even though it was already past his shift end time. His posture was less like sitting and more like waiting for a command in a line.

This man, who served in the Russian military police system for many years, has now been working in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for a year and a half, and his status and rank have changed significantly in the eyes of outsiders.

While someone like Hughes, with his family background and network of connections, typically struggles to gain entry into the diplomatic service, once he does overcome that hurdle, this newcomer, fluent in Russian, French, German, and Polish, and intimately familiar with Russian affairs, is bound to attract attention within the department.

Just one month after joining the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Hught was specifically requested by Edmund Hammond, the First Secretary in charge of Russian-Turkish affairs, to translate Russian and Russian-language documents.

After six months on the job, Hammond not only highly praised Heut's work in his annual report, but also, against all odds, recommended Heut at a meeting of Foreign Office civil servants, promoting him from a mere scribe to a third secretary. Following the promotion, Hammond immediately entrusted Heut with the important task of monitoring Polish exiles residing in London.

After all, when it comes to the ability to monitor and track Polish exiles and political prisoners, it would be hard to find someone more professional than Hught, the former Russian military police captain.

More importantly, Edmund Hammond somehow vaguely learned that Richard Hught was actually recommended to the Foreign Office by Sir Arthur Hastings.

It is common knowledge that the assistance of Scotland Yard is often needed to carry out surveillance and tracking missions in London, and the relationship between Sir Arthur Hastings and Scotland Yard is self-evident.
Sir Arthur had placed the man in the Foreign Office under his supervision, so naturally, he was responsible for him. Given this, how could Hughes possibly fail in his task of monitoring the Poles?

Although only a third of the year has passed, it goes without saying that Hught will definitely get an A in his performance evaluation at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs this year.

Of course, since Hugh had borrowed Sir Arthur's strength and reputation, he naturally needed to reciprocate with some "little things" that interested him.

But everyone knows that Sir Arthur Hastings has always been incorruptible in London's officialdom and cannot tolerate such sordid affairs.

Moreover, as the chairman of the board of directors of Imperial Publishing Company, although he could not be called a middle class with an annual income of 40,000 pounds, he was not rich but not poor either, and he was not short of money!
As for refined gifts such as works of art, it seems that the gentleman lacks the ability to appreciate them and has no particular interest in them.

Of course, a pretty girl might be a breakthrough, but given that he seems to be having an affair with Miss Flora Hastings, it's best not to cause him any trouble in his love life for now.

Well, when you think about it, Hughes feels like all he can do is give Sir Arthur the diplomatic documents he helped draft and translate, the information that is closely related to the Russian policy pursued by Foreign Secretary Viscount Palmerston, as a pastime before dinner.

Although it's not a valuable item, and Hugh's summary is much shorter than the original document, it only takes a few minutes to read, but it's still entertaining.

Do you agree with this logic?
It's so hard to be a person!
The raindrops continued to patter, as if someone on the roof of the carriage was tapping out the rhythm of fate with their fingers.

Hught sat upright, completely unaware of the glance Arthur had just given him.

“Richard,” Arthur finally broke the silence, “has Palmerston shown any particular interest in Her Highness Victoria’s birthday recently?”

He asked casually, as if he were asking his maid Becky at home about the contents of the newspaper that was delivered that morning, seemingly not expecting any unexpected answer.

Hughes turned around almost as soon as Arthur spoke, as if he had anticipated the question.

"As far as I know, the minister has not made any official statement on this matter, nor has he convened any departmental discussions. However, I do know that at a recent routine meeting of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Viscount Palmerston mentioned that we should cooperate with the Minister of the Palace in receiving foreign guests during this period."

"Foreign guests?" Arthur pondered for a moment, not at all surprised by the reply: "Who are the foreign envoys confirmed to be attending the birthday party?"

Heather counted on his fingers: "The Prussian Minister Heinrich von Bülow, the French Minister Baron de Bastow, the Austrian Minister Duke Esterházy, the Russian Minister Count Di Borgo... all these ministers from major European countries will be attending with their wives. However, I think the foreign guests that Viscount Palmerston is referring to are not only these ministers, but perhaps also Her Highness the Princess's German cousins."

Arthur closed his eyes and asked, "You mean Ernest and Albert of the House of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha?"

Hughes nodded slightly and said, "Perhaps also their father, the Duchess of Kent's elder brother and sister-in-law, the Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha."

The rain continued, dripping onto the carriage roof like an impatient urging.

The carriage finally came to a steady stop. The coachman opened his umbrella and jumped off the carriage, splashing water around the edge of his boots.

However, Arthur did not rush to leave. He turned to look at Hugh, who was still sitting upright, and whispered, "During this time, strengthen communication with the police intelligence bureau. Whether it's officers, businessmen, nobles, political exiles, or those charlatans who frequent social circles, if anyone suddenly appears in a place they shouldn't be, communicate with them immediately."

“Understood.” Hugh nodded in agreement. He paused, then added, “I will prepare a summary every day during this period. Two copies, one of which I will personally deliver to your residence, and the other to Inspector Ridley King of the Fifth Division?”

Arthur smiled. "Give the other copy directly to Chief Charles Field."

"And yours?"

"My share remains the same."

After speaking, he raised his cane and gently knocked on the car door.

The coachman outside immediately stepped forward, the umbrella already set up.

Arthur reached out and fastened the top button of his trench coat, pulled down the brim of his hood slightly, and was about to get up when he suddenly turned back and added, "You've had a hard day. I'll have the driver take you home later. Don't get wet on the way."

"But you..."

“Don’t worry about me,” Arthur said firmly. “This little bit of rain won’t melt me.”

Hugh opened his mouth, but ultimately swallowed the words "I'll go up with you," and simply stood up properly, took off his hat to say goodbye, and said, "As you command."

Arthur nodded and said nothing more. The moment he reached out and pushed open the car door, a gust of night wind carrying moisture rushed towards him.

His ebony cane landed first, lightly touching the stone steps, and then he stepped out of the car with a nimble gait.

The umbrella held steadily over his head, shielding him from most of the wind and rain.

He took the umbrella from the driver, raised his cane to signal the driver to take Hughes back, and then walked steadily toward the Russian café shrouded in rain and mist.

Hughes watched Arthur's figure disappear into the porch through the car window, and finally breathed a slight sigh of relief.

He leaned back and adjusted the collar of his coat.

In some ways, dealing with Sir Arthur Hastings was no easier than dealing with the Earl of Behnkendorf. But on the other hand, there was certainly a lot of potential in being with him, especially considering his remarkable achievements at Ramsgate last year and the fact that Princess Victoria was less than a month away from her legal coming of age.

……

In the meeting room on the third floor of the café, the flames in the fireplace were quietly licking the red copper walls.

Plunkett slammed his teacup down on the table with a soft thud, enough to make the muffins on the silver tray wobble slightly.

“I’m telling you, Ridley,” Plunkett began, “that joint data processing office you proposed the other day, isn’t that a bit too much trust in the local police department?”

Ridley's lips twitched, clearly wanting to retort, but he was afraid of appearing petty in front of Director Field, so he simply took a sip of tea and said, "Thomas, I just think we should make the intelligence network more efficient, it's not a matter of trust."

As Ridley's former superior from Toul Hamletz, Inspector Jones patted Plunkett on the shoulder and stepped in to smooth things over, saying, "Alright, don't make a fuss over a tea snack that you don't like."

Before he could finish speaking, he saw Tom gently tug at his sleeve with his elbow and nod his chin toward the door.

Fiona, dressed in a pomegranate red shawl, stood by the door, holding a small silver tray in her hand. Her expression seemed calm, but her eyes were clearly burning with suppressed anger.

Upon seeing this, Jones immediately broke out in a cold sweat. He had only intended to use a metaphor to suggest that Plenki was bullying Ridley too much.

Who would have thought that the person in question was standing right at the door?

In particular, it seems that Director Field just said something inappropriate to Fiona, which made the influential lady around Sir Arthur look very unhappy.

He quickly stood up and apologized, saying, "Miss Ivan, please forgive me. I didn't mean to be sarcastic at all; it was just an analogy."

Seeing his old friend in trouble, Plunkett quickly spoke up to defend him, saying, "Yes, yes, yes! Jones just has a loose tongue. How could he use your tea and snacks to describe his police troubles? Let me tell you, which of us in Scotland Yard doesn't wish we could come here every month to freeload? Just over this cup of tea and this plate of scones, the London police are practically fighting each other."

There was a burst of awkward laughter in the room, a little unnatural and a little embarrassed.

Fiona didn't reply, but gently placed the tray down, her gaze sweeping over the officers one by one before finally settling on Field: "The officers' tea and snacks have been served. Is there anything else I need to instruct the kitchen to prepare?"

Field quickly stood up and said sincerely, "Thank you, Miss Ivan, everything has been very thoughtful."

Fiona nodded slightly: "It's only right to be considerate. After all, all the officers are subjects serving His Majesty the King and Sir Arthur's most trusted friends."

“I’m just a woman who runs a coffee shop. I have no title, no rank, and I’m certainly not on the invitation list for any official banquet.” She paused, lowering her voice slightly, as if intentionally letting the words reach only the ears of the few officers in the room: “But I can’t let people think that I can’t even serve Sir Arthur’s friends a cup of tea.”

Tom's brow furrowed at the mention of this. He instinctively wanted to say something, but then he glanced at Tony, who was winking at him. In the end, the honest man simply cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly: "Actually... you don't need to be so careful. We're just a bunch of roughnecks; we can't tell the difference between good and bad."

“How could I not need it?” she replied immediately, her eyes turning to Ridley. “Inspector Kim, this cup of black tea with honey is for you. I remember you were coughing badly when you came last time.”

Ridley was taken aback, then quickly stood up and took the teacup: "You still remember... th, thank you."

“Of course I remember.” Fiona smiled and turned to Tony. “Inspector Eckhart, did you taste it? These muffins are soaked in rose water. I remember you said last winter that your wife liked this flavor.”

Tony opened his mouth, but it felt numb: "Uh...yes, thank you."

She slightly lifted the tray in her hands and gave everyone a proper curtsy: "Please enjoy your meal. I'm downstairs; please feel free to call me if you need anything."

After a brief silence, the officers looked at each other in bewilderment.

Plunkett stared at the empty doorway and whispered, "Let me tell you, Miss Ivan's methods... are more sophisticated than our police intelligence bureau's classified files..."

Before Plunkett could finish speaking, a soft footstep sounded by the door.

Everyone instinctively looked over and saw a familiar figure standing at the top of the stairs. The well-tailored dark gray woolen trench coat swayed slightly, and raindrops dripped quietly from the hem onto the carpet.

He deftly put away the ebony cane, but before he could hand it over himself, a hand wearing a pearl glove had already taken it first.

It's Fiona.

She had quietly circled around the small corridor beside the stairs and appeared perfectly beside Arthur before he had even fully entered the conference room, her posture so natural that it seemed as if she had just happened to be passing by.

Arthur glanced at her, said nothing, but gave a barely perceptible nod as a greeting.

But almost everyone in the room put away their teacups.

Tom subconsciously swallowed and glanced at Tony beside him, only to find that Tony's expression was even more interesting than his.

Everyone can see it, and even if they can't, they can sense it from these subtle details.

Miss Fiona Ivan, one of the top women in London's underworld, a female intelligence dealer who controls countless henchmen and informants, seems to have been driven to desperation by the sudden appearance of Miss Flora Hastings.

Fiona had just received the cane and coat steadily when she immediately whispered to the waiter to take the coat to dry.

Her movements were swift and decisive; if the officers hadn't witnessed everything, they would never have sensed any deliberate intent.

Fiona's actions were as if she were proving to everyone that this was not the first time, and would certainly not be the last.

Completely unaware of what was happening, Arthur walked into the conference room, looked around, and everyone stood up to greet him.

Sir Arthur.

“Everyone is here.” Arthur smiled and gestured for everyone to sit down. “It seems we’re here a few minutes earlier than I expected.”

Fiona stepped back a short distance behind Arthur, tiptoed, and whispered in his ear, "Your tea is brewing; I'll send someone to bring it over in a bit."

"Thank you for your hard work." Arthur didn't turn around, but simply replied, "Alexander sent me a few bottles of perfume from Paris, which I left at Nightingale Mansion for you."

(End of this chapter)