shadow of britain

Chapter 876 Elder's Paradise
"Refute the Viscount of Melbourne?" Arthur loosened his collar. "Eld, what made you misunderstand me? Do you think I'm that impulsive? We're both getting on in years, almost thirty. Can't you be a little more mature?"

"Be more composed?"

Elder clearly didn't take Arthur's words to heart. Perhaps because he wasn't in the Admiralty office and few people on the ship knew him, Elder didn't even bother with proper posture. He leaned back in his chair, practically throwing his feet on the table, like a reckless sailor: "If you were truly a composed person, you wouldn't have broken into Albion's villa in Ramsgate. Alright, Arthur, stop playing games with me. Is something wrong?"

Arthur did not deny Elder's guess: "You seem to know me quite well."

“I knew it! No wonder you were in such a hurry to get to Paris.” Elder chuckled and leaned closer. “Let me guess, it’s for Miss Flora Hastings…”

"No."

“That’s Miss Fiona Ivan…”

"Not at all."

"No, it's not that either?" Elder stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Then could it be Miss Byron from the Blue Stockings Society...?"

“Then that’s definitely not it,” Arthur corrected. “Besides, she’s no longer Miss Byron, but Countess Lovelace.”

“Of course I know she’s Countess Lovelace now, but I heard before…” Elder stopped abruptly, “Never mind, I won’t say anything more, after all, she’s Countess Lovelace now.”

Seeing his smug look, Arthur wanted nothing more than to whack him on the head with his eagle-headed cane: "You've already said all that, is there any need to keep half the story to yourself?"

Elder chuckled and said, "I knew it. To be honest, Arthur, you were the one who tried to elope with Miss Byron a few years ago, weren't you?"

"Me? Elopement?" Arthur's mind didn't quite process it. "When did this happen?"

"You don't know?" Elder asked skeptically. "Then am I wrong? Was it really not you who tried to elope with her in 1833?"

Arthur retorted irritably, "1833? I wasn't even in London then! Elder, how did you associate me with eloping?"

“That makes sense…” Elder pondered. “After all, you’re no longer a Scotland Yard constable, so it’s quite difficult to get you to give up your current position. But besides you, who else is a natural philosophy researcher who is close to Miss Byron?”

Arthur rolled his eyes: “There are plenty of candidates: Andrew Cross, Sir David Brewster, even Charles Wheatstone. Mr. Faraday and Mr. Babbage also had a good relationship with Miss Byron, and their achievements in natural philosophy are more admirable than mine.”

After he finished speaking, Arthur asked, "By the way, who told you that Miss Byron's attempt to elope with someone failed?"

“You mean the original news? That must have come from her father’s friend,” Elder said. “Sir John Hobhouse, the Secretary of War in the Earl Grey’s cabinet, a close friend of Lord Byron, and also the cousin of your Police Commissioner, Sir Henry Hobhouse.”

"Hmm..." Arthur didn't know how to comment on this news: "I thought she was just a bit lively, and at most she would gamble on horse racing or something. I didn't expect her to be so passionate in relationships as well."

"Horse racing? She still bets on horses?" Elder clicked his tongue in amazement. "I thought ladies didn't really like that sport."

"That's not surprising. Her ideas have always been unconventional. One of the main reasons she was interested in Mr. Babbage's research on the difference engine was that she wanted to use the difference engine to build a mathematical model in order to calculate the probability of success for large bets."

Did she succeed?

"Is there any need to ask? If she succeeds, then the richest woman in Britain right now will not be Her Majesty the Queen."

Elder scratched his head: "Since it's not Miss Byron, nor Fiona or Flora, then which girl are you rushing to Paris to get rid of?"

Arthur shook his head and sighed, "Eld, is my image in your mind really that shallow?"

"Then why did you rush to Paris in such a hurry? Wasn't it because of the girl?"

"If you insist on saying that, then it could be because of the girl."

Elder scoffed, "I knew it..."

Seeing his dismissive look, Arthur couldn't help but emphasize, "But this girl is different."

“Yes, yes, yes.” Elder smoothed his hair. “Alexander said the same thing at the beginning of every relationship.”

Seeing that he was about to sit at the same table as the fat man, Arthur had to stop in time: "This girl is the Queen."

Upon hearing this, Elder couldn't help but rub the goosebumps on his body: "My God! Arthur, I know you studied history, but could you please stop spouting these kinds of 20th-century love quotes all the time? It's giving me the creeps, it's making me seasick."

"What nonsense are you spouting?" Arthur wanted to slap him. "I'm talking about Queen Victoria. I've fallen out with her!"

Elder froze, as if startled by a sudden gust of cold wind in the cabin.

He stared at Arthur for a long time, then, as if he had figured out something crucial, he suddenly exclaimed, "Huh?"

Arthur put down his teacup: "It's not as simple as just making her angry. There are also some things related to the Duchess of Kent involved. That's why I have to set off for Paris as soon as possible to find her some pianists who can cheer her up."

Elder blinked, as if he had heard something unbelievable: "Uh... you had a fight with her?" Arthur didn't answer immediately; his fingers gently traced the patterns on the porcelain surface.

The restaurant swayed gently with the waves of the English Channel as his voice slowly faded: "If it were just a quarrel, that would be easy to handle. The problem is, she's not just angry, she feels that I'm on her mother's side."

Arthur briefly explained the whole story to Elder, omitting many "irrelevant" details to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings and uncontrolled spread.

Elder grinned and whistled, "So that's how it is..."

The "Nottingham Emotional Guru" leaned closer and lowered his voice, saying, "Arthur, you're really playing with fire. What kind of political considerations would a girl this age have? You might as well do what the Viscount of Melbourne did and say a few nice words to her. Who knows, she might forget about what happened before one day when she's in a good mood."

Arthur sighed and said, "Eld, you know me, I have no idea how to coax a girl."

“You can ask me if you don’t know!” Elder jumped up and down excitedly. He couldn’t help but give Arthur some advice: “Listen to me, don’t always act so mysterious. Girls don’t fall for that! If she cries, just sigh along. If she throws a tantrum, just admit you’re wrong. Even if it’s not your fault, you have to admit it. Once you admit you’re wrong, half the matter will be over.”

Arthur gave a perfunctory reply: "I've admitted to many mistakes, but she may not really forgive me."

“That’s because you don’t recognize her well enough,” Elder analyzed earnestly, looking like the Duke of Wellington rehearsing tactics at Waterloo. “I’ll teach you a few words; take notes. When you see her, say: ‘Your Majesty, you are the brightest sun in my life. If I stray even a step, it’s because I was blinded by your brilliance and lost my way.’ If she’s still angry, add: ‘I live to see your smile.’”

This time it was Arthur's turn to feel unwell, and he couldn't help but tease, "Really? These words sound like they're from the last century."

Elder didn't care whether Arthur bought it or not. The British literary giant, who had just anonymously published "The Playboy from Nottingham, or the London Woman's Handbook of Emotions" last month, looked very serious, as if he were preaching on a podium: "Believe it or not, this trick works! Back in Argentina, I used this trick to win over more than one girl from the pub."

"I'm more inclined to believe they were after the pounds you were showing in your pocket."

"Of course, I don't deny that the pound may have played a marginal role as well."

The moment the girl was mentioned, Elder immediately perked up, even his smile carrying a hint of the salty sea breeze: "Paris! Ah, Paris! Arthur, do you know how long I've waited for this day?"

With a wave of his hand, he seemed to transform the shabby ship's dining room into a magnificent hall like the Paris Opera: "When Alexander came to London last time, he kept nagging me about it. In Parisian theaters, the stage is filled with ballerinas, and the audience consists of nobles, bankers, journalists, and politicians. Before the curtain even falls, people are already sending flowers and jewelry backstage. Sigh, those Frenchmen."

Compared to Elder, who had never been to Paris, Arthur was noticeably more composed about this heart of Europe.

It wasn't because he was unaware of the intricacies of Parisian entertainment. After all, as a friend of Alexandre Dumas, if he didn't understand the complexities of the Parisian entertainment industry, he would appear to be feigning superiority.

In Parisian theaters, ballet shoes worn by a famous dancer can easily sell for 20 to 50 francs, depending on her fame.

If you convert it, this is roughly equivalent to half a month to a month's salary for a skilled worker in Paris.

Even small items, such as gloves, fans, or ribbons, can be sold for more than 10 francs, as long as they have been used on stage.

Of course, if you want to get some intimate apparel, such as petticoats or stockings, the price will often be higher because of their suggestive nature. If these items are made by well-known celebrities, then you'd better have your money ready. You won't get them easily without two hundred francs.

As a Second Secretary in the Admiralty and Deputy Director of the Chart Survey, Elder now earns a salary of £250 a year.

To put that amount of money into perspective, it's roughly enough to buy the complete outfits of twenty or thirty top Parisian actresses.

According to Alexandre Dumas, some people would offer thousands of francs or even give a gold watch and diamond ring as a symbolic promise to have exclusive possession of a particular actress's personal item.

Of course, when people say they're monopolizing a personal item, everyone knows exactly what they're monopolizing.

After all, according to Parisian custom, such a wealthy patron, whoever attends the VIP section, will often be invited to the dressing room by the actress under the pretext of rehearsal after she leaves the stage.

As Elder spoke, he became increasingly animated, gesturing with his hands: "I've also heard that some actresses can't even memorize their scripts, and rehearsals are just a formality. Yet they still have endless money to spend, endless champagne to drink, and endless gifts to collect. The backstage in Paris is ten times more exciting than the stage itself. If we could just sneak in..."

Upon hearing this, Arthur put down his teacup, pulled out a stack of cards from his pocket, and pushed them across the table: "What are you trying to do sneak in? You can go in openly and honestly."

"Openly and aboveboard?" Elder stared at the stack of cards for a long time, stunned. "What is this?"

"This one is from the Odeon Theatre, this one from the Italian Opera, and this one from the San Martin Theatre. Oh, and this one too, this is the Historical Theatre of Alexandria, located at 72 Via Temple. But you probably don't need to bring these business cards to get VIP treatment there. It's just going backstage; the people under Alexandria shouldn't be so rude as to stop you, the boss's good friend, from going out. But whether you can go to the dressing room depends on whether the girls think highly of you."

Elder stared at the stack of cards as if he had seen the golden key to open the gates of heaven. Perhaps he was too excited, resulting in insufficient blood supply to his brain. He carefully picked up the cards, but he couldn't even utter a complete sentence.

"Arthur, you...you were doing so well in Paris before? I've never heard you mention this before."

Arthur glanced at Elder, then poured himself some tea. "I didn't ask about you and the Argentine lady. Can't we friends keep things a little secret? Besides, back in Paris, I was a British diplomat. You know, even though we all served Her Majesty the Queen, those guys at the Foreign Office were considered a cut above the police and sailors by outsiders. If a theater frequently had diplomats visiting, their status would rise considerably, so they were always happy to give us foreigners tickets. It's nothing unusual."

Upon hearing this, Elder suddenly became excited again, as if he had remembered something extraordinary: "In London, if a man wants to meet a girl backstage at the theater, he has to stand at the door for three years, writing letters, sending flowers, and waiting for a reply... But in Paris, all you need is a card and a wallet full of sincerity... no, a heart. With these, you can step behind the curtain and visit that paradise of art."

Arthur sighed. "I gave you the card to keep you in line and prevent you from being kicked out as a drunk. But if you're really interested in Parisian girls, I recommend you come with me to a Liszt recital. After all, there's nowhere else with more girls."

PS: The third update will be a little later.

(End of this chapter)