shadow of britain

Chapter 927 It's okay for the Queen and her daughter to be at odds, but it can't affect Sir Arthur's career!
When Lewis first stepped into Arthur's office, he felt that the air inside was a bit colder than outside.

It's not just the cold in terms of temperature, but a chilling feeling that comes with being completely helpless once the door is closed.

As one of the highest-ranking bureaucrats in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland's police system, Arthur's office was actually not very large, at least much smaller than Lewis had imagined.

The small room was crammed full of things. An old-looking ebony desk stood by the window, its corners inlaid with fine, almost invisible silver threads. Two guest chairs upholstered in dark green leather sat near the fireplace, their backs worn smooth by time. Above the fireplace hung a bronze map of London's security, its dense lines resembling an invisible spiderweb woven across the city.

The map, titled "Jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Police Service of London" (with letters indicating police district codes, such as R for Greenwich), was produced in 1837 and is now held in the London Photo Archive.
On the wall further inside, there was a mirror hanging.

The frame was made of dark oak, reflecting the police blue book, parliamentary record book, and several unopened letters that filled the bookshelf.

Although he didn't know why, the presence of that mirror made Lewis extremely uneasy, and he himself couldn't explain why.

But if Sir Arthur Hastings, the owner of the office, were to explain it to Lewis himself, Lewis would soon understand why the mirror made him uncomfortable.

The mirror itself is not strange; what's strange is the angle at which it's placed.

The mirror wasn't facing the door; instead, it reflected the area in front of the desk at an angle.

This means that the person sitting behind that desk can see the actions of all the visitors behind them in the mirror without turning around or looking up.

Only someone with a strong desire for control, who is unwilling to expose their weaknesses, would like this placement of the mirror.

Lewis stood at the door, not daring to put his hat on the table, but holding it tightly in his hands.

It's not that he's never seen an office before.

He had seen the messy offices of the Fleet Street and Strand Street newspaper offices, and the publishing houses piled high with manuscripts.

This office was a perfect blend of neatness and chaos; everything looked so orderly yet so disorganized.

The office was quiet, yet everything there seemed to be observing coldly.

Whether it's the ebony desk, the slanted mirror, or the bronze London security map, everything seems to be telling the visitor: "You are now standing in a place where you shouldn't lie."

Lewis swallowed hard. He knew he was there today at Sir Arthur's special invitation, but the longer he stood in this office, the more he wondered if he had committed some heinous crime deserving of reprimand.

He was unsure whether to sit or stand in his office, until he heard a very soft click from the door lock.

Lewis turned around abruptly.

Arthur was standing in the doorway, holding gloves in his hand. "Sorry to keep you waiting. The Department of Internal Affairs sent someone over today, otherwise the morning meeting usually wouldn't take this long. Please have a seat, Mr. Lewis."

Lewis did it almost instinctively. As soon as he sat down, he couldn't help but put the hat on his lap, like a student afraid of causing trouble.

“Mr. Lewis,” Arthur poured himself a cup of tea, “I’ve only just realized that your writing skills are far superior to what you told me last night.”

"Is...is that so? Sir, you flatter me..."

Lewis chuckled dryly. Ever since he learned Arthur's true identity and witnessed Ridley's subservient attitude towards Arthur in the bakery, he had never been able to face Arthur so naturally again.

In just one night, the young man who had shared drinks with him at Green Restaurant the night before had become the kind of person Lewis could only dream of.

Arthur seemed to sense Lewis's awkwardness, so he didn't continue flattering him. Instead, he lowered his head and added some milk to his teacup. Only after slowly picking up the cup from the tray did he smile and continue, "I'm also in the publishing industry. You know, many people in the business say that a penny reporter's writing is far inferior to that of a resident reporter. But I disagree. Resident reporters certainly have their strengths, but penny reporters also have their advantages..."

Arthur gently swirled his teacup, then chuckled and continued, “You guys have one advantage: all over London, no matter where you go, you're faster than any other resident reporter. The moment the wind blows through London, you know what's happening. No matter how eloquently a resident reporter writes, they can't keep up with your reactions. But…”

Arthur placed the teacup back on the tray, the bottom of the cup striking the silver saucer with a crisp sound, as if to remind Lewis to pay attention to what he was about to say.

“I’m not surprised that you can run and write quickly; you just have that kind of diligent spirit. But writing accurately… that’s another matter.”

Lewis paused for a moment.

He finally understood why he had such a bad feeling; it turned out that Sir Arthur had already seen through his "drowning narrative."

He felt a jolt and sat bolt upright: "Sir, my article, my article wasn't...it wasn't made up! I did do my research! It was...it was written by a colleague! Yes, it was written by a colleague, I just reposted it..."

Arthur was stunned for a moment: "Fellow travelers?"

However, he quickly realized what was going on.

He knew it; how could a penny-pincher like Lewis possibly handle the details of a Buckingham Palace concert?

The real mastermind is definitely someone else.

Lewis had no idea that Arthur was already speculating about who the mastermind behind him was. He felt that the more he explained, the worse it got, and the mirror hanging at an angle reflected his panic, making him look like he was confessing a crime.

"Sir, please don't misunderstand! That wasn't... it wasn't a forgery, nor was it deliberate fraud! And there was absolutely no intention to use this to gain attention!"

Arthur picked up his quill and dipped it in ink: "Trying to grab attention is fine, after all, it's your job. But if you'd be willing to tell me who that colleague you reposted is, I'd be very grateful."

"Sir... Sir... you wouldn't... be writing this down, would you?" Lewis's eyes widened, his throat dry. "This... this... is it... is it to be submitted to the Ministry of the Interior?"

"The Ministry of the Interior?" Arthur shook his head. "The Ministry of the Interior did not ask me to submit a list of journalists."

Lewis breathed a sigh of relief, but only half a sigh of relief.

Because Arthur then added, "They have no jurisdiction over this matter. For now, I am handling this case personally. Whether it will be transferred to other departments for investigation depends on Her Majesty the Queen and the Office of the Lord Chamberlain."

Your Majesty?

Your Majesty!

a bolt from the blue!

Lewis felt as if his spine had been ripped out; his back slumped against the chair, his knees trembling. "Her...Her...Her Majesty the Queen?!"

His voice rose a full octave: "Sir, I just... I just wrote a report... just an ordinary tabloid article that costs a few pennies... This... this little thing... has... even reached... Her Majesty the Queen?!"

Arthur glanced at him and said, "And what do you think?"

“I…I thought…” Lewis stammered, “I thought it would just be…a scolding from you…at most, being kicked out of Fleet Street…”

He put the quill back into the inkwell: "Mr. Lewis, do you really think that the fact that the behind-the-scenes details of the Buckingham Palace concert appeared in the tabloids can be solved by kicking him out of Fleet Street?"

“Sir Arthur, I, I, I… um?” Lewis was stunned: “Wait, which report are you referring to?”

“Of course, it’s the one about the Buckingham Palace concert.” Arthur took a sip of tea, then, sensing something amiss, asked, “What else? Which report did you think it was?”

“I…I thought it was…” Lewis racked his brains to make up a story: “I thought it was…yesterday’s article, ‘The Old Pigeon Coop Fire on Strand Street’? Or…the one I wrote the day before yesterday…that the opposition party was lavishly hosting banquets for voters during the election?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You think I'd call you in for a few drinks? I'm asking about the coverage of the Buckingham Palace concert."

Lewis opened his mouth, like a fish out of water: "Jazz...that article...actually...actually, I don't have the ability to know so many inside stories."

"Of course I know. That's why I asked you who your colleagues are."

Lewis turned pale and suddenly lowered his head, seemingly hesitating whether to continue lying.

But in the end, he gritted his teeth, stamped his foot, and quietly admitted, "There are no colleagues."

“No one else?” Arthur paused slightly as he picked up his pen. “So you mean you wrote that report yourself?” Lewis bit his lip, mustered all his courage, and blurted out, “Sir, I… I actually went to Buckingham Palace early that morning to wait outside. The concert… wasn’t it supposed to end in the evening? But I went there very early, and I waited outside the palace gate from nine in the morning until almost eleven at night.”

Arthur stared at him for a long time, as if trying to find a flaw in the thin young reporter's words, but in the end, he gave up: "Go on."

"After the concert..." Lewis spoke with increasing urgency, as if afraid Arthur wouldn't believe him: "Some people... they didn't attend the ball afterwards. Some were elderly gentlemen who said their legs hurt and they couldn't attend. Others were elegant ladies who said they weren't feeling well. There were also some entourage members of foreign envoys who said they had official documents to transcribe early the next morning... In short, just some minor figures. Although these people didn't attend the ball, when they came out of the palace gates, they were still immersed in the atmosphere of the concert, talking very loudly, not caring whether anyone nearby could hear them, or rather, they wanted others to hear them."

Arthur's eyes flickered almost imperceptibly.

Lewis was not lying about this, because he had noticed that the number of people attending the ball did not seem to be as many as the number of guests at the concert.

Lewis continued desperately, "I was just standing under a streetlamp listening to them! As for the program, Her Majesty the Queen smiling, the Duke of Wellington being very interested... I pieced all of that together from their rambling!"

"Pieced together?" Arthur stared at him.

"Yes! Sir! It was truly hard-earned! I don't know anyone in the palace, and no one told me the inside story. I just stood at the palace gate until my nose was numb from the cold, and pieced it together sentence by sentence!"

“If that’s all there is to it…” Arthur put down his quill and gently closed the file. “Then I would have no reason to ask you to come to Scotland Yard.”

Lewis was stunned: "What do you mean?"

Arthur picked up his teacup again and took a sip, almost politely. "Mr. Lewis, piecing together the program, seating arrangements, and repertoire for the Buckingham Palace concert from the rumors circulating at the palace gates is your skill, and it's not illegal either."

He paused, then gently placed the teacup back on the silver tray: "But what really interests me is something else."

Lewis's throat tightened suddenly: "Which...which one?"

"How do you know that Lister had an affair with a countess in Paris?"

Lewis was stunned: "I...I know? Did I write that sentence?"

“Of course I wrote it.” Arthur took the article out of the drawer. “It’s quite well-written, ambiguous, and subtly suggestive, with a very skillful style. Although the rumors about Liszt’s private life are making headlines in the Parisian music scene, I think the news hasn’t reached London yet, has it? More importantly, why did you use this incident in your report to allude to the relationship between the Viscount of Melbourne and Her Majesty the Queen?”

Lewis shouted as he stood up: "I didn't make any insinuations! I absolutely didn't mean to make any insinuations!"

"So you're saying you heard it from someone else?" Arthur stared at him. "And you don't remember who said it, do you?"

Lewis, his secret exposed, blushed so much his face turned a festive red like the bricks on the exterior wall: "I, I..."

His mind was a complete mess. Lewis tried desperately to recall, but the more he tried, the less he could remember.

He clutched his hair: "My God! That day, standing outside the palace gates... everyone was talking... from whom did I hear that... I, I..."

“Take your time thinking about it. I have plenty of time today.” Arthur picked up his teacup and casually grabbed a newspaper. “This matter is of great importance. The clearer your memory, the better for you. Otherwise, I can only attribute it to your personal intelligence.”

“I…I remember…part of it.”

Arthur didn't even look up. He shook the newspaper and turned to the next page: "You'd better think about it again and refine the relevant details. Otherwise, once I see through your ruse, you won't have a chance to continue your defense."

Lewis swallowed hard. “I heard about Lister’s love affairs from… a gentleman.”

"What gentleman?"

“A… gentleman with a slight German accent.” Lewis tried hard to recall: “He stood outside the palace gates and cursed Liszt particularly fiercely, and in a very distinctive way… so I remember him very well.”

"What did he curse?"

Lewis recalled the gentleman's tone and mimicked it perfectly: "I've heard Liszt's tricks so many times in Parisian cafes. Yesterday he was sighing in the Countess's arms, and today he's acting like a saint in front of the Queen of England? If his hands weren't so clean, I would have thought he was begging..."

The tone, the intonation, and the harsh sentence structure...

Arthur felt that there was probably no one else in the world who could say such a thing.

Many people had a grudge against Liszt, and many of them were very aggressive. If one also had a German accent, a sharp tongue, and a high level of literary skill, then who else could it be but Heinrich Heine?
Well, it's not a particularly unexpected answer, so let's leave it at that.

Arthur said nothing, but continued to press, "And the other one? The hint from the Viscount of Melbourne and Her Majesty the Queen. Where did you hear that from?"

This time, Lewis remained silent for an even longer time, so long that Arthur almost thought he was about to start making things up again.

However, Lewis was trembling.

“That…that noblewoman who spoke…” Lewis’s voice was hoarse: “She…she was sitting in a carriage parked by the roadside. I didn’t see her face, but she was speaking something like German or Dutch…so she probably wasn’t English…”

Arthur finally lifted his eyelids slightly, as if something had caught his attention: "German? Dutch? You understand it?"

“I… of course I don’t understand! Sir, I don’t even speak French! I just heard her speaking a language that wasn’t English, but it didn’t sound like French or Spanish either, so I guessed it was German or Dutch.”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, feeling that Lewis was trying to fool him: "If you couldn't understand it, how did you manage to understand those allusions to Her Majesty the Queen and Viscount Melbourne?"

Lewis tried his best to explain: "Yes, I don't understand... but she wasn't the only one in the carriage! The lady was speaking a foreign language, but there was also a gentleman in the carriage, a true English gentleman! The lady was speaking a foreign language, but the gentleman in the carriage was replying to her in English! That's how I figured it out from the sentences he said!"

"So..." Arthur said slowly, "you didn't understand the lady's original words, and you only inferred from the gentleman's English reply?"

“Yes, yes!” Lewis nodded hastily. “I absolutely did not exaggerate! That gentleman… his tone was very clear when he replied, as if he were complaining. He said that His Majesty was too young and shouldn’t have let those people get so close, and… and there was one more thing that was very obvious…”

"what?"

Lewis mimicked the gentleman's distinctive local accent: "These days, His Majesty is surrounded by sycophantic old politicians, especially Melbourne, that old fox who's a master at winning over young women's hearts. He's just trying to take advantage of the situation, thinking he can be her Walpole, but I won't let him succeed. If we don't keep an eye on that silly girl, the court will fall into that old man's hands sooner or later. Just you wait and see, when the girl actually puts on the crown at the coronation, she won't even be able to sit properly without us supporting her."

silence.

A long and dangerous silence.

Lewis kept his head down, barely daring to breathe.

Arthur stood up, and the truth came out.

There is only one man in the world who would describe Victoria in this way.

only one.

John Conroy.

As for the noblewoman who spoke German or Dutch and was traveling with him, she could only be the Duchess of Kent.

Arthur knew that the Duchess of Kent had briefly left the ballroom during the intermission between the concert and the ball that day, but he never imagined that her brief disappearance was actually to find Conroy. And Conroy, who was not allowed to enter Buckingham Palace, actually waited all night in the Duchess of Kent's carriage.

What to say?

These two have stayed together to this day, making them a pair of deeply affectionate "star-crossed lovers".

However, for Arthur, if he cannot separate this "star-crossed lovers," then there is no way for Victoria to reconcile with her mother.

If Victoria's reconciliation with her mother is impossible, at the very least, it will affect her perception of her maternal relatives and impact Albert's chances of becoming the Crown Prince. After all, as the Duchess of Kent's nephew, Albert would never speak ill of his aunt, especially since she has always treated him well.

On a larger scale, Conroy's continued relationship with the Duchess of Kent and Victoria's strained relationship with her mother are detrimental to Victoria's public image. Furthermore, they prevent Arthur from having the opportunity to promote a reconciliation between mother and daughter, allowing him to further solidify his image as an honest, kind, and upright person in his competition with the Viscount of Melbourne.

After all, in this struggle between mother and daughter, the Viscount of Melbourne firmly supported Victoria's decision to distance herself from her mother, while Arthur, in order to create a distinction, had automatically sided with the other side. Losing this contest would seriously impact his political career!

(End of this chapter)