shadow of britain

Chapter 929 Your Majesty, this old minister is suffering! But this old minister will not say it!

The yellow drawing room at Buckingham Palace was so quiet that you could almost hear the wind rustling in the garden outside.

Arthur sat alone by the window, reviewing the documents he had brought.

The servants had already refilled his tea twice. Normally, Arthur had never waited this long when he came to Buckingham Palace, but perhaps Victoria was worried that arriving too early would expose the fact that she was eavesdropping next door, or perhaps she needed some time to calm down...

Half an hour passed quickly.

For others, this was simply the usual procedure of waiting for a summons from the monarch.

But for those familiar with Arthur, this is an unimaginable level of patience.

If Scotland Yard's men saw Arthur calmly enjoying his second cup of tea, they would probably suspect that Sir Arthur had been switched by some devil.

Of course, in the world of Scotland Yard, there is more than one version of Sir Arthur's image.

For rank-and-file officers, Arthur Hastings is an absolute hero, having been wounded five times during his service, one of which was a fatal gunshot wound. Even so, patrol officers can still spot this tough York man on the streets today, and more than one newly recruited officer claims that Sir Arthur corrected their patrol records under the dim streetlights and invited them for tea.

But in the eyes of senior police officers, Arthur's image was completely different.

They are demanding, picky, and unforgiving, with an almost obsessive strictness in their requirements for numbers, investigation records, and chains of evidence.

The meetings he chairs usually have only two rhythms.

Why hasn't it been done yet?

"Why is it still not working even after I've done it?"

He hates perfunctory responses and even more so, excuses. What's most chilling is that he remembers everyone's mistakes, but you never know when he'll bring up old grievances.

All senior officers in the Police Intelligence Bureau knew an unspoken rule: reports submitted to Sir Arthur had to be reviewed repeatedly, and words like "seems" or "probably" were strictly forbidden.

His method of checking the report was extremely simple and crude: he scrutinized it line by line, word by word, and even the punctuation marks.

He can recite every line of data you write in your report in a meeting.

But now, Sir Arthur, who had given senior police officers a major headache, was sitting quietly by the window, and with such a gentle expression.
If this were Scotland Yard, he would probably be pacing around by now, casually reciting a superintendent's report to make the other person wonder why they were even born.

Yes, this is Buckingham Palace.

Just as Arthur was about to look up at his watch, the door hinges made a soft, slight click.

The heavy doors of the yellow reception room were steadily pushed open from the outside by a servant, and that familiar figure stepped into the center of the reception room.

Victoria chose an ivory morning dress with light gold trim today. Her face showed no emotion, neither joy nor anxiety, nor embarrassment or panic after eavesdropping.

What to say?

Perhaps this is thanks to the excellent teaching of her teacher, Sir Arthur Hastings.

The attendants standing on either side bowed slightly and respectfully greeted her, "Your Majesty."

Arthur immediately stood up, placed his right hand on his chest, and bowed slightly, his movements clean and efficient: "Good afternoon, Your Majesty."

"Good afternoon, Sir Arthur." Victoria walked naturally to Arthur's side. "I just finished approving the documents from Canada. I heard you've been waiting for a while?"

"It wasn't too long, just the time it takes to take a nap."

"Didn't you sleep well last night?"

“A little.” Arthur smiled and shook his head. “After all, the thought of introducing you to the draft of the new Police Act always makes me worry that I might make a mistake.”

“What is there to worry about? You are a policing expert.” Victoria gestured toward the round table, indicating that Arthur should sit down. “Both the Viscount of Melbourne and Lord Russell have suggested that I hear your opinion on the new Police Act. If you can make mistakes, then probably no one in the country can give the right answer on policing issues.”

Upon hearing Victoria's words, Arthur couldn't help but raise his eyebrows.

If Victoria's words were truly heartfelt, then everything he wanted from the new Police Act would be guaranteed.

If these words were merely flattery, then it wouldn't be too bad, after all, the Queen's flattery carries some weight.

He obediently took his seat, but unlike many other members of parliament who came to pay their respects, he did not hand over the prepared documents to Victoria directly.

Because he knew very well that although his students had been reading those lengthy political reports every day since they ascended the throne, Victoria did not actually enjoy reading those dry documents. She did so only out of her own expectation of fulfilling her duties as monarch.

Ultimately, she is still a young girl who has just come of age. Compared to reading dry and boring reports and listening to long and tedious speeches, she prefers reading interesting novels and listening to exciting stories.

This is the real reason why many politicians can get a smile from the Queen at Buckingham Palace, but not necessarily leave an impression on her.

Knowing Victoria's temperament well, Arthur smiled and said, "Do you remember when Scotland Yard was established?"

“Of course I remember, you told me before.” Victoria said almost without thinking: “In 1829, under the leadership of Sir Robert Peel, the Metropolitan Police Act was passed.”

“Yes, 1829, that’s when I joined Scotland Yard.” Arthur recalled, “I remember Scotland Yard back then, it was more like a makeshift shack than a police station. Our uniforms were made by a tailor working overtime, and the number tags on the officers’ chests were made overnight by a coppersmith. The headquarters office was separated from the old stables by only one wall, and every time I went there I could smell horse manure.”

Victoria couldn't help but laugh at his words: "Why did you ever think of becoming a policeman? Why didn't you go and work at a bank?"

“Banks?” Arthur gave a soft, almost self-deprecating hum. “Your Majesty, after the bursting of the speculative bubble in 1825, London’s financial industry was crippled, and dozens of banks, large and small, across the country went bankrupt. By 1829, although we had managed to recover somewhat thanks to textiles and continental trade, good jobs were still hard to find. Although I went to university, as you know, the University of London didn’t even have a teaching charter back then. With the same resume, students from Oxford and Cambridge could get in through the front door, while I had to go through the back alleys and ask for introductions. But, who would even give a country bumpkin like me a second glance?”

Victoria couldn't help but frown: "This is so unfair."

“It’s not that it’s unfair, it’s just that this is how fairness works in Britain.” Arthur spread his hands and said, “Back then, I submitted more than twenty applications. To put it bluntly, I originally wanted to work as an accountant at that trading company in the east of the city, but they preferred to hire someone who graduated from a vocational school rather than a university graduate like me.”

Victoria frowned even more: "They have no idea who you are."

“Of course,” Arthur laughed. “I didn’t receive the title of Sir Arthur Hastings until three years later.”

When Arthur said this, it was as if he were talking about someone else's life, speaking lightly and without sorrow or resentment, as if he were truly that magnanimous.

"It was around that time that I heard London was forming a formal police force. The pay wasn't high, the danger wasn't small, and the social reputation was terrible... But what could I do? At least they would give me a few shillings a week so I could afford to eat and rent a place. Besides, Sir Peel said something at the time."

"What did he say?"

Arthur coughed, mimicking Peele's tone: "What we need is a group of educated, literate young people who can talk to citizens on the street." Victoria smiled and said, "So you went?"

“Your Majesty, that was the only profession in London at the time that didn’t ask where you came from or which school you attended, but only whether you dared to patrol the streets at night.”

"Do you regret it?"

"Any gentleman of sound mind would find it hard to say he doesn't regret becoming a policeman."

Victoria paused for a moment, clearly not expecting the "legend of Scotland Yard" to say such a thing. Her lips parted slightly, as if she had forgotten what to ask next: "Are you saying... you're an idiot?"

“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Arthur said solemnly. “I am of sound mind. At least that’s what I think, but you have the right to disagree.”

"Pfft." Victoria couldn't help but laugh out loud: "You? Regret? My God! I never thought you would regret joining Scotland Yard."

“I certainly don’t regret it now, after all, the past is the past. But…” Arthur leaned back in his chair, as if dragging that naive young man out of his memories for all to see: “But in my first week at Scotland Yard, I had the idea of ​​quitting. If it hadn’t been payday that day, I might have really left.”

"What's the reason?"

“The reasons? They’re the kind that anyone who wants to quit can rattle off.” Arthur listed them off to Victoria on his fingers: “Low pay, heavy workload, few holidays, dangerous conditions, citizens think we’re an eyesore, newspapers call us blue thugs hired by Peel, and street thugs want to punch me whenever they see a police uniform.”

He shrugged as he said this: "Not to mention, I actually got beaten up during my first week at work."

Victoria's eyes widened: "You got beaten up? Is there anyone who can beat you up? Didn't you take care of fourteen Barbary pirates all by yourself?"

“Dealing with the pirates came later. When I first became a cop, I didn’t know a thing about martial arts.” Arthur sighed. “I remember it was near Central Street in Greenwich. A shopkeeper complained that a few drunkards were causing trouble in his store. I just went up and said, ‘Gentlemen, please be quiet,’ and the next second, a fist was smashed into my head.”

Victoria gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh my god! And then what happened?"

"Later? Are you asking about the drunkard?"

"I'm asking you."

Arthur seemed a little embarrassed: "Well... I lay on the ground for a few minutes, then got up and continued patrolling."

"And what about the drunkard?"

"The drunkard ran away."

"And what about the merchant? Did he thank you for your service?"

"No."

"So he didn't say anything and just watched you take a punch for him?"

"That's not necessarily true, he did say something."

"What did he say?"

"They said I'm useless."

Victoria straightened up abruptly, furious: "He said you're useless?!"

Arthur was startled by her sudden outburst of aura: "Your Majesty, please don't be so agitated."

"Of course I'm excited!" Victoria's face flushed red, and her speech quickened considerably. "He asked you to deal with the drunkard for him, and you got punched, and he even said you were useless? This is just too much..."

She couldn't find a suitable adjective, after all, the Kensington system hadn't taught her how to swear.

"Too what?" Arthur suppressed a laugh.

“It’s so… so not worth it!” Victoria slammed her hand on the table, the teaspoon rattling loudly. “What an ungrateful and shameless scoundrel!”

Arthur chuckled: "Hmm... Shameless, is that from Beowulf or King Lear?"

“I, I…” Victoria was even angrier at his teasing: “I just think it’s so unfair that you work so hard and are so responsible, and you have to be treated like this by this kind of person!”

Arthur reassured him, “Your Majesty, everyone thought the police were useless at the time, so you can’t blame the shopkeeper. When Scotland Yard was first established in 1829, all of London thought we were just a new kind of thugs, a political tool of Peel, a bunch of blue-clad barbarians there to keep an eye on them and restrict their freedom. You can’t expect the public to understand your good intentions on the first day, the first month, or the first year; it takes time.”

Victoria frowned, and after a long pause, she lowered her voice to a polite level: "Well... it's better now than it was back then, isn't it?"

“Much better.” Arthur nodded. “Londoners these days are used to having police on the streets, and they even feel uneasy without them. Especially in the last three or four years, the changes may be greater than you imagine.”

Victoria leaned forward slightly, completely absorbed in Arthur's "New Police Story": "Really? In what way?"

"First of all, it's about ourselves; the police force itself has changed. In the first few years after its establishment, there was a shortage of manpower, insufficient training, and loopholes in the system. Although Scotland Yard's Internal Regulations were being improved every month, there were still many gray areas. But since the two Metropolitan Police Act amendments in 33 and 34 were passed, many things have been formally established at the legal level. Duty regulations, detective departments, and training schools have all been institutionalized at the legal level. Now, patrol officers must memorize hundreds of police regulations before going on duty, there are monthly assessments, and there are standard procedures for patrol routes and logbooks."

He paused, glanced at Victoria's expression, as if worried that the jargon would make her sleepy, and then switched to a more narrative approach: "To put it simply, we used to be like a bunch of street volunteers in blue coats. Now, we are the first truly professional public safety force in Britain."

Victoria nodded: "Hmm...it does sound like there's been progress."

“Secondly, it’s the citizens,” Arthur continued. “Before, they only saw a guy in a blue uniform who came to meddle in their business. Now they know we can save lives. Fires, robberies, street fights, missing children, drunkards causing trouble, reports of assaults… Human memory is amazing. Once the patrol officers arrive at the most critical moments a few times, people will start to feel that the police are not a nuisance, but a guarantee.”

At this point, Arthur shifted his posture: "Speaking of which, you also deserve some credit for this."

"Me?" Victoria asked, puzzled. "What merit have I made?"

Arthur bowed slightly: "Thank you for attending the memorial service for Inspector Robert Culley. The clarification following the Cold Baths incident, and the major cases Scotland Yard has solved and the gangs they've apprehended over the years... Your Majesty, Londoners are not fools, and the citizens are not heartless. You protected them, and they will remember it sooner or later."

Victoria's expression softened considerably upon hearing Robert Culley's name: "How are Officer Culley's widow and his two children doing now?"

“Thanks to your concern, they are doing well.” Arthur said with a smile, “When I visited them this year, Mrs. Culley asked me to give you my regards. Culley’s eldest son, David, told me that when he grows up, he hopes to become a proud Scotland Yard policeman like his father.”

Victoria was visibly taken aback when she heard that "David wants to be a policeman".

If children see being a police officer as a glorious career to pursue, shouldn't she also do something to ensure that their fathers, their brothers, and the people they depend on can work in a better environment?

After all, she didn't want to see such a tragedy repeat itself, nor did she want to hear of any patrol officer being attacked on the street without receiving the protection they deserved.

Thinking of this, Victoria sighed softly, straightened her skirt, and said to calm herself down, "What are the differences between the new bill you brought today, which is supposed to be my draft, and the previous police bill? If these reforms can reduce the suffering of patrol officers, I want to know everything."

(End of this chapter)