The Shadow of Great Britain

202: Chapter 138: Eld’s Waterloo 202: Chapter 138: Eld’s Waterloo Almost at the same moment as Lady Livingstone and Mrs.

Copper were sharing secrets in their private moments, Arthur was sitting in front of the window at home, aimlessly twirling his pen while staring at the maple leaves in Hyde Park across the street.

Next to him, the Red Devil sat by the table, clutching his overstuffed stomach, burping and gasping for breath.

Agares said, “Arthur, listen to me, you should attend more of these parties.”

Arthur, frowning and leaning back in his chair, replied, “Agares, could you not act as if you haven’t eaten for months and then accidentally wandered into Baal’s dung heap of a restaurant?”

The Red Devil was quite pleased with himself today, but at those words, a burst of anger surged forth from his forehead.

“Arthur!

What’s wrong?

It was just a glimpse of the tip of the iceberg of high society today, and you feel like you’re not yourself anymore?

Baal?

If Baal had been with you today, he would’ve been squatting in the Cordington family’s restroom from the start of the party.

How dare you compare that lowly devil to me?”

At this, Arthur merely comforted, “Alright, alright, I get it.

You’re noble, you’re amazing, Hell itself can’t contain you.”

“Being sarcastic, are you?”

Agares’s eyes bulged, almost popping into Arthur’s nose as he cursed, “Arthur, you son of a bitch, cut the crap with me.

You should know, without me, you’d be nothing, without me, you’d still be farming in the countryside of Yorkshire.

It’s just food, what’s got you so agitated?

I didn’t eat yours, damn it.”

No sooner had Agares finished cursing when a gust of evening wind blew through the window, sending the draft paper in Arthur’s pocket fluttering onto the Red Devil’s cornea.

“Hmm?

What’s this?”

The Red Devil plucked the draft paper, loaded with mathematical equations, off his eye, only to see a neatly penned sentence in the few blank spaces left: “I awoke one night to find that I had become famous, having become the Napoleon of the poetic world.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows.

“Isn’t that the famous quote Lord Byron left after finishing ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’?

It seems Miss Byron isn’t completely ignorant about her father.

I wonder what Lady Milbanke would think if she knew her daughter had written such a sentence?”

Despite this, Agares, hearing the remark, nodded in satisfaction, “Who cares what she thinks, the important thing is, you really did become famous overnight.

Arthur, just you wait, one day you will indeed become the Napoleon of Scotland Yard.”

Arthur, with one hand propping his face on the table, said, “Why wait for one day?

I currently have a French artilleryman under me whose father once served as the commander of the French Pyrenees Corps.”

The conversation had just reached this point when someone rang the doorbell downstairs.

Arthur, visibly annoyed, stretched and got up.

“Who could that be at this hour?”

He went downstairs and opened the door, only to find the Great Dumas, awoken by hunger and rummaging through the kitchen for food, had already gotten there first.

Standing at the door was Eld, his face flush from drinking, clutching a stack of banknotes.

Eld gasped for breath, then threw the banknotes on the coffee table next to the sofa, and slumped into the corner of the couch, his face full of melancholy as he gazed up at the stars in the sky.

Seeing his grim expression, the Great Dumas could tell that something had happened.

With a piece of bread in his mouth, he turned to Arthur and asked, “Was he rejected again?”

Arthur merely shrugged, “Life is often unsatisfactory, there’s rarely a chance to speak about it.

Is there a need to state it so clearly?”

Yet the Great Dumas was still puzzled, eying the banknotes on the table, “But what’s with the money?

Did they pay him to leave?”

Upon hearing this, Eld felt a surge of annoyance and snapped, “Alexander, can’t you ever hope for anything good?”

The Great Dumas sipped the sparkling water in his right-hand glass and nodded, “Right, I rarely stumble upon such good fortune.

The only one who does is you.

Eld, look on the bright side, between money and love, at least you got one.”

Eld, frustrated by the Great Dumas, almost had a fit right there.

He cursed, “Damn it!

The money isn’t for me.

On my way back, I ran into Mrs.

Copper’s manservant and coachman, they asked me to book a phonograph for Arthur—and they said it was urgent.

The thirty pounds here are a deposit; if it’s not enough, they’ll pay more later.

If it is, then any excess is for your trouble, Arthur.”

Hearing this, the Great Dumas couldn’t help but curse, “Damn, earning money is too easy!

It truly proves what young Rothschild said, Arthur, you’re always damn lucky!

It couldn’t be that a lady has taken a liking to you, could it?

Isn’t this just blatantly throwing money your way?”

Eld scornfully said, “Enough!

Alexander, get a grip!

Stop applying your French way of thinking to everything.

Given Mrs.

Copper’s age, she’s nearly old enough to be Arthur’s mother.

Can’t that erotic waste dump of a brain of yours think of anything else?”

Great Dumas didn’t get angry when he heard this; instead, he replied, “Since you say that, I won’t lend you my new magazine.”

Upon hearing this, Eld sprang up from the sofa, “Why the hell not!

I was the one who told you about that place!”

While sipping his soda, Great Dumas retorted, “It’s nothing, simply that I don’t deserve it.”

No sooner had he spoken these words than a sleepy Darwin walked downstairs in his pajamas.

While rubbing his eyes, Darwin complained, “What’s all this racket?

Early to bed and early to rise make a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”

Seeing him, Eld couldn’t contain his anger, “Sleep, sleep!

That’s all you know.

What’s the use of going to bed so early every day?

Look at your hair; you’re almost sleeping it off.”

Although initially unbothered, Darwin burst into anger upon hearing those words, “Hey!

Damn it, Eld, what do you mean?

Everyone was at the party today, lots of ladies as well, and if you couldn’t hold a conversation, don’t blame others for not giving you a chance.”

“That’s right,” Great Dumas raised an eyebrow, “Being bald is not a crime in England.

Don’t assume Charles is that dull; I saw him just last time on a date with a beautiful lady at a restaurant.”

Eld felt as if struck by lightning and instantly collapsed onto the sofa, wailing desperately to the heavens, “Oh my God!

What sins have I committed that you should punish me so?”

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn’t help but intervene, “What sins?

If you’re serious, I suggest you go straight to the church and confess to a priest.

If you really can’t bring yourself to speak, at least make amends to a goat.”

At this, Eld blushed and emphatically protested, “Arthur, it wasn’t my fault!

The devil tempted me!”

Agares had only been passing through the living room, but hearing this, he could contain his anger no longer and hurled the draft paper at Eld’s face.

Red Devil shouted fiercely, “Bullshit!”

Struck by the paper wad, Eld was initially stunned and then bent down to pick it up.

As he unfolded the small paper ball, Eld, with his classical literature background, brought his long-unused scholarly skills to bear, immediately noticing something amiss.

“A sentence from Lord Byron…”

He looked suspiciously at Arthur, “Is… is this from her?”

Arthur reassured him, “I stole it.

For the sake of your mental health, I think it’s best you believe that.”

“Oh!

God!” Eld clutched his aching heart and suddenly fell to his knees, “Arthur, when did you get involved with her?”

“It’s not as bad as you think.

Lady Milbanke asked me to look after her for a while,” Arthur explained, “Eld, be open-minded and face it with a smile.”

Tears shimmering in his eyes, Eld began to recite Byron’s poetry, “This is the saddest story I have heard—sadder than sad because it makes us smile as we face it.”

Hearing this, Arthur simply held his forehead, “You see?

If you had brought this up earlier, wouldn’t that have been better?”

Great Dumas, hearing this, simply shook his head, “Arthur, there’s no point telling him that.

Like Democritus said—fools gain wisdom through misfortune.”

No sooner had he finished speaking, a sudden jingling sound came from outside the door.

Arthur went to open the door and found standing outside a man with short blonde hair, white gloves, and a tailcoat.

The butler apologized awkwardly, “Is Mr.

Hasting home?

I am Lady Liven’s butler.

Just now, when Mr.

Eld Carter delivered the message, we were not entirely clear.

In addition to booking that marvelous phonograph and record for Mrs.

Copper, Lady Liven also heard that Mr.

Hasting might have a concert soon.

If that’s the case, she would like to book an additional ticket for Mr.

Hasting’s concert.

If this has caused any inconvenience, I sincerely apologize.”

Before Arthur could reply, Eld started shivering on the couch, “Li…

Li…

Lady Liven?”

No sooner had he spoken than Eld keeled over with a groan.

Glancing at him, Arthur answered with an apologetic face, “Regarding the concert, it’s not yet confirmed, as Mr.

Hasting might need to discuss it further with Mozesales from the London Philharmonic Society.

However, please rest assured that I’ve noted down the ticket reservation for Lady Liven.

Before we resolve this, please step aside, as I believe what I need most right now is to book an emergency bed for Mr.

Eld Carter at the nearby St.

Mary’s Hospital.”