The Shadow of Great Britain

436: Chapter 244: Brothers of the Four Seas (4k)_2 436: Chapter 244: Brothers of the Four Seas (4k)_2 “Don’t forget Bernie Harrison.

Scotland Yard hasn’t touched him yet, not because we plan to let things blow over.

Rather, Mr.

Harrison is currently in the eye of the storm because of his funding issues involving Polish women.

After ten days or half a month, when no one cares about him anymore, Scotland Yard will be able to legitimately bring him into the interrogation room and focus on that murder case.”

Hearing this, Disraeli knew there was no need to persist any further on this matter.

He then inquired, “It’s not a wise move to provoke Palmerston around election time, but it’s the same with making a spectacle in other ways, I…”

Before Disraeli could finish, Arthur interjected, “Don’t worry, Benjamin, aside from giving moral guidance at Scotland Yard, I’ve also prepared another opportunity for you to stand out.

Just yesterday, Viscount Palmerston generously proposed providing job opportunities for Polish refugees, and to stop him from dwelling on the ‘British’ Polish articles, I told him our editorial department could offer a few positions.”

Given the nature of Viscount Palmerston, he would definitely brag about it in the newspapers, and as our major shareholder and chief editor, you’ll also get the chance to tag along for some interviews.

Later, when you’re elected as an MP, if you decide to give him trouble over the Polish issue, you can even use your status as an employer of Poles to speak out and tell everyone that the lives of most Polish refugees have not improved.

It’s killing several birds with one stone, why not go for it?”

Upon hearing this, Great Dumas simply put down his teacup and exclaimed through clenched teeth, “Damn, that’s dark!

Arthur, it’s truly a loss for the British political scene that you’re not running for Parliament.”

Disraeli, still with a conscience, was a bit worried for Arthur’s situation, “But if I play this card…Arthur, won’t you have any trouble?

Once I’m elected, I won’t have to fear Palmerston’s threats, and no one will dare to bother ‘The Brit.’ But you’re still working at Scotland Yard, aren’t you worried that Palmerston might come after you eventually?”

Arthur, unconcerned, held his teacup as he leaned back on the sofa, “Benjamin, Viscount Palmerston is the Foreign Secretary, and for the time being, he can’t reach into the Home Office.

I know he’s on good terms with Viscount Melbourne, the Home Secretary, but if I can make Melbourne feel important to him, then I won’t have any trouble for a while.”

Disraeli asked, “Do you think you are important to Viscount Melbourne?”

Arthur took a sip of his tea and slowly shook his head, “Not important as of now; he’s probably just slightly courteous to me because of Lord Brougham.”

Great Dumas, puzzled, asked, “Then where does your confidence come from?”

Arthur smiled slightly, “Of course, from Mr.

Bernie Harrison and his good friend Judge Norton.”

This talk left Great Dumas and Disraeli completely baffled; they couldn’t guess what Arthur was referring to.

Just as they were about to press further, they suddenly heard a knock at the door.

Great Dumas stood up and opened the door.

There stood a young man in a tightly fitted tailcoat and a dark grey bowtie, lean in stature, his eyes revealing a hint of melancholy.

The man’s face appeared rather haggard, although he tried to look spirited, one could easily see the signs of a weary life on him.

He looked up at the burly Great Dumas and managed a polite smile, removing his hat as he asked in his semi-fluent English, “Excuse me, is this the residence of Mr.

Arthur Hastings?”

Great Dumas, eyeing him curiously, pinched his chin and asked, “Are you French?”

The young man seemed surprised, “Why would you say that?”

Great Dumas replied, “Because your accent is quite peculiar, just like mine when I first learned English.”

The young man simply smiled gently, “I do indeed have half French blood.

My father was French, but my mother and I are wholeheartedly Polish.”

Great Dumas burst into laughter upon hearing this and said, “Really?

Then we do have some similarities.

My grandfather was a Frenchman, but my grandmother was a true black slave.”

The young man, upon hearing this, politely asked, “Is that so…

are you Mr.

Arthur Hastings’s servant then?”

“Servant?

No, no, no, there’s no one in this world who could make me his servant.”

As he said this, Great Dumas added, “Especially not that French usurper, Louis Philippe.”

The young man could only offer a bitter smile and said, “Although I do not wish to contradict you, I think your hatred for the King of France stems from the fact that you have not yet met the Tsar of Russia.”

Upon hearing this, Great Dumas thought for a moment and nodded, “You might be right there, at least Louis Philippe could be considered a humanoid creature.

For the sake of Poland, my friend, come inside.

It’s clear you’re not a difficult person to get along with, and luckily, the Mr.

Arthur Hastings you’re looking for is also such a person.”

Arthur stood up from the sofa and asked, “Alexander, who has come?”

Great Dumas led the young man into the room and introduced him to Arthur, “Arthur, this is…

ah, I forgot to ask, who are you again?”

Disraeli couldn’t help but joke upon hearing this, “Alexander, thank God!

Luckily, He gave you hands that could write ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’.

If you were a doorman, you’d starve sooner or later.”

The young man simply smiled and replied, “It’s not the fault of this gentleman beside me; I didn’t make my intentions clear to him.

It was indeed presumptuous of me to visit without an appointment, and here is my business card, please do accept it.”

Arthur first sized up the other party, then solemnly took the business card from his hand.

He glanced at it briefly, and saw a thin, unadorned business card bearing only a few short but useful pieces of information.

Frederic Chopin

Started playing piano at 6, composing at 7, performed for the first time at Radziwill Palace for a charity concert at 8, graduated from the Warsaw Music Academy, held a small concert in Vienna at 19, a young pianist.

Chopin looked nervously at Arthur’s calm face, unsure why such a brief business card necessitated such a long examination.

Thinking this, he felt somewhat annoyed; perhaps he shouldn’t have come here today.

If not for life’s pressures, the dwindling amount in his pocket, and the need to save enough for a boat ticket to Paris, he definitely wouldn’t have visited a complete stranger suddenly.

Even though this stranger had a good reputation abroad, and even the leader of the Polish exiles, Prince Chartoryski, praised this “British” magazine shareholder highly, it was more astonishing that this young Briton, primarily a detective at Scotland Yard was also a pianist at the London Philharmonic Society.

Chopin’s eyes involuntarily drifted to Arthur’s hands, and when he saw those long fingers, the restlessness inside him slightly subsided, replaced by a trace of astonishment.

Those hands could probably span twelve degrees, right?

That truly seemed like a prerequisite for someone capable of composing “The Bell.”

As Chopin was intently watching those hands, suddenly he noticed they moved.

Arthur nonchalantly put the business card into the pocket of his coat and smiled, saying, “Mr.

Chopin, or perhaps, do you mind if I call you Frederick directly?”