The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 893: Chapter 16: Detective’s Frontline Enemy_3

What Arthur found most unexpected was that Thiers, who had just been promoted to Senate President, recently had a double celebration. He announced his engagement not long ago, but the bride was neither Talleyrand’s niece nor the wife of the real estate developer, but rather the daughter of that real estate developer and his wife. In addition, the bride would bring a huge dowry of 300,000 francs and exempt previous housing loans.

When Arthur, puzzled, asked the drunken guest why Thiers only got engaged now if he had his eyes on the real estate developer’s daughter early on, the guest, with a flush on his face, just nudged Arthur’s chest with his elbow and smiled mysteriously.

”Indeed, he had long been eyeing the Dosna family’s wealth, and Mrs. Dosna also eagerly matched him with her daughter. But for our Mr. Thiers, the dowry for a regular senator and the dowry for the Senate President are obviously not the same. Which is more worthwhile, 30,000 francs or 300,000 francs? I heard you are a Natural Philosophy researcher, thus you certainly calculate this math problem more clearly than I do.”

Arthur was still savoring the path to wealth where Thiers turned from crow to phoenix, when suddenly he heard footsteps near his ears.

Victor walked in carrying a plate of creamed cake and sat in the armchair opposite him, asking, ”Brother, how do you find today’s breakfast? A bit better than London’s, isn’t it?”

Arthur took his handkerchief out and wiped his mouth, ”If we talk only about breakfast, England’s breakfast is passable with potato pie and rice pudding, dripped soft pancakes, paired with peas seasoned with salt and cardamom. But when it comes to lunch and dinner, it clearly can’t be compared to France’s. In many wealthy London households, they would rather be teased by a French chef than hire a skilled British chef.”

Victor, cutting the cake without lifting his head, asked, ”Teased? How do they tease those rich people?”

Arthur began, ”For example, if a host wants to prepare a lavish French feast at a banquet, they need at least 20 dishes. Though chefs get overwhelmingly busy because of this, someone always takes advantage to steal. I once heard the Duke of Wellington complain that these French cooks simply treat him as a fool because anyone sane should know that frying 12 eggs doesn’t require six pounds of butter. The butler approached them multiple times, but those cooks always argued, ’This is the authentic French way, if you want to taste the most genuine French cuisine, you must pay for French tricks.’”

Victor laughed out loud, ”Even so, those rich people refuse to use local cooks?”

”That’s right!” Arthur somewhat reluctantly said, ”Though I am an Englishman, I must say, England’s formal meals are just awful. On many occasions, I would rather eat those dishes brought from India, whether it’s curry chicken, braised pork rice, or various spicy pickles, those are better than England’s local cuisine. Of course, I’m not trying to offend local cooks. At least they do a pretty good job with desserts. Floating island cakes, ice cream, and jelly are my favorites.”

Victor blew a whistle upon hearing this, winked at Arthur, and made fun saying, ”Jelly? Brother, look what I heard! You actually love jelly, I like it too. Seems we share the same tastes! How often do you eat jelly?”

Arthur certainly knew what Victor meant.

Because in Britain, jelly is a little dessert made using sugar, fruit, cream, and gelatin, usually sold only in jelly shops. These jellies are displayed in transparent custom glass cups publicly for sale.

And for some reason, jelly shops are typically the favorite places for streetwalkers and ’foreign language enthusiasts’ to visit. Thus, eating jelly naturally carried another unspeakable implication in 19th-century Britain.

Arthur glanced at Victor, he couldn’t believe the old man learned all these slang terms just by visiting London once.

Perhaps to show off, or perhaps due to mischievousness, Arthur faintly replied, ”I basically eat it every day.”

Victor mischievously smirked, ”Brother, you better take it easy. May I boldly ask, how many cups do you eat at a time?”

”I eat however many cups I have, and I even pack up what I couldn’t finish to bring home.”

”Brother, I’m not gonna lie, now that sounds a bit bluffing”

Arthur and Victor were exchanging meaningless words when suddenly, the bell rang, jingling as the detective agency’s door was pushed open. A gentleman in a tailcoat stood outside curiously examining all aspects of the agency.

Finally, he raised his hand and gently knocked on the door panel, ”I see Sir Hastings’ portrait hanging outside. Is he personally here now?”

PS: Two more updates later.