The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1330: Chapter 182: The Cold-Hearted Constitutional Soldier Colonel (Part 3)

Marina hesitated for a moment, looked down at her fingers, and muttered: ”Alright then... but I really like the blue one.”

The mayor’s wife immediately beamed with satisfaction, quickly patting her hand: ”I knew you’d be obedient! Valeriy, hurry up and iron that yellow dress and bring it to the miss!”

The mother-daughter conflict had just subsided, while Bakarjin, standing by, had long been impatient.

He received the Sword of Honor from the servant’s audience, put on his small leather boots, and was about to head out: ”We’ll talk later if there’s anything. By now, the heads of the villages should all be here, and I need to lead them to pay respects to the imperial envoy.”

”Go quickly! Remember to be careful with your words. If the imperial envoy needs anything, send someone back to inform me immediately.”

Bakarjin hurried out as if escaping, shouting the coachman’s name: ”Arsip! Where’s my custom-made new carriage? Quickly bring it out! This carriage represents the entire Druiysk; I absolutely cannot let the imperial envoy look down on me!”

The coachman Arsip was busy watering the horses. Upon hearing the mayor’s shout, he immediately responded, quickly put down his tools, and ran to the garage.

Bakarjin, anxious and urgent, followed after with quick steps.

”Hurry up, Arsip, don’t dawdle! The imperial envoy doesn’t wait for anyone!”

Bakarjin urged, his brows tightly knit, clearly showing a bit of desperation in his anxiety.

Before long, the coachman drove out a surprisingly large four-wheeled carriage, and Arsip, waving the whip, boasted: ”Don’t worry, sir, take a look at this beautiful and imposing new carriage. Just the iron used is fifteen poods; seeing this would astonish the Orthodox and scare the Germans out of their wits.”

Bakarjin eagerly leapt forward but couldn’t climb up immediately due to his belly. Each attempt to lift his leg was met with his stomach being tightly pressed, making his movements increasingly clumsy.

Seeing the master’s struggle to climb up, the coachman immediately jumped off the carriage and asked: ”Shall I get you a stool?”

”No need!”

Bakarjin panted, a look of impatience appearing on his face. He clung to the carriage and forced himself inside.

With a slight creaking sound, he finally managed to crawl into the carriage, falling into the seat, panting heavily.

Arsip was still beside him, fumbling with the horsewhip, muttering under his breath: ”Your belly, sir, really is—”

”Shut up! Don’t babble!” Bakarjin snapped, cutting off the coachman’s idle talk, ”Your mouth is getting more and more unpleasant to hear!”

He was fuming inside, but seeing the imminent arrival of the imperial envoy, he suppressed his anger, forcibly adjusting his posture.

”Drive! Don’t dawdle!” Bakarjin shouted urgently inside the carriage, gripping the carriage frame tightly, as if ready to fall from the seat at any moment.

Arsip paused slightly, looked at Bakarjin’s situation, and evidently dared not say more, responding softly: ”Yes, sir, we’re leaving immediately!”

...

Meanwhile, as the mayor rushed towards the small inn.

An advance arrival had already been made on behalf of the imperial envoy, whom he both feared and worried about.

That Police Chief Ivan Mikhailovich Skornikov, whom all the city’s officials were straining to find, was now standing respectfully beside Arthur.

His thrifty father-in-law, retired Eighth Rank Civil Servant, and old country squire Grigory Nikiforovich Zakharov, after guessing Arthur to be the imperial envoy, didn’t rush to the City Hall right away but wandered straight to the police station, tugging at his hungover son-in-law’s ear to wake him.

As for what he said to his son-in-law, it was naturally similar to the high-flown talks in City Hall, perhaps even more severe and urgent.

Having navigated officialdom for years, the old squire understood the importance of prompt warmth.

He became an Eighth Rank Civil Servant, sheltering his son-in-law to obtain the position of Druiysk Police Chief, all because of a life-and-death friendship forged during his service in the Caucasus with an old friend, now the secretary to the Police Commissioner of Vitebsk.

On one hand, the old squire went to City Hall to stall those he viewed with disdain; on the other, he sent his son-in-law home to wash off the smell of alcohol and change into his most formal attire to meet Colonel Hestingov.

”Colonel Hestingov, you’ve had a tiring journey.” The police chief spoke in a nearly ingratiating tone, with traces of humility and respect on his face, as if forgetting he was the police chief and instead resembling those small traders who flattered him: ”Our Druiysk inn is simple, but if there’s any inconvenience, please let me know, I’ll definitely do my best to arrange it.”

Arthur didn’t respond immediately but was silent for a moment before softly saying: ”Inconvenience? What inconvenience? I’ve been staying here for five days.”

Upon hearing this, the police chief broke into a cold sweat, drops of sweat quickly appearing on his forehead.

”You... Colonel, I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t know you’d been here so long...”

He paused, seemingly searching for words to salvage the situation, ”I thought you had just arrived. After all, the conditions here are indeed limited. If there’s anything inappropriate, please instruct, and I’ll arrange it at once.”

Arthur slowly lifted his head, gently curling his lips: ”Inappropriate?”