The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1332: Chapter 183: Offering Supreme Loyalty to Colonel Hestingov

Tsar Nicholas I often encountered scenes where loyalty to the Emperor was tested during his inspections across Russia.

Once, when a local official met the Tsar, the Tsar asked him, “How will you prove your loyalty to me?”

The official replied without hesitation, “Your Majesty, I will build a statue in your honor.”

The Tsar was puzzled, “A statue? But I haven’t done anything worthy of commemoration.”

The official smiled smugly, “Your Majesty, what you just said is the best proof of my loyalty!”

— Alexander Ivanovich Herzen, 1853 in London, “Free Russia” political satire column

The Police Chief sat cautiously at the table, his hands slightly trembling, his eyes frequently glancing at Arthur, fearing he’d make a mistake.

His back was tense, as if sitting next to a pressure cooker that could explode at any moment.

The atmosphere in the small inn was more oppressive than usual, the air around seemed to solidify, with only the smoked salmon on the table still emitting a strong smoky aroma.

Arthur was enjoying the simple yet rare meal heartily, his appetite had been tormented by a few days of bad weather and a tight wallet. The cold weather and food shortage had left him without a proper meal in this little inn.

The appearance of the smoked salmon wasn’t particularly eye-catching. Its color was slightly dull, with an orange-red fish flesh covered in a layer of slightly yellowish skin, the edges a bit dry and hard.

With a gentle cut, it made a slight snap, the flesh was firm but not tough, exuding a faint firewood scent in the air.

Although the cut wasn’t refined, even with some irregular slices, under the dim oil lamp, the texture of the fish still sketched a simplistic beauty.

Arthur used a knife and fork to slice off a small piece, placed it in his mouth, and as his tongue touched the fish, it was as if warmth from the winter sun had passed through the mist. The flavor, though simple, immediately gave him a long-lost sense of satisfaction.

Every bite of the fish released a delicate fiber feel and the smoky aroma intertwined, as if rewarding his hungry body and soul from the past days.

But the Police Chief was restless, swallowing nervously at times, afraid to let his gaze linger too long on Arthur.

He secretly observed Arthur’s every move, every time Arthur laid down his knife and fork, his heart would race, fearing he might miss a tiny detail that would cause the “imperial envoy” to be dissatisfied with him.

Each time Arthur inadvertently glanced at him, the Chief would immediately lower his head, smiling, looking respectful.

Arthur was focused on enjoying the delicious food, occasionally glancing at the Chief’s face, noticing it was pale, with beads of sweat unintentionally sliding down his forehead.

Arthur smirked to himself.

Even during his time at Scotland Yard, one rank below the top, none of his officers feared him to this extent.

Even someone as slippery as Ledley showed at most overly flattering behavior due to ambition.

As for fear…

Even with all the misdeeds Ledley engaged in, he didn’t shy away from maintaining eye contact with Arthur.

According to the Russian official rank table, a Sixth Rank Constitutional Soldier Colonel wasn’t even higher than Arthur’s original position.

Yet, in terms of enjoying authority, a Sixth Rank Russian official wielded much more power than a Fourth Rank British official.

Now that Arthur had sated his hunger, he contentedly picked up the white napkin just given by the innkeeper to wipe the oily sheen off his mouth, suddenly asking, “Skornikov, how much is your annual salary?”

“Ah… I…”

The Police Chief was startled by Arthur’s question, “You’re joking, Vitebsk is only a primary province, unlike St. Petersburg, Courland, or Lithuania, which are secondary provinces. I’m just a small Police Chief, even if I say big things, it’s just a Ninth Grade official, and I’m content with an annual salary of 250 Rubles.”

250 Rubles?

Arthur calculated in his mind, even if these 250 Rubles were all in silver rubles, converting to British Pounds wouldn’t even reach 30 pounds, worse than what laborers at the West Indies Pier earned.

Living such a life on that salary, anyone claiming this guy wasn’t involved in corruption and bribery must be out of their mind.

Arthur gently placed the napkin down, a faint smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, as he gazed at the Police Chief in front of him.

In Britain, the ‘old stage actor’ expressions could serve as textbooks in West London’s theaters, even the hint of contempt in the intermittent smiles was worth London pequenos studying for a decade or two.

“250 Rubles, Skornikov. Your salary truly is meager. Don’t they grant you any living allowances from the province?”

The Police Chief’s face turned even paler, he subconsciously lowered his head slightly, fingertips beginning to tremble: “Living allowances, well, there are some. But Druiysk is a small place, not like provincial departments that get privileges. I hear Ninth Grade officials in the province mostly have official housing, for those temporarily without, they get 160 Rubles a year as housing allowance. But here, even though it’s said to be available, I’ve been here eight or nine years and have never seen that money.”

Arthur picked up his teacup, took a sip of hot tea, and imitated the manner of the old landed gentry oppressing the innkeeper before, speaking in an official tone: “Indeed, such problems do arise locally, but you have to understand the difficulties on higher levels. It’s not that the country doesn’t want to give you the money, but due to financial constraints, they can only owe it first. As an official under His Majesty the Tsar, during difficult times like these, everyone has to tighten their belts. Skornikov, you have to start from the big picture!”