The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1410: Chapter 212: British Club

The dignified oak door of the British Club, with its brass door knocker polished to a shine, reflected the faint winter sunlight.

Arthur brushed the thin snow off his cloak and, led by a servant, entered the main hall.

As the door opened, a wave of warmth mixed with the aromas of tobacco and tea rushed to greet him.

The club’s hall was decorated as exquisitely as ever, with several oil paintings depicting English countryside scenes hanging on the walls, and the oak bookshelves filled with classics shipped from London.

From these collections, it was evident that although ”The British” had large circulation in Britain, the genre of fashion novels ultimately did not highlight refinement as well as classical literature.

Shakespeare’s classics ”Hamlet,” ”Othello,” ”Macbeth,” and ”Henry V” were all present, and Milton’s ”Paradise Lost” and ”Paradise Regained” were must-read collections here. The pioneer of British historical novels, Walter Scott, was also highly revered, with his ”Ivanhoe,” ”Surprising Marriage Story,” and ”Kennerworth Castle” prominently displayed on the bookshelves.

Meanwhile, ”Blackwood’s,” the archrival of ”The British,” had achieved great success in Russia; Arthur noticed the presence of the Lake Poets’ big three with just a glance.

William Wordsworth’s ”Lyrical Ballads,” Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s ”Ancient Mariner,” and Robert Southey’s ”Lady of the Lake” were placed just below the works of Byron and Shelley.

In the hall, a few gentlemen were gathered around the tea table by the fireplace, engaged in animated conversations.

Arthur overheard a discussion about the Russian festival, and the Austrian Envoy he once met was waving a cigar playfully saying, ”Russians do love their festivals, making such a grand spectacle of burning straw men every year, as if winter would be scared away by it.”

A younger gentleman chimed in, ”But you have to admit, their pancakes are outstanding. I tried some this morning, golden pancakes with caviar, absolutely the highlight of the festival.”

Arthur smiled mildly, tipped his hat to them in greeting, and was then led by a servant to a reading room.

The atmosphere here was quieter, with several club members each browsing newspapers or books.

Arthur glanced over the few newly delivered newspapers on the table—last month’s ”The Times” reported the fluctuations of the London financial market with eye-catching headlines, while the ”Moscow Telegraph” was filled with festival content, even dedicating a full page to how to make the most authentic pancakes.

”Sir, is there anything you need?” the servant asked respectfully.

Arthur nodded, saying, ”A cup of Earl Grey tea, plus a bit of pancake. I’d like to try that ’golden as the sun’ delicacy they mentioned.”

The servant couldn’t help but squint and smile upon hearing Arthur’s tea selection, asking, ”Would you prefer Twinings or Jackson’s Earl Grey tea?”

”Twinings, please.” Arthur sat on the sofa by the fireplace, holding up a newspaper: ”Our Prime Minister Count Grey used to be a fan of Jackson Tea Company, but now he’s switched to Twinings. Besides, I find the citrus notes in Twinings’ Earl Grey to be stronger than in Jackson’s.”

The servant slightly bowed and said, ”Understood, please wait a moment.”

Arthur inquired again, ”Where’s Mr. Pushkin? I haven’t seen him around.”

The servant replied, ”Today is the first day of the festival, the ’meeting day.’ According to Russian tradition, today is for visiting friends and family, and Mr. Pushkin is no exception. But rest assured, he already stopped by the club yesterday to say you might come today. You can chat with the other gentlemen here, play some cards, have lunch, and Mr. Pushkin should be done by three or four in the afternoon at the latest.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur finally understood why there were so few Russians in the large British Club in St. Petersburg.

Turns out, the locals were all off visiting family, and on days like this, the only ones showing up at the club early in the morning were foreigners like him and the Austrian envoy, who had no kin in St. Petersburg.

Of course, not all diplomats were without places to go today.

For instance, Arthur’s superior, Earl of Dalmo, and the Austrian Envoy, Count Feikermont, along with other heads of various embassies, were all invited to attend the Tsar’s palace ball today.

However, it’s not unheard of for second-in-command figures to be invited to the ball, although that usually required special circumstances.

For example, due to the departure of the former envoy James Buchanan, the U.S. Embassy in Russia was left with no choice but to have its counselor temporarily fulfill the envoy duties.

Arthur couldn’t help but reflect that this festival ’meeting day’ segregated the local diplomatic circle into two distinct groups: prominent figures were invited to the Tsar’s ball to raise a toast, while ”backup diplomats” like him could only spend a day at the club, waiting for the evening’s social gathering.

He took another look at the newspaper in his hand, trying to immerse himself into analyzing the turbulence of the London financial market.

However, the voices of discussion by the fireplace occasionally slipped into his ears, like a mischievous bird that pecked and paused in his mind.

The voice of the Austrian Envoy stood out particularly, as he seemed to be narrating some scandalous tales from the St. Petersburg court.

”Have you heard? Many in the city are talking about the young Duchess Suvorov’s affair with Count Vitegenstein.”