The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1462: Chapter 232: Illegitimate Children Are Not Exclusive to France

The vice-dean with blue glasses held a thick dossier in his hands, flipping through it and mumbling, ”I’ve reviewed Ogarev’s case, I must say, it’s a strange one, quite confounding. But, well...”

”This is the Special Authorization Order from the High Criminal Court of St. Petersburg.” The vice-dean retrieved a document sealed with the double-headed eagle from the drawer, ”According to Article 47 of the Preventive Detention Regulations, cases involving threats to state security fall under the jurisdiction of the Constitutional Guard Headquarters.”

Arthur’s index finger gently tapped on the armrest of the carved chair, a habit he had developed in the interrogation rooms of Scotland Yard. The firelight from the fireplace dyed the vice-dean’s graying temples a dark red, reminding him of the old judge he often dealt with at London’s Old Bailey.

”So, you’re saying...” Arthur’s Russian had an elegant yet peculiar cadence: ”Even if the Constitutional Soldiers detain someone overtime, the court has no authority to intervene?”

The vice-dean nodded respectfully, then cast his gaze towards Herzen beside Arthur: ”And this is?”

Arthur waved his hand lightly and said, ”A young man tirelessly advocating for a friend who was wrongfully imprisoned, a passionate young man.”

A glint flashed behind the blue lenses of the vice-dean’s glasses, his fingers fondling the frayed edge of the dossier’s brittle paper: ”Alexander Ivanovich Herzen?”

Herzen hadn’t expected the vice-dean to directly reveal his name, he nodded in a daze: ”Indeed.”

The vice-dean instructed the clerk to brew a pot of tea for the two of them. He seemed in no hurry to discuss Ogarev’s case, first politely smiling at Arthur, then engaging in casual conversation with Herzen: ”Ivan Alekseyevich Yakovlev is your father, is he not?”

The oak door with copper-plated corners suddenly swung open, icy wind mixed with snowflakes swirled into the room.

Six attendants clad in bear pelts stood like swordfish on either side, from among them emerged an old nobleman with a sullen expression, the golden embroidered insignia on his sleeve gleaming coldly in the candlelight—a mark exclusive to the Tsar’s trusted court attendants.

Ivan Yakovlev’s cane struck the marble floor, the amber inlaid at the head of the cane encasing a double-headed eagle emblem. Snow from the Kremlin’s walls still clung to his sable collar, evidently having come directly from the office of the Governor of Moscow, Duke Golitsyn.

”Nikolai Sergeyevich.” The old nobleman’s voice was like the frozen Volga River: ”My son has caused you trouble.”

Herzen’s knees began to tremble, his teeth involuntarily chattering.

”Ivan Alekseyevich!” The vice-dean rose warmly to embrace him, inadvertently causing his blue glasses to slip to the tip of his nose: ”We were just speaking of your son’s good deeds...”

”Good deeds?” The old nobleman used his silver-handled cane to lift the hem of Herzen’s coat, revealing the copper buttons of the Land Office uniform: ”Wearing state-issued attire and meddling in political prisoner cases, is this what you learned in the Privy Council archives?”

Arthur lightly tapped his fingertips on his cuff three times—a signal he used at Scotland Yard to remind colleagues to pay attention to body language.

He noticed a secret compartment under the vice-dean’s desk, which the old man had nudged with his knee when retrieving the Authorization Order. Now, having stood up, the compartment was slightly open, revealing the partial envelope stamped with the Constitutional Soldiers’ insignia.

”Come home with me!” Yakovlev tossed out a pass sealed with the double-headed eagle, tapping Herzen on the shoulder with his cane: ”Take it! Your transfer order, you are to verify the serf tax register in Liang Zan Province starting tomorrow.”

Here, the old man suddenly switched to German, sounding like a commander issuing orders: ”If you dare to mix with those Polish scoundrels again, I’ll bury your mother in the Lutheran cemetery!”

Yakovlev’s eyes were like an eagle’s, intently staring at Herzen until he saw his son bow his head in submission and leave the vice-dean’s office as instructed. Only then did the anger in his eyes slightly subside.

He turned his gaze to Arthur, his tone softening considerably: ”Sir Arthur Hastings?”

Arthur removed his gloves and extended his hand: ”A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Yakovlev.”

Yakovlev did not take Arthur’s hand; instead, he scrutinized the British Knight who had nearly embroiled his son in a dangerous situation, then firmly struck the floor with his cane, shaking his head as he said: ”You shouldn’t be fooling around with the young people, at least not someone as composed as you. Though young people like to play, this time they clearly overstepped.”

With that, Yakovlev turned and left the office without looking back, his low curses towards Herzen still faintly audible in the hallway.

It was a peculiar mix of Russian, French, and German; perhaps only close friends and family could understand what the old man was cursing about.

Unfortunately, Arthur understood as well.

”Do you think that Britisher is the Savior? The arsenic hidden in his cuff links is enough to poison an entire choir!”

Arthur’s fingertips paused on the carved chair armrest, he sighed with a wry smile, then calmly stood up, the hem of his black wool coat brushing the brass railing by the fireplace, as if wanting to stretch, yet seemingly trying to avoid embarrassment.

He had finally resolved to do something good, only to be immediately regarded as the weirdo inciting someone else’s son to rebel.

Although, looking at Russia’s reality, one couldn’t really blame them for saying so.

The vice-dean took off his glasses, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the lenses. This gesture continued for a full minute, until he saw Herzen’s family drama conclude, at which point he slowly and admiringly remarked: ”Your reputation has spread throughout Moscow lately, everyone says you are an impressive scholar, and moreover, the most knowledgeable about Russia among scholars. Duke Dmitry Golitsyn praises you to everyone, saying you can practically recite Karamzin’s ’History of the Russian State’ backward.”