The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1727: Chapter 71: Does a Higher Rank Crush People? No, It Just Disgusts Them More! (Part 2)

”I know.” Arthur’s fingers gently caressed the porcelain edge of the teacup, he merely raised his eyelids: ”Louis is now in Britain, you certainly won’t be the only group keeping an eye on him. The Foreign Office, the Home Office, maybe even my old friends at Scotland Yard are getting involved. But don’t make it too obvious, this isn’t Paris, nor Saint Helena Island, this is London, a civilized society.”

Just as Arthur’s words ended, while the others had not yet reacted, the already accustomed Great Dumas was the first to notice the underlying issue.

He stretched his neck and asked, ”Arthur, what do you mean by this? Are you saying Paris is uncivilized?”

Disraeli seized the opportunity to interject: ”Come now, Alexander, the biggest difference between Britain and France is that we allow you to hold dissenting opinions.”

Originally intending to back up Great Dumas, Louis suddenly felt powerless to argue with Disraeli’s words, being a July Monarchy exile himself.

He certainly couldn’t claim that being exiled by Louis Philippe was voluntary, could he?

Louis couldn’t help but curse inwardly: ”Damn July Monarchy Government, damn Louis Philippe, all because of them, now I’m at a disadvantage in verbal sparring!”

Nonetheless, Arthur didn’t give Louis a chance to retaliate, he addressed the two clerks: ”My good friends, my dear August, where is he now?”

”You’re asking about Mr. Schneider?” The young clerk’s expression turned unnatural upon hearing his supervisor’s name: ”Our section chief today...”

The older clerk hurriedly interrupted his statement, his reaction as if terrified of leaking any news: ”Our... our section chief is... occupied with official duties today!”

”Occupied with official duties?” Arthur realized: ”Did he go play at Nightingale Mansion again?”

The moment those words were spoken, the room was so silent you could hear the crackling sound of wood in the fireplace.

The older clerk’s face instantly turned slightly blue, the younger one opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to explain something, but ultimately couldn’t utter a single syllable; he could only stand there dumbfounded, as though even the aged creaky floorboards beneath him were suggesting: ”Better flee while you can, kid.”

Sitting by the fireplace, Disraeli couldn’t help but chuckle, choking on the tea he’d just sipped and almost killing himself: ”Cough cough... alright, Arthur, spare them. They’re just following orders, all part of the job.”

Arthur unhurriedly lifted the teacup, took a sip, and spoke with a faint smile: ”True, all following orders. Alright, go back and write your report, it has to be precise, every word correct, but...”

Arthur placed the teacup down, the saucer jangled softly: ”Regarding what we discussed and did today, especially the meeting content with Mr. Bonaparte, I hope you exercise discretion.”

The two clerks exchanged glances, the older one instinctively wanted to argue but was interrupted by Arthur’s raised hand.

”I am not requesting, but expressing an expectation.” Arthur’s tone was gentle, yet the pitch was low: ”If you return and include this meeting in your report, your supervisors will find it troublesome, our friends will feel exploited, and I...”

Arthur deliberately paused: ”I will be very disappointed.”

The young clerk subconsciously adjusted his glasses, his lips moved slightly, yet dared not produce a complete rebuttal.

The older one appeared much more composed, after all, such situations aren’t particularly rare in White Hall; shortly after, he adeptly bowed slightly and spoke: ”Your Excellency’s reminder... we will handle it with care.”

”Very well.” Arthur nodded slightly, finally showing a hint of warmth on his face: ”What are your names?”

”Austin, George Austin.” The older replied promptly.

”Harold... Harold Bock.” The young man followed swiftly, his voice was soft but fairly smooth: ”Third-class scribe at the Foreign Office, just confirmed at the beginning of the year.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur lightly acknowledged, then smilingly spoke to Disraeli: ”Mr. Austin, Mr. Bock, very good. White Hall isn’t lacking in smart people, but those who are truly reassuring are rare. Benjamin, forgive me for being verbose, but I feel these gentlemen have promising futures.”

Disraeli, understanding the signal, replied: ”Sir Arthur’s vision is seldom wrong, if he says you’ll have boundless potential, then naturally I’ll also take note of your names.”

At this, Disraeli appropriately stood up, extending his hand toward the two: ”Benjamin Disraeli, glad to soon work alongside you at the Foreign Office.”

When the older Austin heard the name Benjamin Disraeli, the muscles on his face visibly twitched.

As a seasoned clerk at the Foreign Office, the London Gazette, publishing various official appointments, is his weekly must-read; and shortly before departing from London for Southampton, he clearly remembered the latest issue displaying Sir Robert Peel’s appointment of Benjamin Disraeli as the new United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland’s Foreign Office parliamentary secretary in the lower left ”tofu block.”

”I... I’m honored, Your Excellency, being personally introduced here is... surprisingly dignified. Please allow me to congratulate you, wishing you success in your upcoming term at the Foreign Office.”