The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1728: Chapter 71: The Higher the Rank, the More Oppressive—and Disgusting—it Gets!

The young Harold Bock was completely devoid of such cunning; his glasses slipped further down his nose, yet he remained oblivious.

At this moment, his eyes were even wider than they had been while reading the brawl news in the ”Morning Paper” earlier.

Bock seemed as if he’d been struck by lightning; of course, he knew who Benjamin Disraeli was.

The author who frequently published scathing editorials in ”British’s,” the eccentric novelist often criticized by ”Blackwood’s” as a ”Romantic narcissist,” the arrogant, scandalous, and ambitious young Conservative Party MP...

He... is now set to become the Deputy Minister at the Foreign Office?

Disraeli lightly shook hands with the two young civil servants; his grip wasn’t strong but exuded propriety.

”Mr. Austin, Mr. Bock,” Disraeli spoke in a leisurely manner: ”I have just been appointed as the Parliamentary Secretary of the Foreign Office, and to be honest, apart from my appointment letter, I’m quite unaware of this department’s inner workings.”

As he spoke, his gaze gently wandered between the two, imbued with a slight trace of sincere self-mockery: ”After all, my previous expertise lay in writing novels, running election campaigns, and... occasionally provoking the ’Blackwood’s’ magazine. But now I must delve into document piles and work alongside John Bickhouse; this prospect, to some extent, makes me feel apprehensive and worried.”

Austin hastily expressed his stance: ”Your Excellency is too modest. As for work matters, the Foreign Office has its regulations...”

”Precisely because there are regulations, I wish to quickly grasp its essence,” Disraeli interrupted him, his lips curling into a slight smile: ”I’ve always believed that the best way to understand a department is not through manuals or by visiting the lofty leaders, but by listening to the voices of those who deal with documents daily, racing against time, yet are often overlooked by the bigwigs.”

The young Bock spoke excitedly: ”Just like Robert Cali, the Chief of Police.”

Disraeli’s tone wasn’t condescending but carried a hint of amicability: ”Yes, like voices from ordinary people like Robert Cali, diligently serving; that’s what I need most.”

Bock felt a bit flattered, nearly blurting out: ”Your Excellency is absolutely right!”

Disraeli chuckled and continued: ”So... tonight I’ll reserve a table at the Red Lion Tavern on High Street. Although the place isn’t large, they do serve decent steaks. If the two of you are willing, join me for dinner, and let’s talk about the current state of the Foreign Office, the document processes, and... those who are trustworthy.”

”Your Excellency, we would be honored,” Austin quickly replied with no hesitation, intriguingly shifting from initial passive response to a somewhat tentative realignment.

After all, for these grassroots civil servants at White Hall, their promotions are far less rapid than those of high-born scions; such immediate progression dreams almost solely exist in fantasy. But who could have imagined? This dream might just be on the brink of realization. It’s not trivial for anyone to gain the attention of the department chief, and Disraeli is quite young; his future is promising.

”We... we will definitely be on time.” Bock, though slightly flustered, couldn’t conceal the streak of joy in his tone.

”Excellent,” Disraeli nodded in satisfaction: ”The time is around six-thirty. We can discuss while dining. But for now, I won’t disturb your official duties. Mr. Bonaparte dislikes having tails behind him; Mr. Great Dumas might include you in his scripts, while Sir Arthur will remember every word used in your reports. I suggest returning early lest you miss any ’new intelligence’ from Nightingale Mansion.”

With these words, Austin and Bock had no reason to refuse.

”Your Excellency is right; we’ll excuse ourselves now.”

Arthur nodded with a smile: ”Wishing you a pleasant afternoon, I won’t see you off.”

Once the two civil servants had left, the few remaining in the room exchanged glances.

Great Dumas was the first to be unsettled; reclining on his chair, he clicked his tongue: ”One playing good cop, the other bad cop; you performed steadily. The guy’s glasses nearly fell on the ground, yet you casually dropped a line ’I would be disappointed,’ speaking like a mother reprimanding her unworthy son. To be frank, you two should quit politics and come to Paris with me; I can’t think of anyone better suited for stage acting, not even remotely close.”

Disraeli rolled his eyes: ”No one better than us? That’s because you weren’t at Carlton Mansion that day, witnessing the Duke of Wellington and Peel playing me. That disgust you feel forced to cooperate in their play is repulsive, you know?”

Arthur, seasoned by his Russian experiences, found it commonplace: ”No wonder everyone wants to climb higher; an official just one rank higher can disgust people.”

The crowd laughed at this remark.

But Louis’s smile was a mixture of emotions.

He couldn’t help but recall three years ago when Arthur was always busy filing notes and reports, with Rowan repeatedly scrutinizing each case statement; ordinarily, revising three times was considered minimal.

As for Disraeli? At that time, this Jewish lad was feuding in newspapers, engaging in verbal spats, claiming he was close to becoming an MP, yet everyone ridiculed him, predicting he would undoubtedly lose if he ran.

And now?

Louis forced a smile: ”Two years have passed, and you’ve both found your paths. Meanwhile, I’ve come full circle.”

His words carried no resentment; instead, they had a confessional tone, gently self-deprecating.

Dickens was the first to offer comfort: ”Not every bearer of the Bonaparte name can forge ahead like this. Louis, after the Strasbourg incident, the fact that you’re here alive, seated, is already victorious over many.”

Arthur chimed in: ”In reality, the defeat at Strasbourg isn’t as catastrophic as you imagine. Haven’t you seen? Since your capture, newspaper coverage in Paris, be it from the Bonaparte Party, Republican Party, or Orthodox Party, all speak in your favor. Those who collaborated with you in the Strasbourg coup were sent to Alsace’s criminal court, yet the jury declared all defendants innocent, and the French public collectively applauded the jury’s verdict. Louis, I feel you might be adored by the French people more than you realize. Granted, this time you failed, but seldom do things succeed in one go; good things take time.”

Disraeli grinned mischievously and remarked: ”You returned with two friends helping drive away the Foreign Office’s small tail; while this doesn’t directly aid in restoring France, it’s a victory in a staged battle at least.”

Louis finally smiled, not entirely joyously but with warmth.

”I’m grateful to you all.” He raised his teacup to toast his friends: ”Without you, I wouldn’t know how to disengage from those two. If... I mean if you don’t mind, I might need to stay in London for a while longer.”

Disraeli was the first to clink glasses, his head shaking as he jokingly said: ”Stay longer? On behalf of the Foreign Office, I welcome this, but you should have Arthur inform the Home Office in advance, lest those old fogies see your name and assume a coup is imminent.”

Arthur shook his head: ”Forget it, after Robert Cali’s memorial, the Home Office is now utterly resentful towards me.”

Louis, being Arthur’s former police secretary, had profound insights into the intricacies within White Hall, coupled with his tenure at Scotland Yard, leading him to share the police officers’ contempt against the Home Office, filled with grievances.

Louis tentatively asked: ”You mean the one behind the desk? The Home Office’s permanent undersecretary, Samuel Phillips? Why does that old fellow resent you? Without Scotland Yard, the Home Office’s role in maintaining stability is virtually negligible!”

Arthur remained non-committal, gently replying: ”But Mr. Phillips doesn’t seem to think so. And, Louis, I suggest you refrain from expressing such radical views in public venues.”

”I’ll keep a low profile.” Louis chuckled lightly, his demeanor regaining some of its usual nonchalance: ”Compared to three years ago, I’ve matured a bit, haven’t I? I should learn from you, from Alexander, from Charles; before contemplating the next move, I must first calm down and write several autobiographical literary works for the ’British’s.’