The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1768: Chapter 87: Hastings Worm

London, Covent Garden, Mr. Moore’s Café.

Darwin took a gentle sip of freshly brewed Jamaican coffee, then let out a slow breath.

In front of him was a small notebook filled with drawings of all kinds of exotic beasts, some drawn by himself, others by Eld. Ever since the end of the global scientific expedition, Eld hadn’t been idle, but Darwin was evidently even busier than him.

This author of the ”Beagle Voyage Diary” had just returned to London and was warmly welcomed by the Linnaean Society. Initially, Darwin held three botanical lectures there. But before he could catch his breath, the Royal Society came knocking at his door. The Duke of Sussex, the President of the Royal Society, had always had a keen interest in botany, so naturally, he wanted to meet the currently most renowned young botanist in Britain.

Although Darwin had learned from his correspondence with friends that his ”Beagle Voyage Diary” was selling like hotcakes in London, with readers of all ages enjoying his tales of global adventures, strange phenomena, and species encounters.

Yet, even though Darwin had mentally prepared himself before returning to London, he still hadn’t expected his popularity to reach such heights.

From the Crown Princess Victoria to the Duke of Sussex, and even to the illiterate patrons hearing tales from pub storytellers, everyone enjoyed his stories. And the most frequently asked question during this time was: Mr. Darwin, when will the ”Beagle Voyage Diary” be published as an independent volume?

The Duke of Sussex even privately told him: The day the ”Beagle Voyage Diary” is published is the day you are elected to the Royal Society.

The enthusiasm was so overwhelming that Darwin felt both touched and a bit of a headache.

Because Arthur had talked about the matter of independent publication in their earlier correspondences, but Darwin, adhering to a rigorous academic attitude, believed that before then, he must make certain additions, deletions, and refinements to the entire content.

In short, he didn’t want to do anything that could damage his academic reputation.

The ”consequence” of high standards and high requirements was that Darwin’s hair had fallen out considerably due to overworking late at night recently.

Thinking of this, Darwin couldn’t help but sigh, but then he recalled the encouragement from his readers and peers, so he drank his coffee in one gulp, and picked up his pen again.

Pain intertwined with joy—this was Mr. Charles Darwin’s life theme for the past week.

”Is that Mr. Darwin over there?”

”Seems like it, his head looks balder than it did a few years ago.”

”I remember Uncle Carter said a few days ago that his baldness was because he got bitten by a jaguar, which is an animal that eats hair.”

”Come on, Adam, why would you believe Carter? He never speaks reliably.”

”I heard from Dad that Mr. Darwin can now recognize the ancestors of beetles and parrots at a glance, Alan, do you think that’s true?”

”Whether it’s true or not, let’s test it out ourselves.”

It goes without saying, the two voices belonged to Officer Tom’s troublesome foster sons, Little Adam and Alan Pinkerton.

Or perhaps it’s now inappropriate to call them two little brats anymore, as Little Adam is thirteen this year and Pinkerton is already fifteen; they’re practically young men now.

After plotting for a while in private, Pinkerton suddenly pulled out an iron cigarette case he had sneaked from his father’s drawer.

Opening the case revealed their morning’s labor of love, four dead insects—a butterfly, a grasshopper, a sacred beetle, and a centipede. Without much ado, Adam attached the butterfly wings to the back of the grasshopper using a toothpick, while Pinkerton twisted the centipede’s body into an ”S” shape, inserting it into the hollow beetle shell, then added a pair of long legs and fake eyeballs.

They fiddled for quite a while, then packed this ”science monster” reminiscent of ”Frankenstein” back into the cigarette case, and nonchalantly approached Darwin.

”Hello, are you Uncle Darwin?”

Darwin looked up, his gaze falling on the two faces, first startled, then with a joyful smile: ”Adam? Alan? You two have grown so much! How is your father these days?”

”He’s doing better than ever; he’s a Police Superintendent now.”

”He manages many people, the poor Old Fagin’s legs shake like he’s dancing whenever he sees my dad.”

Darwin chuckled, shaking his head, and then moved the notebook aside, indicating the two could sit down.

He beckoned the nearby waiter: ”Please, two cups of hot cocoa.”

Despite the many papers and urgent letters awaiting his attention, Darwin was willing to set everything aside for now and focus on these two young men before him.

Years ago, when he first met these two children, Adam was so skinny he looked as if he would topple at any gust of autumn wind, while Alan, though slightly better, wasn’t much stronger and spoke with an unclear heavy Glasgow accent.

But five years later, Pinkerton now stood tall, looking almost as tall as his adoptive father Tom, and though his hair retained that Scottish hard black characteristic, under a dark grey woolen jacket, this lad might be quite the handsome fellow if he chose to tidy himself up.