The Shadow of Great Britain

The next day, Palmerston’s mouthpiece, The Morning Post, published a lengthy article, bluntly stating that the merger of the University of London with King’s College was an inevitable trend of history. It accused Sir Arthur Hastings, the Dean of Academic Affairs of the University of London, of resolutely resisting the University Education Act, disregarding British higher education, and being truly ignorant of the broader picture.

Although the public opinion tug-of-war between the University of London and the Foreign Office was still at a stalemate, Arthur now indeed had to set aside his verbal sparring with Palmerston for a while.

The afternoon street was illuminated by the rare London sunshine, and the cobblestones of Lancaster Gate glistened with a silvery white light.

The slow, silent clopping of horse hooves approached from afar.

It was a sleek black two-wheeled carriage with silver trim, the horses shining in the sun, and the carriage spotless without a speck of dust, elegant yet unobtrusive.

It came to a steady stop in front of the Arthur Mansion.

The coachman, in a gray wool uniform with a tall hat and reins in hand, glanced backward.

Following closely was an accompanying carriage embellished with the Hastings family crest. Inside sat Flora with her personal maid and an old butler who had served the Hastings family for years.

It could be seen that, although Flora was quite eager to meet her cousin, her traveling entourage was still set up in a traditional way. It suited the image of a noble lady yet wouldn’t spark gossip among the neighborhood.

In other words, she had actually loosened the standards quite a bit because, in Flora’s view, unless invited by one of Arthur’s elderly female relatives or attending a social event hosted by a court noblewoman, she would almost never visit an unmarried male’s residence without a married female companion.

Fortunately, Arthur still carried the questionable Hastings family bloodline, so Flora was able to convince herself to make this visit.

After all, they were relatives. Although she was not yet married, as the eldest daughter of the Marquis of Hastings, she indeed had the duty to maintain family ties.

Of course, whether there was such a saying in the aristocratic circles and whether Flora truly had this obligation, the pig farmer from York couldn’t tell.

Anyway, since Miss Flora Hastings felt since last night that she had this obligation, then she did.

The carriage door opened, and Flora, grasping the door’s handle wrapped in dark red velvet, stepped down.

It was clear that she had dressed with care today. Her attire was a dark blue traveling gown, with a cloak featuring a velvety texture, and her shoulders were embroidered with finely stitched silver iris vine patterns. She wore a wide-brimmed hat adorned with gray feathers slightly tilted like a soft veil.

As soon as she alighted, her personal maid stepped forward knowingly, gathering the sides of her skirt and slightly lifting the dark blue hem.

Having been notified in advance, Becky quickly informed Arthur and then opened the door, standing alongside the cobblestone path in the garden to welcome her.

She was so nervous she didn’t know where to place her hands.

Although friends often visited Arthur’s house, everyone knew that Arthur’s friends were mostly unruly characters.

Whether it was Great Dumas, Disraeli, Dickens, or Heine, Arthur’s friends were primarily from the middle class and paid no attention to guest reception formalities or travel etiquette. Most of them simply hailed a cab and rang the bell immediately upon arrival. Sometimes, with nothing better to do, they would come in groups to eat and drink for free.

Of course, Arthur also had quite a few meticulous friends, such as Lionel Rothschild and others. Whenever these acquaintances came to visit, they always made appointments in advance and were rarely late. But when they came, it was usually to invite Arthur for hunting or cricket, so Becky hardly needed to serve them.

By this point, everyone roughly identified the problem.

That is, most of Arthur’s friends were male, and his female friends from the Bluestocking Society only met him at regularly held scientific salons, never visiting his home.

Therefore, Becky had almost no experience in entertaining female guests; in fact, at the time, it was rare for women to visit male friends alone. Let alone an unmarried noblewoman, who was the most troublesome. Nominally visiting alone, but in reality, they had to bring a large entourage to avoid suspicion.

Becky had no idea how to entertain her or how to settle her entourage.

Standing on the path, Becky repeatedly wiped her hands on her apron to make her fingers, reddened from the morning’s house cleaning, look less improper.

Flora approached slowly, glancing at the domestic maid’s actions with more than just a passing interest.

Feeling anxious under her gaze, Becky quickly bowed, saying, ”Miss Hastings, you... please, please come in.”

She expected Flora to pause, waiting for her to fully open the entrance door, or lightly cough to signal dissatisfaction.

Indeed, she hadn’t spent time at the Household Association in vain, having heard from housekeepers there about the prowess of court ladies, who could direct servants with mere glances, occasionally reprimanding them—a phrase like ”Did your mother teach you to serve tea like this?” enough to make the kitchen maids cry all day.

At this thought, Becky felt completely frozen.

”Don’t be nervous, girl, I’m just here to visit a relative, not to inspect household affairs.”

Becky paused, looking up to meet Flora’s eyes filled with a smile.

She nodded hastily, her voice trembling, ”Yes, Miss, thank you for your kindness.”

Arthur was descending from the stairwell just then, casually placing the book he held on a side table, greeting with a smile, ”Flora, how’s George these days? It’s been a while since I visited him.”

”Dear, all is well, thank you for your concern.” Flora paused in the entryway without rushing inside, slightly turning back to wait for the old butler before following Becky into the drawing-room.

Arthur pulled out a sofa chair with burgundy velvet cushions for her, while Flora gracefully removed her cloak and handed it to a maid to hang on the coat rack.

During this interlude, Arthur also took his seat.

He casually lifted a teapot, pouring two cups of tea: one Earl Grey, the other Bai Hao Yinzhen steeped with dried rose petals, predictably pushing the latter towards Flora.

Flora glanced at it but didn’t verbally express thanks, merely sipping from her cup, which eased the crease of worry on her brow from the past month.

”Arthur,” Flora holding her teacup began with slight concern, ”have you been unusually busy lately? George mentioned you haven’t gone hunting with him for two months, even Aunt Margaret started wondering if you had gone abroad.”

Arthur gently returned the teapot to the silver tray. ”I wouldn’t say abroad, though I’ve been hesitant to go out lately. I swear, even if I just stepped into a café near Downing Street recently, Palmerston’s lot would see it as plotting a coup.”

”Are you actually plotting a coup lately?” Flora raised an eyebrow, half-joking, ”And not wanting them to find out?”

”Not at all, I wouldn’t dare.” Arthur raised his cup in a small toast, ”I’m merely devising ways to appear as if I’m not plotting any coup, hence choosing to stay home, out of sight.”

Flora teasingly said, ”Isn’t staying home the most dangerous? Your friends constantly expressing novel political opinions or absurd ideas, I’ve even seen it in The Economist, how could you allow a member of the Napoleon family to serialize Napoleon’s Thoughts, it has been going on for months.”