The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1780 - 92: Lend a Brother a Hand for the Sake of Our Shared Name, Hastings!

Perhaps it was because it was the first meeting between the two and they were not well acquainted with each other.

Therefore, the topic of conversation naturally started with reminiscing about the ancestors of the Hastings family. Fortunately, Arthur had a solid foundation in history, and several ancestors of the Hastings family were noteworthy figures in British history, so the conversation flowed smoothly without any awkward pauses.

In fact, Arthur politely corrected this "distant cousin" he met for the first time on a few historical inaccuracies about their ancestors.

The wood in the fireplace crackled, and the servants timely served tea and delicate French cream pastries.

The Marquis of Hastings raised his hand to point at the portrait above the fireplace. It was an oil painting of a middle-aged military man, holding a saber and dressed in a red and blue uniform, with a blue ribbon symbolizing membership in the St. George Knight Order draped over his right shoulder.

"This is how my father looked during his tenure in India." The second Marquis finally spoke, with a touch of reluctant pride in his tone, "When this portrait was painted, he had just won the battle of Pashimgar and had not yet faced impeachment by the gentlemen sipping tea in London."

Arthur acted casually and smiled, "Your father was indeed an extraordinary man, waging battles from North America to India, from the Ireland Parliament to the House of Lords in London, and then to the Governor’s Mansion in Calcutta. When I was a child in York, the elders would occasionally talk about the nobility, and it was such characters they mentioned."

"My father..." The Marquis’s eyes slightly moved, "He was the last of his time who could be disliked by both the Whig and Tory parties while riding a horse."

Arthur chuckled lightly, "I think such an evaluation actually proves that he was on the right side, a man devoted to the public. I heard that the old Marquis’s legal battle in India lasted almost five years. Although he ultimately retained his reputation, after that, he seemed to have little desire to return to the political scene. Even though George IV appointed him as the Governor of Malta, everyone knew it was just a place for him to retire in peace."

"He was weary." The Marquis replied coldly, lifting his teacup without drinking, "He felt that he had spent his life serving Britain, only to be met with the suspicion of his colleagues and the cold gaze of Parliament. After that trial, he never set foot in St. James’s Palace again."

Arthur softly said, "But his prestige in Ireland remains to this day. There are many veterans of Irish descent at Scotland Yard who, when speaking of your father, almost describe him in a saintly reverence."

The Marquis shook his head slightly, "But what of it? Once this generation is gone, few will remember his achievements and virtues. I don’t wish to criticize my countrymen, but you know, the English are always forgetful."

At this point, the Marquis suddenly changed the subject, "I’ve read several reports about you. The gunshots beneath the Tower of London, the arrest operation at Golden Cross Station, Officer Robert Cali’s memorial service... I hear from Flora that you helped edit Princess Victoria’s deeply moving eulogy?"

"It was merely a matter of chance." Arthur replied modestly, "I just did what was necessary, and it happened to be written up in a rather sensational way by the reporters."

"Is that so?" The Marquis put down his teacup, smiling, "To be honest, every time I read those reports, I feel that God might be favoring us too much. No matter the era, there’s always one or two Hastings under divine protection, turning danger into opportunity and achieving great feats. In the previous generation, the one favored was my father. And in this generation, it’s quite obvious that person is you."

Arthur listened to this, unmoved, and smiled quietly.

He lowered his head slightly and stirred the cube of sugar in his teacup with a silver spoon, "George, you’re too kind. I don’t believe I can compare to your father or Uncle Francis. I am merely a countryman who happened upon a tumultuous time. If there is anything that sets me apart from others, it is simply a bit more luck."

The Marquis heard Arthur finally change the subject and instead of being annoyed, he relaxed, "However, Arthur, you must admit that for a person to succeed, luck is indispensable. Often, luck is even more important than strength. You did not fall that night at the Tower of London, and my father did not fall at the Battle of Bunker Hill. Because of that, you both had the chance to showcase your talents. But our cousin Frank, he wasn’t so fortunate."

"Frank?"

"Yes, Frank Aberni-Hastings, son of Sir Charles Hastings. You know of their father and son, don’t you?"

Arthur recalled briefly and remembered who this person was.

Sir Charles Hastings, an Army Major General, his mother was Miss Rennie, a famous 18th-century Parisian socialite, and his father was the 10th Earl of Huntingdon, the first Marquis of Hastings’ uncle.

With this said, you probably now understand the situation. Yes, Charles Hastings was the illegitimate son of the 10th Earl of Huntingdon and his only son.

And Charles Hastings’ son, Frank Aberni-Hastings, was actually an acquaintance of Arthur, who he had never met before.