The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1805 - 104: Mr. Carter Always Has Surprises_2

Arthur couldn’t help but complain upon hearing this: "He really is meddling too much. No wonder Fleet Street draws cartoons every day to satirize him, saying he takes a feather as an arrow."

Satirical cartoon "The Duke of Wellington Walking in Hyde Park", drawn by Irish artist John Doyle in 1829

Compared to Arthur, who was hoping King William IV would now crown the Duke of Wellington with the title of "Princess Victoria’s Romance Advisor", thus relieving him from worrying about Lord Elphinstone’s affairs.

The Union Bill for the University of London and King’s College weighed heavily, and there’s worry over the crown prince potentially losing his succession rights.

For a moment, Arthur suddenly felt even Tsar Nicholas I’s image had become so amiable.

Arthur sighed and said, "Let’s not talk about this anymore, it’s meaningless."

Eld carelessly took the plate of bread slices Becky handed to Arthur: "Then what do you think is meaningful?"

"I don’t know either. Right now, I feel like there are two bulls in my head. One is called the University of London, the other Kensington Palace, and I’m caught in the middle, either getting trampled to death or tossed away."

"Doesn’t that mean you have no way out at all?"

"I don’t need a way out now, I need time. Even if it’s just letting those two bulls stop and catch their breath." Arthur thought about unsuitable solution plans, wondering if he was out of sorts or grasping at straws, he actually sought Eld’s opinion: "Do you have any good ideas?"

Eld stuffed the buttered bread slice into his mouth: "You’re asking me? I was going to ask you. After all, you’re the representative of the University of London, and if you’re not up to it, how could you expect me, a yet-to-be-hired third-class clerk at the Royal Navy Hydrographic Survey Bureau?"

"Hmm?" Arthur raised his eyebrows: "Is your matter settled?"

At these words, Eld couldn’t help but show a satisfied smile, lowering his voice: "Keep it low-key, although there’s no news yet, my uncle said it’s almost certain."

"Third-class clerk?"

"That’s right, in charge of external communication and data at the Royal Navy Hydrographic Survey Bureau’s compilation department."

Arthur, as an old hand in the White Hall political scene, knew from the name alone that Eld might have ended up with a confidential department this time.

He wanted to inquire about the department’s functions from Eld but was afraid this guy wouldn’t be forthcoming.

But as Eld’s old friend, he had his own method of extracting information from Eld’s mouth.

"External communication and data compilation department..." Arthur gently set down his teacup: "Sounds like a place for scribing documents. Your uncle wouldn’t be planning to stash you in some pantry, would he?"

"Pantry?" Eld snorted dissatisfiedly: "Arthur, how dare you belittle your dear friend and relative? The external communication and data compilation department, although it sounds like it handles scribbling letters, I have quite a few things to manage."

Eld counted on his fingers for Arthur one by one: "Think about it, all those sailing around the world, warring, smuggling, evangelizing, or wind measuring, whether they’re Royal Navy fleets, import/export company merchant ships, or even small patrol boats under envoys stationed abroad, as long as these ships are registered in Britain, they must, as usual, send nautical logs, meteorological records, and hydrological conditions to White Hall... What else is there? Coastal fortifications, port locations, new paint of foreign ships, which lighthouse shut down recently, all are written down clearly."

"And then all these data are summarized to you?"

"Yes." Eld grinned broadly: "To be precise, they are first sent to the Navy Department for registration, then transferred to us. We are responsible for categorizing, excerpting, and comparing with old charts, sometimes contacting stationed captains or diplomatic personnel to request supplements, retests, or annotations. Don’t underestimate this work, without noticing, you might stumble upon some big news."

Upon hearing this, Arthur finally felt relieved: "This is the best news I’ve heard in a while. Eld, I’m truly happy for you. When you advance in the Navy Department in the future, I might even need you to put in a good word for me."

"It’s a matter of just saying it, we aren’t strangers." Eld was already envisioning the bright future: "Once I accumulate some experience and contacts at the Navy Department, maybe in the future I’ll venture into Parliament, perhaps become the Naval Minister, I might even become Prime Minister."

"You? Become Prime Minister?"

"Why? Can’t I?"

"It’s not that you can’t, but if you become Prime Minister, where will Benjamin go?"

"Rest assured, I’ll leave him a position, let him become a Minister without Portfolio, a special advisor for Jewish affairs in the Cabinet, specifically managing the Israelites and Levites."

Eld, while chewing a slice of bread, blinked at Arthur: "But, speaking of which, your complexion today is indeed not right, not like simply being trapped by two bulls. What’s actually bothering you? Heartbreak? Or are you newly in love?"

Arthur remained silent for a while: "Eld, did you forget everything you said yesterday?"

"What I said yesterday?" Eld’s face suddenly paled, and the teacup he had just picked up nearly fell to the floor: "You... couldn’t possibly..."

Arthur’s face darkened: "Do you understand the seriousness of the problem?"

For a moment, Eld’s facial muscles froze, he tentatively spoke, his voice lighter than usual: "Listen to me, genuinely, I don’t remember what I said last night... If I said anything... I mean, if I really said it, it would only be drunken talk! Can’t be taken seriously!"

Arthur hesitated: "What are you talking about?"

"Stop pretending!" Eld covered his forehead: "Did I mention last night that while circumnavigating the globe, I almost got left at an Argentine local noble lady’s residence?"

Arthur thought Eld might reveal some big news, but in the end, he was still up to his old tricks, concocting fictional chatter about being popular with women.

"Eld, I’m not interested in your latest fling story."

"Arthur, I..."

"Enough, enough, I believe you, I believe you, can we discuss what’s next?"

Eld had originally feared the real story would come out, but when Arthur questioned his charm, he was suddenly agitated.

He glanced towards the kitchen where Becky was, making sure she wasn’t paying attention to his and Arthur’s conversation, Eld brazenly ripped open his robe, revealing a rose tattoo on his waist.

"You..." Arthur stared at the tattoo, taken aback for a moment, nearly cried out: "Eld, are you out of your mind? Why would you get this tattoo? Don’t you know White Hall’s attitude towards tattoos? If they find out, you can forget about even joining Scotland Yard as a patrolman, let alone being a third-class clerk in the Navy Department. Just this little rose is enough for them to file a declaration of unfitness against you."

Arthur’s words were hardly exaggerated because in 19th-century British society, tattoos were never considered a good way to express individuality.

In both upper and lower classes, people generally believed only slaves would leave tattoos on themselves as a mark. Even for non-slaves, such acts of defacing the body were considered something you would only find on criminals, prostitutes, or Gypsies.

Furthermore, for London citizens, the essential image of a gentleman included not just neat attire and restrained manners, but also unscarred and ink-free bodies.

Eld urgently gestured for Arthur to keep quiet, his face full of distress: "It’s not like I got it myself, that Argentine lady made me have it."

"Then wouldn’t you resist? Don’t tell me, you’re unable to handle a woman."

Eld looked pained: "Arthur, you know me, that night, I drank too much..."

Arthur slapped his forehead: "I wish it was Elphinstone who drank too much... Wait? Elphinstone?"