The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1813 - 107: Hurry to Lancaster Gate and Fetch Sir Arthur Hastings (Part 2)

"Your Highness!" Flora stepped forward and steadied her trembling hand, "Please calm down."

"I can’t calm down!" Sophia’s voice was already hysterically sharp, "How can I calm down? He’s my son! He’s the son of Garth and me! If this secret gets out... my whole life will be ruined! Everyone will say I’m dirty, despicable, that I seduced the King’s attendant! I’ll become a symbol of shame for the royal family! If my mother knew, she’d curse me from beyond the grave!"

Her voice suddenly stopped, as if something had gripped her throat. Her face showed a mix of terror and self-loathing, and her knees gave way as she collapsed onto the carpet.

Flora quickly supported her, helping her back to the sofa, and took a blanket to cover her trembling legs.

"Your Highness, please listen to me. Panicking is of no use now. You are the daughter of George III; you cannot lose control. Trust me, there is still a chance to turn this around."

"What chance?" Sophia sobbed, "I can’t even control my own son... He gets drunk and becomes loose-lipped, and he has a handle held by Scotland Yard... If he causes another scene, tomorrow my name will be in the newspapers! Those journalists will make caricatures of me, write satirical poems about me! Flora, I’m already fifty-six, I don’t want to spend the rest of my days being pointed at, being laughed at in operas by minor characters. Flora, I’m begging you, you’re so clever, you must know what to do, you must know..."

As she spoke, Princess Sophia slowed down, a glimmer of struggle appeared in her eyes.

Miss Flora Hastings took a deep breath, "You need someone who can reign in Fleet Street and make Scotland Yard comply."

"You mean Conroy?" Princess Sophia urged, "Quickly, have someone ready a horse to rush to Claymont Manor and bring him back to London overnight."

"No, no, Your Highness, distant water can’t quench the nearby fire," Flora explained, "Besides, even if Sir John Conroy rushes back overnight, it would still take time to smooth out the relationships, it’s simply too late. You need to find someone reliable who can manage the situation right here in London."

Princess Sophia nodded emphatically, gripping Flora’s hands tightly as if holding onto a life-saving straw, "Do we... do we have someone like that we can trust?"

"We do."

"Who?" Princess Sophia practically jumped out of the sofa chair, "Flora, who is it?"

Flora Hastings’s voice was very soft, as if afraid it would be carried away by the wind, "Sir Arthur Hastings."

"Arthur Hastings..." Princess Sophia hesitantly repeated the name, as if recalling something, "You mean the one who taught Victoria to write Shakespearean sonnets?"

"Yes." Flora nodded, "He once served as Assistant Commissioner at Scotland Yard, now he’s the Dean of Academic Affairs at the University of London. More importantly, he is the Chairman of the Board of the Empire Publishing Company, he’s quite influential on Fleet Street."

Sophia looked visibly uneasy, "I... I’ve met him a few times but don’t really know him. Victoria seems to respect him, but he... is he reliable?"

Flora paused slightly, "He’s my distant cousin."

Princess Sophia froze, as if not understanding the significance of the statement for a moment. It took a few seconds before she spoke slowly, "You say... Sir Arthur Hastings is your relative?"

"Distant." Flora added softly, "He’s from the line of the Earl of Huntingdon."

Princess Sophia gripped Flora’s hand tightly, "Can you... can you try? Go to him, ask him... tell him it’s me, begging him... I have no other way. Go tell him, as long as he can suppress this matter... silence Fleet Street, and prevent Scotland Yard from filing a case, having a trial, leaving a record, I can give him anything. Money, property, titles, collectables, nomination for the Order of Knights, anything within my power, even beyond my power, I can try to dispute for him..."

However, Flora shook her head gently and interrupted her in a warm tone, "Your Highness, you don’t have to promise these things hastily. Sir Arthur Hastings is not the kind of person who would turn back at the sound of gold pounds."

Sophia anxiously lifted her head, "But what else can I offer him? Other than these, I have nothing. Flora, are you saying he might refuse to see me?"

Flora smiled slightly, soothing her, "I can’t be sure he will agree to meet the Princess, but if you approach him as a mother, he will definitely come. My cousin has always had a special respect for those who have the courage to take responsibility."

...

The flames in the fireplace crackled, orange-red light reflecting on the ceiling, while the night wind from Hyde Park brought a fine rain against the window panes.

Mr. Eld Carter, just back from the Navy Department and finishing a day’s work as a Third-class Clerk, swung off his coat and hung it on the copper hook by the door.

It was indeed cold outside, but that didn’t stop this newly employed bureaucrat from shivering while complaining to Arthur, "I’m fed up with the Navy Department!"

Arthur put down his teacup and peered from behind the newspaper, "What got you so fired up, Eld?"

"You have no idea what I’ve been through today." Eld came to the table, poured himself a liqueur, and gulped it down, "I just got to the Navy Department at nine, hadn’t even warmed my chair, when a bald civil servant stormed in with a centennial tonnage chart, shouting at me: ’Mr. Carter, you didn’t shade this column light gray yesterday afternoon.’ I asked him why light gray, and guess what he answered? He said, ’Because that’s how the predecessor did it.’

Arthur lowered his gaze and took a sip of tea, "Seems they are quite loyal to tradition."

"Loyal my foot!" Eld rolled his eyes, "The work at the Navy Department is a constant tug-of-war over trivial matters; they have no idea what efficiency means."

Arthur yawned, "The Navy Department’s working hours are nine-to-five, yet most people are home by three in the afternoon, and you say they aren’t efficient? Come on, Eld, stop struggling. Once you master saying ’we’re studying’ and ’no conclusion yet’ to appease your supervisors, you’ll be considered qualified."

"I’ve already been doing that." Eld pulled out a chair and sat down angrily, "After lunch, I just wandered around from office to office. Only fools would sit at their desk and work wholeheartedly!"

"You’re not wrong, Eld." Arthur stretched lazily, "People who work diligently at their desks rarely get promoted. Those who roam the offices, at least they get recognized. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do any work at all. It’s about discerning what matters. Your energy is limited, and the work is endless. Those files you see at the Navy Department—tonnage charts, navigation manuals, supply plans—none of those are important. What matters is knowing who reads, who doesn’t, who changes, who delays, who is loud about reform in meetings but slips private interests into the reform discussions..."

Before Arthur could finish, a metal clanking sound echoed from the foyer, as if someone was gently knocking on a copper latch ring, the sound apparent between the wind and rain.

Arthur frowned slightly and listened for a moment.

"Your doorbell needs oiling." Eld clicked his tongue, "Sounds like a hoisting wheel grinding ropes at the dock. But in this damned weather, who’d come visiting? The postal worker? Or a newspaper boy?"

"Yes, who indeed?" Arthur sipped his tea and smiled slightly, "You know that no one should be visiting tonight."

Shortly thereafter, a clicking sound was heard as the door opened, and soon the sound of the maid Becky’s footsteps approached.

She wore a blue and white striped apron and had a freshly pressed headscarf, her expression slightly tense.

"Sir, someone from Kensington Palace is here, saying... saying there’s an urgent matter and they need to see you."