Chapter 150: Why is it always Hastings?

Chapter 149: Why Is It Always Hastings?

In their offices at the Prime Minister’s residence, the Duke of Wellington and Sir Peel looked on as Arthur, who had received a transfer order double-approved by the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary, rose to leave.

The Duke of Wellington got up and went to the liquor cabinet and took out a small half-drunk bottle of sherry and poured a glass for both Sir Peel and himself.

He took a sip of the wine and nodded slightly at Arthur’s back, ”A promising young man, isn’t he? Only 20 years old though, and so insightful… I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with more university education. The University of London which lacks funding and faith can educate such talents, I wonder when the orthodox university King’s College founded by His Majesty the King and I will be able to give birth to such outstanding young people.”

Sir Pierre smiled and raised his wine glass, “King’s College was only founded last year, and its first graduates won’t be ready to graduate until two years from now, so you’ll have a long wait.”

Wellington suddenly asked, “Seeing young people always brings back memories. I was a cavalry lieutenant in the 12th Dragoon Brigade when I was 20. Robert. I actually didn’t want to go into the army at first, I love playing the violin and I only know how to play the violin.

But my mother thought that my youngest son was just too clumsy and would only grow up to be cannon fodder, so that’s why she got me to study Army Command at the Pinelore Military Academy. Speaking of which, what were you doing when you were twenty?”

“Me? That goes back to 1809.”

Sir Peel’s eyes filled with snippets of the past, “I had only just finished high school and college in Oxford, and I graduated with decent grades, first in math and literature, so my father paid for my seat in Parliament as a reward for my excellent studies.”

Hearing this, the Duke of Wellington seemed to recall something: “You went to high school in Oxford? Oh yes, I seem to have heard you mention before, Lord Byron and you are in the same class, right? It’s not easy for you to take the first place in the literature subject over him.”

Sir Pierre humbly said, “I’m just better at exams, it’s no big deal. And I only bested him in middle school, and when I got to college, he went to Cambridge and I went to Oxford. After graduation, I went into the House of Commons to spend my days attacking each other with people, while he inherited his father’s knighthood and went to the House of Lords, and had more time to delve into literature, and that’s when the gap between him and me became apparent.

But it does surprise me that you have such a high opinion of Lord Byron. After all, he was the one who wrote you off in that unfinished Don Juan ……”

The Duke of Wellington shrugged his shoulders slightly when he heard this, “If I were to compete with him all day long, then I would have died of anger long ago. Compared to what the Times gave me today, Byron is kind of a mouthful.”

Sir Pierre asked, “What did the Times say?”

The Duke of Wellington didn’t say anything, but just fished out the newspaper from his pocket that he had crumpled into a ball and threw it onto the table, “Read it yourself.”

Sir Peel unfolded the crumpled newspaper, and when he looked up, he saw the huge headline – “The Iron Duke: Arthur Wellesley

“The Iron Duke? Nice nickname.”

The Duke of Wellington rolled his eyes and drained his tall glass of sherry, “Yes! Without the following paragraph, I would have thought that The Times was still firmly in the business of kissing my ass.”

Sir Pierre froze when he heard this, then his eyes moved towards the content of the paper.

–The Duke of Wellington, it has come to the knowledge of this paper, that, overwhelmed by the protests of an enlightened public, the window panes of his home have been replaced several times during the present month, and that the frequent extra expenditure has caused Mr. Duke to run out of finances, and that in order to cut down on his expenses he has recaptured the wisdom of the time when he defeated Napoleon, and has furnished his house near Knightsbridge, with several sets of specially made iron windows for the ‘London 1’ Aspley House near Knightsbridge by constructing an impenetrable defense.

–The Duke of Wellington, Field Marshal of the Eight Nations, conqueror of the world’s conquerors, and nemesis of Napoleon, the tyrant of France, whose will was like iron, whose command was like iron, whose determination to oppose parliamentary reforms was like iron, and whose dead brain was more like a piece of rusty iron, even the windows of his house were now iron!

–Would that the Tories who follow in the footsteps of the Iron Duke had rags handy to wipe the spit of public scorn from his iron lump of a body in time, and only in this way would he not get patches of rust on his beautiful red uniform.

The Duke of Wellington could not resist a trifle of fire as soon as the rest of his eyes glanced at the paper: ‘Look here, Robert, what did I tell you before? The Times is a third-rate newspaper, and when your position is secure, he rushes to flatter you. When you’re in a good position, he’s all over you, but as soon as he realizes that things aren’t going right, he turns into a crusader for reform and starts shilling for the Whigs.

In this regard, he is even worse than the Guardian, at least the Guardian’s point of view has continuity, will not suddenly take a big step to turn, they still want to point of cheek. From a soldier’s point of view, a guy like the Times, who is on the verge of turning to the enemy, is far more irritating than a flagging enemy like the Guardian!”

Sir Peel tossed the paper into the trash can without humor, “So now you know why The Guardian can’t sell The Times?”

The Duke of Wellington muttered, “What’s the point of me knowing? Those marching idiots don’t know that! They probably don’t realize that what they’re doing is handing the country over to these guys themselves. Heh, let me step down, then I’ll do what they want, I don’t care to keep on with this mess anyway. My humble servant, Arthur Wellesley, is withdrawing from this open field.”

……

4 Whitehall Street. Director Charles Rowan sat in his chair, hands stacked ten-fingered over his mouth as he looked out over the empty conference room, no expression visible on his immaculate face.

The door to the conference room was gently pushed open, and Sir Richard Mayne, the Deputy Director holding the documents, walked inside the conference room and suddenly froze.

He swept the conference hall and threw his gaze back to Director Rowan, pressing his eyebrows and asking, ”Charles, isn’t there going to be a police conference today? How come you’re the only one left here?”

Director Rowan’s gaze drifted to Sir Mayne, who let out a heck of a laugh and leaned back, collapsing into his seat and speaking, “Yeah! I wondered why I was the only one left, too. Just who is the parent body, the Greater London Police and the Greater London Police East London Region, and why is the LPS on the payroll under the name of Scotland Yard when it is directly under the Home Office? Is the supreme officer of Scotland Yard Charles Rowan, or Arthur Hastings?”

Hearing this, Sir Mayne probably understood what was going on.

He gently placed the papers in his hand on his desk and walked over to Director Rowan and asked, “He’s got the Prime Minister’s orders again like he did in the murder and theft case that time?”

“Whoops! Not this time.”

Director Rowan grunted, “This time he’s even more capable, with dual orders from 10 Downing Street and the Home Office, as if the whole of Great Britain revolves around him. Since the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary feel that the order should be sent directly to our most promising young superintendent of Scotland Yard, why don’t they just remove me and directly put him in charge of Scotland Yard, wouldn’t that be better? Why bother with the extra work?”

Hearing this, Sir Mayne grinned good-naturedly and consoled, “Charles, almost enough. How can he suppress so many factions in Scotland Yard, cavalry and infantry, they are all soldiers, and only when you, an active army colonel, speaks, they can listen.”

“Yeah! The cavalry and the infantry can listen, but only we, the senior student of London University, can’t.”

Rowan looked up and stared at Sir Mayne as he asked, “Is it necessary to deploy so much police force for just a parade of a few hundred people? With this display, I thought the fucking French had landed on the Thames!”

Sir Mayne said helplessly, “Just wait for this bout to pass. The Tories are probably just a few months away, and as soon as the Duke of Wellington’s cabinet collapses, you’ll still be able to do whatever you want to him. Besides, even if you don’t move him, can the Whigs let such a young superintendent who has interacted too closely with Sir Peel sit here peacefully?”

Hearing this, Rowan couldn’t help but nod, “That’s right, Richard, you’re absolutely right. A twenty year old cub is on the verge of turning the tables in Scotland Yard just because he has overly socialized with Sir Peel. In order to show a little bit of sincerity to the Whigs, all of us old men who were dragged to Scotland Yard by Sir Pierre, we all have to be a little more careful!”

Sir Mayne also heard Director Rowan’s strings, he laughed, and then gently drew out the invitation hidden in the document.

“Charles, even if you don’t mention this to me, I intend to take the initiative to mention it to you. Viscount Palmerston’s side sent me an invitation to a dinner party, and asked me to ask if you’re interested in coming along.”

“Viscount Palmerston?”

Rowan seemed to recall something when he heard this name, and he sidled over to take a sip of tea, “Heh, I wasn’t going to get involved with him. Back when he was working for the War Ministry, those who knew him said that he launched into a frenzy like an overseer with a whip. It’s obviously easier to stay under Sir Peel’s hand than work for him.”

Sir Mayne was not annoyed at hearing this; he stooped and put his arm around his old partner’s shoulder, and whispered, “Won’t you go? Charles, my old fellow, I must warn you. Don’t say anything about a long time to come; it’s all a lie, and what there is in reality is all gone.”

A shadow clouded Director Rowan’s face, and he looked as if he were struggling a little. ,

Seeing him like this, Sir Mayne didn’t continue to persuade him, but calmly re-picked up the invitation and documents and turned around to go out.

However, before he could walk out, he heard Director Rowan’s voice suddenly ring out, “Time, place?”

Sir Mayne turned around, and his smiling face met Director Rowan’s slightly narrowed eyes.

“This Sunday, the Ormac Restaurant, Viscount Palmerston’s personal private dinner, and you may bring your lady. But it’s best if you don’t, because you know, Charles, the last thing the Olmac Club needs is glamorous upper-class gentlemen and pretty young ladies with tons of energy.”

Hearing this, Director Rowan lifted his teacup and looked out the window, “The Ormac Club, upper class indeed. I hadn’t thought that someone like myself, who combines the rude status of both a soldier and a policeman, could have the opportunity to enter and exit such an upper class social place. Viscount Palmerston, heh, Cupid from Ireland, using such a nickname to describe him is indeed apt.”

(End of chapter)