SGB Chapter 253

## Chapter 253: The Secret of Styria (4K8)

The Scotland Yard prison cell, Louis Bonaparte’s solitary confinement.

Whitson, Arthur, and Louis Bonaparte sat together around a small table, a bottle of wine and a plate of steamed potatoes with a small dish of salt for dipping.

Louis Bonaparte picked up the half-empty bottle of wine, glanced at the label, and exclaimed in surprise, “Isn’t it a bit extravagant to pair Lussac wine with potatoes?”

Arthur, sitting on a stool, peeled potatoes and replied, “Nothing too extravagant. It was a gift anyway. Besides, the original owner of this wine may not have liked to pair it with anything too delicious when he was tasting it.”

Louis Bonaparte asked, “Who are you referring to as the original owner?”

Arthur dipped a potato in salt and threw it into his mouth, “The Duke of Wellington, Arthur Wellesley. I visited his manor a few times, and every time I saw him pairing cold roast meat with all kinds of high-end wines. I even specifically asked him why he didn’t eat hot food. The Duke told me that it was a habit he developed during the Iberian War. Due to urgent marching tasks and the need to arrange all kinds of things, he often only ate one meal a day. And whenever he finished his meeting with his staff, the prepared meals were already cold. So he would eat cold meat with fine wine, and after eating for a long time, he actually grew to like this taste.”

Whitson, intrigued, asked, “So when you went to visit, did the Duke of Wellington serve you cold meat too?”

Arthur shook his head, “Not really. The Duke couldn’t possibly be oblivious to the etiquette of hosting guests. Even if he didn’t care about these things, the butler would arrange everything for him. When I went to the London No. 1 Banquet with Alexander, the Duke of Wellington served us a pretty rich meal. Let me think… roast veal with sweet orange, anchovy sauce drizzled over fried sole, roast squab and lark, a bowl of thick Windsor cream soup, braised beef rump, turtle soup, and raisin pudding.

Oh! The Duke of Wellington also has an Indian chef. He brought him back from India during the Second Maratha War when he was young. The chef’s skills left a deep impression on me. The taste of his curry was simply incredible. I even specifically asked him for the recipe. You can also write it down and try making it at home. 8 ounces of turmeric, 4 ounces of coriander seeds, 2 ounces of cumin powder, 2 ounces of fenugreek seeds, plus half an ounce of chili. As for the indispensable onions and garlic in curry, add them according to your personal taste.

Oh! And lemon juice for sourness. Remember not to add too much. The Indian chef told me that using lemon juice for sourness is actually a British misconception. Authentic Indian curry uses a blend of tamarind, sour apple, bitter gourd, and mango to add sourness. However, since the variety of spices in Britain is simply too scarce, even he, the most authentic Indian, couldn’t perfectly replicate the original flavor of Indian curry.”

Louis Bonaparte, hearing this, his stomach grumbled. He could only grab a potato and dip it in salt to satisfy his hunger.

Seeing his state, Arthur took out half a loaf of bread wrapped in newspaper from his bag and placed it on the table. He then picked up the small table knife and inserted it into the crust of the bread.

Arthur pushed the bread and newspaper towards Louis Bonaparte and said, “My lunch today. I stuffed some ham in it. It’s also considered a British specialty.”

Louis Bonaparte stared at the ham bread for a long time before looking up at Arthur and asking, “So you’re not eating lunch today?”

Arthur pinched a small potato with his two fingers, “I’m almost full from this. So please, Mr. Bonaparte, you have been subjected to some misfortune by being brought here. But please understand, we are merely enforcing the law, not targeting you or your family. Military matters are not our responsibility.”

Louis Bonaparte, hearing this, nodded while cutting the ham bread with a table knife, “I understand that. But at least you have to tell me when I can be released?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair, chewing on a potato, “It should be soon. I heard that a lady claiming to be your mother arrived from overseas yesterday, bringing along your identity documents. Your uncle, Joseph Bonaparte, accompanied her to the Foreign Office this morning. I believe your passport will be issued soon. The day your passport is ready will be the day you are released.”

“My mother?” Louis Bonaparte’s face turned pale, even the table knife in his hand fell on the table. “She… where did she come from?”

Arthur, who had already thoroughly investigated him and his mother, said calmly, “According to the information I have obtained, she came from Rome. After your mother learned that you and your brother secretly went to Rome to participate in the Carbonari uprising, she was frantic and immediately set off from Switzerland to get you two back. But she searched for you amidst the war in the war zone, but she couldn’t find you two. It was your uncle who sent her a message, and she learned that you were arrested in London. So she rushed over from Rome to take you back. However…”

Arthur paused, “Your mother, the beautiful Hortense de Beauharnais, has been asking our Foreign Office these past few days if they have seen your second brother, Louis II, the former King of Holland. I came to see you today precisely to ask you for an answer.”

Louis Bonaparte, hearing this, felt his heart rise to his throat. He trembled, his upper and lower lips chattering. After a long silence, he finally confessed, “I… my second brother, he… he contracted urticaria during his escape and died in Fowlers…”

Arthur’s eyes widened, “This… I’m sorry to hear that. But I think it’s better for you to tell your mother personally, because I guess there are many stories involved. Mr. Bonaparte, do you need me to arrange a meeting with your mother this afternoon?”

“No!” Louis Bonaparte quickly stopped him, “You… Scotland Yard, just keep me locked up for a few more days. I… I need to think carefully about how to explain this to my mother.”

Arthur nodded slightly, patted Whitson on the shoulder, and motioned for him to get up with him, leaving Louis Bonaparte alone to calm down.

Whitson seemed reluctant, he comforted, “Louis, if you feel down, you can always talk to me. Of course, you can come alone. I… I live next door to you. It’s the same after you go out, we’re neighbors.”

Arthur took Whitson out of the cell, not forgetting to remind him before leaving, “If you need anything, just call the guards here. As long as it’s not too excessive, we’ll try our best to fulfill your request.”

With that, he closed the cell door.

As soon as they walked out, Arthur took a long breath. He turned his head and saw Whitson holding several manuscripts under his armpit. He couldn’t help but be curious, “What’s that?”

Whitson was still thinking about his new friend’s situation, and he replied absentmindedly, “I’ve been locked up here these past two days. Since I had nothing to do, I just finished writing up the papers for the experiments I’ve done.”

“Is that so? Can I take a look?”

“Go ahead.”

Arthur took the manuscript and glanced at it. It was all in French.

If it were half a year ago, Arthur wouldn’t have been able to understand it. But because of the temptation of the first edition of *The Human Comedy* in French that Vidocq brought to Alexandre Dumas, plus Dumas’s intensive tutoring for more than half a year, Arthur’s understanding of French had gone far beyond the common curse word.

What was even more fortunate was that since Arthur’s French teacher was a well-known 19th-century keyboard warrior, his mastery of political vocabulary was unmatched by ordinary beginners. This also helped him understand the manuscript in his hand.

Arthur flipped through the manuscript and said, “Charles.”

Whitson was startled, “What’s up?”

Arthur looked up and asked, “Do you want to be exiled to Elba or St. Helena?”

“Exiled?” Whitson was startled, “Arthur, are you getting more and more outrageous?”

“No, Charles, it’s not me who’s outrageous.”

Arthur pointed at the title of the manuscript and asked Whitson, “Take a look, *Political Dreams*. Charles, are you telling me that the experiment you did was to establish the First French Empire? If that’s the case, according to the principles of British case law, we have ample theoretical basis to exile you to those two small islands.”

Whitson finally realized, “This isn’t my manuscript. Damn, I must have taken the wrong one. This is Louis’s.”

Arthur handed the manuscript back and shrugged, “Then you can give it back to him when he’s in a good mood. And suggest that he change the name of this unfinished manuscript. For example, something like *Make France Great Again*. It’s much more inflammatory than *Political Dreams*. Well… I think Alexander, the fat guy, will definitely fall for it.”

“Fall for it?” Whitson raised an eyebrow and asked, “You mean Louis is a liar?”

Arthur just smiled, “Liar, not really. If he were a liar, it would be relatively safe. What worries me most is that he may actually believe it himself.”

Whitson, hearing this, just shook his head. He remained noncommittal about Arthur’s words.

Whitson, who had a strong sense of self-management, consciously returned to the cell, leaving behind only one sentence, “It’s too complicated. I guess I’m not suitable to be the president of the Royal Society. I’ll just do some research that I like.”

Arthur didn’t object to Whitson’s opinion. He stood there, ready to leave, but Agareus, who had been standing behind Arthur and fiddling with the pipe, couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“Ah! Arthur, don’t say that. You have to know that in most cases, the leader of a group is usually just a ringleader, but his role is not to be underestimated. Leaders usually have a strong and lasting willpower, which is an extremely rare and powerful quality that can conquer everything. In other words, only the most extreme people can become leaders. But even so, so-called leaders are often led at the beginning. They are first hypnotized by theory, and then they want to teach this theory to others. It’s passed down from generation to generation, and it’s been like this for generations.”

Arthur, hearing this, just lit a cigarette and took a puff, “Are you talking about Jesus?”

The Red Devil, standing behind Arthur, heard this and his smile became even brighter, “Oh, my dear Arthur, you’ve finally gotten to the point. You’ve probably felt it too, right? Whether it’s religious, political, or religious-political, the essence of human leaders has been the same for thousands of years.”

Arthur turned back and glanced at him, “No wonder you, a devil, don’t talk about religion much. I have to say, you, an old salesman from hell, are quite adaptable to the changing times.”

The Red Devil took off his hat and thanked him, “Thank you for the compliment. But speaking of which, have you ever considered building your own papal state?”

“Papal state? You might have found the wrong person.” Arthur pointed at Louis Bonaparte’s cell, “The one who can build a papal state is sitting in there.”

…

The Scotland Yard Superintendent’s office. Rowan, the Superintendent, who had just finished his lunch, leaned back in his chair and read a letter from the Tory Party’s headquarters, the White Club.

Knock knock knock.

“Come in.”

Rowan looked up and saw Arthur entering. He couldn’t help but smile, “Arthur, I don’t know how you did it, but you did a great job. Sir Peel just sent a letter. Bernie Harrison is willing to drop the lawsuit against Scotland Yard. However, he has a small request.”

Arthur, hearing this, said, “He probably wants Scotland Yard to stop investigating the murder case while he withdraws his lawsuit?”

“That’s right.” Rowan leaned back in his chair, “So it seems like you’ve caught his tail?”

“The evidence I have in hand currently can’t nail him, but it’s enough to make him get into trouble. The information obtained by the London Police Intelligence Bureau, although it can’t prove his guilt, can make the Tories lose confidence in him.”

Rowan nodded, “I’ve seen the case leads you submitted. Whether it’s Marsh’s arsenic test or that paper on using hair for post-mortem examination, they are both highly practical and creative. And I recently got hold of something interesting. If we release these newspapers and the news of the murder together, then it won’t just ruin Harrison’s political career, but also his perfume and cosmetics business.”

With that, Rowan slid several clippings across the desk to Arthur.

Arthur picked up those clippings and saw that they were all advertisements for arsenic-containing cosmetics, published by Harrison’s cosmetics company.

——For a long time, people have given arsenic all kinds of terrifying descriptions. While ladies are fascinated by various whitening cosmetics, they are also wary of its toxicity. But when Mr. Harrison traveled to Austria a few years ago, he discovered a group of villagers in the Styria region of Austria who ate “poison” as food. Villagers from other nearby areas often mocked them as people who ate rat poison.

——With curiosity, Mr. Harrison lived in this village for several days. He was surprised to find that these villagers ate small doses of arsenic almost every day. They sprinkled arsenic on bread or lard as a seasoning. According to Mr. Harrison’s calculations, the amount these villagers accumulated in a week had long exceeded the lethal dose. However, not only did their bodies not have any problems, but they were all rosy-cheeked, the men were strong, the women were plump, and even their sexual abilities were enhanced. And judging from the young men who crossed the threshold of the Styrian villagers’ homes to propose marriage, this was no exaggeration.

——Mr. Harrison also interviewed a local milkmaid. According to this lovely and charming lady’s self-account, she was initially scared by the trend of everyone taking arsenic. But later, by chance, she also started following the trend. After a few months, she became plump and round, the kind of woman suitors wanted. But when Mr. Harrison, who had completed his Mediterranean tour, returned to the area a few months later, he discovered that the lady had unfortunately passed away.

——That’s right, taking arsenic in moderation can enhance one’s charm, but excessive consumption can lead to a beautiful death. Mr. Harrison conducted a long-term follow-up investigation and finally found the balance point between human health and beauty! Eight years of follow-up research, dozens of pharmacists’ comprehensive verification, the latest masterpiece of cosmetics tycoon Bernie Harrison!

——Please allow me to introduce to you, the best product of Bernie Harrison Cosmetics and Pharmaceutical Company in 1831. Feel the rosy fragrance from the Mediterranean coast, master the secret of the Styrian villagers’ baby-soft skin, the biggest discovery in the field of oral health products for women this year—The Secret of Styria. Currently available at all major drugstores and cosmetics stores in London, currently selling for only 1 shilling per bottle. What are you waiting for? Come and unlock the beauty from the last century!

Arthur saw this and couldn’t help but mutter, “He’s taking money from women and wants to take their lives too. Mr. Harrison has a cruel heart.”

Extra chapter will be released at midnight. Come back and check it out tomorrow.

(End of Chapter)