SGB Chapter 273

## Chapter 273: Cottage Night Talk (5k2)

The wind howled through Hyde Park, whipping the trees into a frenzy. Rain lashed against the windows of the cottage, each drop like a tiny bullet, drumming against the glass. Inside, Arthur and his companions huddled around the fireplace, the flickering flames casting a warm glow on their faces, offering a sliver of warmth against the chilling atmosphere.

Dickens, sipping his hot tea, glanced at the tightly closed windows. “Why are the windows always shut when we come here? Don’t you need some ventilation?”

Arthur, flipping through a book, responded, “We have a vent in the house, don’t we? London nights are chilly, keeping the windows open would make us catch a cold.”

Disraeli, raising a finger, emphasized, “Arthur, haven’t you seen Dr. Arnold’s reports in all the newspapers? If you hang a canary at the top of your bed curtains, you’ll find it dead in the morning.

Dr. Arnold said that poorly ventilated rooms accumulate a lot of carbon dioxide, which combines with water in the air to form carbonic acid. Can you imagine your house filled with carbonic acid? Oh, it’s terrifying! It will eventually poison you!”

Arthur chuckled, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t know you were dabbling in chemistry, Benjamin.”

“Of course,” Disraeli, puffing out his chest, adjusted his collar. “A well-rounded individual should know a little bit of everything.

If you’re really cold and don’t want to open the windows, put a few bowls of limewater in the room. It will constantly absorb the carbonic acid. In the morning when you wake up, you’ll find some cloudy sediment in the bowls. That’s the culprit that’s been endangering your life.

Arthur, although you’re an electromagnetism researcher, I still suggest you read ‘Home Life Science’ more often, especially regarding chemistry and home health.”

Arthur shrugged. “Thanks for the recommendation, but I think I prefer reading the ‘Weekly Police Gazette’ published by radical writers to ‘Home Life Science.’ In my opinion, not understanding the former will at most make me sleep poorly, but not understanding the latter might cause the recently decreased number of police attacks to surge again.”

Disraeli tried to persuade him, “Hey, Arthur, I understand your thinking. You just look down on housework. I used to be the same as you. At first, I looked down on this magazine, thinking it was all for ladies to pass the time. But last time at the banquet, Mrs. Henrietta Sykes read this book with me, and I realized how valuable the content is. It’s not just helpful for ladies, it’s the same for gentlemen.”

“Oh…” Alexandre Dumas, who was reviewing manuscripts, perked up. “Look what I hear! Mrs. Sykes! Benjamin, I remember you’re twenty-six this year, so Mrs. Sykes should be around thirty-four to thirty-eight?”

Disraeli glared, “Alexandre, Mrs. Sykes is a very lovely and intelligent lady! She’s also a loyal reader of our ‘Britons’ and has often written to our editorial department. The reason I was able to smoothly enter the Tory circle was entirely thanks to Mrs. Sykes introducing me to Earl Lindhurst. I don’t allow you to make French jokes about her.”

Seeing Disraeli’s expression, Dumas shook his head at Arthur, “It’s over, it seems like another fool has fallen in love besides Charles. We’ve lost two of our main authors for ‘Britons’, what a huge loss!”

Arthur calmly took a sip of tea. “Alexandre, you should hurry up too. Benjamin has been placing a marriage advertisement for me in ‘The Times’ for a month. If you’re in a hurry, why not take your turn next month?”

Dumas contemplated, “Speaking of which, how effective is that fake advertisement you placed in ‘The Times’? Any response?”

Disraeli nodded slightly, “Of course there’s a response, not only is there a response, but it’s quite big. This month, we’ve received a whole box full of love letters.”

“It’s that good?” Alexandre was surprised. “I thought London ladies were very reserved. It seems that the reserve is only superficial. As long as they meet their criteria, they can be as enthusiastic as French girls.”

Arthur, interrupting, suddenly said, “It’s not just the ladies who are enthusiastic, the gentlemen are too.”

“Gentlemen?” Alexandre was startled. “Could it be that those love letters include…”

Before Alexandre could finish, Arthur cut him off, “None of my business, I’ve forwarded all the love letters to Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, untouched. Hopefully, the post office, considering the sender is Scotland Yard, can deliver the letters before the Beagle returns from its Brazilian expedition.”

Dumas nodded in agreement, “That’s a good solution. No matter how many letters, regardless of age or gender, Eld can handle them. After all, it’s rude if people write love letters to you, but you don’t even reply.”

Dickens, holding his teacup, sat by the fireplace, quietly warming himself. Hearing about love letters, he couldn’t help but think about his own pure white lotus, Miss Maria.

Looking at the fire, Dickens sighed with melancholy, feeling he couldn’t muster the courage to face Miss Maria with his current status.

Seeing his expression, Dumas couldn’t help but get angry, “Charles, I didn’t mean to discourage you. But if you want to pick up girls, you need to show some courage. It’s just a banker’s daughter! I thought you were interested in some princess!”

Arthur also encouraged, “That’s right, look at Benjamin. He still hasn’t repaid the seven thousand pounds he borrowed for his newspaper. Yet, this young man with a mountain of debt dares to pursue Sir Francis Sykes’ wife.”

Disraeli quickly denied, “Arthur, don’t talk nonsense. I do have feelings for Mrs. Sykes, and maybe we could have further developments if she were single, but now…”

Arthur shook his head, “Benjamin, if you think that way, Mrs. Sykes might get upset. Although their marriage is still passable, it doesn’t stop them from playing their own games.

Last month when I went to a Blue Stockings Society gathering, I heard them talk about Mrs. Sykes in private. Why do you think Earl Lindhurst readily accepted your introduction by Mrs. Sykes? Benjamin, your proud head should be a little smarter on this, you should be able to figure it out, there are things going on.”

Dumas nodded in agreement, “Yes, in French politics, clinging to a powerful lady can save you a lot of trouble. Ladies are always better at building connections and passing on information than gentlemen. Of course, it’s best if you’re truly in love with her.

Speaking of which, wasn’t Talleyrand, that old cripple, able to transform from a small son without inheritance or attention into a crucial figure who could influence France’s fate by clinging to skirts everywhere? Although Britain’s political ecology is slightly different from France, I think the principle should still be the same.”

“This…”

Disraeli, hearing this, suddenly blushed and coughed twice, “Of course I know that, Mrs. Sykes’ excellence is undeniable. I’m willing to do something for her, both to repay her introduction and her love for my ‘Young Duke’.

But I think being just a novelist isn’t enough to make her proud of me. If it were a few weeks ago, everyone might praise Mrs. Sykes for having a keen eye and discovering a promising young politician for the Tories. But now, Gladstone, that woodcutter, is stealing all my thunder.”

Arthur asked, “You don’t like Mr. Gladstone, I understand, but why do you always call him a woodcutter?”

“Why else? Because he really is a woodcutter!”

Disraeli said with resentment, “Can you imagine? A young man in his early twenties, graduated from Oxford, doesn’t gamble, doesn’t prostitute, doesn’t drink, and doesn’t have violent tendencies due to the decadent university life. His only hobby is chopping dozens of kilograms of firewood in his spare time.

Damn it! Why are there people like Gladstone in this world? Wouldn’t he be better off being a pastor? With his attitude and actions, he could definitely become the Archbishop of Canterbury. Why does he have to come to the Tories and compete with me on the same track?”

Dumas yawned, “Then why don’t you switch to the Whigs? Aren’t the Tories doing poorly now?”

Disraeli rejected it without hesitation, “Yes, the Tories are on the decline, but I will never stoop to joining the Whigs. Only a pure aristocratic party like the Tories suits my temperament. The Whigs seem like aristocrats, but they are still mixed with too much toxic smoke from factories and the smell of ink from the financial city!”

Dumas shook his head, “Young people are so casual when choosing their political affiliations.”

“Aren’t you the same?” Arthur responded.

Before Dumas could retort, Arthur, without giving him a chance, immediately asked Disraeli, “So, you insist on doing moral guidance at Scotland Yard just like Gladstone, is it because you want to compete with him, to prove that Mrs. Sykes didn’t make a mistake?”

“Of course, it’s very important.”

Disraeli replied solemnly, “I’m not a prominent figure like Earl Lindhurst, just being associated with him can make Mrs. Sykes look good. My advantage is my youth, youth means more possibilities. I need to prove to Mrs. Sykes that I, Benjamin Disraeli, am worth her all-in.”

At this point, Disraeli didn’t forget to encourage Dickens, “Charles, you’re the same. Ladies care about those few things. If we can’t score in wealth and status, then find a way to show your intelligence.

You can write such an excellent work as ‘The Pickwick Papers’, so your talent is at least on par with mine. Can a banker’s daughter be more difficult than Mrs. Sykes?

So you must succeed this time. Because if you fail in love and are humiliated, it’s not just you who will be insulted, but also the other best-selling authors of ‘Britons’ and ‘The Economist’, including but not limited to Benjamin Disraeli, Alexandre Dumas, Arthur Hastings, Charles Darwin, Louis Bonaparte, John Mill, and of course, Mr. Eld Carter.”

Dumas also laughed and nodded, “That’s right, if all else fails, go back and tell Miss Maria, ask her if she knows what will happen if she offends Mr. Carter?”

Just as Dumas finished speaking, a flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the window.

With a loud rumble of thunder, the flames in the fireplace swayed with the wind that rushed down the chimney. The lightning flashed by the window, and after a brief flash of light, the room fell into a silent darkness.

Dumas, clutching his pounding heart, took a deep breath, “I was scared, I thought I had angered some unclean thing by teasing Eld.”

Dickens was also scared, wiping the sweat off his forehead, “The wind is howling, the thunder is roaring, it always reminds me of the ‘Frankenstein’ that Arthur asked me to adapt.”

“Frankenstein?” Alexandre recalled instantly, “Oh, that work by Mrs. Shelley? I remember Arthur mentioned it to me before, saying he wanted to adapt it for ‘Britons’ and also submit it to London’s small theaters, to help ease Mrs. Shelley’s financial difficulties. She has to publish and organize so many of Shelley’s works, and she has to raise her children, life is really not easy.”

“Well…” Dickens said, “Alexandre, have you read ‘Frankenstein’? A scientist who wants to create life, sews together various collected corpses to form an eight-foot tall monster. Then, on a stormy night, lightning flashes and roars, and the stitched monster actually opens its eyes!”

Arthur, taking a bite of a biscuit with his tea, said, “Controlling lightning? That Frankenstein sounds like Mr. Faraday. Maybe when this play is staged, the appearance of Frankenstein can be based on Mr. Faraday.”

Arthur’s witty remark was met with silence, instead of laughter. The light of the fireplace illuminated their faces, but no blood color could be seen. Alexandre, Disraeli, and Dickens all turned pale, even their lips trembled slightly.

Arthur frowned, “With your weak bodies, you want me to open the windows on a stormy day? If you’re feeling unwell, go upstairs and lie down for a while. I’ll call you when the food is ready. But I’m warning you, my cooking skills are not as good as Alexandre’s.”

The Red Devil, wearing glasses, with a cotton slipper dangling, leaned back on the sofa, reading a book by the fire. He slightly raised his head and looked out the window. Pushing his glasses up, he shouted, “Arthur, I think they’re not feeling unwell, but scared by something outside the window.”

“Scared?”

Arthur stood up, put down his porcelain teacup, and looked out the window. On the dark street, behind the shadows of the trees in the night, a tall figure with a hunched back could be vaguely seen.

His back seemed to have a pustule the size of a mound, and a sharp, slender saber was stuck in his arm. As he took heavy steps, it seemed like pieces of flesh were falling off him.

Alexandre took a deep breath, the French fat man stared fixedly at the shadow, fumbling with the firearm in his hand, “My God! I didn’t expect my new gun to be fired for the first time against this kind of thing!”

Dickens was also terrified, “Is… is Mrs. Shelley’s book all true? Or is this monster created by Mr. Faraday?”

Disraeli also exclaimed, “Can’t the Royal Society learn some good things? Like studying air exchange and maintaining breathing, why do they do this kind of thing when they have nothing to do!”

The four men huddled together, scared to even breathe. Although they were prepared to fight, they still hoped that the monster would retreat and they could live in peace.

Seeing this, Arthur simply stretched, finished the rest of his tea in one gulp, and turned to walk out the door.

Dickens exclaimed, “Arthur, where are you going?”

Disraeli quickly grabbed the firearm in Alexandre’s hand and threw it over, “Even if you’re going, you have to take something to defend yourself!”

Alexandre directly threw the half-empty wine bottle in his hand, “What’s the use of drinking tea, this is what you need!”

Arthur just frowned and shook his head at the three of them. He gently turned the doorknob, the howling wind rushed into the room, blowing his neatly combed hair.

Alexandre and the others held their breath, and under their gaze, a pair of wet, sticky hands reached out from the door, with two letters stuck between the fingers.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your letters. But you see, this weather today, I accidentally fell into a mud puddle on the side of Hyde Park, my whole body is covered in mud, and my mailbag is soaked.

I’m sorry to say this, but would you mind checking the sender and address on the envelopes? If it’s correct, please sign for them.”

Arthur looked at the muddy postman, with his pants and backpack covered in mud, and smiled, “It’s alright, sir. Unfortunate incidents do happen in this kind of weather.”

Alexandre let out a sigh of relief, the French fat man slumped on the carpet by the table, “I was scared to death, I thought it was Eld’s ghost appearing.”

Arthur lowered his head, glanced at the envelope, raised an eyebrow, and said, “No, Alexandre, you’re right. Eld’s ghost did appear. This letter is from him, and of course, there’s an observer’s diary attached.”

(End of Chapter)