SGB Chapter 280

## Chapter 280: Brothers Across the Seas (4k)

The sofa in the living room was occupied by Arthur, Disraeli, and Dumas, engaged in a strategic discussion aimed at dismantling Gladstone.

Disraeli’s clenched jaw betrayed his deep-seated animosity towards the newly emerged Oxford graduate. It was no surprise that the Tory grandees were enamored with Gladstone. His credentials and personality seemed tailor-made for their political sensibilities.

Eton and Oxford, a life of austere simplicity, a strong sense of public duty, a man who didn’t smoke, drink, or indulge in romantic affairs, even lacking a girlfriend.

Morally, he embodied a classic Calvinist, adhering to traditional conservative values. Politically, he endorsed the legal reforms introduced by Sir Peel, advocating for judicial fairness and famously proclaiming, “Justice delayed is justice denied.”

However, he also opposed parliamentary reform, the Whig Party’s proposal to grant Jewish citizens the right to vote and the inclusion of “non-conformists” into existing universities, a liberal reform he vehemently contested.

Strip away these last few statements, and Mr. Gladstone would undoubtedly be a popular young politician in Britain. But with those additions, his sphere of influence naturally shrinks. He transforms into a young politician who is disliked by Jews and non-conformists, yet still commands a vast following within the Tory Party.

Unfortunately, the three men sitting on the sofa today represented a complex mix: a Jew, a non-conformist, and, worse yet, a French literary giant who would never be swayed by any political slogan.

Disraeli slammed his hand on the table, exclaiming, “Arthur, do you see? Gladstone isn’t just targeting me; he’s targeting non-conformists like you. Taking him down isn’t just about me; it’s about justice for you and Alexander!”

Dumas, unconcerned, retorted, “Oh, come on, Benjamin. What’s that British saying? Don’t drape yourself in the flag to scare people.”

Arthur, sipping his tea, added, “In the East, we call it using a tiger’s skin to make a flag.”

Dumas nodded, “Oh? Is that so? Arthur, being with you is like learning something new every day.”

Disraeli, undeterred, asked, “Arthur, even though you agreed to my little play at Scotland Yard, I don’t think that’s enough to completely take down Gladstone. Those documents you gave me, I think they’re still useful. You’re right; attacking Lord Russell alone isn’t enough anymore. Maybe I should find an opportunity to publicly criticize Viscount Palmerston soon?”

As soon as Disraeli mentioned Palmerston, Arthur quickly raised his hand, “Benjamin, I just had a very in-depth discussion with the Viscount yesterday about the Polish issue and press censorship. While I agree with your desire to attack him, I think it’s best to hold off for now. Otherwise, not only will it bring trouble for “The Britisher,” but it could also negatively impact your campaign for the upcoming election. I’m sure you wouldn’t want the Whigs to focus all their fire on you, right?”

Before Disraeli could respond, Dumas, with a furrowed brow, interjected, “You met with Palmerston? Has his stance on the Polish issue changed?”

Arthur, evasive, replied, “Viscount Palmerston is also deeply concerned about the living conditions of Polish refugees, and he intends to take practical action for them. Yesterday, he told me he plans to visit Prince Adam Czartoryski, the leader of the Polish exiles, to see if he can help them resolve some of their problems.”

Pausing, Arthur turned to Disraeli, “That’s why, Benjamin, I don’t recommend attacking him on the Polish issue anytime soon. Otherwise, you’ll be criticizing the Foreign Minister one minute, and the next, headlines will appear about his concern for Polish refugees. You’ll become a laughingstock of British politics.”

Disraeli, breaking out in a cold sweat, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “My God, Arthur! I’m so glad I came to see you today. Otherwise, I might have actually run headfirst into a wall.”

Dumas expressed his doubts, “But… Palmerston says he wants to improve the treatment of Polish refugees. Are you just blindly believing him? Didn’t Benjamin say that man never speaks a word of truth?”

Arthur nodded, “Yes, Benjamin’s judgment is sound, and your doubts, Alexander, are also valid. Viscount Palmerston certainly won’t change his attitude towards Poland just because of my words. He’s just trying to put on a show. So, I just hope Benjamin can bring up his criticism of Palmerston in Parliament after he’s elected.

From my conversation with Viscount Palmerston, he’s not averse to using unconventional methods. If Benjamin were to criticize foreign policy as a commoner, especially after Palmerston just put on a show, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did something. After all, public opinion would be on his side. If he suddenly accused Benjamin of defaming the Cabinet, it wouldn’t be entirely implausible.

Don’t forget Bernie Harrison. Scotland Yard hasn’t touched him yet, not because we’re letting it go. It’s because Harrison, due to his involvement in funding the Polish Countess, is still in the public eye. After a week or two, when no one cares about him anymore, Scotland Yard can rightfully summon him to the interrogation room and focus on handling that murder case.”

Disraeli, understanding that he wouldn’t win this argument, changed his approach.

“It’s not wise to provoke Palmerston so close to the election. But making a splash in other ways is also tricky. I…”

Before Disraeli could finish, Arthur interjected, “Don’t worry, Benjamin. Besides the moral guidance at Scotland Yard, I have another opportunity for you to make a splash. Viscount Palmerston generously offered to provide job opportunities for Polish refugees yesterday. To prevent him from dwelling on the Polish articles in “The Britisher,” I told him our editorial department could offer a few positions.

Given Palmerston’s personality, he’ll definitely trumpet this in the newspapers. You, as our major shareholder and editor-in-chief, will also get some interview opportunities. And in the future, when you’re elected to Parliament, if you want to give him a hard time on the Polish issue, you can use your Polish employer status to speak your mind and tell everyone that the lives of most Polish refugees haven’t actually improved. It’s a win-win situation, why not?”

Dumas, upon hearing this, simply set down his teacup and sighed, “Damn! You’re a real devil, Arthur! It’s a shame you didn’t go into politics. British politics would be a lot more exciting.”

Disraeli, with a lingering sense of conscience, expressed his concern for Arthur, “But if I do this… Arthur, won’t you be in trouble? When I’m elected, I’ll be immune to Palmerston’s threats, and no one will dare to touch “The Britisher.” But you’re still working at Scotland Yard. Aren’t you afraid that Palmerston will come back for you?”

Arthur, unfazed, sipped his tea and leaned back on the sofa. “Benjamin, Viscount Palmerston is the Foreign Minister; he can’t reach into the Home Office. I know he’s close to the Home Secretary, Viscount Melbourne, but if I can make Melbourne see that I’m important to him, I’ll be fine for a while.”

Disraeli asked, “So you think you’re important to Viscount Melbourne?”

Arthur took a sip of tea and slowly shook his head, “Not yet. He’s just being courteous to me for Lord Brougham’s sake.”

Dumas, confused, asked, “Then where does your confidence come from?”

Arthur gave a soft chuckle, “Of course, it comes from Bernie Harrison and his good friend, Judge Norton.”

Arthur’s words left Dumas and Disraeli baffled. They couldn’t decipher what he meant. Just as they were about to ask further, a knock on the door interrupted them.

Dumas rose and opened the door. Standing before him was a young man dressed in a fitted tailcoat, a dark gray bow tie, slender, with a hint of melancholy in his eyes.

His face appeared slightly haggard, though he tried to appear cheerful. His weary demeanor was evident.

He looked at the robust Dumas, forced a polite smile, removed his hat, and asked in broken English, “Excuse me, is this the residence of Mr. Arthur Hastings?”

Dumas, curiously observing him, asked, “Are you French?”

The young man was slightly surprised, “Why do you say that?”

Dumas replied, “Because your accent is so strange. It’s almost identical to mine when I first learned English.”

The young man smiled warmly, “I do have half French blood. My father was French, but my mother and I are both Polish.”

Dumas laughed, “Really? We have something in common then. My grandfather was French, but my grandmother was a black slave.”

The young man politely inquired, “So… are you Mr. Hastings’ servant?”

“Servant? No, no, no. No one in this world could make me their servant.”

Dumas added, “Especially that French usurper, Louis-Philippe.”

The young man simply smiled wryly, “While I don’t want to disagree with you, I think you’d find that the Russian Tsar is even worse than the French king.”

Dumas, after a moment of thought, nodded, “You have a point. At least Louis-Philippe can be considered somewhat human. For Poland’s sake, my friend, come in. You seem like a decent fellow, and luckily, the Arthur Hastings you’re looking for is also a decent fellow.”

Arthur rose from the sofa and asked, “Alexander, who’s at the door?”

Dumas led the young man into the room and introduced him, “Arthur, this is… uh, I forgot to ask, who are you?”

Disraeli, unable to resist, quipped, “Alexander, thank God you have hands that can write “The Count of Monte Cristo.” If you were a doorman, you’d starve to death.”

The young man chuckled, “It’s not the fault of the gentleman next to you. I just didn’t make myself clear. I apologize for showing up unannounced. This is my card. Please accept it.”

Arthur first examined the young man, then took the card from him with a serious expression.

He lowered his head and scanned the card, which was plain and unadorned, with only a few short but useful pieces of information.

Frédéric Chopin

Learned piano at 6, composed at 7, performed at the charity concert at the Palace of the Radziwiłłs at 8, graduated from the Warsaw Conservatory, held a small concert in Vienna at 19. A young pianist.

Chopin, feeling a bit nervous, looked at Arthur, who remained calm. He wondered why Arthur had taken so long to read such a small card.

This made him regret coming here. If his life hadn’t been so difficult, his pockets so empty, and if he hadn’t needed to save enough for a ticket to Paris, he wouldn’t have visited a complete stranger.

Even though this stranger was well-respected, even the leader of the Polish exiles, Prince Adam Czartoryski, had praised the shareholder of “The Britisher.” Incredibly, this young Englishman, whose main job was as a Scotland Yard inspector, was also a pianist for the London Philharmonic Society.

Chopin’s eyes involuntarily drifted towards Arthur’s hands. When he saw those long fingers, his inner anxiety subsided, replaced by a flicker of surprise.

Those hands must have a twelve-octave range, right? It was definitely a prerequisite for the person who could write “The Bell.”

Just as Chopin was lost in contemplation, he noticed those hands move.

Arthur, with a casual gesture, tucked the card into his coat pocket and smiled, “Mr. Chopin, or may I call you Frédéric?”

(End of Chapter)