## Chapter 118: A Pie from the Sky
The grand hall of the Greenwich Police Station was buzzing with activity. Arthur Hastings and Alexandre Dumas stood side-by-side on a makeshift podium constructed from two desks, facing a carefully curated group of journalists.
Arthur had applied the standard procedure of the Home Office and Scotland Yard to filter the press. Only newspapers that were legally registered and paid their stamp tax, with a fixed office address, were deemed legitimate.
As for selecting which journalists could ask questions, Arthur had his own system. Only reporters from newspapers headquartered within Scotland Yard’s jurisdiction, or more specifically, from Fleet Street in London, were allowed to participate.
This wasn’t because Arthur disliked the various tabloids that thrived on the streets of London. He genuinely believed they were the soul of London’s journalism. However, he also understood that these tabloids, in their pursuit of sensationalism, were prone to asking embarrassing questions.
In this diplomatic situation, only inviting established newspapers with large circulation and long-term goals would prevent any unforeseen complications that Scotland Yard and the Home Office would prefer to avoid.
Arthur surveyed the scene, a smile gracing his lips. “Seems like you gentlemen are eager to get started. I know time is of the essence in your profession. Let’s begin.”
His gaze swept across the room, landing on each journalist present. Finally, his eyes followed Constable Tom’s steps, stopping on the reporter beside him. “Sir, you may ask your question.”
The journalist, thrilled to be chosen, stood up immediately. “Good morning, Superintendent Hastings, Mr. Dumas. I am a correspondent from The Times.
As we all know, the recent kidnapping of Mr. Dumas in London has caused widespread concern throughout Britain. The public is shocked and outraged by the French government’s disregard for national sovereignty and its blatant disregard for the safety of individuals by employing illegal elements on foreign soil.
I’d like to know, Mr. Dumas, what are your thoughts on the differences between the British and French governments? Is the new King of France, Louis-Philippe, truly a champion of constitutional monarchy and representative of the French people, as he claims to be?”
Arthur, seemingly nonchalant, tapped his fingers twice on the table.
Dumas understood the signal, a pre-arranged code between him and Arthur. Two taps meant he should say something nice about the British, and if he felt generous, a few compliments for the Tory government wouldn’t hurt.
Of course, asking Dumas to praise the Duke of Wellington, who had vanquished Napoleon, was probably asking for too much. But praising Scotland Yard, he could manage.
Dumas, almost holding his nose, uttered a blatant lie. “First of all, I must express my gratitude to the British police for their efforts and to the British public for their concern. It is the justice that resides in the hearts of the people that has fueled my determination to resist the French tyrant, Louis-Philippe.
Whether it’s the French or the British, we all fight for our rights, no matter the cost…”
Arthur, upon hearing this, quickly realized something was amiss.
It wasn’t that Dumas’s eloquent speech was problematic, but rather that it was inappropriate for this moment. Sir Peel had agreed to rescue Dumas precisely to use this “diplomatic victory over France” to divert the British public’s attention away from the “Parliamentary Reform Movement”.
If Dumas was allowed to continue this line of thought, not only would it fail to achieve the goal of diverting attention, but it might even incite sympathy among the British public for the French July Revolution.
And then, wouldn’t all the efforts to shift focus be in vain?
Arthur, clearing his throat, interjected. “Mr. Dumas, time is limited. Let’s move on to the next topic.”
He then turned his attention to Constable Tony.
Tony, striding over to a reporter, discreetly glanced at the journalist’s notebook before nodding subtly.
Arthur seized the opportunity and pointed at the reporter. “Sir, you may ask your question.”
“Good day, I am a reporter from The Observer. My question is…”
The press conference ticked by, minute by minute. Under the watchful eyes of Arthur, Tom, Tony, and others, Dumas managed to navigate the trial by fire with no major incidents.
Arthur, looking down at his notes, noticed a mix of flattering remarks to appease the British public, affirmations to boost the Tory Party’s support, and a collection of repetitive, meaningless statements about the differences in democracy between France and Britain.
Arthur closed his notebook with satisfaction. For him, this was a flawless press conference.
But his companion, Dumas, was clearly not satisfied.
After sending off the reporters, who left with their pockets full of information, the French gentleman grumbled, “I truly don’t understand your British ways. You claim to have the most advanced, democratic, and free system in the world, yet you still have a king at the top. Don’t you find that ironic?”
Arthur, organizing the files on his desk, replied, “Mr. Dumas, I’ve told you this many times. A constitutional monarchy and an absolute monarchy are two different things.”
“But wouldn’t a more perfect constitutional state be possible without a monarch?”
Arthur, hearing this, put down the files and shook his finger at Dumas. “Sir, if Britain had no king, it wouldn’t be one constitutional state, but four! They would be England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales.
I know the French are always dreaming of splitting up Great Britain, but you can just say it directly, no need to beat around the bush. We won’t arrest you for that, because even among the British, that’s not an unusual thought.
Many Englishmen, and even some Scots, want to kick Ireland out, and the Irish themselves aren’t happy being part of Great Britain. If it weren’t for Wellington and other bigwigs keeping things together, we would have split up long ago.”
Dumas, upon hearing this, took a deep breath. He shook his head. “To be honest, sometimes I just can’t understand you Brits. If you’re being serious, you’re the first place in Europe to achieve religious tolerance, and the first to abolish the slave trade. There are times when you truly deserve the title of ‘Star of Europe’. But in some strange ways, you always seem a bit petty, like your attitude towards Ireland, for example. It’s very typical.”
Arthur, raising an eyebrow, replied, “I told you before, that’s the difference between Britain and France. Britain has always valued individualism. Even a father and son, they’d meticulously separate their property. You probably don’t know this, but Britain’s most complete and ancient legal system is the ‘Property Law’ that deals with the division of property between fathers and sons. It has so many clauses it could drive you mad.
If the British are so meticulous about their children and siblings, how can you expect them to accept the Irish so readily? After all, Scotland and England have been united for so many years, and even now, they’ve only managed to slightly reduce their hostility. So, even if some outstanding politicians see the value in Ireland, it’s impossible to change the public’s ingrained ideas overnight.”
As he spoke, Arthur’s words suddenly stopped.
He saw Eldredge standing outside the police station, grinning, waving a check between two fingers.
Arthur frowned, about to go out and ask him what was going on, but before he could leave, Eldredge had already entered.
Eldredge glanced around, ensuring no one was paying attention, and quickly stuffed the check into Arthur’s pocket.
“Take this, a little thank you from Colonel Fitzroy.”
(End of Chapter)