## Chapter 174: Eld’s Waterloo
Almost at the same time that Mrs. Liven and Mrs. Cowper were engaged in their闺中密话 (private conversation), Arthur was sitting by the window of his home, idly twirling a pen, his gaze fixed on the maple leaves swirling in Hyde Park across the street.
Beside him, the Red Devil sat at the table, clutching his full belly, burping and wheezing.
“Arthur,” Agareus began, “listen to me, you should go to more of these dinners in the future, burp… you need to experience more of these.”
Arthur leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. “Agareus, can you please stop acting like you haven’t eaten in months and then stumbled into a restaurant in the dung heap of Hell?”
The Red Devil had been quite pleased with himself earlier, but at these words, a burst of anger flared on his forehead.
“Arthur! What’s wrong? Today was just a glimpse into the tip of the iceberg of high society, and you’re already acting like you’re not yourself? Hell? If it was Baal following you today, he’d have been squatting in the Codrington family’s toilet since the start of the dinner. How dare you compare that lowly devil to me?”
Arthur simply comforted him, “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re high and mighty, you’re exceptional, even Hell is too small for you.”
“Are you being sarcastic? Are you being sarcastic?”
Agareus’ eyes widened, his cornea nearly touching Arthur’s nose. He roared, “Arthur, you goddamn… stop with this crap. You need to know, without me, there’s no you. Without me, you’d still be farming in the countryside of Yorkshire right now. You just ate a little bit, and you’re acting all flustered? I didn’t eat your food, you know.”
As Agareus finished his tirade, a gust of evening wind blew in through the window, carrying a draft paper from Arthur’s pocket and landing on the Red Devil’s cornea.
“Hmm? What’s this?”
The Red Devil plucked the draft paper filled with mathematical equations from his eye. He noticed a single line of elegant writing on the few blank spaces: “Waking up one night, I found myself famous, the Napoleon of poetry.”
Arthur couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the famous quote Lord Byron left behind after finishing ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage’? It seems Miss Byron knows more about her father than we thought. But I wonder what Mrs. Milbanke would think if she knew her daughter wrote something like this?”
To Arthur’s surprise, Agareus nodded with satisfaction. “Who cares what she thinks? What matters is you’ve become famous overnight. Arthur, just wait, you’ll be the Napoleon of Scotland Yard one day.”
Arthur propped his chin on his hand, resting it on the table. “Why wait for one day? I already have a French artilleryman under me, and his father was the commander of the French Pyrenees Legion.”
Just as Arthur finished his sentence, he heard someone ringing the doorbell downstairs.
He grumbled, stretching his arms. “Who could it be at this hour?”
He pushed open the door and walked downstairs, but to his surprise, Alexandre Dumas, who had woken up hungry and was rummaging through the kitchen, had already opened the door.
Standing outside was Eld, his face flushed from drinking, clutching a wad of banknotes.
Eld gasped for breath, then tossed the money onto the coffee table beside the sofa, and slumped into a corner of the sofa, gazing up at the starry sky, a look of melancholy on his face.
Dumas, seeing the look on his face, knew what had happened.
He held a piece of bread in his mouth and turned to Arthur, asking, “Got rejected again?”
Arthur just shrugged. “Life, you know, ten out of ten things don’t go your way. You can only talk about one in ten thousand. Is it really necessary to be so clear about it?”
Dumas still looked at the money on the table with confusion. “But what’s with this money? Did they tell him to take the money and leave?”
Eld, hearing this, felt a surge of anger. “Alexandre, can you stop thinking about things like that?”
Dumas took a sip of the soda water in his glass and nodded. “Yeah, I don’t usually get lucky with these things. The only one who gets lucky with these things is you. Eld, think about it, you got at least one of the two, money and love.”
Eld was choked by Dumas’ words, almost collapsing on the spot.
He cursed, “Damn it! This money isn’t for me. I met Mrs. Cowper’s servant and coachman on the way back, and they asked me to find Arthur to order a phonograph, and they said it was urgent. The thirty pounds in front of me is a deposit, and they will make up for the difference later if it’s not enough. If it’s enough, the extra part is a thank you to Arthur for his help.”
Dumas couldn’t help but curse, “Damn it, this is way too easy to make money! It’s exactly what that Rothschild kid said, Arthur, you’re always lucky! This can’t be some lady taking a fancy to you, right? This is basically them sending money to you.”
Eld scoffed. “Get real! Alexandre, stop thinking with your French brain. Mrs. Cowper is old enough to be Arthur’s mother, can your brain, which is full of erotic trash, think about something else?”
Dumas didn’t get angry, he just replied, “If you say so, I won’t lend you my new magazine.”
Eld jumped up from the sofa at these words. “Why not? I was the one who told you about that place!”
Dumas, sipping his soda water, replied, “Nothing, I just don’t deserve it.”
As he finished, Darwin, still drowsy, came down from upstairs in his pajamas.
He rubbed his eyes and grumbled, “What are you all making such a racket about? Early to bed and early to rise, that’s how you have enough energy.”
Eld, seeing him, was furious. “Sleep, sleep! All you know is how to sleep, what’s the point of going to bed so early every day? Look at your hair, you’re almost sleeping it away.”
Darwin was fine until he heard these words, and suddenly he was filled with rage. “Hey! You goddamn Eld, what do you mean? There were so many ladies and misses at the dinner tonight, you couldn’t even strike up a conversation with them, don’t blame others for not giving you a chance.”
“That’s right.” Dumas raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a crime for English men to go bald, you know. You might think Charles is dull, but last time I saw him, he was on a date with a beautiful lady at a restaurant.”
Eld felt struck by lightning at these words. He slumped back on the sofa, crying out in pain, “My God! What sin have I committed that you would punish me like this?”
Arthur couldn’t help but say, “What sin? If you’re sincere, I suggest you go to church immediately and find a priest to confess. If you really can’t open your mouth, at least you have to atone to the goats.”
Eld, hearing this, turned red in the face and insisted, “Arthur, it’s not my fault! It’s the devil who tempted me!”
Agareus had only been passing through the living room, but when he heard these words, he became furious and picked up the draft paper and threw it at Eld’s face.
The Red Devil roared, “You goddamn liar!”
Eld was hit in the face by the paper, he froze for a moment, then bent down to pick it up.
He unfolded the crumpled paper and saw the elegant writing. Eld, coming from a background in classical literature, finally used his long-dormant academic skills and saw something was wrong.
“Lord Byron’s words…”
He looked at Arthur with suspicion. “This… this is from her?”
Arthur comforted him, “I stole it. For your mental and physical health, I think you should choose to believe it.”
“Oh! God!” Eld clutched his aching heart and knelt down. “Arthur, when did you hook up with her?”
“It’s not as bad as you think, Mrs. Milbanke just asked me to watch over her for a while.” Arthur said. “Eld, be open-minded, smile and face it.”
Tears welled up in Eld’s eyes, and he recited Byron’s poetry: “This is the most tragic of all stories – more tragic than tragedy, because it makes us smile and face it.”
Arthur heard this and just facepalmed. “Why didn’t you just pull out these things earlier?”
Dumas shook his head upon hearing this. “Arthur, it’s no use talking to him like this. As Democritus said, fools can only gain wisdom through misfortune.”
As he finished, another chime sounded from outside the door.
Arthur walked over and opened the door to see a male butler with short blonde hair, white gloves, and a tailcoat standing outside.
The butler said apologetically, “Is Mr. Hastings at home? I’m Mrs. Liven’s butler. When we asked Mr. Eld Cart to deliver the message earlier, we didn’t make it clear. In addition to ordering that amazing phonograph and records for Mrs. Cowper, Mrs. Liven just heard that Mr. Hastings might be planning a concert soon? If so, Mrs. Liven would like to reserve an extra ticket to Mr. Hastings’ concert. Please forgive any inconvenience this may cause.”
The butler’s words were barely finished when Eld, leaning against the sofa, mumbled, “Mrs. Li… Li… Liven?”
Then, Eld gasped and passed out.
Arthur glanced at him, apologized, and said, “The concert is still uncertain, Mr. Hastings needs to discuss it further with Mr. Moscheles of the London Philharmonic. But please rest assured that I have noted the reservation of tickets for Mrs. Liven.
However, before we deal with that, please excuse me, I think what I need most right now is to immediately book an emergency bed for Mr. Eld Cart at the nearby St. Mary’s Hospital.”
(End of Chapter)