Chapter 18: Orders from the Admiralty
In a detached villa on the outskirts of London, Sir Peel comfortably reclined on a sofa by the fireplace, enjoying a pleasant holiday.
He held a delicate teacup in one hand and a freshly printed copy of The Times in the other.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Damn! This passage is truly brilliant. That child will definitely become a great writer in the future!”
Just as he finished saying this, he looked up to see Lady Peel walking in with a stack of neatly arranged newspapers.
Sir Peel couldn’t help but tease, “Oh, my lady, why did you buy so many newspapers? Are you planning to moonlight as a news vendor?”
Lady Peel gave him a disapproving look. “Robert! You told me there might be news about Officer Arthur today, but you didn’t tell me there would be this much.
I told the newsboy I wanted a paper with news about Officer Arthur, and he practically gave me every paper he had!
Even though I’m a big fan of Officer Arthur, publishing this much must have cost a fortune!”
Sir Peel laughed and shook his head. “No, no, no, my dear. I only paid for The Times. All the other papers were generously sponsored by our young and promising Member of Parliament, Mr. George Morris.
Mr. Morris is a man with a strong sense of social responsibility, so when I showed him that report on Officer Arthur, he immediately offered to cover the cost.”
Lady Peel, still puzzled, asked, “I know Mr. Morris just inherited his father’s bank shares, but no matter how wealthy, he can’t spend like this without a second thought.
And even if he was willing to spend, his efficiency is astounding. I counted, and there are papers ranging from major dailies to smaller publications. How did he manage to contact so many newspapers?”
At this, Sir Peel couldn’t hold back anymore and laughed heartily.
“My dear, Mr. Morris had no choice but to find them! Because I told him, if the public’s attention wasn’t on Officer Arthur’s brilliant image, his umbrella bribery scandal would be all over the news. George Morris and I are both members of the Tory Party. As his senior, I had to give him some crisis management pointers, didn’t I?”
Lady Peel, now laughing herself, tossed the newspapers aside, then playfully slapped her husband’s leg.
“Robert, you are terrible! Morris must have taken a huge loss this time.”
“Oh, no, no, no.” Sir Peel wagged his finger. “Dear, in politics, we call this a win-win cooperation.
Morris preserved his future and earned my gratitude.
As for me, not only did I retain Scotland Yard’s most outstanding officer at minimal cost, but I also used this incident to showcase the bright image of Scotland Yard to the public.
You know, I built Scotland Yard from the ground up. Its success is my success, which adds to my political achievements.
Even the young court clerk who wrote the news got a chance to showcase his work on a larger stage.
In this deal, there are no losers, only winners.”
“And what about Mr. Morris’s wallet? Robert, you are such a fibbing little rascal.”
Sir Peel raised an eyebrow and pulled Lady Peel into his arms. “My dear, that’s unfair. You’ve been married to me for so many years, how can you not understand your husband’s profession?
I am a seasoned politician, and you won’t pry a single bad word out of me. I never speak ill to civilized people.”
“And do you maintain this decorum during parliamentary sessions?”
“Oh, dear, the ones sitting in Parliament are not civilized people; they are practically a bunch of baboons. Do you think a zookeeper would speak nicely to animals? It’s only natural and well-justified for me to curse in the zoo.”
Lady Peel buried her face in Sir Peel’s arm, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.
“Robert, that’s incredibly rude. How can you call the MPs baboons?”
Sir Peel didn’t mind in the least. He unfolded the newspaper and began reading an article about the Ottoman Empire considering recognizing Greek independence.
“Because they think of me as a baboon too, and they attack me for being a different breed. Dear, respect is always mutual, just like between you and me.”
……
In front of the main gate of the Royal Naval College, Greenwich.
Arthur stared ahead, slightly dazed, at the teaching buildings with their light blue roofs and cream-colored walls.
Elder stood beside him, enthusiastically explaining, “This is where you will be studying in the future. It’s not just a school but a piece of art, with the interior design overseen by Sir James Thornhill. The overall design is purely Baroque.
There is a special painted hall inside that I know you’ll appreciate as an art lover.
The murals inside are the largest in Europe, if not the world. From design to completion, it took over ten years, involving many hands, and was finally completed by Sir Christopher Wren in 1696.
The overall architectural design of the school was by the famous designer André Le Nôtre. Do you know him? He was Louis XIV’s chief gardener, who also designed the gardens of Versailles, an absolute masterpiece.
In addition, the school houses many fragmented paintings, mostly depicting the glorious history of the Royal Navy, from the Battle of Gravelines against the Spanish Armada to the 1596 Cádiz expedition that utterly defeated them, or the 1814 Battle of Chesapeake where we taught the North American rebels a harsh lesson by burning down their Capitol and White House.
And of course, the Royal Navy’s pride, the 1805 Battle of Trafalgar, where we utterly destroyed the combined French and Spanish fleets. Unfortunately, the Royal Navy’s soul, Admiral Horatio Nelson, heroically perished in that battle.
But even though Admiral Nelson is gone, his pre-battle signal still resonates in the hearts of every serving officer in the Royal Navy.
As Nelson said—’England expects that every man will do his duty.'”
Elder’s mouth was dry from speaking, but when he turned to look, it was clear that Arthur hadn’t heard a word.
His friend stared vacantly, clearly lost in thought.
Elder, clutching his forehead, complained, “Damn it! Arthur, are you still hungover from yesterday? I could tell that drink was watered down the moment I tasted it. Just some cheap beer. How can you still be groggy? The alcohol can’t be that strong.”
Arthur snapped back to reality and rubbed his face. “It’s not the alcohol’s aftereffect that’s too strong, it’s the aftereffect of the article.”
“Article? What article?”
Elder had long forgotten about yesterday’s events until Arthur reminded him of the court clerk named Charles Dickens.
Arthur asked, “You’re the literature expert. What do you think of his writing?”
Elder stroked his chin in thought, dredging up long-unused literary criticism knowledge. “His writing is decent, but to become a great writer, he still lacks something.”
“What does he lack?”
Elder recalled Dickens’ mannerisms and dismissively waved his hand.
“He starts every sentence with ‘sir this’ and ‘sir that.’ He’s just too polite. In my opinion, unless he changes, such a person will never become a great writer.”
Arthur had expected a serious reason and was about to probe further when he noticed a man in a naval uniform approaching.
Elder saw him too, and this usually casual fellow suddenly stood at attention and saluted.
“Good morning, Captain Fitzroy!”
The middle-aged man didn’t treat Arthur as an outsider and directly addressed Elder. “I was looking for you.”
“Is there something you need from me, sir?”
Captain Fitzroy, while smoothing the creases of his white gloves, said, “The person you recommended to me the other day, I don’t need him anymore.”
“What? Why?” Elder was instantly anxious. “Captain, how can you just say no? I’ve already discussed it with him!”
Fitzroy was also helpless. “Elder, it’s not that I don’t want him. It’s the higher-ups’ decision. Is there something wrong with the person you recommended, or does he have some connection to someone important?
The order I received was unusual, involving very high levels.
I can’t fathom why someone would issue a specific order to the fleet commander for a mere naturalist, which then got passed down to me.
The person you recommended, Hastings, is he related to the Marquis of Hastings? Could he be his grandson?”