chapter 60
The public carriage swayed and rattled along the streets of London.
Inside the carriage, Arthur was reading a fresh newspaper, a stack of older ones beside him.
For over a month, he had devoted almost all his energy to studying chemistry, honing his detective skills, and tracking down the infamous “Thief General,” Fred.
Just as he had a moment to relax, he received another commission from the Duke of Sussex, this time to investigate the disappearance of a man from Saint Giles.
He had only just learned about the dark trade of “corpse selling” from the innkeeper, Wells, the previous night, and had immediately dispatched a team of sharp, capable officers from the Greenwich Police District to pursue the “corpse snatchers” hidden behind the murders.
Working through the night, they finally apprehended two suspects involved in the “murder and corpse selling” based on Wells’s testimony, finding them in several private homes in Greenwich.
Wells knew many such murderers, but after the commotion at his inn the previous night, some of the more cautious killers had already left London.
Early this morning, Arthur had sent word to Scotland Yard about the “murder and corpse selling case.”
Scotland Yard responded quickly, dispatching a messenger almost immediately to the headquarters of the England and Wales, Scotland, and Ireland Police Districts to report the case.
To avoid alarming those unaware of the situation and to prevent unnecessary panic among Londoners, Scotland Yard also instructed Arthur and other officers with knowledge of the case to remain silent until the truth was revealed.
Arthur had no objections, as he intended to do the same.
A case of this magnitude was far beyond the capabilities of the Greenwich Police District alone.
For Arthur, it was enough to make a good start and get the Metropolitan Police to take notice of the case.
No matter how the investigation unfolded, the final report would inevitably pass through his hands.
According to the rules, such major cases were not handled by their subordinate divisions. The Metropolitan Police had dedicated Criminal and Operations departments, headed by an Assistant Commissioner from Scotland Yard. Arthur, a police superintendent, had no desire to tangle with him.
After all, this world was still a stinking place. While Arthur had been promoted rapidly thanks to connections, who knew who the Assistant Commissioner was beholden to?
Eld, a mere chartmaker on the Beagle, had an uncle who was a Rear Admiral in the Royal Navy. It wasn’t unreasonable for the Assistant Commissioner at Scotland Yard to have a father who had been a Lieutenant General.
Most importantly, Arthur knew that Sir Peel’s support was limited.
He understood his position in Sir Peel’s eyes: someone to take a bullet or two when needed.
With his current stature, it was best to avoid any power struggles at the upper echelon for now.
If Scotland Yard wanted him to lead the investigation, Arthur could recite a few lines of Shakespeare, feign reluctance, and then humbly accept.
But if Scotland Yard wasn’t interested, Arthur had no desire to shoulder the burden.
He had found the lead for the major case Sir Peel had requested. As Home Secretary, he couldn’t go back on his word about increasing the salaries of Scotland Yard’s patrol officers, could he?
If he did go back on his word, even if Arthur could swallow his pride, others wouldn’t be able to. If someone with a loose tongue accidentally leaked the news to Charles Dickens, the journalist who was investigating the Tory party’s dirty laundry for the Whigs, everyone would be embarrassed.
After transferring the main investigation to headquarters, Arthur felt a weight lift from his shoulders, allowing him to focus on finding a cure for the little girl named Robin.
Even the simple newspaper he held felt more enjoyable.
He skimmed through the headlines from the past month, sensing that the Tory cabinet, led by the Duke of Wellington and Sir Peel, was having a rough time.
The headlines revealed that the Whigs and the extreme faction of the Tories were firing on all cylinders.
“The Catholic Emancipation Act Passed Through the Vote Entirely Due to Political Corruption”
“Deceitful Peel Faces Repeated Interrogations at Oxford University, Rumored to Be Removed from Alumni List”
“Wellington and Peel Both Have Long Service Histories in Ireland”
“Insiders Claim Prime Minister and Home Secretary Have Long Received Political Donations from Irish Catholics”
“The Rotten Electoral System, Tories Engage in Large-Scale Bribery, Manipulating the State”
“£3,000 Can Buy a Seat in the House of Commons, Those Sitting in the House of Parliament Are Not the Ruling Party but a Bunch of Worms”
Among all the newspapers and magazines, the most eye-catching for Arthur was the Poor Man’s Political Monthly, founded by the famous radical, William Cobbett.
Agareuss, who had been idle, simply glanced at it and was instantly amused by the content. The red devil laughed, sparks flying from his mouth.
“Parliamentary reform can’t be delayed any longer! The population with voting rights in the whole country is less than two percent!”
“Out of the 202 boroughs we established in the time of Edward I in the 13th century, 88 towns have a population of less than 200 people now. The constituencies must be redistributed!”
“Birmingham and Manchester have populations over 300,000, yet only have two parliamentary seats, while Garton, with only five residents, gets to elect two!”
“Debunking! As the Cabinet has requested this magazine to verify the authenticity of related reports, after careful investigation, we have confirmed that the above content is false information spread by the Whigs.”
“This newspaper hereby clarifies on behalf of the Tories: Garton does indeed have five residents, but only three have voting rights. Therefore, it is actually three people electing two, not five electing two!”
“Debunking Again! The situation in Garton is an isolated case. After detailed investigation, this newspaper has found that the election situation in most of the so-called decaying constituencies is far better than Garton.”
“West Loo has 55 residents, 12 with voting rights, a ratio of six to one.”
“Old Salem has now become a field, with no inhabitants, yet there are seven people with voting rights.”
“Therefore, this newspaper reasonably suspects that the appearance of these individuals is due to the manifestation of God, and the local voters are all resurrected from the Middle Ages by divine power.”
“Shocking! During every election, the Royal Navy conducts large-scale fleet reviews at sea!”
“Debunking! This magazine has verified that the ships seen during the election are not the Royal Navy training. They are voters from constituencies that have been submerged by the sea, carrying out their regular voting.”
“According to sources, insisting on not reforming these submerged constituencies could provide the Royal Navy with a large number of skilled sailors.”
“Want to fight a naval battle with Great Britain? Do you know where you’re losing? We’re ahead of you by too much, Napoleon! France!”
Arthur gently flipped through the Poor Man’s Political Monthly, discreetly tucking it into his pocket.
Seeing his actions, Agareuss grinned and asked, “Arthur, what are you doing? Afraid someone will see a Scotland Yard superintendent reading such unsavory publications?”
Arthur shook his head and lowered his voice, “You don’t understand, Agareuss. I need to keep this issue. It’ll be worth a fortune if I put it in a secondhand bookstore later.”
The red devil smacked his lips, seemingly pondering the taste of souls. “It seems the cabinet is having a hard time. The Whigs are united in their pursuit of parliamentary reform, and the extreme faction within the Tories has turned against them over the Catholic Emancipation Act.”
“If you can give Robert Peel a hand at this time, he’ll be eternally grateful.”
Arthur stared at the red devil for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. “Parliamentary reform isn’t something you can solve by solving a few cases, Agareuss. You’re trying to push me into a pit of fire.”
“No, no, it might be solved, but not now.”
Agareuss rubbed his hands and cackled. “It’s not the right time yet. Your old king is about to die. His death will ease some of the tension.”
“After he dies, Arthur, your chance will come. Believe me, it’s a great opportunity. But you have to be patient until then. Remember, no matter what happens, you must be patient.”
Arthur furrowed his brow at these words. “Agareuss, you always say things that are half-understood.”
“Is that so?” The red devil chuckled. “Arthur, you are still too young, and your will is not as unyielding as Solomon’s in those days. There are things I don’t tell you because you shouldn’t know. It’s all for your own good.”
Arthur scoffed. “How do I know if I should know if you don’t tell me? Agareuss, you can spin these yarns for others, but don’t try them on me.”
As Arthur finished speaking, the carriage slowly came to a halt.
The coachman opened the window and turned to Arthur. “Officer, you’ve reached Gresham College. I can only take you this far. They don’t let anyone into the Royal Society.”
(End of Chapter)