The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 246 - 246 167 Homesickness

246: Chapter 167: Homesickness 246: Chapter 167: Homesickness London, Westminster, 4 Whitehall, Greater London Police Department.

Arthur sat in the office chair, holding a white porcelain teacup, and gently sipped his tea.

The warm tea slid through his mouth into his throat, eventually merging with his burning heart, igniting his body which had lost warmth due to the cold weather.

Arthur looked out the window at the drizzling dense raindrops and stretched out his hand to wipe the foggy mist from the window.

The scene on Whitehall was bustling with traffic; even the sidewalks had many Civil Servants hurrying about in the heavy rain, their documents tucked under their arms.

Seeing their comical appearance, Arthur couldn’t help sighing, “I thought that only people like me had to bustle about after the Whig Party came to power, but it seems that most people think the same as I do.”

The Red Devil, who was leaning against the window wearing glasses and passing the time by knitting, just shook his head with a laugh, “People can sometimes control their own destinies.

If we are controlled by others, dear Brutus, the fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur snapped his fingers, “From Shakespeare’s ‘Julius Caesar,’ Act 1, Scene 2.”

Agares, while shaking his leg, said, “Arthur, I’m not discussing opera with you.

You understand what I mean, you can make things much simpler.

Dealing with Rowan isn’t that difficult, especially for you.

You just happened to be lucky this time; if Brougham hadn’t become the High Chancellor, what would you have done then?”

“Hadn’t become?” Arthur leaned back in his chair, “If he hadn’t, I might as well not be working here anymore.

Haven’t I told you?

You have already given me too many ways to make money.

A mere police inspector from Scotland Yard, really nothing to cling onto.

I stayed in this cesspool originally because I had to make a living here.

Later, I stayed because I felt some people relied on me for their sustenance.

More recently, it’s because the shit in the cesspool splashed onto my face, and if I don’t respond, I might as well become one with the cesspool.

But you’re right that I was lucky to get this far, and I won’t deny that.

However, you might not know that an elder from my hometown once said, a person’s life isn’t just about their own efforts; sometimes you also have to consider the course of history.”

Upon hearing this, Agares couldn’t help but say sarcastically, “Arthur, you should be grateful humans don’t have tails, or yours would have been wagging by now.”

Arthur was always ready for Agares’s challenges, nodding in agreement, “I’m also disappointed that it wasn’t Baal who made the pact with me.

If it had been Baal, he would never just watch me fall into the cesspit.”

“Exactly,” Agares rarely agreed with Arthur: “If it had been Baal, he probably would have eaten the cesspit clean before you fell into it.”

Just as Agares finished, a thunderclap sounded outside the window, followed by a loud boom.

The Red Devil, frightened, shivered violently, and actually fell straight out of the window.

Arthur sat by the window for a good while before he saw a long, bony hand with slender black nails reach up to the window ledge, and the Red Devil half-exposed his head as he climbed back in, while cursing loudly, “Damn that scared the hell out of me; I thought Baal really heard that.”

Arthur just sat curled up in his chair, flatly repeating the Devil’s earlier words, “People can sometimes control their own destinies.

If we are controlled by others, dear Agares, the fault is not in our stars, but in ourselves.”

“Arthur!” The Red Devil’s head was smoking, one eye suddenly bulging, nearly pushing Arthur and his chair out of the office, “Will you cut the crap!”

Arthur, sitting by the door, frowned and stared at his teacup unhappily, “Agares, be more careful next time; you almost spilled my tea.

You know, this tea is quite expensive.”

The Red Devil, with his head dripping wet, climbed back in through the window.

He glared at Arthur while lifting the lid of the teapot and pouring the tea straight into his mouth.

As he chewed on the tea leaves, he spluttered, “What crap tea, I can’t taste anything special about it!”

Arthur watched him mistreating the item and just shook his head helplessly, “Perhaps.

But our new Prime Minister, Earl Grey, likes this tea a lot.

He even named it ‘Earl Grey.’ It’s now the best-selling item in London’s tea shops; I can hardly find it normally.”

Agares raised an eyebrow, “Can’t find it?

Then where did you get the one you’re drinking now?”

Arthur got up, walked to the cabinet in the office, and took out a tea canister, unscrewing the lid and aiming it at Agares.

The Red Devil glanced and saw a letter hidden behind the lid, signed by — Brayden Jones.

Seeing the name, Agares grinned broadly, rubbing his hands together and said maliciously, “Oh, my dear Arthur, you’ve finally learned to do this.

Handle human relations, accept ordinary gifts, maintain day-to-day interactions with superiors, a trivial gesture of goodwill?”

Arthur shook his head, “Generally speaking, I don’t accept these things.

But Jones’s choice to send tea leaves this time struck a strangely familiar chord, and it reminded me of a regretful past.

Perhaps that’s why you find the taste of this tea ordinary, but to me, it tastes of memories.”

“A taste of memories?” Agares, clueless about what was going through his mind that day, asked, “Are you out of your mind again?

You spent your childhood rolling in the pigsties of the York countryside; drinking a couple of pounds of mud is more like it for you, how could you afford such fancy tea?”

Arthur wasn’t offended by his mockery.

Instead, he simply said, “Agares, I know you have a taste for art.

For this occasion, I have written a little poem.

Would you like to hear it?”

“Oh, my dear Arthur.

Have you become confident since winning the gold at Cambridge?

You’ve started writing poetry too?”

The Red Devil grinned, “But you’d better stop buttering me up, kid.

Do you think I am that brainless, arrogant vice regent of Heaven—Lucifer Morningstar?

That I would forgive you just because you flatter me a couple of times?”

Arthur, looking disappointed, said, “What a pity, I thought you were the only one worthy of appreciating it.”

Agares picked up a knitting needle and, sitting on the windowsill with his legs crossed, said, “Let’s hear it.”

Arthur gave a small smile, cleared his throat, and gazing at the heavy rain outside, he reflected aloud.

“In my childhood,

homesickness was a small can of tea leaves,

I was at this end,

leaders at that end.

Grown up now,

homesickness still damn is a can of tea leaves,

Jones at this end,

I at that end.”

Just as Arthur finished speaking, a sudden knock sounded from outside the office door.

A strained voice called from outside, “Report!”

Arthur squinted towards Agares and asked, “Which end has it come from?”

The Red Devil lifted his glowing red eyes and glanced at the door, “This end.”

Relieved, Arthur returned to his chair, loudly beckoning, “Come in.”

No sooner had he spoken than the office door was pushed open, and standing outside was a drenched Brayden Jones from the Whitechapel branch of the Tower Hamlets district.

Jones’s face was tense, and in his trembling hands, he clutched a document just issued by Scotland Yard concerning Arthur’s reassignment.

Although he had rehearsed numerous times in his mind what to say when meeting Arthur, when his eyes met Arthur’s gaze, his mind went blank with fear.

The beating he had received months ago was still haunting him, although there had been calm since then and Arthur hadn’t troubled him again.

But Jones’s heart always felt empty, a feeling more terrifying than Arthur scolding him in person, as if a noose was always around his head but he could never guess when the execution would be.

Jones’s lips turned white, his body shivering for a long while before he finally mustered the courage to say, “Chief, rest assured.

With me at Whitechapel, as long as Miss Fiona and the others do as you instructed, steering clear of major crimes with significant social impact, I can guarantee there won’t be any problems.

Moreover, I believe that, given your abilities, even with this reassignment, it won’t be long before you are back.

I…

No, we all, we all have confidence in you.”

On hearing this, Arthur just smiled, extending his hand and said, “Don’t be nervous, Jones.

Have a seat.

I’ve never left, so what is there to come back to?

Speaking of which, how is the matter I asked you to look into progressing?”

Jones, with heavy steps, approached Arthur and sat down, trembling as he took a document out of a cloth bag he carried and handed it over.

“This is the intelligence they got from following Miss Fiona and others.

Because of the time constraints, many details are still unclear.

However, if you are not in a hurry, additional information will surely continue to come in.

Mr.

Norton and Mrs.

Norton’s address, their recent travel routes, and what actions they have taken are all documented here.”