The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 269 - 269 180 Russian Maid

269: Chapter 180 Russian Maid 269: Chapter 180 Russian Maid Friday was supposed to be Arthur’s workday, but since he had relinquished specific jurisdictional powers over the police district, he could allocate all of today’s working hours to himself instead of sitting idly in the office at 4 Whitehall.

However, although the workload today was significantly lighter than what Arthur was accustomed to, he wasn’t completely slacking off.

In an inconspicuous street corner cafe in West London, Arthur was holding a cup of tea, surveying with his sharp black eyes the woman sitting across from him, the newly risen queen of Tower Hamlets, Miss Fiona Ivan.

At that moment, Arthur found the seemingly fragile, but fiery-tempered blonde, with her chin slightly tucked, head down, eyes flickering uncertainly, and hands placed on her knees, daring not to move, amusingly awkward as if she had done something wrong.

Arthur began, “I’ve told you to cut down on the opium tincture.

While it may calm the mind and alleviate pain, excessive use can not only lead to addiction but also cause severe reactions, including epilepsy, dizziness, and vomiting.

And the pleasure it brings is always fleeting; once the hallucinations fade, your mood will plummet into a prolonged dip.

If this continues, it will affect your mental health.”

Fiona responded to Arthur’s well-meaning advice with a playful blink of her deep gray eyes.

“Please be kind, Mr.

Hastings.

Of course, I understand the need to control the dosage, but you must realize how mentally draining it is to manage a criminal gang of a hundred people.

If I don’t indulge in some small life spices to adjust my mood, I will eventually be infuriated to death by those fools.

You must have heard about the incident that happened last week at the West India docks?

One of my blockheaded subordinates had the audacity to get into a fight with dockworkers over the attention of a textile worker, even resorting to firearms.

Fortunately, though, it didn’t result in any loss of life, or I truly wouldn’t know how to explain it to you.”

Arthur sipped his tea, noting its astringency, and so he picked up the tin milk jug and added a bit more to his cup.

“As for how to explain it to me, that’s simple.

Hand him over to Scotland Yard, and everyone will be happy.

Don’t forget the rules we’ve agreed upon—if your men commit minor crimes, I will turn a blind eye.

But if they commit serious crimes or treason, I’m sorry to say that even if I wanted to help you, I would be powerless.

Although Tower Hamlets is no longer under my jurisdiction, Police Superintendent Brayden Jones must still be taking good care of you all, right?”

Arthur’s voice sounded gentle, which, paired with the bright sunlight and the scene of a man and a woman having lunch together, might well be mistaken for endearments.

However, to someone like Fiona, who had struggled through the lower echelons for years, the boss’s words were a veiled expression of his dissatisfaction with the current progress of the work.

Though the rebuke was not harsh, Fiona dared not take it lightly.

She was acutely aware of how difficult it was for a woman to make her mark in that era.

For those living in the materially driven 19th century London, everything was brutally realistic.

And in the criminal underworld, that reality reflected in even more direct and bloody terms.

Rowan dared not cross Arthur, not because he feared any exceptional abilities Arthur might have, but because he did not dare to collide with Lord Brougham and the burgeoning powerhouse of University of London associates.

Fiona’s ability to hold her ground at the fishing platform was not due to her managerial skills, but rather because the riffraff did not have the gall to challenge a female police inspector from Scotland Yard.

Perhaps due to her years of experience, Fiona had realized a truth early on—there are many capable people, but few with a significant backing.

Many believe that when faced with difficulties, aptitude can solve the problem.

However, they overlook the fact that sometimes, just having the right connections is enough to solve issues, and the uses of those connections go far beyond that which is unreachable for most capable people.

Therefore, despite Fiona’s apparent dominance in Tower Hamlets, where her slightest whim could bring countless domineering ruffians to their knees before her, even making them lick her boots like servile dogs without a moment’s hesitation.

But should Arthur withdraw his support, or even show the slightest sign of wavering in front of her subordinates, she would not need to wait for Scotland Yard to act; Fiona would quickly be torn to shreds and devoured by the bloodthirsty sharks that smell blood in the water.

By then, returning to her beginnings, where she teamed up with cohorts to swindle people, might even be considered a good outcome for Fiona.

However, for a lady who had spent years among men, a serious response to such a situation was less useful than a few sassy remarks.

She propped her chin with her slender, lace-gloved wrist, leaning slightly forward to shorten the distance between them, so that the distinct scent of expensive lavender perfume that was obviously different from a few months ago also drifted into Arthur’s nostrils and mouth.

Fiona whispered into Arthur’s ear, “So, do you want to punish me?”

In response to Fiona’s insinuation, Arthur leisurely set down his coffee cup and then calmly pulled out Scotland Yard police officers’ pride, the “Civilization Cane,” slapping it onto the table, “Are you sure?”

Fiona glanced at the Civilization Cane, her eyelids twitching three times, “Although I know you’ve always been quite violent, but this…”

Arthur spoke calmly, “Come now, Fiona, you’re lucky today because my flintlock pistol is over at Mr.

Wheatstone’s place.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t be using the Civilization Cane to teach you a lesson.”

The Red Devil sitting at the next table overheard this and somehow produced a golden wig and a pair of voluminous Katz & Lan eyes just like Fiona’s, dilated as if she’d used belladonna eye drops.

The Red Devil put his hands together, using his intentionally nauseating flame-red lips to mimic Fiona’s inner monologue, “Bloody hell, who can tell me where the hell does this Arthur Hastings come from, this stinky fucking idiot?”

Arthur’s hand hesitated as he lifted the porcelain teacup, staring at Fiona’s beautiful face as he spoke, “If you want to curse me, you might as well do it to my face.

I have enough capacity to bear it.

If cursing makes you feel better, at least you can go back and drink one less bottle of opium tincture, which would certainly be a good thing for your work performance.”

“Curse you?

No no, Mr.

Hastings, you must be mistaken.

I am far too busy admiring you.

You might not be aware, but guys like you are always popular with the girls.”

Fiona said with a jovial smile, not showing the slightest hint of a blush on her pale, concealed face.

Moreover, she cooperated by lifting her arm and comparing it to the Civilization Cane on the table.

“Look, even if I disregard your handsome appearance and robust physique, I at least have to fear your strength, right?

Look at this cane, it’s nearly as thick as my forearm.

If I got hit by it, I might not be able to get out of bed for days, and a lady can’t afford such things.

Perhaps you should save that talk for dealing with the toughest brutes in London, like that Fred fellow.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur simply smoothed his hair, “Well said, Fiona, even making risqué jokes in front of me.

And to even dare question my sexual orientation, do you really think I can’t tell what’s going on?”

When Fiona heard this, her radiant smile suddenly stiffened, “You…

You understand…

No, what do you mean?

Where would I dare to mock you?

After all, there are three or four dozen girls in Tower Hamlets counting on you for their meals.

How about I bring them over for you to have a look?

Just because I may not catch your fancy doesn’t mean they won’t.”

Impatiently tapping on the table with his finger, Arthur said, “Fiona, what I want to talk to you about now is not about the girls but about you.

You have caused trouble for me, why should I go to them?”

“You…” Upon hearing this, Fiona stared at Arthur for quite a while, then glanced at the Civilization Cane on the table and promptly revealed a distraught expression, “Are you serious?”

Arthur shook his head, “Although I may not be very civilized, I still would not directly lay hands on a lady.

However, we can’t just let pass what you’ve just said.

Look, I have a job for you, and if you can successfully complete it, then we’ll call it even for what just happened.

But if you mess it up, the payment for following Hetherington and Mrs.

Norton…”

Fiona, seething with irritation, realized that this Scotland Yard detective younger than her was simply trying to stiff her on the bill.

She knew all too well that you couldn’t find a good person in the police force, and almost all men were bad.

Even when the two identities combined, two wrongs did not make a right.

But before she could finish cursing Arthur in her mind, she heard the sound of his gentle voice once more.

Arthur smiled, “However, Fiona, don’t rush to anger.

Correspondingly, if you can complete this next assignment, not only will you be paid as usual for the previous job, but I will also pay you double.”

“The reason I’m making this announcement isn’t because I want to dodge paying what you’re owed.

It’s because the Criminal Investigation Department I oversee is virtually penniless for operating expenses, and the other organization I control is a temporary establishment, hence naturally not entitled to financial appropriations.”

“But if you can make this job work, then I’m confident about appealing to the higher-ups to turn the temporary establishment into a permanent agency.

With that, funding would naturally flow to my hands.”

“Even if we can’t turn the temporary into permanent, at the very least, I can use this matter to apply for a special bonus from the Home Office.

With money in hand, I naturally can pay you.”

Fiona, having calmed down somewhat upon hearing this, pursed her lips and adopted an ingenue’s beaming smile again, “So, Mr.

Hastings, what is the mission this time?”

Arthur pulled a neatly folded job advertisement from his coat pocket and tossed it in front of Fiona, “Your surname is Ivan, and your father was a second-generation Russian immigrant to London.

I truly hope he taught you Russian or German before he passed away, or else your beautiful foreign looks would be going to waste.”

Fiona unfolded the advertisement and after a quick glance, she looked up in surprise, “You want me to apply for a maid position at the Russian Embassy?”