The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 285 - 285 188 European Showdown 5K8_3

285: Chapter 188: European Showdown (5K8)_3 285: Chapter 188: European Showdown (5K8)_3 “Ah…” Metternich smiled, “So if you can bring back a good message for him, surely that would smooth his ruffled feathers, wouldn’t it?”

“Good message?” Lady Lyven pretended to be ignorant, “Are you saying Austria intends to stand with us?

But wouldn’t that upset the English?”

Upon hearing this, Metternich merely took Lady Lyven’s arm, “My dear, for you, I’m willing to do anything.”

Although Lady Lyven knew that nine out of ten sentences from the man before her were lies, at that moment, she didn’t mind playing along with the charade.

“Clemens, you’re always so naive.

But that’s why I love you.”

Two foxes were putting on an act here, while Viscount Palmerston and Lady Copper in the next box seemed much more down-to-earth.

They were taking a break with glasses of red wine, ready to enjoy an outstanding piece from Arthur.

Lady Copper slightly adjusted her disheveled attire, raised her cup to Palmerston, and asked with a smile, “Henry, I saw Mr.

Metternich go into the next room just before; aren’t you, the new Foreign Secretary, going to greet the Austrian Prime Minister?”

Viscount Palmerston, upon hearing this, simply embraced Lady Copper and puffed up his chest with pride, “My dear, in my view, if Metternich knows what’s good for him, he should come to visit me.

If he thinks Austria alone can accomplish anything, then I, on behalf of Great Britain, will give him a harsh lesson during the Congress in London.”

Lady Copper grew concerned at his words, “But…

Henry, won’t that be too aggressive?

You know, whether it’s the Tory Party or the Whig Party, the mainstream view now is to hope for peace.”

Palmerston, with a reassuring smile, replied, “My dear, they hope for peace because they aren’t sure they can win.

Moreover, Duke Wellington already informed me yesterday to not show the slightest concession to Austria; Metternich was already turned away by him just the other day.

This old fellow still can’t recognize his own status, and I want to make it clear to him that without Great Britain’s support, he, the Prime Minister of the Austrian Empire, is nothing.”

In the Coburg Theatre, everyone was harboring their own schemes, calculating how to gain the most benefit, when as if God heard their summons, the lights in the entire hall suddenly dimmed.

The darkness surged like the tide, masking all conspiracies.

The audience’s exclamations echoed one after another, just as they were about to complain about the theatre’s negligence with lighting, the sound of a piano suddenly erupted.

“My God!

Is this some sort of new form of performance?”

On the dimly lit stage, the audience could hardly see anything.

They paid close attention, only able to see a pair of hands dancing across the piano keys.

“Perhaps this way, we can focus more on the music itself?”

“I heard that this ‘Bell’ piece is very difficult, so is this intended to showcase the technical accomplishments of the rising pianist, Arthur Hastings?”

The audience made their guesses, but ultimately stopped complaining.

As the storm of notes rushed in, their last bit of dissatisfaction quickly vanished.

Amidst the music, they occasionally heard the sound of firm and heavy footsteps.

Thud, thud, thud!

It sounded like someone was walking upstairs, or as if someone was ringing a bell, but some thought it might also be an intriguing form of accompaniment.

White gloves held the police baton, paired with a brand-new black top hat; in the pitch darkness, only a faint pair of red glints became almost imperceptible, climbing with the footsteps.

Arthur’s figure blocked the path that Victor and his party had to take.

Both groups tacitly remained silent, as everyone knew making a fuss wouldn’t be good.

On the stage, Mendelssohn passionately performed the piece “The Bells”, and although he had heard Mr.

Mozesales boast about its difficulty many times, and indeed struggled a bit when he first tried it, this young musician, who aspired to be the greatest pianist after Bach, was not defeated by it.

Lively notes like fluttering butterflies streamed one after another, with the orchestral sonatas accompanied by a series of clinking sounds coming from the second floor.

Moonlight shone through the window onto Mendelssohn’s fingers, the spirited tune flowed as sweat slid down his cheeks, over his neck, and dripped onto his chest, soaking the pleated frills of his white shirt like clusters of blossoming flowers.

In the darkness, the arc of swords and sabers flashed.

Red glimmers flickered, as if dancing like the dim lights of phosphorescence in a church graveyard.

The clash between French classical fencing and the Apennine Fiore style commenced at that moment.

Two loud thuds, as if someone’s back had hit the floor and rolled down the stairs.

Dull groans, like punches struck against a chest.

Above on the stage, dancing fingertips fell into a frenzy, as if the piano itself was trembling along, and the earth was shaking.

Suddenly, the piano music violently stopped, followed by an agonizing scream, and a cry of utter terror resonated in the silent hall: “Surrender!!!”

The staff who had been standing on ladders with candles, waiting to re-illuminate the hall, immediately began lighting the chandeliers one by one, and brightness returned to the venue.

Everyone’s gaze focused on the area from where the sound had come, where two ‘ladies’, apparently moved to tears by Mr.

Hastings’ touching performance, were kneeling and crying uncontrollably on the ground, and beside them lay someone even more extreme, who had apparently fainted with foam at the mouth.

“Oh!

My God!”

The gentlemen and ladies present couldn’t help exclaiming, their admiration for the piano skill just moment ago, but now they were seized by this dramatically shocking scene.

Perhaps some had previously looked down upon Arthur Hastings’ nickname as the “Paganini of the piano world,” but now, no one would question this appellation.

In the gaze of the shocked gentlemen and ladies, Arthur, who had already switched places with Mendelssohn amidst the chaos, slowly raised his hand.

His chest heaved in his tailcoat as he took deep breaths, obviously fatigued from ensuring the capture of the three ‘ladies’.

After catching his breath, Arthur finally had the moment to smooth his disheveled tailcoat, placed one hand on his chest, and bowed slightly to the audience, “A piece adapted from Mr.

Paganini’s ‘The Bells’, dedicated to all the guests present, and I wish Mr.

Paganini every success in his upcoming concert in France.”

No sooner had he spoken than a thunderous applause erupted from the audience.

Arthur smiled and acknowledged the audience with a wave, while Mendelssohn, standing below the stage, asked excitedly in a low voice, “Arthur, by the looks of it, did you win?”

Arthur said little, only pulling open his tailcoat after his bow and showing Mendelssohn the several tears on his shirt, “Mr.

Victor was tougher than I thought, it’s just a pity he’s past his prime.”

Just as Arthur was about to exchange pleasantries with Mendelssohn, he suddenly noticed an elegant figure hurrying up from the first floor to the second, Mrs.

Livent and the two Tsarist Russian officers by her side seemed to have received some bad news, judging by their expressions.

On the second floor, Viscount Palmeston and Madame Copper appeared to be quite satisfied with Arthur’s performance, as they specially opened the window and smiled, clapping in tribute to him.

Seeing this, Arthur felt as if something was amiss.

As he pondered this, the Red Devil suddenly grinned, slinging an arm over his shoulder, “Yo!

Arthur, it seems that the task force you sent to the Russian embassy is quite successful, and it looks like they’re already on their way to find you.”