The Shadow of Great Britain
Chapter 325 - 325 205 The Power of the British 6K2_2

325: Chapter 205: The Power of the British (6K2)_2 325: Chapter 205: The Power of the British (6K2)_2 After receiving the position of magistrate, Mr.

Norton was naturally very grateful to his wife and Viscount Melbourne, not only beginning to actively repair his relationship with his wife but even encouraging it greatly.

The couple had lived in harmony for over half a year, but this harmony began to subtly change once Mr.

Norton learned of the upcoming establishment of the London District Prosecution Office.

Although Mr.

Norton had lost the election not long ago, his confidence was hardly shaken.

He believed he deserved the position of Chief Prosecutor at the London District Prosecution Office and started asking his wife to inquire about it from Viscount Melbourne.

However, this time Viscount Melbourne tactfully declined Mrs.

Norton’s request.

The temperate, occasionally sensitive Home Secretary, although he valued his relationship with Mrs.

Norton, was not without intellect.

Viscount Melbourne was well aware that the appointment of a Chief Prosecutor had to be authorized by the Lord Chancellor’s Office, and there was no chance that Lord Brougham would entrust such an important position to a former staunch Tory.

Even the last time Mr.

Norton was appointed as a magistrate, it was only by coincidence due to Arthur’s circumstances.

Otherwise, it would not be easy to gain favor from Lord Brougham, a man so stern that he could even appear harsh and dared to side with the Queen against the late King George IV in court.

After being rejected by Viscount Melbourne, Mr.

Norton quickly reverted to his behavior from six months ago, his attitude first becoming distant, then erupting as violently as a volcano, followed by continuous arguments and physical fights.

Mr.

Norton hurled inkpots and threw boiling water from teapots at his wife.

Mrs.

Norton responded by berating her husband thoroughly, insulting the ancestors of the Norton family, while emphasizing the glorious traditions of her own Sheridan Family lineage.

In a segment of Mrs.

Norton’s self-narration noted down by Arthur, it perfectly reflects the nature of their relationship—”To me, my husband gradually became a suffocator, diaphragm, iron mask, interrogator, and everything unnatural.

In resistance, I called him a tyrant; he called me a traitor.

Yet, he could do nothing about me, and I must say, even as a tyrant, he was the most incompetent among the mad tyrants.”

As Mrs.

Norton poured out her grievances, Arthur, adept at compiling and organizing information, had essentially completed a preliminary investigation into Mr.

Norton’s social background and lifestyle habits.

This investigation led him to discover a very interesting incident among the numerous instances of Mrs.

Norton harshly criticizing her husband’s inhumanity—they had a particularly fierce argument last Wednesday about their child’s education.

However, the dispute did not escalate to a physical fight, as Mr.

Norton was in a hurry to attend a dinner hosted by Earl Eldon.

The report delivered by the Detective of the London Police Intelligence Bureau showed that Mr.

Bernie Harrison was also on the guest list for this dinner.

Interestingly, Mrs.

Norton described her husband, who returned home drunk as a lord: “His shirt was all speckled with mud, and from head to toe, he bore no semblance to a British gentleman.

When I saw him, I thought he was some swineherd who had just finished work!

Thanks to Mr.

Harrison, and curse Mr.

Harrison, if he hadn’t kindly shared a carriage with that tyrant, he might have frozen to death by the roadside.”

Disraeli sat opposite Arthur at his desk, legs crossed, reviewing documents while savoring a glass of wine that shimmered like splendid gold.

He raised an eyebrow and complimented, “Hmm, Arthur, I didn’t expect you to have such a taste for wine, Sauternes from the Château Lys in the Sauternes region.

The President of the United States, the Tsar of Russia, the King of France, and many of the upper crust in Britain are followers of this place.

What do the newspapers call this wine again?

Liquid gold?

This bottle wasn’t cheap, was it?”

Arthur massaged his sore neck, looked up, and saw the Red Devil standing behind Disraeli, almost wishing he could strangle him.

The Red Devil, holding his face, yelled, “Arthur!

You little rascal, look at what you’ve done!

Such fine stuff, and you let this Jew ruin it?

Make him stop, or I swear you’ll go to Hell one day!”

Arthur, ignoring the Devil’s protest, simply stated, “This wine wasn’t bought by me; it was a gift from Duke Wellington.

According to His Grace, one must order Château Lys’s white wine three years in advance, as their products are always in demand.”

Disraeli took another sip and, lifting his glass to observe the clear liquid, asked, “Really?

How much, if it’s within my budget, maybe I should prepare to order the batch three years from now.”

Arthur struck a match to light a cigar, leaned back in his chair, and exhaled a puff of smoke: “Not too expensive, just about the value of a Belgian crown.

Frankly, you’ve just drunk half of Brussels.”

Upon hearing this, Disraeli nearly spat the wine he’d just taken into his mouth onto Arthur’s face.