The Shadow of Great Britain

37: Chapter 34 Yes, Sir!

37: Chapter 34 Yes, Sir!

Wellington Duke took the manuscript from Sir Peel’s hand, and with just a cursory glance, he had quickly flipped through the dozen or so pages to the end.

Soon, the Army Marshal, known for his iron will and sternness, could not help but reveal a hint of a smile.

“Robert, I think you might have seen everything, but you just omitted his most important request,” he said.

The Wellington Duke turned the manuscript toward Sir Peel and pointed at a line of text that nearly filled the entire page.

“I’m afraid that’s what he really wants.”

Sir Peel raised his eyes to look.

The text on the page was straightforward and to the point.

——Even with such extensive revisions, I still find it difficult to hire police officers that meet the standards for a weekly wage of twelve shillings; hence, I request a raise for all front-line patrol officers at Scotland Yard.

Upon seeing this, Sir Peel couldn’t help but laugh, and the displeasure he felt from the internal party strife vanished instantly.

He asked the Duke, “What do you think, Your Grace?”

The Wellington Duke said, “An interesting young man.

It’s rare to see someone who dares to make demands like this to their superiors.”

Sir Peel pondered for a moment, “You mean to say that we shouldn’t meet his request?”

The Wellington Duke shook his head gently, “No, that’s not what I mean.

Because when I was young, I was just like him, only even more severe.

He is merely making some demands, whereas I, I directly defied the orders of my superiors.

You know, I’ve never liked being told what to do.”

Sir Peel asked with a smile, “I can hardly believe you had such experiences.

Could you remind me what exactly it was?”

The Wellington Duke waved his hand nonchalantly as if it was some inconsequential affair.

“Nothing worth mentioning, but if you want to hear it, I’ll tell you.

Do you remember the Battle of Vimiero on the Iberian Peninsula in 1808?”

“Of course, Your Grace, you were the supreme commander of that battle.”

The Wellington Duke said, “Actually, I wasn’t supposed to be.

I remember it was August 1st of that year; I had just successfully landed with over ten thousand men at Mondego Bay, about 100 miles north of the capital, Lisbon, Portugal.

But soon after, we received intelligence that Marshal Jean Andoche Junot, one of Napoleon’s generals, known as ‘the Storm,’ and the main force of the French Army stationed in Portugal were nearby.

The Army Command had ordered me to hold my position because General Dalrymple was leading a reinforcement of fifteen thousand men to take over from me as commander-in-chief, and I was ordered to cooperate with him to attack the French.

But I ignored them, because the opportunity for battle is fleeting.

Instead of waiting, it was better for me to launch the assault directly.”

Upon hearing this, Sir Peel, somewhat amused and astonished, said, “After such actions, didn’t they court-martial you afterwards?”

The Wellington Duke replied, “Of course!

But it wasn’t for launching the attack on my own; rather, they wanted to investigate my decision to accept the French Army’s surrender, agree to a safe retreat for the remnants, and provide ships for those who voluntarily wanted to return to France.”

Sir Peel said with a wry smile, “I seem to recall that affair, but wasn’t the charge against you deemed invalid by the court?”

“Of course!

What ground did they have to convict?

I had won the battle!”

The Wellington Duke answered confidently, “Anyone can sign a treaty, but how many can win a battle?

If the Army thought the terms I signed were unsatisfactory, they could go and fight the French themselves, forcing Napoleon to sign a treaty to their liking!”

Sir Peel nodded thoughtfully, “So what’s your opinion on Police Superintendent Arthur’s request?”

The Wellington Duke replied candidly, “Of course, it’s fine to give the officers at Scotland Yard a raise, but first, they need to win their battles.”

Sir Peel smiled and said, “Since our Prime Minister and Chancellor of the Exchequer says so, then I understand how to respond to Police Superintendent Arthur.”

…

Greenwich Police District station under the London Metropolitan Police.

Arthur leaned back in his chair at the conference room’s round table, looking up at the yellowed chandelier on the ceiling.

The lamp oil inside hadn’t been changed in a long while, casting such a dim light it couldn’t even fully illuminate his face.

Outside the window, heavy rain was lashing down.

Fat drops of rain, as large as thumbs, pounded on the streets of London like bullets.

An occasional flash of lightning would cross the sky, illuminating half of Arthur’s face by the window.

He appeared very calm, with no expression on his face, showing neither joy nor happiness.

The only thing moving in the whole scene was the pen twirling in his hand.

As lightning flashed and thunder roared, the room’s light dimmed once more, and his face again receded into the shadows.

In the dim environment, the only thing that could identify him was the Bath star glittering on his epaulette.

Behind him, two workers were installing a framed document, which had just been retrieved from the printery, fresh and tidy.

The document’s content was as simple as its title.

These were the freshly amended nine principles by Arthur Hastings that had entered the “London Metropolitan Police Service Manual.”

Also on the table in front of Arthur was a letter that had arrived almost simultaneously with the new edition of the police manual.

The letter came from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland’s Home Office on Whitehall.

The content inside was also straightforward, only a few lines that even the most rudimentarily educated could understand at face value.

— A splendid landing in Lisbon had broken Napoleon’s ‘Continental System’ against Britain, in exchange for a twenty-five percent raise for the entirety of Scotland Yard.

Knock, Knock, Knock!

A cautious knocking sound echoed from outside the conference room.

“Come in.”

The conference room door swung open, and four police chiefs, with three V-shaped bars on their shoulders, filed in and, after coming to attention, saluted Arthur.

The police chiefs glanced at the nine principles hanging behind Arthur, their Adam’s apples moving slightly.

They, of course, had also received the latest edition of the police manual and knew that the young twenty-year-old Police Superintendent before them was rising steadily in Scotland Yard like the morning sun at eight or nine o’clock.

Arthur gestured with his hand, signaling them to sit down.

But before their backsides had even settled in, a bright lightning bolt flashed outside the window, startling the four police chiefs to their feet again.

It was only after they saw Arthur’s surprised gaze that they sat down again, somewhat embarrassed.

Immediately afterward, as thunder clapped loudly, Arthur abruptly stood up from his chair.

Slap!

He set his sturdy arms on the desk, just as he had stood at the prosecutor’s bench in Magistrates’ Court.

“Although those present should already know me, as a matter of courtesy, I still feel it necessary to introduce myself.

Arthur Hastings, Police Superintendent in charge of the Greenwich Police District in the East London area of the London Metropolitan Police, starting today, I will be fully in charge of all police work within this district.”

At this point, Arthur paused and then asked, “By the way, I heard that a police chief who is also new to the post is here to take over from my old boss, Wilcox.

May I know who it is?”

The young police officer sitting at the end, upon hearing this, quickly stood up and reported, “Brayden Jones, transferred from the headquarters of the London Metropolitan Police to the Greenwich Police District, salutes you!”

Arthur leaned forward, extending his hand amicably, “Mr.

Jones, I am pleased to meet you.”

The young officer eagerly grasped Arthur’s hand with his own sweaty one, “I am also pleased to meet you.”

He couldn’t see Arthur’s face clearly, only discovering two slightly glowing red eyes in the dimness.

Arthur’s gentle and magnanimous voice resounded.

“I have heard about Wilcox fleeing with public funds and firearms out of fear of prosecution.

Such an incident is truly unfortunate for Scotland Yard.

You must certainly take it as a cautionary tale.”

Jones’s body stiffened, and he almost reflexively snapped to attention, saluting, “Yes, Commander!”