The Shadow of Great Britain

139: Chapter 97: Upper-Class Ladies’ Social Group 139: Chapter 97: Upper-Class Ladies’ Social Group The morning hours always seemed to rush by, yet some people had a fulfilling morning, while others started their day at noon.

Eld finished washing up in the bathroom, stretched lazily, and walked out of his room.

He had just come down the stairs when he saw Great Dumas, dusty and holding a few garlic bulbs, cheerfully walking back inside.

Eld smacked his lips twice and asked, “Why do you French folk always like to eat garlic?

What are you after?

Fresh breath?”

When Dumas heard this, he retorted mercilessly, “Better to like garlic than to like the girls in London.

Since I’ve arrived here, it’s the first time I realize how beautiful French cows are.”

Having said that, Dumas walked to where Darwin was sitting on the sofa in the living room, reading a book, and asked, “Charles, could you explain that ‘epilepsy’ thing in detail later?

I was quite fascinated when I listened last night.

I have to admit, I had prejudices against the British before I met you, and only after meeting you did I realize that there are indeed British with whom one can converse.”

Darwin scratched his cheek with his finger, “Are you complimenting me?”

Dumas shook his head while pointing at Eld, who was standing on the stairs, “No, I’m putting down that idiot over there.

Of course, I must honestly admit, his erotic waste-filled head isn’t completely useless.

If placed in the right environment, he could at least provide some trivial nautical knowledge.”

Hearing this, Eld shrugged his shoulders sarcastically and shouted back at Dumas, “Hopefully, the French Navy is as tough as your mouth.”

Dumas snapped back, “You needn’t worry about that, you should be grateful that Britain is an island, otherwise you’d already be second-class citizens of France.”

“Is that so?” Eld responded defiantly, “I think, even after landing, the Royal Navy’s fighting capability could match French artillery.”

“Oh!

Thank Heaven!” Dumas clasped his hands in a prayerful gesture, a request for God’s forgiveness, “I beg you, please don’t say such things.

In a French context, the phrase ‘British troops landing’ isn’t something that should be recklessly mentioned in public.”

Eld, clearly baffled, scratched his head, “Why?”

Dumas glanced at him, “Have you forgotten what color the uniforms of the British soldiers are?

In France, ‘British troops landing’ is often used by elegant French ladies to express physical discomfort.”

No sooner had Dumas finished his sentence than Arthur, who had been engrossed in reading the newspaper, couldn’t help but glance at the Red Devil sitting leisurely nearby, humming a tune.

Agares caught his gaze sharply.

The Red Devil, initially stunned, looked down at his dark red skin color, then furiously pointed at Arthur and shouted, “Arthur!

I warn you, don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking!”

Arthur’s eyes briefly wandered before settling back on Dumas.

He set the newspaper aside and asked, “So, Alexander, have you made any headway with your novel?

I have to attend General Cordington’s gathering next Sunday, and within this week, you must finish the article for me.”

Dumas threw the garlic in his hand on the coffee table and wedged himself into the sofa in the living room.

“What’s the rush?

It’s going to be a rather long story.

I need to think it through properly, and such a long story needs at least six months for me to deliver a finished product to you.”

Arthur picked up the tea cup and said, “You’re so desperate for money, can you afford to wait six months?

Let me give you a suggestion instead.

If your opening hits big at General Cordington’s gathering, I might consider connecting you with a well-circulated newspaper.

You can deliver a few chapters each week for serial publication.

This way, if the readers’ response isn’t good, you can cut your losses in time and consider starting over with a new idea.”

Dumas was stunned for a moment, then slapped his thigh and stood up excitedly, “How did you come up with this idea?

Getting paid once during serial publication and then again when it’s published as a book!

Truly a genius idea!

How else to say, you British really know how to do business?”

Arthur nodded slightly, “Right, how about the title change I suggested to you?

Instead of ‘The Revenge of Edmond Dantes’, why not call it ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’?

Readers don’t care about someone named Edmond Dantes; they prefer stories about an Earl.”

“I know you might name it like that to imitate Defoe’s ‘Robinson Crusoe’, but perhaps you don’t know that ‘Robinson Crusoe’ is just a shortened name.

After Defoe gained fame, even such ordinary names could sell, so publishers simply didn’t bother printing its original name on the cover.”

“‘Robinson Crusoe’ was an abbreviation?” Dumas stroked his curly head, “Then what’s its full name?”

Arthur smirked and stood up to pull a yellowing old book from the bookshelf in the living room, tossing it onto the coffee table.

A clattering noise raised dust from the table.

Dumas leaned in and finally saw the title of the 1719 first edition ‘Robinson Crusoe’, full name—’The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner: Who Lived Eight-and-Twenty Years All Alone in an Uninhabited Island on the Coast of America, Near the Mouth of the Great River Oroonoque; Having Been Cast on Shore by Shipwreck, Wherein All the Men Perished but Himself, and How He Was at Last as Strangely Delivered by Pirates’.

The frightfully long sentence nearly filled the entire cover, making it seem as though the publisher, intending to save on paper, decided to let the story begin right on the cover for readers unfamiliar with the situation.

Seeing this, Dumas finally gave in, wiping sweat from his forehead, “Alright then, I’ll go with your suggestion.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, they suddenly heard a jangling sound from the doorbell outside—ding ding ding.

Eld yawned as he opened the door, and before him stood an elderly gentleman dressed in a tailcoat.

The old gentleman smiled and removed his hat to greet, then he asked, “Is Mr.

Arthur Hastings home?”

“Who are you?”

“I am the butler of the Rothschild Family.

Our young master, Lionel Rothschild, sent me to deliver a hunting invitation to Mr.

Hastings.

If he’s not in, please hand him this letter and inform Lord Hastings that young master Lionel wishes to meet him near the Marble Arch next Sunday morning at eight.”

Upon hearing this, Arthur immediately stood up and walked to the door; he recognized the man’s face—it seemed familiar, like the servant he’d seen following Lionel in the real estate trading hall the other day.

He smiled and extended a hand to invite the man in: “If you’re not in a hurry, come in and have some tea first.”

The old butler smiled and nodded in acceptance of Arthur’s invitation, stepping into the living room.

He first glanced at the Great Dumas sprawled on the sofa, then observed Darwin contemplating over a note on biology, making a preliminary judgment about their identities.

After a brief exchange of greetings, Arthur directly took a white porcelain teacup from the cabinet and personally filled it with tea for the old butler.

Seeing this, the old butler tactfully advised, “Mr.

Hastings, from what I’ve seen, it would be better for you to hire a servant who could provide basic household services.

There are six rooms in this house; you and your friends occupy four, and the other two would be perfect for hiring a driver and a maid.

If you find hiring servants troublesome, we can also recruit on your behalf.

The social circle near Hyde Park isn’t too low, and if guests visit your place and see you, the host, constantly busy and unable to entertain them, it could very well diminish your social reputation.”

Arthur understood the implication and nodded with a smile.

“Thank you very much for your advice.

I will certainly consider it if I have the opportunity.

But currently, I am indeed too preoccupied to focus on other matters.

You must know that Scotland Yard has been handling several major cases recently and also needs to constantly monitor public opinion.

I am seldom at home most of the time, like today’s rare moment of leisure.

With such a busy schedule, I haven’t had the chance to explore social arenas, like the hunting invitation you just mentioned that Lionel wishes to extend for next Sunday.

I’ve always wanted to go to the forest with him to hunt rabbits and chat, but I already have plans for next Sunday, and I am truly sorry.”

“You are already engaged next Sunday?”

The old butler looked slightly surprised at first, but immediately rather than being disappointed or angry, he actually held Arthur in higher regard.

He smiled and asked, “Although it might be impolite to ask, may I know what event you plan to attend next Sunday?

If it’s a date or perhaps bond with friends, I happen to know a few good restaurants, and maybe I could recommend one to you.”

Arthur had no intention of hiding anything from him.

On the contrary, he was even curious to hear more from the Rothschild’s old butler.

He was particularly uncertain about the gathering hosted by General Cordington next Sunday.

Before this, he had never attended any high-society gathering and didn’t know exactly what to prepare.

If the old butler was willing to offer some tips, that would be most welcome for Arthur.

He asked, “Do you know General Cordington of the Channel Fleet?

He is returning to London next week for a vacation, so Lady Cordington plans to hold a party at their residence, and I have received an invitation.”

“Ah… Lady Cordington…” Upon hearing this, the old butler instantly understood, “I think I understand why General Cordington would like to invite you.

Is he hoping that you could talk about the recent developments in the field of electromagnetism at the gathering?”

Arthur sipped his tea with a smile, “Does that mean the Rothschild also received an invitation?

How come you know so much about it?”

The old butler chuckled, “No, no.

You might have been too engaged in official duties previously, so you are not very familiar with London’s social circles.

The ladies of London have many groups among themselves, and Lady Cordington is the leader of one well-known group.

It must be said, the ladies from that group usually possess quirky and unique personalities.

It’s not surprising at all that they invited a budding scientist like you.

After all, they’ve been doing this sort of thing since the fifties and sixties of the last century.”

Arthur, now curious, asked, “So, what exactly is the group that Lady Cordington is part of?”

The old butler took a sip of tea, aware that explaining this group to Arthur might be somewhat tedious.

He queried.

“Are you familiar with the ‘Bluestocking Society’ established by Lady Montagu?

It’s also called the ‘Women Scholars.’ You might have heard about the motto Lady Montagu set for this society—In my salon, there’s no card playing or discussing who can’t find a husband or whose servant eloped; I don’t want to waste time boringly.

We need to discuss some meaningful topics.

If you wish to make a good first impression on them at the party, I recommend you wear a pair of everyday blue stockings, because the ladies of this society are just like the name of the group—Bluestocking Society.

It’s neither the white silk stockings loved by high society nor the noble and elegant black silk stockings.

The ladies of this group are quite rebellious.”