The Shadow of Great Britain

415: Chapter 237 Cabin Night Talk (5k2)_3 415: Chapter 237 Cabin Night Talk (5k2)_3 “You were able to write ‘The Pickwick Papers,’ a truly outstanding work, so your talent must be at least on par with mine.

Could the banker’s daughter possibly be harder to handle than Mrs.

Sykes?”

“Therefore, this time, you must succeed and not fail.

For if you are frustrated in love, it is not just you who would be dishonored but also the rest of the bestselling authors from ‘The British’ and ‘The Economist,’ including but not limited to Benjamin Disraeli, Alexander Dumas, Arthur Hastings, Charles Darwin, Louis Bonaparte, John Stuart Mill, and of course, Mr.

Eld Carter.”

Great Dumas laughed heartily and nodded, “Right, if all fails, when you return, tell Miss Mary and ask her if she knows what would happen if she offends Mr.

Carter?”

No sooner had Dumas finished speaking than a flash of lightning suddenly streaked across the sky outside the window.

The room was filled with a rumbling sound; the flames in the fireplace flickered wildly due to the wind blowing down the chimney.

After a brief illumination from the lightning, the room plunged back into a deadly silence.

Clutching his racing heart, Dumas took a deep breath: “That startled me; I thought mocking Eld would summon something unclean.”

Dickens, also quite frightened, wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “The fierce winds, the booming thunder, it all reminds me of ‘Frankenstein,’ which Arthur asked me to adapt not long ago.”

“‘Frankenstein’?” Dumas recalled immediately: “Ah, that work by Mrs.

Shelley?

I remember Arthur mentioned wanting to adapt it for publication in ‘The British’ and potentially have it staged in a small theater in London to help ease Mrs.

Shelley’s financial woes.

She has to publish so many of Shelley’s posthumous works and look after the children; her life is indeed not easy.”

“Hmm…” Dickens began, “Alexander, have you read ‘Frankenstein?’ A mad scientist, intent on creating life, stitches together parts of various corpses into a creature eight feet tall.

Then, on a stormy night, as lightning struck and thunder boomed, that stitched-together monster actually opened its eyes!”

Sipping his tea, Arthur bit into a biscuit: “Controlling lightning?

This mad scientist sounds quite like Mr.

Faraday.

Perhaps when this play is staged, the appearance of the scientific monster, Frankenstein, can be modeled after Mr.

Faraday.”

No sooner had Arthur’s playful words ended than no one in the room laughed; the glow of the fire reflected on everyone’s faces, yet it couldn’t bring out any hint of color.

Great Dumas, Disraeli, and Dickens’ faces were ashen white, their lips even quivering slightly.

Arthur frowned and asked, “With the weak and frail state you all are in, do you still expect me to open the windows during a storm?

If you’re feeling unwell, perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down for a while.

I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.

But let me say upfront, my cooking skills are nowhere near as good as Alexander’s.”

Wearing glasses and dangled in cotton slippers, nestled by the sofa close to the fire and reading a book, the Red Devil slightly raised his head and peered out the window before pushing his glasses up and shouting, “Arthur, I don’t think they’re feeling unwell; it’s something outside the window that has frightened them.”

“Frightened?”

Arthur set down his porcelain teacup and stood up to gaze out the window, where in the darkened street behind the shadows of trees, a tall hunched figure could faintly be seen.

Its back appeared to have a swelling the size of a hillock, and a sharp, slim cavalry saber was embedded in its arm.

With each heavy step it took, chunks of flesh seemed to fall off its body.

Great Dumas took a deep breath, the French fat man stared intently at the shadow while fumbling on the table, “My God!

I didn’t expect my new gun’s first shot would be to deal with such a thing!”

Dickens was also frightened, “Could it be that the book written by Mrs.

Shelley is all true?

Or did Mr.

Faraday create this creature?”

Disraeli also cried out, “Can’t the Royal Society learn some good for once, like studying more about exchanging air, maintaining breath, why do they mess with this thing!”

A group of grown men huddled together, too scared to even breathe heavily.

Although they were all prepared for battle, they still hoped that the creature would know better and retreat, leaving each other in peace.

Arthur, seeing this situation, just stretched lazily, picked up his teacup to finish the remaining tea, and turned to walk towards the door.

Dickens cried out in alarm, “Arthur, where are you going?”

Disraeli quickly grabbed the shotgun from Great Dumas’s hand and threw it over, “If you’re going, you should at least take something for protection!”

Great Dumas then threw over a half-drunk bottle of red wine, “What’s the use of drinking tea, try some of this to get energized!”

Arthur just frowned and shook his head at the three men, he gently turned the doorknob, a howling cold wind rushed into the room, blowing his neatly combed hair fluttering against the wind.

Great Dumas and the others held their breath.

Under their watchful eyes, a pair of wet and sticky large hands appeared outside the door, and between the fingers of these hands were stuffed two letters.

“Sir, I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean to get your mail like this.

But as you can see, with today’s terrible weather, as I was crossing Hyde Park, I accidentally fell into a small mud pit by the roadside, got mud all over me, and even the mail bag soaked through.

Although I hate to say this, could you please check the sender and address on the envelope now?

If there are no mistakes, would you mind signing for it?”

Arthur looked at the honest postman drenched in mud, his trousers and backpack also smeared with mud, and just smiled as he spoke, “No worries, sir.

In this weather, unfortunate incidents do indeed occur.”

Great Dumas let out a long sigh of relief, the French fat man collapsed on the carpet next to the table, “You scared me to death, I thought it was Eld’s ghost making an appearance.”

Arthur glanced down at the envelope, raised his eyebrows and said, “No, Alexander, you weren’t wrong.

Eld’s ghost has indeed made an appearance, this letter is from him, of course, accompanied by the observer’s research diary.”