The Shadow of Great Britain

530: Chapter 276: The Source of the Plague_3 530: Chapter 276: The Source of the Plague_3 Arthur nodded slightly, “I have met him once; he has been to Scotland Yard.”

Masden began, “Mr.

Chadwick was recently appointed by Lord Brougham to prepare for the establishment of the Poor Law Commission.

The first task of this committee is to investigate the living conditions of the poor across Britain.

They have compiled statistics of several epidemics that have occurred in Britain since the 19th century and found that out of the hundred thousand people who die each year from certain specific diseases, more than half reside in urban areas.

Moreover, the major outbreaks of disease are mostly concentrated in a few large industrial cities, with rural areas generally being less affected.”

Interestingly, this is consistent with my own research conclusions on epidemics.

I believe these epidemics originate in the filthy urban environment and spread in the form of miasma.

You have lived in London for several years, you surely know the extent of the filth flowing through the streets whenever there’s heavy rain.”

And it’s not just London, Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester are all the same.

I lived in Manchester for a while, and on Parliament Street in Manchester, three hundred and eighty residents had to share one public toilet, located in a narrow alley, stinking and endangering the neighborhood.

Such an environment is, of course, a fertile ground for diseases.”

Mr.

Chadwick mentioned that quite a few of the parish officers sent out for data collection this year caught diseases in those slums, and two unfortunate souls who went to investigate the East End contracted typhoid and passed away within days.

Just like Wordsworth’s lines say: factories have disrupted the quiet life of the countryside, smoke and dust have sullied the once-clear rivers and fertile lands.

How can we possibly live healthily in such a sewage Venice?”

Arthur also deeply agreed with Masden’s words and said, “I’ve had similar concerns myself.

I was in charge of the East End’s public order for a while, and many of our police officers fell ill there, some of whom even passed away.

Although it’s never been publicly discussed, the disbursements for relief funds at Scotland Yard actually account for a substantial proportion of the annual expenses.

Fortunately, it seems that the Lord Chancellor’s office is truly intending to do something about this now.”

Upon hearing this, Masden just sighed and said, “But…

how should I put it?

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

There seems to be a fierce argument in Parliament about improving sanitary conditions, and there’s disagreement within the Lord Chancellor’s office itself.

As to the specific reasons, Mr.

Chadwick was reluctant to divulge too much, so I don’t know to what extent health reforms can be pushed.”

As a doctor, Masden wasn’t much concerned with politics, but Arthur could guess the root of the disagreement from his words.

Since the “Great Charter” was enacted in 1215, opposing authoritarianism and respecting individual freedom have been the most important traditions in British society.

And Duke Wellington, a symbolic figure representing authority, had just been overthrown; everyone was now preoccupied with the idea of asserting their liberties.

If someone were to implement comprehensive and uniform regulations in the health and sanitation sector, they would quickly become a target, put on a pedestal to be shot at by others.

Politicians always care about their own feathers, and with Representative Harrison’s incident happening not long ago, no one was willing to lead the charge at this time.

As Arthur was pondering how to explain these intricacies to Masden, a patient dressed in a frayed felt hat, a burlap shirt, clutching a medicine bottle, and with a toe peeking out of his shoe, shuffled weakly past Arthur.

The patient’s shoulder brushed against Arthur slightly, and the patient stumbled, falling to the ground.

Seeing this, Arthur quickly bent down to help him up, “Sir, are you alright?”

The patient, clutching his stomach, shakily took off his hat and forced a strained smile while apologizing to Arthur, “Sorry…

sorry, sir, I…

I’ve been vomiting several times today, can’t keep any food down, my body…

really doesn’t have any strength.”

After hearing this, Arthur reached into his pocket and handed a coin to the man, “There’s a bakery around the corner.

I used to buy things from there often when I was a student.

They give a good amount of bread, try to eat something to regain some strength.”

The patient shook his head and pushed the coin back into Arthur’s hand, “Sir, I am a respectable working man; several little ones rely on me for sustenance.

Once I am over this illness, we will soon prosper.

I appreciate your kindness, but please leave the money for someone who needs it.

Goodbye, and I wish you a pleasant day.”

Seeing this, Arthur did not insist further.

He turned around, intending to continue his conversation with Masden, when unexpectedly, before he could even speak, he heard a thud behind him.

He quickly turned his head to look.

He saw that the man had already fallen onto the brick pathway outside the clinic, his head hitting the wall and cracking open a sizeable gash, from which fresh blood was seeping across his forehead, over his cheek, and merging into the cracks of the streets with the mortar.

Masden leaped out with a step and repeatedly instructed the apprentices, “Sir, are you alright?!

John, Mark, quickly help the patient back to the resting room!

Horne, go prepare some soft honey water and bread for him!”

Arthur also wanted to go out and see what had happened, but before he could step out, the Red Devil suddenly laid a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur asked in confusion, “Agares?”

Without saying a word, the Red Devil’s eyes gleamed red as if they were a video camera, pouring countless images into Arthur’s mind.

It was a ballroom packed with people, where he seemed to see Heine and Great Dumas merrily dancing.

The music was playing, the clown took the stage, and today’s performance was as amusing as ever.

But in an instant, like roses withering in a vase, the lights dimmed.

The clown, with a face full of white powder, suddenly stopped dancing, his legs gave out, and he thumped to his knees, his expression growing vacant.

The mask on his face slowly slid off, revealing a visage that had already turned purple.

The laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by countless screams.

One by one, the Circus members fell, the stage nearly drenched in blood, which also blurred Arthur’s vision.

In the blood-soaked scenes, carriage after carriage dashed out, like ants on a march, transporting the revelers from the ball to the hospital.

The carriages were filled with bodies, and nobody would have imagined that just moments before, they had been exuberantly expressing their passion on stage.

Only the festive costumes still on their bodies served as their eulogy.

Arthur stood frozen in place, “What…

what is this?”

No one answered him, the only response was the devil’s low chant by his ear.

“Arthur, I told you, mind your own business.

If you must interfere, then be prepared.

Because Baal’s minions…

are descending.”