The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 808: Chapter 377: Britain, Do Not Cry for Me (Part 2)_3

81.4 points, 81.3 points, 81.2 points, 81.2 points, 81.2 points…

In the stock exchange, someone had already noticed something was amiss.

A group of people gathered around the announcement board, studying it for a long time without understanding what was going on. Suddenly, someone glanced at the resting area and saw the dozen or so senior brokers there, looking relaxed and chatting merrily.

Someone muttered under their breath: “Damn it, those old folks are grabbing shares. Their apprentices are all gone.”

This instantly caused an uproar near the announcement board.

“Where are they getting their information?”

“Wait! Aren’t there fewer stockbrokers around Rothschild?”

“Has Rothschild received news?”

Suddenly, someone seemed to have figured it out. He slapped his thigh in regret and said: “Damn it! You fools, we’ve all been tricked! Lionel Rothschild, that Jewish bastard was just putting on a show! The presence of that officer here shows the situation is already stable. Yet he pretended otherwise, as if things were still uncertain. This was all his plot!”

Others around him seemed to be awakened by his words, and they suddenly remembered the classic Rothschild case their former senior broker had told them about: “This…damn it, he is recreating the Battle of Waterloo!”

“Let’s go, we can still recover some losses if we act now before others react.”

Some were eager to return to the battlefield, but those who were smarter had already sneaked back while they were chatting.

The screeching sound of chalk on the announcement board was heard once again.

Screech!

81.2 points was erased, the new price for British Public Bonds was – 81.8 points.

81.8 points, 82.3 points, 82.7 points, 83.2 points…

In just a few minutes, British Public Bonds had walked out of the cliff-fall trend, and not only that, it even entered a frenzy of rising prices.

Just a moment ago, the stockbrokers were terrified by the looming crisis, and now it seemed insignificant. Even though the smoke from the horizon looked thicker than before.

Market confidence was being rebuilt, and its rebuilding was as fast as its collapse.

At this very moment, Lionel finally moved from the bench. He stood up with the support of his cane, took off his hat and gently shook it, his signature smile returning to his face.

“Rothschild Bank is willing to buy British Public Debt at 85.5 points for a nominal value of 20,000 pounds.”

Although the voice wasn’t loud, it was enough to silence the entire London Stock Exchange.

Before his words had even faded, the sound of galloping horses echoed from outside the stock exchange.

A man in a cloak, with a pipe in his mouth, dismounted his horse. He handed the reins and the whip to a servant; his body speckled with raindrops and mud, and even his top hat was slightly askew.

He stomped into the stock exchange in his riding boots, his small steps creating a path through the crowd.

However, just before he reached the transaction window, the gentleman paused. He took off his hat and nodded slightly at Arthur.

Arthur also took off his hat and smiled in return: “Good afternoon, Mr. Baring.”

Alexander Baring said nothing more. With the pipe between his teeth, he raised his hand and said: “Barings Bank is willing to buy British Public Debt at 88 points for a nominal value of 35,000 pounds.”

In an instant, the stock exchange fell into a frenzy, the crowd like a pot of boiling water.

Both Barings Bank and Rothschild Bank had made their positions clear. What did this signify?

That fictitious crisis had passed, and British Public Bonds remained the most solid and valuable bond in the world.

“Lloyd Bank is willing to buy British Public Debt at 88.3 points for a nominal value of 15,000 pounds.”

“Scotland Bank is willing to buy British Public Debt at 88.4 points for a nominal value of 12,000 pounds.”

“Brand & Carl Co. offers 88.5 points…”

“Holmes & Stevenson Co. …”

Just moments ago, the stockbrokers who were desperate enough to contemplate jumping out of a window now regretted having sold their bonds.

Those with cooler heads knew there was no time for regret. The price of bonds had returned to the right track, but many stock prices had not yet recovered. If they seized the opportunity to buy now, they could not only make up for previous losses but also potentially earn substantial profits.

Arthur walked to the door of the exchange, looked back at the stockbrokers already plunged into another dimension of frenzy. Heaven to Hell often happens in an instant. Everyone thought the crisis had passed, but he did not think so, and neither would any clear-headed person.

Because he could clearly see the street outside the exchange, where rain drizzled onto the mottled cobblestone road. The cold, fresh air cutting across his face constantly reminded him that the storm engulfing all of London had not yet ceased.

Footsteps approached from behind him, it was Lionel Rothschild.

He stood beside Arthur, lit his pipe without saying a word, but Arthur noticed his white gloves holding the pipe were soaked through with sweat.

Arthur lit his pipe smilingly, took a puff, and said: “Lionel, you understand these stockbrokers well and know how to boost their confidence. And I must say, you have great courage. I thought you would surely refuse me, but to my surprise, you actually agreed.”

Lionel’s voice was hoarse: “I was gambling. Everyone thinks my father made a fortune at the Battle of Waterloo because he was well-prepared, but they don’t know that we had already accumulated a lot of British Public Debt before the battle began. My father had staked his entire fortune on the Duke of Wellington, which established the Rothschild’s standing in Britain. Arthur, what I did today is exactly the same as my father. I hope you truly didn’t deceive me, because otherwise…”

He turned and pointed at the frantic crowd inside the exchange: “See that? If London can’t hold, they’ll quickly start a new round of selling. In the stock exchange, confidence comes and goes quickly; most things don’t follow logic.”

Arthur glanced at Lionel’s pocket: “Is that a letter from your father?”

Lionel nodded, then shook his head. He took out the letter, showed Arthur the empty envelope.

Just as Arthur wanted to chat with Lionel, he felt someone place a hand on his shoulder. It was Alexander Baring, who had just arrived.

Mr. Baring leaned in and whispered to Arthur: “Officer Hastings, a new order from the Duke of Wellington. He requires all currently movable armed forces to gather at the Tower of London.”

Arthur was stunned: “Why?”

Baring took a deep breath: “Because we’ve received news that the attack on the Greenwich Woolwich Arsenal was just a decoy. The real attack is on the Tower of London’s Royal Armory. Those damn rebels have been planning to seize it from the start!”