The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 970: Chapter 46 Relatives of the Britons

Inside a small house in the alley, several pairs of bare feet stood on the damp floor.

Arthur was tied to the chair with his hands behind his back. In the dim kerosene light, Arthur calmly observed the group of tense assassins.

To Arthur’s surprise, the attire of these people was far different from the image of professional assassins supported by large funds that he had in mind.

Most of their entire clothing was merely a goatskin covering from the neck to the knees, coupled with long coarse cloth trousers, with the sewing thread spun so roughly that it clearly showed the tailor’s lack of skill.

Strands of brown-black long hair hung down the sides of their cheeks, naturally mingling with the goatskin on their bodies, almost getting entangled. Generally speaking, assassins were reckless desperados, whose ruthless attitude was their true portrayal. However, the heads of this group of assassins were always bowed, and their eyes involuntarily liked to stare at the ground.

Their faces were completely obscured by their hair, so from a distance, it was easy to mistake the goatskin coats on their bodies for living creatures, as if what stood there was not a group of people, but a pitiable group of grazing goats.

Only by approaching them could one discover a pair of flickering eyes behind the scattered long hair, like dewdrops glistening on the treetops in the morning. Their eyes reflected the kerosene lamp’s light, appearing very bright, but not very likable, and slightly intimidating.

Everyone here wore a red wool beanie, and the walls of the room rested sticks, with their tips tied to coarse cloth satchels stuffed with clothes and loose change.

As for the few in slightly better circumstances, they wore soft caps with wide-brimmed felt hats over them. They did not drape goatskin but still wore coarse cloth garments, their long hair draped down to the round-necked coat with pockets on each flap, perfect for holding small items.

They all wore their coats open, revealing the cloth vests of the same material beneath, with coarse buttons. Some shuffled in clogs, others carried shoes but didn’t wear them, rather walking barefoot, holding the shoes in hand.

These clothes looked worn for a long time, perhaps older than the combined duration of Arthur’s studies at the University of London and service at Scotland Yard, so they appeared dirty, stained with mud and sweat, dark and very unseemly.

As a young man who had lived for many years in the York countryside, Arthur immediately recognized their identity. They were all farmers. Some were yeomen (self-cultivating farmers), while others should be hired laborers.

In the Yorkshire countryside, there was likewise a portion of poor farmers still wearing similar clothes. But compared to these people before him, the situation in York was evidently a notch better, because even in the countryside, it was now very difficult to find such ancient-style outfits.

And why these yeomen held their shoes in their hands, if Arthur had not lived in the York countryside, he would never have understood. In impoverished rural households, shoes were never for walking but for show. One traveled barefoot, only changing when entering the town, though this sounded incredible, it was indeed the case.

However, not everyone among them dressed in tatters. For instance, those assassins responsible for executing the assassination task earlier, their attire would not look poor even on the fashionable streets of Paris. Instead, they would rightfully be regarded as upper-class gentlemen raised in Paris.

They wore blue trousers with double-breasted copper buttons on the red and yellow waistcoats, layered with well-tailored brown jackets. The shirt collars were fastened with silver buttons, shaped like hearts or anchors. Such clothing starkly contrasted with the white cloth and fur garments of their companions, like cornflowers and poppies growing in a wheat field.

Their outfits were like living history textbooks, with some people living in the Middle Ages, others in the Renaissance period, and only a small portion truly looking like modern people of the 19th century.

Arthur looked at this group of French rural farmers, unsure whether it was a feeling of kinship or having been locked in the room for a while, making his fevered head cool down. In any case, he was not very worried about his situation but rather intrigued by the origins of these people before him.

If there was one thing Arthur had definitely changed after living in the 19th century, it was that he no longer took life and death very seriously.

In this era, many people did not live to adulthood. Even if they barely reached adulthood, they still faced scarlet fever, whooping cough, typhus, and a host of other infectious diseases.

Louis’s elder brother died of hives, his unfortunate cousin, Napoleon’s own son, died of tuberculosis. Even this noble Bonaparte family couldn’t escape such fate, let alone ordinary people.

If you were lucky enough to fend all this off, don’t be in a hurry. You might still get stabbed by a suddenly appearing thug or robber in an alley, or be rewarded with a bullet for watching the excitement at an assassination scene.

The number of people who died from assassination was countless, such as Britain’s former Prime Minister, Spencer Percival, and the Crown Prince of France during the Bourbon Restoration, Duke of Berry.