The Shadow of Great Britain

Mr. Lewis was so engrossed that he even forgot the wine glass in his hand: ”So... was your previous work as cautious and resourceful as described in those books?”

Arthur’s smile was faint, with a hint of jest and self-deprecation: ”Resourceful isn’t quite it. Most of the time, it was merely making do. Think about it! The interaction between countries isn’t like the interaction between two people; it’s the interaction between groups of people. So many people, each with their own temperaments, misunderstandings, prejudices, greed... A diplomat’s job sounds noble, but even the best diplomat can’t make everyone happy; he merely ensures no one is unhappy enough to flip the table. But a bad diplomat, well, there’s a lot he could do...”

Mr. Lewis couldn’t help but ask, ”What could he do?”

Arthur seemed to recall something and jested: ”A bad journalist at most might be cursed by twenty thousand readers, but a bad diplomat could result in twenty thousand troops suddenly stationed at the border.”

Mr. Lewis burst out laughing: ”Oh heavens! That indeed sounds much more dangerous than being a journalist!”

Seeing Mr. Lewis laugh heartily, Arthur raised his glass gracefully and clinked it lightly: ”So, I should really learn more from you, especially in maintaining connections.”

”Learn... learn from me?” Mr. Lewis almost choked.

A diplomat learning social skills from him, Mr. David Lewis?

If this got out on Fleet Street, it might just have those one penny colleagues laughing themselves off their chairs.

”I... I just deal with dockworkers, coachmen, laundresses, that sort of people.” Mr. Lewis awkwardly touched the tip of his nose: ”What do I know about high society...”

”How could that be?” Arthur seemed to hear an amusing fallacy: ”No matter what society, ultimately, it’s about dealing with people. Once you learn how to talk to ordinary people, naturally you can stand on a bigger stage. That’s also how I started out, spending several years mixing in with the people in the East District, drinking with them, bantering, arguing, bargaining... Over time, I gradually learned many things.”

”East District?” Mr. Lewis felt a jolt in his heart.

He forced a smile on his face, but internally alarms were going off.

Anyone who managed to mix in the East District for a long time and came out on top was usually not just anybody.

However...

Looking at his attire and demeanor, and considering he later got into the Foreign Office, he likely came from a good family. His talk of having ”mixed in the East District” probably didn’t mean he rolled in the muck there.

Equally mingling in the East District, the Irish laborers do hard labor and eat potatoes, while the nobility’s offspring are invariably there under some formal title.

He must have held some position in the East District...

And among the respectable establishments in the East District that could attract the attention of the nobility, besides the Quarter Sessions Court of Middlesex County, there was only the Magistrates’ Court of Tower Hamlets...

The generous treatment of Quarter Sessions Court judges in Britain was well-known, and since the establishment of Scotland Yard in 1829, the previously disregarded Magistrates’ allowances had also risen.

According to the report disclosed by Parliament in 1835, the annual salary of the Bow Street Chief Magistrate had risen to 1200 pounds, and the salaries of magistrates in other London Magistrates’ Courts had generally reached over 800 pounds, while the annual raises for magistrates’ salaries also drove the salary increases of other court staff.

The annual salary of the finance officer of the Magistrates’ Court was up to 500 pounds.

The chief clerk of the Magistrates’ Court had a starting salary of 250 pounds, increasing by 10 pounds annually up to a ceiling of 450 pounds.

The second clerk started at 180 pounds, with an annual increase of 8 pounds to a maximum of 300 pounds.

The third clerk started at 120 pounds, with an annual increase of 5 pounds to a maximum of 250 pounds.

As for the chief inspector of the patrol at the London Magistrates’ Court, the annual salary was an astounding 1001 pounds. Even the twenty patrolmen under him had terrifying annual salaries ranging from 751 to 901 pounds.

Remember, forty years ago, the total expenditure on salaries for the Magistrates’ Court was only a third of what it is now.

Back then, the Bow Street Chief Magistrate only got 400 pounds, and the three clerks had annual salaries of 160 pounds, 130 pounds, and 100 pounds, respectively, while the other clerks only got 80 pounds.

Of course, over forty years, not everyone’s treatment improved.

Back then, the patrol at Bow Street Magistrates’ Court, now merged into Scotland Yard, had a duty pay of 2 shillings and 6 pence per night. Thus, working year-round without breaks, they could earn 45 pounds 12 shillings and 6 pence, which isn’t very different from the current pay at Scotland Yard.

The only difference is that now Scotland Yard patrolmen can have one day off per week.

Of course, the gentleman before him surely wasn’t the type to patrol the streets.

If he wasn’t enjoying a thousand-pound annual salary by attending court just two days a week as a magistrate, then he was likely involved in the court’s patrol, or at the very least, served as a tax officer there.

The more Mr. Lewis thought about it, the more he felt his inference was extremely accurate, making his heart burn with anticipation, and his heart pounded chaotically.

If this gentleman before him had indeed worked at the East District Magistrates’ Court, then he surely still had quite a few former colleagues and old friends over there.

And what kind of place is the East District?

It’s a hotbed for murder, poisoning, theft, trafficking, nightingale gang wars, and brawls among vagrants.

What is the one thing a one penny journalist fears most?