Chapter 18 Navy Department Orders

In the detached villa on the outskirts of London, Sir Peel was comfortably lounging on the sofa beside the fireplace, enjoying a delightful vacation.

He held a delicate teacup in one hand and pinched a freshly printed copy of The Times with the other.

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Damn! This piece is exceptionally well written; that kid will clearly become a great writer!"

No sooner had he spoken these words than he looked up to see Lady Peel walking in with a stack of neatly arranged newspapers.

Sir Peel joked, "Oh, madam, what are you doing with so many newspapers? Are you planning to moonlight as a newspaper vendor?"

Lady Peel gave him an annoyed look, "Robert! You told me there might be news of Officer Arthur today, but you didn't mention there would be this much.

I told the newsboy I wanted a copy with Officer Arthur in it, and he nearly sold me every newspaper he had!

Although I am a loyal fan of Officer Arthur too, the amount you've published at once must have cost a fortune!"

Sir Peel shook his head, laughing, "No, no, no, madam. I only paid for The Times; the rest were generously sponsored by our young and promising Member of the House of Commons, Mr. George Morris.

Mr. Morris is a man with a strong sense of social responsibility, so when I showed him the article about Officer Arthur, he immediately stepped forward, offering to cover the costs generously."

Upon hearing this, Lady Peel expressed her confusion, "I know Mr. Morris recently inherited his father's bank shares, but even with his wealth, that seems like an unsustainable way to spend it.

And even if he is willing to spend the money, his initiative is too great. I counted earlier, from major to minor papers, Mr. Morris contacted over thirty different publications. How did he manage to get in touch with so many?"

Hearing this, Sir Peel could no longer hold back and burst into hearty laughter.

"My dear, Mr. Morris would have to run until his legs broke! Because I told him, if the public's attention wasn't focused on Arthur's impeccable image, then his scheme of bribery with umbrellas would be completely exposed. George Morris and I are both members of the Tory Party. As his senior, it is only right that I teach him how to manage crisis public relations, isn't it?"

At this, Lady Peel also burst into laughter, tossing the newspapers aside before gently slapping his thigh.

"Robert, you are absolutely wicked! Morris must have really lost a fortune this time."

"Oh, not at all." Sir Peel shook his finger, "My dear, in the political field, we often call this a win-win cooperation.

Mr. Morris preserved his future and earned my gratitude.

And I, not only did I retain Scotland Yard's most outstanding officer at minimal cost, but I also used this event to showcase the bright image of Scotland Yard to the public.

You know, I built Scotland Yard from the ground up. If Scotland Yard is doing well, so am I, hence this is also my achievement.

Even the young court clerk who wrote the news received an opportunity to showcase his articles on a bigger stage.

In this deal, there are no losers, only winners."

"And what about Mr. Morris's wallet? Robert, you really are a mischievous liar."

Sir Peel raised his eyebrows and embrace his wife, "My dear, that's where you are wrong. You've been married to me for so many years, yet you still don't understand your husband's profession?

I am a seasoned parliamentarian; you can't pry anything bad from my mouth. I never speak rudely to civilized people."

"Don't you speak at the House of Commons meetings?"

"Oh, dear, those seated in the House of Commons are hardly civilized people; they are merely a bunch of baboons. Do you think a beast tamer speaks nicely to animals? It's entirely justified and well-reasoned for me to scold them in the zoo."

Lady Peel buried her face in Sir Peel's arm, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

"Robert, that's terribly rude of you. How can you call the MPs baboons?"

Sir Peel was unperturbed, unfurling the newspaper to read the next article about the Ottoman Empire considering recognizing the independence of Greece.

"Because they think I am a baboon too and attack me because of our different breeds. My dear, respect is always mutual, just like between you and me."

...

In front of the Royal Naval Academy in Greenwich.

Arthur gazed ahead, slightly lost in thought at the educational building with its pale blue roof and ivory-white walls.

Eld continued beside him, enthusiastically explaining, "This is where you'll be studying in the future. It's not just a school but a piece of art. The interior design was overseen by Sir James Stow, adopting a pure Baroque style.

By the way, there's a special hall for stained glass paintings here. As someone who understands art, you'll definitely like it.

The oil paintings inside are the largest in Europe, and perhaps even the world. It took more than a decade to complete, passing through the hands of many before Sir Christopher Wren finished it in 1696.

The overall architectural design of the school comes from the famous designer Andre Le Notre. Do you know him? He was Louis XIV's chief landscape architect, responsible for the Gardens of Versailles—truly a master's work.

Besides, the school houses many other paintings, mostly themed around the glorious history of the Royal Navy—from defeating Spain's Invincible Armada at the Battle of Gravelines to the complete annihilation in the 1596 Cadiz Expedition, or the stern lesson handed to the North American colonial rebels by burning their Congress and the White House during the 1814 Chesapeake Campaign.

Of course, the proudest moment for the Royal Navy was the 1805 Battle of Trafalgar, where we completely wiped out the combined fleets of France and Spain. Sadly, the soul of the Royal Navy, General Horatio Nelson, fell heroically in that battle.

Though General Nelson has long gone, the command he conveyed through flags before the battle still lingers in the hearts of every serving officer and soldier of the Royal Navy.

Just as General Nelson said 'England expects every man to do his duty.'"

Eld's mouth was nearly dry from all the talking. Yet, when he turned to look, he realized that Arthur had not paid attention to a single word he had said.

His good friend was staring blankly, clearly daydreaming.

Eld, rubbing his forehead, complained, "Damn it, Arthur, haven't you sobered up from last night's drink? I knew right away that the wine was watered down, nothing but cheap beer. Do you need to be dizzy until now? The aftereffects of alcohol can't be that bad, right?"

Arthur just snapped out of it, rubbing his face, "The aftereffects of the alcohol aren't that strong, but the aftereffects of that article are really overwhelming."

"Article? What article?"

Eld had completely forgotten yesterday's events until Arthur reminded him of Charles Dickens, the court stenographer.

Arthur asked, "You're the expert here, what do you think of his writing style?"

Eld stroked his chin, trying to recall his long-unused literary criticism skills, and critiqued, "His writing is passable, but he still lacks some refinement to become a great writer."

"What's lacking?"

Eld recalled Dickens's demeanor and disdainfully waved his hand.

"He's too polite, always saying 'sir' this, 'sir' that. In my opinion, unless he changes, such a person will never become a great writer."

Arthur expected Eld to provide a more serious reason but was surprised it was for this reason.

He was about to ask more, but suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a man in a naval uniform approaching them.

Eld noticed the man too. This slouchy youngster actually shivered a bit and then hastily stood straight and saluted.

"Good morning, Colonel Fitzroy!"

The middle-aged man did not treat Arthur as an outsider. Addressing Eld directly, he said, "I was just looking for you."

"Do you need me for something?"

Colonel Fitzroy, while smoothing his wrinkled white gloves, started, "That person you recommended to me a few days ago, I don't want him anymore."

"Ah? Why?" Eld instantly became anxious. "Colonel, how can you just dismiss him? I've already made arrangements with him!"

Fitzroy appeared helpless, "Eld, it's not that I don't want him. This is from the higher-ups. Does your recommended person have any issues, or is he related to some important figures?

The content of this order is very strange, involving very high levels.

I don't even know who came up with such an idea, to send an order specifically for a lowly naturalist to the Fleet Commander, then down to me.

I see your recommended person's last name is Hastings; is he related to Marquis Hasting? Could he possibly be his grandson?"