The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 1734 - 73: Are You Going to Humiliate Yourself? (Part 3)

Blackwell couldn’t maintain his smile upon hearing this; beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, seeping into his temple.

Was Arthur talking about the pie?

He was clearly referring to Blackwell!

In an instant, he pieced together the entire story, from disembarking at the West Indies Pier today to George Austin picking him up with the old Fulton carriage, then "accidentally" meeting Richard Hoot at the café, then...

The letter of thanks from Viscount Palmeston? The appreciation from Sir John Bickhouse?

They were all lies!

At the critical moment, he didn’t see either of these two important figures, but instead faced the person he least wanted to meet, Arthur Hastings!

Arthur picked up the teapot, poured a cup of tea, and while pouring, he slowly began: "London has changed quite a bit lately, Henry. You must have noticed too. You’ve been away for years; the fences at the West Indies Pier have been replaced several times, and the old ink machines at the newspaper and printing factories have all been updated. The longer one is away, the more likely to be treated as a stranger. Sometimes people can’t even remember which department you’re from."

He did not raise his voice deliberately, nor did he mention any names; his tone was so polite it could serve as an official letter from White Hall.

But sometimes, when others speak to you too politely, it is not a good thing.

Blackwell stiffened his neck in silence for a while, before finally speaking softly, his tone carrying a natural sense of flattery and trepidation.

"Sir... Sir, I came today just wanting to eat a quiet meal... I’ve long left Russia and do not wish to involve myself in past matters again. I’ve roamed for years without doing anything unconscionable. Now I just want to find a livelihood in London... Please be merciful."

Arthur merely lifted his teacup, took a sip.

As he put down the cup, he spoke in his usual unhurried manner: "Mr. Blackwell, you repeatedly claim you wish for a stable life, yet choose to sit in the place where I most frequently settle. Coincidence? I don’t believe this is a coincidence, especially for a diplomat."

Blackwell’s throat tightened, he forced a smile: "Sir Arthur, I... I’ve never considered you an enemy; I respect you. I’ve always regarded you as a friend..."

Arthur interrupted before he could finish: "Of course, you should respect me. You should have learned to respect me the night before you left St. Petersburg. If you truly respected me, the first thing you would do upon returning to London is to seek me out. You contacted the editor of The Times for information, you went to inquire about old connections at White Hall, yet specifically neglected to write me a letter, or to deliver even a simple come-to-the-door card. You keep saying we’re friends, but you haven’t paid a visit, haven’t invited me for a drink, haven’t written a single letter. Until you’re at a dead end, you suddenly say, ah, Sir Arthur, I’ve always considered you a friend. That is not how friends behave, Mr. Blackwell."

Blackwell instinctively clenched his knee, attempting to argue: "Sir, I... I was just afraid of disturbing you..."

Arthur heard him, gazed at him for a long time: "London doesn’t nurture the unkind. If you want to eat from this city, you must respect its fire. Henry, you need to understand, you can sit before me because I allow it. You can eat this pie because I keep it warm. I remember you said, the cold winds of St. Petersburg were too harsh, that someday you wished to return to London to work in diplomacy. I remembered your words, so I had Benjamin find a reason to bring you back from London. Not Palmeston, not Bickhouse but me."

Blackwell nodded with gritted teeth: "Yes, I understand... Thank you, Sir."

Arthur shook his head slightly: "Don’t rush to thank me, Henry. Remember, nothing in this world is free. I eat here without charge because I am friends with the mistress, but you, Henry, are we friends?"

Blackwell’s facial muscles twitched, forming a smile worse than a grimace.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Arthur beat him to it, sarcastically shaking his finger: "You certainly can say so, but saying it out loud doesn’t mean I believe it. St. Petersburg taught people many things; previously I would listen to what people said and trust their actions, but after my time in Russia, now I can only listen to what they say and watch what they do."

"Sir, I... Apologies..."

Arthur gazed calmly into Blackwell’s eyes, slowly speaking: "Henry, you might think I’m quite angry, and indeed I am. However, I do not blame you for making one wrong choice, for intelligent people also misstep at times. An intelligent person makes one mistake, yet can still be an intelligent person. But if they insist on making two, that is no longer a mistake, it is self-embarrassment. Do you understand my meaning?"