The Shadow of Great Britain

What was he really thinking back then?

At this point, Blackwell suddenly felt that he shouldn’t have used the word "sell".

It seemed too crude and not quite accurate.

Strictly speaking, he was merely providing some necessary background explanation. Between several yet unclear facts, he made some rational inferences. Moreover, out of a sense of responsibility for the overall situation, he placed certain behaviors that could lead to misunderstandings in positions easier to understand.

If this counts as "selling", then perhaps no one in White Hall is innocent.

Yes, the more Blackwell thought about it, the more he felt that he hadn’t acted out of malice back then, but out of caution. Caution is a virtue, caution is the fundamental discipline of bureaucrats. An incautious official is like a document pouch without a wax seal, always ready to leak trouble.

At the time, he was just sealing things a bit tighter.

As for Sir Arthur Hastings...

Well...

That’s another matter.

Blackwell doesn’t deny that Arthur is quite capable, extremely capable, to the point of making people uneasy.

Yet the issue lies precisely there, a person who is too competent often seems unsafe, unreliable.

This doesn’t mean he misjudged the person back then, it only indicates the era has changed.

Yes, times have changed! The winds have shifted! Standards have altered!

If it had been back in the day, the manner of Sir Arthur might not have led him so far.

Blackwell couldn’t help but mentally justify himself, attempting to alleviate some of his guilty conscience.

He told himself that things were in the past now, and at least the outcome wasn’t too bad.

This brought him a sense of long-lost relief.

He wasn’t someone who liked making choices; choices imply responsibility, and when responsibility falters, it’s easily mistaken as a personal judgment.

By contrast, following is much safer, especially when following a person proven to be correct over and over again by facts.

He repeatedly emphasized in his mind that this was not flattery, nor allegiance, nor that lowly, desperate, dignity-lacking sycophancy; this was a rational judgment, a rational judgment verified through practice.

After all, Blackwell secretly calculated. In terms of probability, the number of times Sir Arthur made a mistake was significantly lower than White Hall’s average. In terms of outcomes, those who followed Sir Arthur had promotion rates far higher than other officials with equal qualifications. And from a personal standpoint, this was particularly crucial: working with Sir Arthur meant not having to worry daily about being pushed to bear responsibility.

This alone was worth serious consideration.

Of course, Mr. Blackwell was not without self-respect.

Some people are naturally suited to give orders, others to follow them.

He comforted himself that this wasn’t ingratiation, it was cooperation. And cooperation is exactly a secretary’s duty.

Just as he placed the word "cooperation" neatly in his mind again, footsteps suddenly echoed down the corridor.

Blackwell moved almost instantly, starting with the desk, which was already quite tidy, but he instinctively adjusted the top stack of documents half an inch to ensure the edges were perfectly parallel with the desk edge. This step wasn’t strictly necessary, but what if the Sir noticed?

Having it neat is always better than having it untidy.

Then the chair, he pushed the backrest a bit forward, swiftly realized it was too much, and pulled it back a tad, until it returned to a position indicating "someone just sat here" without appearing too lax.

Then the tea, in fact, Sir Arthur hadn’t specifically asked for tea, but that didn’t stop Blackwell from prepping ahead.

He quickly made a decision in his mind.

Today was cloudy, the air chilly, the Sir had already attended two meetings this morning; thus, warm tea was evidently more apt than cold water.

As for whether to add sugar, this was more complex.

Blackwell recalled the few coughs the Sir had this morning and ultimately concluded: no sugar, and the tea should be slightly diluted.

The footsteps had halted outside the door, the door was pushed open.

"Good morning, Sir."

Blackwell was satisfied with the timing of his words.

Arthur nodded, walked in, and placed his gloves at the corner of the desk.

Blackwell immediately stepped forward half a pace, placed the prepared documents in order, while softly adding: "These are the regional reports delivered last night; they’ve been reorganized according to the sequence you mentioned last time. This one is the Police Commissioner Committee’s memo, requiring your review. The tea is ready; if you don’t mind, I’ll place it on your right-hand side."

Arthur looked up at this, not immediately inspecting the documents, but casting a peculiar glance at him across the table: "Henry."

"Yes, Sir."

"This set of yours..." Arthur picked up the teacup, asking, "Did you learn it in Russia?"

"Russia?" Blackwell straightened his spine guiltily: "If I must say, it wasn’t exactly learned...more of being exposed to it. What’s up? You don’t like it that way?"

Arthur bowed his head, blowing the steam off the tea: "I actually do like it, but if you keep doing it this way, I might seriously consider getting a female secretary instead. After all, I’m not quite accustomed to letting a proper gentleman go to such lengths."

Blackwell stiffened his neck: "A female secretary? Sir, the Home Office has no precedent of hiring female secretaries; are you planning to set that trend?"