The Shadow of Great Britain

Lewis’s face completely froze; he could feel his ears burning, as if the congealed blood stains were starting to scorch his skin again.

He wanted to deny it, wanted to explain, wanted to say it was a misunderstanding, an accident, a result of being misunderstood.

But all those thoughts seemed too noisy in front of Sir Arthur’s silent and bright gaze.

In the end, he just nodded stiffly: "Yes, Sir."

Arthur seemed relieved: "That’s good. I thought you might have had some unnecessary conflict with Miss Fiona Ivan from the Nightingale Mansion."

Lewis was obviously stunned; he stared blankly at Arthur, as if unable to immediately grasp the underlying meaning of the words.

"Miss Iv... Ivan?" Lewis’s voice weakened a little: "Sir, do you... do you know that beautiful woman inside out?"

"Indeed, I do." Arthur removed his gloves, casually brushing off the dust: "Miss Ivan has a broad social circle, and I count myself among her friends, though I am an insignificant one."

That sentence was said lightly, even with a hint of self-mockery.

But just that sentence sent a chill down Lewis’s spine.

Even someone like Sir Arthur Hastings is considered insignificant in her social circle?

Lewis was not entirely ignorant of so-called high society.

Quite the opposite, as a One Penny Journalist who had mixed in Fleet Street for years, relying on hints and insinuations to make a living, he had always remembered street rumors unsuitable for publication more reliably than any official reports or legitimate historical records.

In fact, to hone his skills and broaden his understanding, early in his career, when he wasn’t wealthy, Lewis spent a fortune collecting a few volumes of the Covent Garden Lady’s List published in the late 18th century.

It was from those pamphlets, labeled as banned books by the authorities, that Lewis learned about "distinguished venues" like Weathersby Hall and Magram Clubhouse.

It was from these "authoritative" materials that Lewis learned a few nursery rhymes that were popular in the late 18th century:

Dear Betsy, when you catch a man,

Make sure to squeeze him dry.

Just as I do with everyone.

...

It was from these books that Lewis realized that the interests of high society were actually the same as those of low society.

Looking at it now, although times have changed, the peculiarities of high society haven’t altered a bit.

Lewis’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

He had thought he had just stumbled into a typical rip-off parlour, not realizing that this place was nothing like the lower-tier brothels kept in check by violence and intimidation.

The rules here weren’t written on the walls, nor did they need to be maintained by shouting.

And Miss Fiona Ivan was clearly not a name to whom one could easily owe a bill and then simply ghost.

Cold sweat slowly seeped down his spine.

"Sir..." Lewis’s voice unconsciously dropped lower: "I... I might have gotten myself into a little trouble."

Arthur looked at him quietly: "Hmm?"

"I know this sounds very untimely," Lewis quickly added, maybe too hastily, as his words even sounded a little jumbled: "Is there any work recently, I mean... if you happen to know of some place needing someone to write something, even if it’s just bits and pieces, I can do it."

"Some place to write..." Arthur leaned back slightly upon hearing that, pressed two fingers to his forehead, closed his eyes to think, and then regretfully said: "I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, Mr. Lewis. Things have been very quiet lately. No elections, no scandals, nothing worth hiring someone specifically to write about."

This sentence felt like a bucket of cold water poured over Lewis’s head.

"Sir..." Lewis gritted his teeth: "I’m not picky about work; I can write anything. I... You, you probably don’t know, I am in a bit of trouble recently, really tight-handed."

He spoke vaguely: "Or, do you need any articles written recently? If I could write a few articles for you, no matter the direction... I can. Praising you or refuting rumors for you, or even... do you find anyone particularly disagreeable lately? Of course, I’m not portraying you as someone who plays petty tricks behind others’ backs, Sir, you understand me, I’ve written a lot, Parliament shorthand, social news, anonymous editorials... Quite a few editors on Fleet Street know me. Just a word from you, and I can quickly clarify certain voices, or make certain names known from Paddington to Greenwich. I won’t claim to be very famous, but at least... at least, I’m worth the money."

"Let me guess..." Arthur rubbed his temple: "Have you... perhaps... gotten yourself into debt here?"

Lewis’s shoulders visibly slumped.

He had hoped to go around a bit more, or leave things a little vague, but faced with Arthur’s eyes, which seemed already well-informed, all evasions seemed futile and ridiculous.

In the end, he could only resign and lower his head.

"Yes, Sir."

Arthur nodded, crossed his legs, showing no surprise.

"How much do you owe?"

Lewis’s lips moved.

This number had been calculated over and over in his mind countless times.

"Six... six pounds... plus... ten shillings."

Six pounds and ten shillings.

This amount wasn’t considered a shocking sum in London.