The Shadow of Great Britain

The afternoon sunlight slanted in through the gaps in the brick building across Fleet Street, falling on the windowsill of the third-floor office of Empire Publishing Company.

The joyful lunch gathering was over, and before Albert got into the carriage, he even turned around to bid farewell to everyone.

When that black four-wheel carriage disappeared at the corner of the street, the editorial office resumed its usual bustle.

Eld took out his pipe, lit it, and with his feet up on the table, lazily asked Tennyson, "Alfred, what do you think of this Albert fellow?"

"What do I think?" Tennyson lifted his head, as if he hadn’t clearly heard, and repeated.

"Yeah." Eld puffed out smoke rings as he spoke enthusiastically, "I quite like him actually. That kid’s family should be pretty decent, though he’s a bit uptight. If he really tries to find a path with us here in the future, I’ll have him be my personal secretary."

Tennyson recalled the scene of Eld and Albert calling each other brother during the meal earlier and thought today was truly bizarre, "I don’t know what Albert’s like, but I think you might not last long at the Navy Department."

Although no one else voiced agreement, most people had thoughts similar to Tennyson’s.

After all, everyone saw that this second-class clerk at the Navy Department, when drinking enthusiastically, was patting Albert’s shoulder, calling him "my dear Albert brother." The weirdest part was that Albert seemed to give Eld face, referring to Eld respectfully as "my dear Carter big brother."

If you had to argue seniority, just based on Albert’s words, Eld would be able to sit at the same table with Her Majesty the Queen.

After all, Victoria called Albert "my dear cousin Albert."

According to the etiquette in European Royal Family interactions, if Eld and Victoria were peers, then by convention, Mr. Eld Carter would be honored to become the brother of King Louis Philippe of France, Tsar Nicholas I of Russia, Austrian Emperor Ferdinand I, and others.

After all, these esteemed majesties, upon learning of King William IV’s passing, had all, without exception, immediately sent condolence letters to Victoria, addressing her at the beginning as "my dear sister Majesty."

In just one meal’s time, Mr. Eld Carter, this national treasure author of British historical fiction, successfully completed a class leap, becoming apparently the most prestigious author at Empire Publishing Company.

Dickens was holding back his laughter, his face red, his shoulder shaking, "The universities in Germany seem to open in September, so Albert will likely stay in London for a while. Eld, if you’re genuinely interested in him, you could invite him for a few more meals, and have him bring his resume along."

"Of course!" Eld raised his chin, looking thoroughly pleased, "This kid is good-looking and speaks politely. Although I don’t have much fondness for Germans, I must say, compared to Germans, I dislike the current English youth more—they’re always startled by everything, with no sense of manners."

Arthur suddenly chimed in, "Are you introducing yourself, Eld?"

Eld seemed to ignore Arthur’s sarcasm entirely, as he fell into his own world, "Whenever I see Albert, it reminds me of myself back when I was studying at University of London. Shy, reserved, embarrassed, unable to let go in whatever I did, but none of this matters—the important thing is we all have that idealistic spirit within us."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute..." Dickens burst into laughter, "What did you just say? Shy? Reserved? Embarrassed? You?"

Disraeli joined in on stomping Eld, "Shy and embarrassed people wouldn’t be seen at Leicester Square every other day, lest you’d have treated it like a monastery!"

"I’m telling the truth." Eld puffed out smoke, "During my time at University of London, I was known to be an introverted student, spending entire days in bookstores, never mingling in those flashy club meetings. You have to understand, deep down, I’m an idealist."

Tennyson didn’t believe Eld’s narrative but wanted to verify with someone who knew, so he decided to cautiously check with Arthur, "Arthur, was he truly like the way he described back in the days?"

Arthur shook his head, "I don’t know."

Tennyson thought Arthur was glossing over it, "How could you not know? Weren’t you in the same grade as him?"

"I certainly didn’t know," Arthur reasoned, "Whenever there was a shy, embarrassed situation, he never included me."

"Nonsense!" Eld flushed red, provoked into sitting upright, "Arthur, you ungrateful fellow. Swear on your conscience, was there ever a good thing where I didn’t think of you?"

Tennyson asked bewilderedly, "So, when you ditched Arthur, were you off doing bad things?"

Dickens nearly choked on his tea hearing that, "Alfred, how did you now also pick up this routine?"

"What do you know!" Eld was slightly annoyed but refused to admit defeat, raising his head proudly, "That’s the symbol of youth! Young people, well, they’re impulsive—that shows I’m a passionate romanticist! Just like Lord Byron!"

"Passionate? That should just be called a habit, right?" Tennyson added unexpectedly.

Arthur saw the editorial office vibe leading to such distractions and reckoned he couldn’t peacefully work there today, so he reached for his hat from the coat rack. Just as he was about to put it on, he noticed Disraeli walking over from the window side.