The Shadow of Great Britain

"Yes, 1829, that was when I joined Scotland Yard too." Arthur reminisced, "I still remember back then, Scotland Yard was less like a police station and more like a makeshift troupe. Our uniforms were hastily sewn, the officer’s badge numbers were rushed by a copper, and the headquarters office was just a wall away from the old stables—you could smell the manure every time you went past."

Victoria couldn’t help but laugh at his words, "Why did you decide to become a police officer then? Why not work for a bank?"

"Bank?" Arthur chuckled wryly, "Your Majesty, after the speculative bubble burst in 1825, London’s finance industry was struggling, and dozens of banks across the country went under. By 1829, although we had barely caught a break thanks to textiles and continental trade, good jobs were still hard to come by. Although I graduated from university, you know, back then, the University of London didn’t even have a charter to grant degrees. The same resume would let Oxford and Cambridge students enter from the front door, while I had to go through the back alley with a referral. But, I was a rural lad, who would even spare me a glance?"

Victoria couldn’t help but frown, "That’s too unfair."

"It’s not unfair, it’s just fairness in Britain is like that." Arthur shrugged, "At that time, I sent over twenty applications. No exaggeration, I even thought about working as an accountant for a trading company in the city’s east, but they preferred specialized school graduates and didn’t want a university graduate like me."

Victoria’s brow furrowed tighter, "They don’t even know who you are."

"Of course not." Arthur chuckled, "Me being called Sir Arthur Hastings would only come about three years later."

When Arthur spoke, it seemed as if he was recounting someone else’s life, lightly, without sorrow or resentment, as if he truly was that magnanimous.

"It was during that time that I heard London was forming a formal patrol team. The pay wasn’t high, the danger wasn’t small, societal opinion was lousy... but what else could be done? At least they would pay me a few shillings weekly, enough to eat and rent a room. More importantly, Sir Peel said something then."

"What did he say?"

Arthur coughed and imitated Peel’s tone, "We need educated, literate young people who can engage citizens in conversation on the streets."

Victoria pursed her lips, laughing, "So that’s why you went?"

"Your Majesty, it was London’s only profession at the time that didn’t care where you came from or which school you attended; it only asked if you dared to patrol the streets at night."

"Do you regret it?"

"Any sane gentleman, after becoming a policeman, would find it hard to say he doesn’t regret it."

Victoria was briefly stunned; she evidently hadn’t expected the ’legend of Scotland Yard’ to say such a thing. Her lips parted slightly, seemingly forgetting the next question she wanted to ask, "Are you saying... you’re a fool?"

"Of course not, Your Majesty." Arthur replied earnestly, "My intellect is sound. At least that’s what I believe, but you have the right to reserve a differing opinion."

"Pfft." Victoria couldn’t hold back her laughter, "You? Regret? My God! I didn’t think you would regret joining Scotland Yard."

"I certainly don’t regret it now, after all, the past is the past. But..." Arthur leaned back, as if presenting that naive young lad to the crowd again from his memories, "On my first week at Scotland Yard, I was contemplating quitting. If it weren’t for getting paid that day, who knows, I might have really left."

"Why?"

"Reason? The same reasons anyone considering quitting could recite." Arthur counted on his fingers to list them for Victoria, "Low pay, heavy workload, little vacation, dangerous work, citizens find us pesky, newspapers scorned us as blue-coated thugs employed by Peel, and street hooligans wanted to punch me whenever they saw a police uniform."

He shrugged, "Not to mention I actually got punched my first week on the job."

Victoria’s eyes widened, "You got punched? Someone managed to punch you? Aren’t you the one who single-handedly handled fourteen Barbary Pirates?"

"Handling pirates was later; when I started as a policeman, I didn’t know a thing about self-defense." Arthur sighed, "I even remember it was near Central Street in Greenwich, a shopkeeper complained that some drunkards were causing a scene in his store. I only said, ’Gentlemen, please keep it down,’ and the next second, a fist landed on my head."

Victoria covered her mouth, gasping, "Oh my! What happened afterward?"

"Afterward? You mean the drunkards?"

"I mean you."

Arthur seemed a bit embarrassed, "Me... I lay on the ground for a few minutes, then got up and continued my patrol."

"What about the drunkards?"

"The drunkards ran away."

"And the shopkeeper? Did he thank you for your service?"

"No."

"Did he not say anything, just watched you take a punch for him?"

"Not exactly, he did say something."

"What did he say?"

"He said I was useless."

Victoria abruptly straightened, "He said you were useless?!"

Arthur was startled by her sudden burst of emotion, "Your Majesty, don’t be so agitated."

"Of course I’m agitated!" Victoria’s face turned red, her speech suddenly quickened, "He had you handle the drunkards, and even after you took a punch for him, he still said you were useless? That’s so..."