The Shadow of Great Britain

Like "British gentlemen concerned about public morality," "an anonymous noblewoman," "a well-informed insider from Whitehall."

Of course, occasionally they would play new tricks. When they criticized Arthur for shooting under the Tower of London, they used "written by a friend of truth."

"A piano prodigy playing with fire..." Arthur muttered, seeming to appreciate this anonymously authored piece.

He raised his hand and used the wooden stem of his pipe to slide down the newspaper line by line, as the gears in his mind began to turn.

This writing style was very familiar, the whole piece was fluent and colloquial. The habit of adding a "we understand" or "as is well known" at the end of a sentence to pad the word count for extra remuneration was not something a rookie journalist with an immature writing style and cautious mindset could easily mimic.

Furthermore, this fellow could attack Liszt’s private life while subtly hinting at an unusual relationship between Viscount Melbourne and Victoria, writing so vaguely yet suggestively that even if trouble arose, he could argue he never meant it that way, and that those with dirty minds see dirt in everything.

Crafty as he is, daring to earn fees on the razor’s edge, he likely belongs to that special group who are ’moral only on Sundays’ — the One Penny Journalists who often loiter in the opinion columns.

Of course, if you’re willing to lower the already meager standards of the news industry even further, then these people could also be considered journalists.

It’s just that these people never receive a fixed salary but are paid by word count instead.

Sometimes they work for seven or eight hours straight, writing furiously, creating content enough to fill two pages of the Morning Paper. They might also need to walk five or six miles to interview subjects. Yet, despite their blood, sweat, and tears, they might end up with nothing. No newspaper is obligated to use the material they provide because these freelance reporters are not employed by any news organization but voluntarily report from courtroom scenes or crime sites.

In other words, this job is a bit like gambling. Whether they encounter Irish-like misfortune — ending up with nothing — or make five or six pounds from this venture is all up to luck.

Today they might be so broke they can’t afford a potato, but tomorrow they might find themselves honored guests at major theaters because a paper used their report or editorial.

When their manuscripts are accepted, or in jargon, "copy is used," they can earn a fee of one and a half pennies per line. Of course, one and a half pennies is the current rate. A few years ago, the rate was one penny per line, hence the origin of their "One Penny Journalist" trade name.

According to this standard, each column in a Morning Paper could generate thirty to forty shillings. However, it’s a rare occurrence in the industry for someone to fill an entire page in any newspaper. Occasionally someone might publish half a page in three or four of the six morning papers, earning a few pounds, which would be considered a very good day.

However, due to resident reporters providing Parliamentary news or other major news often occupying the page space, coupled with the fact that most of the material gathered by One Penny Journalists lacks sufficient attraction, they often go several weeks without earning even a pound.

On the other hand, this industry still has many stories of overnight riches.

Occasionally they might strike it lucky and hit a high-profile case. In such cases, they are not only able to clear old debts but also keep their wallets well-stocked for a while.

Like the appalling murder and body-snatching case that Arthur supervised in his early years, cases like this always thrill One Penny Journalists. They call such opportunities "windfall from heaven." Whenever they encounter such cases, they immediately throw themselves into work with unbelievable diligence, unearthing every connection between the victim and the perpetrator. If lacking dramatic content, they rack their brains to unleash their fictional talents. Any event with a hint of oddity, horror, or scandalous color is seen by them as a gold mine worth exhausting.

One Penny Journalist once earned nearly 70 pounds just from the Seter murder case, and such wealth stories are not uncommon.

In 1833, another colleague struck it rich when he encountered an inquest suspected to involve a police officer as the perpetrator. Due to discovering it early, this lucky fellow managed to monopolize the reporting. The hearings lasted five days, and since several mainstream morning papers dedicated a page and a half to two pages each day to cover the trial process, those five days netted him 50 pounds.

Moreover, these pay-by-the-line journalists do not limit their domain to London. With a speculator’s keen nose, upon hearing of significant events elsewhere, they would venture two or three hundred miles away from London City during news droughts without hesitation. For this, they even engage in a speed race against exclusive reporters dispatched by major newspapers, competing to see who reaches first.

Although they often endure enormous mental stress, suffer the physical toll of long journeys, and burn through the travel expenses painstakingly pieced together, they often return empty-handed. However, sometimes they would strike it lucky. The most successful recent case was the investigative report on the Northern coast shipwreck, where local gentry were suspected of embezzling a large amount of property from the victims. Based on the length of the recent newspaper articles, the young man who ventured to the site certainly did not earn less than 40 to 50 pounds from this trip.