He caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Kosov’s bulging trouser pocket, half of a French brandy bottle poking out.
Lieutenant Kosov noticed Arthur’s gaze, looked down, and awkwardly scratched the back of his head in apology: "Sir, you know, in this damned weather, the brothers need so way to keep warm."
Arthur waved his hand, jokingly said: "I understand, in this weather even a pious priest would need a few sips of strong liquor before he could open his mouth before God. Thank you for escorting all the way. Henry, later take Lieutenant Kosov and his brothers to that French restaurant up ahead for a break. Their dishes aren’t bad, especially the Marengo chicken stew is quite well done. As for the bill, just tell the owner to put it under my na."
"Understood, Sir." Blackwell bowed slightly, extended his white glove with a smile: "Lieutenant Kosov, you and your n can follow later."
Lieutenant Kosov couldn’t stop smiling at these words, and busily went forward to support Arthur’s arm: "Sir, you...you’re truly considerate, co, take it slow."
Frost still lingered on the bronze doorknocker of Zienski’s mansion, and before Arthur approached, he saw a lady wrapped in a silver stoat cloak already descending the steps like spring tides with the help of her servants.
The peacock stone diamond earrings at her temples sifted the morning light into starlight, and fingertips erging from her mink hand warr were still stained with Marmara sea shell powder.
Arthur was already a recognizable face in Moscow’s high society, and with one look he recognized Mrs. Zienski, the wife of the Moscow Police Chief, a distinguished lady from the Muravyov family.
"Your Excellency must forgive this wild display." Her French was sticky and sweet like Odessa candies, and her peacock stone earrings lightly tapped against her collarbone with the motion of her head: "Seeing you like this is truly heartbreaking, how could those thugs bear to assault soone so outstanding."
Mrs. Zienski’s words were not entirely disingenuous, for Arthur’s pallor indeed seed poor to others.
Arthur’s complexion resembled the peeling frescoes of the Winter Palace, with a mystical vitality floating amidst the carefully orchestrated pallor.
He used London girls’ favored white lead cream as a base, mixing in crushed mica used for monastery fresco restoration, giving his skin an eerie glow of tomb humidity under candlelight.
Vidoc’s personal transmission of the "blood cough makeup" technique painted two spots of sickly red on his cheekbones—powdered and freeze-dried Hungarian red wine, which lts into sunset hues of a blood cough when heated.
The bottom of a chilled silver spoon dipped in mint oil was used to paint frost patterns at his temples, while diluted honey was condensed on his nose tip to mimic the sweat of a fever patient.
The most brilliant stroke was on his lips: first sealing the blood color with wax, then applying squid ink mixed with blueberry juice, and finally a sprinkle of sugar powder to simulate peeling dead skin—as if just grazed by a thug’s knife.
The value of three years practicing at Scotland Yard, coupled with ticulous instruction from the Parisian Sleuth Vidocq, ultimately crafted this sickly world-weary gentleman image.
Not only was Mrs. Zienski heartbroken, but her friends, renowned actress Catherine Semyonova and Moscow socialite Maria Hofflina, whom she invited, were also visibly startled.
"God! Your complexion is simply too poor, co in and warm yourself by the fire."
Supported by the servants, accompanied by the concerned voices of the ladies, Sir Arthur Hastings, who had energetically dealt with three thugs just the night before, was finally invited to the fireplace in the parlor.
He sat on the sofa for quite a while before finally managing to squeeze out a strained smile: "Is General Zienski not at ho? We arranged to debrief the assault incident here."
Mrs. Zienski personally poured Arthur a cup of tea: "I’ve already sent soone to inform him at the Moscow Police Station, you can rest here, he won’t be long."
Upon hearing that Zienski wasn’t ho, the old spy who specialized in deceiving won and children imdiately started scheming.
These three beautiful ladies, one the wife of the Moscow Police Chief, one the sister of the Moscow Constitutional Soldier Colonel Semyonov, and the other holding many unknown secrets of Moscow’s social circles.
Putting these three ladies together is akin to placing a mud pit in front of a Yorkshire Pig; if you don’t let it roll around, it would surely be displeased.
"Perhaps I should still head to the police station to find him? Moscow isn’t exactly peaceful at the mont, and with so much work under him, coming back specifically for a robbery case, if Tsar His Majesty criticizes him later, your husband would surely struggle to bear it!"
"Please don’t get up!"
Miss Semyonova hurriedly pressed down on Arthur’s shoulder, however, she was a step too late, as Arthur hadn’t really planned to leave; he had just lifted himself from the sofa when he acted as if faint due to anemia, sitting back down.
"Quick, sll this." Mrs. Hofflina, evidently more experienced, pulled out a slling salt bottle and pressed it under Arthur’s nose, seeing him dizzy and about to collapse on the sofa.
The pungent sll made Arthur cough repeatedly; he had initially intended to continue acting for a while longer, but instinct compelled him to yield to the power of the slling salts.
Arthur held his head and softly thanked: "Thank you, madam, I’m feeling much better now."
Mrs. Zienski advised: "In your current state, I’m really afraid that you might faint right here. Who’s your doctor? What suggestions did he give you?"
Mrs. Hofflina offered advice: "Your injury is affecting Moscow’s nerves. His Majesty inquired about your condition last night and even ntioned sending soone to transport you back to St. Petersburg overnight to consult with the Imperial Physician. I think it’s unnecessary trouble; with your frail body, you won’t endure such a long journey. Besides, Moscow certainly has good doctors. If you don’t mind, I have a reference for a German doctor here. His dical skills are well-regarded in Moscow; I’ve heard he was a military doctor in the Prussian army, quite experienced with treating external injuries."
Upon hearing about being sent to the hospital, Arthur naturally felt a million unwillingness.
Ignoring whether that German doctor’s skills were genuinely exceptional, even if they were, wouldn’t his application for embassy dical subsidies all go in vain?
Arthur’s current criteria for choosing a doctor was simply that they must dare to prescribe, more importantly, dare to issue invoices, dical skills were secondary.
Arthur intended to change the topic: "Thank you for your concerns, but compared to my minor injuries, I believe those arrested due to the arson case are more pitiable. I passed by Krutitsy Camp a few days ago and saw many arson suspects detained there. People were standing stripped naked on iron panels in the freezing cold being whipped one by one..."
Miss Semyonova added: "You’ve heard about it too? The first person sentenced to flogging cried out his grievances, swearing he was innocent, unaware himself of what he confessed under torture, even removing his shirt, turning his back to the public and calling out: ’Eastern Orthodox followers, look!’ His back was full of horizontal and vertical blue scars, and now his scar-covered back was facing another flogging. The crowd gasped, and the atmosphere turned somber, the police panicked, the executioner reduced the prescribed flogging number, others hurriedly tattooed, so hastily attached shackles, and the case was settled sloppily."
Knowing so inside information, Mrs. Zienski awkwardly defended her husband: "It was inevitable, with the constant fires and so few culprits caught, His Majesty was furious, ordering the case to be solved within three days. You know, when His Majesty issues an order, it must be done in three days."
Mrs. Hofflina expressed concern: "Though that’s the official stance, due to this matter, there’s an uproar in Moscow, the public is in an uproar. Arsonists have been sentenced, yet fires continue to occur even last night. Without an explanation to the citizens, it seems this matter will be challenging to close."
Mrs. Zienski lowered her voice: "You’re right too. I heard from my husband that Duke Golitsyn has reported this matter to His Majesty, and His Majesty’s intention is to establish a new court to retry the case, especially clarifying the case of the suspect who cried out his innocence before execution."
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