If no large water storage stations are built beside all strategic fortresses and essential public facilities to solve the problem of firefighting water sources, and if there is no effective organization for prevention such as a fire police force, then people’s efforts to construct palaces and pavilions will be sadly in vain, for fires will eventually consu everything that has been built.
—— George William Manby "The Combat and Prevention of Destructive Fires"
As the carriage left Kensington Palace, the sky over London was gradually darkening, clothed in a chaotic yellow-gray that hung so low it seed to press down on the rooftops, and the air was filled, as always, with the irkso odor of coal smoke.
However, compared to the chill of the past few days, this evening’s atmosphere felt sowhat warr, though it might have been Arthur’s illusion.
After all, there’s nothing more satisfying after several busy and tense days of work than seeing a plan smoothly advance; nothing more gratifying than Scotland Yard rising from the ashes after the morial event for Chief Cali; and nothing more rewarding than helping the old departnt establish a firm position in the coming Victorian Era for this legendary figure of Scotland Yard to feel the trip was worthwhile.
He wanted to let the officers of Scotland Yard know that hanging his portrait at the entrance of the hall was not in vain.
Arthur Hastings was different from other freeloaders of incense; he was much more effective.
Of course, I’m talking about when he was alive.
The carriage creaked as it turned the corner of King Street, rolling over the damp cobblestones, and a splash of lingering water flung from the wheels hit the carriage’s body, resembling a belated round of applause.
The dimly lit carriage was kept alight by a small oil lamp encased within thick glass.
Rowan was half-leaning on one side, his uniform collar half-open, silver hair slightly tousled, with a cigar burned to the end clenched in his hand.
The tense official atmosphere inside the carriage from the past few days was gone, and if no one knew the identities of the two passengers, they might have thought they were two old friends returning from a theater play.
The carriage gently jolted, and the click-clack of iron wheels over street cracks montarily interrupted the silence between them.
Rowan suddenly spoke, his voice deeper than usual: "Why did you say nothing at Kensington Palace just now? This is your script."
Arthur chuckled lightly: "It’s not that I had nothing to say, I just feared once I started, it wouldn’t be the right words for the occasion."
Rowan thought Arthur was mocking him again, but he didn’t mind this ti: "I’m not just soone who only speaks formalities. Last year, I even considered finding an actor’s role in the West District theaters. The manager at Astley Circular Theatre thought there was a role only I could play."
"An actor?" Arthur half-jokingly drew out a cigarette case and began packing tobacco into his pipe: "I can’t see any talent in you for that. I think the role of Chief of Police suits you better. But I’m curious, what role did they want you to play?"
Rowan puffed the cigarette silently, then suddenly ntioned: "The Chief of Police in ’Hastings Case Files’ who only adds to Great Detective Hastings’ troubles."
Arthur didn’t expect Rowan to bring that up; he was montarily stunned, then laughed: "If that role is given to you, it’s indeed one that doesn’t require acting skills. Is that role still waiting for you?"
"How could it still be waiting for ?" Rowan reclined back into his seat, exhaling a faint cloud of smoke: "I let them find soone better suited a long ti ago."
Arthur raised an eyebrow and asked: "Did you make a move against the Police Intelligence Departnt because of that role? If so, I apologize and ask your understanding; literature and art sotis have to engage in so... um... deep processing of real-life characters."
"Perhaps. But also understand that sotis managent thods need to be excessively stringent to achieve the desired effect." Rowan didn’t delve into such details with Arthur: "However... I didn’t expect the Whig Party to handle things so ruthlessly. After last year’s Cold Bath incident, Mayne and I submitted resignations to the Ho Office, but Viscount lbourne hypocritically persuaded us to stay, saying he hoped we could double our loyalty to the police force. He also ntioned that since we both created this police organization, if Mayne and I abandoned it, it might no longer exist."
Arthur’s pleasant smile gradually faded upon hearing this.
He didn’t think Rowan was lying because whether Rowan and Mayne had submitted a resignation could be easily checked through Arthur’s extensive network.
Moreover, with Rowan’s rank as Colonel and his performance in the Napoleonic Wars, finding a position in the military should be easy for him. Even if he was unwilling to endure the hardships of the military again, he could live quite decently solely off his annual retirent pension.
Additionally, Arthur was well aware that not only himself, but the officers who joined at the departnt’s inception had a sense of attachnt towards Scotland Yard to so extent.
Though the work was dirty and exhausting, and not particularly dignified either.
The soldiers threatened to beat up these policen in different uniforms, firefighters fought with them at fire scenes over spots, and coachn ridiculed them by flouting traffic rules. At night, more sinister and crafty enemies lurked on the streets.
After enduring such humiliation and violence, nurous patroln at Scotland Yard felt their patience and courage had reached the limit.
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