The young Harold Bock was completely devoid of such cunning; his glasses slipped further down his nose, yet he remained oblivious.
At this mont, his eyes were even wider than they had been while reading the brawl news in the "Morning Paper" earlier.
Bock seed as if he’d been struck by lightning; of course, he knew who Benjamin Disraeli was.
The author who frequently published scathing editorials in "British’s," the eccentric novelist often criticized by "Blackwood’s" as a "Romantic narcissist," the arrogant, scandalous, and ambitious young Conservative Party MP...
He... is now set to beco the Deputy Minister at the Foreign Office?
Disraeli lightly shook hands with the two young civil servants; his grip wasn’t strong but exuded propriety.
"Mr. Austin, Mr. Bock," Disraeli spoke in a leisurely manner: "I have just been appointed as the Parliantary Secretary of the Foreign Office, and to be honest, apart from my appointnt letter, I’m quite unaware of this departnt’s inner workings."
As he spoke, his gaze gently wandered between the two, imbued with a slight trace of sincere self-mockery: "After all, my previous expertise lay in writing novels, running election campaigns, and... occasionally provoking the ’Blackwood’s’ magazine. But now I must delve into docunt piles and work alongside John Bickhouse; this prospect, to so extent, makes feel apprehensive and worried."
Austin hastily expressed his stance: "Your Excellency is too modest. As for work matters, the Foreign Office has its regulations..."
"Precisely because there are regulations, I wish to quickly grasp its essence," Disraeli interrupted him, his lips curling into a slight smile: "I’ve always believed that the best way to understand a departnt is not through manuals or by visiting the lofty leaders, but by listening to the voices of those who deal with docunts daily, racing against ti, yet are often overlooked by the bigwigs."
The young Bock spoke excitedly: "Just like Robert Cali, the Chief of Police."
Disraeli’s tone wasn’t condescending but carried a hint of amicability: "Yes, like voices from ordinary people like Robert Cali, diligently serving; that’s what I need most."
Bock felt a bit flattered, nearly blurting out: "Your Excellency is absolutely right!"
Disraeli chuckled and continued: "So... tonight I’ll reserve a table at the Red Lion Tavern on High Street. Although the place isn’t large, they do serve decent steaks. If the two of you are willing, join for dinner, and let’s talk about the current state of the Foreign Office, the docunt processes, and... those who are trustworthy."
"Your Excellency, we would be honored," Austin quickly replied with no hesitation, intriguingly shifting from initial passive response to a sowhat tentative realignnt.
After all, for these grassroots civil servants at White Hall, their promotions are far less rapid than those of high-born scions; such imdiate progression dreams almost solely exist in fantasy. But who could have imagined? This dream might just be on the brink of realization. It’s not trivial for anyone to gain the attention of the departnt chief, and Disraeli is quite young; his future is promising.
"We... we will definitely be on ti." Bock, though slightly flustered, couldn’t conceal the streak of joy in his tone.
"Excellent," Disraeli nodded in satisfaction: "The ti is around six-thirty. We can discuss while dining. But for now, I won’t disturb your official duties. Mr. Bonaparte dislikes having tails behind him; Mr. Great Dumas might include you in his scripts, while Sir Arthur will rember every word used in your reports. I suggest returning early lest you miss any ’new intelligence’ from Nightingale Mansion."
With these words, Austin and Bock had no reason to refuse.
"Your Excellency is right; we’ll excuse ourselves now."
Arthur nodded with a smile: "Wishing you a pleasant afternoon, I won’t see you off."
Once the two civil servants had left, the few remaining in the room exchanged glances.
Great Dumas was the first to be unsettled; reclining on his chair, he clicked his tongue: "One playing good cop, the other bad cop; you perford steadily. The guy’s glasses nearly fell on the ground, yet you casually dropped a line ’I would be disappointed,’ speaking like a mother reprimanding her unworthy son. To be frank, you two should quit politics and co to Paris with ; I can’t think of anyone better suited for stage acting, not even remotely close."
Disraeli rolled his eyes: "No one better than us? That’s because you weren’t at Carlton Mansion that day, witnessing the Duke of Wellington and Peel playing . That disgust you feel forced to cooperate in their play is repulsive, you know?"
Arthur, seasoned by his Russian experiences, found it commonplace: "No wonder everyone wants to climb higher; an official just one rank higher can disgust people."
The crowd laughed at this remark.
But Louis’s smile was a mixture of emotions.
He couldn’t help but recall three years ago when Arthur was always busy filing notes and reports, with Rowan repeatedly scrutinizing each case statent; ordinarily, revising three tis was considered minimal.
As for Disraeli? At that ti, this Jewish lad was feuding in newspapers, engaging in verbal spats, claiming he was close to becoming an MP, yet everyone ridiculed him, predicting he would undoubtedly lose if he ran.
And now?
Louis forced a smile: "Two years have passed, and you’ve both found your paths. anwhile, I’ve co full circle."
His words carried no resentnt; instead, they had a confessional tone, gently self-deprecating.
Dickens was the first to offer comfort: "Not every bearer of the Bonaparte na can forge ahead like this. Louis, after the Strasbourg incident, the fact that you’re here alive, seated, is already victorious over many."
Arthur chid in: "In reality, the defeat at Strasbourg isn’t as catastrophic as you imagine. Haven’t you seen? Since your capture, newspaper coverage in Paris, be it from the Bonaparte Party, Republican Party, or Orthodox Party, all speak in your favor. Those who collaborated with you in the Strasbourg coup were sent to Alsace’s criminal court, yet the jury declared all defendants innocent, and the French public collectively applauded the jury’s verdict. Louis, I feel you might be adored by the French people more than you realize. Granted, this ti you failed, but seldom do things succeed in one go; good things take ti."
Disraeli grinned mischievously and remarked: "You returned with two friends helping drive away the Foreign Office’s small tail; while this doesn’t directly aid in restoring France, it’s a victory in a staged battle at least."
Louis finally smiled, not entirely joyously but with warmth.
"I’m grateful to you all." He raised his teacup to toast his friends: "Without you, I wouldn’t know how to disengage from those two. If... I an if you don’t mind, I might need to stay in London for a while longer."
Disraeli was the first to clink glasses, his head shaking as he jokingly said: "Stay longer? On behalf of the Foreign Office, I welco this, but you should have Arthur inform the Ho Office in advance, lest those old fogies see your na and assu a coup is imminent."
Arthur shook his head: "Forget it, after Robert Cali’s morial, the Ho Office is now utterly resentful towards ."
Louis, being Arthur’s forr police secretary, had profound insights into the intricacies within White Hall, coupled with his tenure at Scotland Yard, leading him to share the police officers’ contempt against the Ho Office, filled with grievances.
Louis tentatively asked: "You an the one behind the desk? The Ho Office’s permanent undersecretary, Samuel Phillips? Why does that old fellow resent you? Without Scotland Yard, the Ho Office’s role in maintaining stability is virtually negligible!"
Arthur remained non-committal, gently replying: "But Mr. Phillips doesn’t seem to think so. And, Louis, I suggest you refrain from expressing such radical views in public venues."
"I’ll keep a low profile." Louis chuckled lightly, his deanor regaining so of its usual nonchalance: "Compared to three years ago, I’ve matured a bit, haven’t I? I should learn from you, from Alexander, from Charles; before contemplating the next move, I must first calm down and write several autobiographical literary works for the ’British’s.’
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