Blackwell couldn’t maintain his smile upon hearing this; beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, seeping into his temple.
Was Arthur talking about the pie?
He was clearly referring to Blackwell!
In an instant, he pieced together the entire story, from disembarking at the West Indies Pier today to George Austin picking him up with the old Fulton carriage, then "accidentally" eting Richard Hoot at the café, then...
The letter of thanks from Viscount Palston? The appreciation from Sir John Bickhouse?
They were all lies!
At the critical mont, he didn’t see either of these two important figures, but instead faced the person he least wanted to et, Arthur Hastings!
Arthur picked up the teapot, poured a cup of tea, and while pouring, he slowly began: "London has changed quite a bit lately, Henry. You must have noticed too. You’ve been away for years; the fences at the West Indies Pier have been replaced several tis, and the old ink machines at the newspaper and printing factories have all been updated. The longer one is away, the more likely to be treated as a stranger. Sotis people can’t even rember which departnt you’re from."
He did not raise his voice deliberately, nor did he ntion any nas; his tone was so polite it could serve as an official letter from White Hall.
But sotis, when others speak to you too politely, it is not a good thing.
Blackwell stiffened his neck in silence for a while, before finally speaking softly, his tone carrying a natural sense of flattery and trepidation.
"Sir... Sir, I ca today just wanting to eat a quiet al... I’ve long left Russia and do not wish to involve myself in past matters again. I’ve road for years without doing anything unconscionable. Now I just want to find a livelihood in London... Please be rciful."
Arthur rely lifted his teacup, took a sip.
As he put down the cup, he spoke in his usual unhurried manner: "Mr. Blackwell, you repeatedly claim you wish for a stable life, yet choose to sit in the place where I most frequently settle. Coincidence? I don’t believe this is a coincidence, especially for a diplomat."
Blackwell’s throat tightened, he forced a smile: "Sir Arthur, I... I’ve never considered you an enemy; I respect you. I’ve always regarded you as a friend..."
Arthur interrupted before he could finish: "Of course, you should respect . You should have learned to respect the night before you left St. Petersburg. If you truly respected , the first thing you would do upon returning to London is to seek out. You contacted the editor of The Tis for information, you went to inquire about old connections at White Hall, yet specifically neglected to write a letter, or to deliver even a simple co-to-the-door card. You keep saying we’re friends, but you haven’t paid a visit, haven’t invited for a drink, haven’t written a single letter. Until you’re at a dead end, you suddenly say, ah, Sir Arthur, I’ve always considered you a friend. That is not how friends behave, Mr. Blackwell."
Blackwell instinctively clenched his knee, attempting to argue: "Sir, I... I was just afraid of disturbing you..."
Arthur heard him, gazed at him for a long ti: "London doesn’t nurture the unkind. If you want to eat from this city, you must respect its fire. Henry, you need to understand, you can sit before because I allow it. You can eat this pie because I keep it warm. I rember you said, the cold winds of St. Petersburg were too harsh, that soday you wished to return to London to work in diplomacy. I rembered your words, so I had Benjamin find a reason to bring you back from London. Not Palston, not Bickhouse but ."
Blackwell nodded with gritted teeth: "Yes, I understand... Thank you, Sir."
Arthur shook his head slightly: "Don’t rush to thank , Henry. Rember, nothing in this world is free. I eat here without charge because I am friends with the mistress, but you, Henry, are we friends?"
Blackwell’s facial muscles twitched, forming a smile worse than a grimace.
He opened his mouth as if to say sothing, but Arthur beat him to it, sarcastically shaking his finger: "You certainly can say so, but saying it out loud doesn’t an I believe it. St. Petersburg taught people many things; previously I would listen to what people said and trust their actions, but after my ti in Russia, now I can only listen to what they say and watch what they do."
"Sir, I... Apologies..."
Arthur gazed calmly into Blackwell’s eyes, slowly speaking: "Henry, you might think I’m quite angry, and indeed I am. However, I do not bla you for making one wrong choice, for intelligent people also misstep at tis. An intelligent person makes one mistake, yet can still be an intelligent person. But if they insist on making two, that is no longer a mistake, it is self-embarrassnt. Do you understand my aning?"
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