The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1923 - 152: Miss Fiona, Where Did Sir Arthur Go? Is He with Miss Hastings? (2)

Officer Hoot stood upright, one hand gripping his sword while the other rested on the doorframe.

Officer Colly stood beside him, draped in a half-wet gray wool cape, his expression more serious than usual.

He swiftly took the umbrellas from several officers, then nudged Colly’s arm with his elbow.

Only then did Hoot react, stepping forward promptly, the two of them almost simultaneously opening the door.

The door opened silently, not even the hinges made a sound.

Director Field was the first to step onto the stone steps. As soon as he took a step into the porch, he stopped and turned to ask, "Has Sir Arthur arrived?"

"Not yet," Hoot replied instantly, his tone crisp and efficient: "But..."

"He’ll be here soon!" Colly added with a salute.

Field glanced at them briefly, did not pursue further questions, just nodded lightly.

At this moment, Plunkett had already peeked out from behind Field. This sharpshooter patted the door frame with one hand, humorously calling out, "Well, the rain’s getting into my neck. Rather than welcoming us at the door, why not make us some warming ginger rum?"

"It’s all prepared inside," Colly smiled, stepping aside: "On the third floor in the reception room, the stove is already lit. Miss Fiona Ivan has thought through all these details and has already arranged for warming tea and snacks."

"Tea?" Plunkett smacked his lips repeating: "No booze?"

"Red tea with lemon and honey," Officer Hoot chimed in: "That steaming, hot kind."

Upon hearing this, Plunkett grumbled softly: "Not that tea is bad, but in this damn weather, without a swig of rum, something feels missing."

Chief Inspector Jones stepped forward to pat his shoulder: "Come on, Thomas, tea’s good enough. If you drink too much now, how will you manage the meeting later?"

Ledley, following closely behind, smiled in agreement: "Chief Inspector Jones is right; tea is safer than alcohol."

Ledley merely concurred naturally, without further intent.

But Plunkett didn’t even lift an eyelid, nor did he turn to look at him, as if he hadn’t heard Ledley’s words.

He simply patted Jones’s shoulder: "Alright then, Brayden, let’s have some hot tea first; I’ll invite you and Director Field for a drink after the meeting. Oh, and we’ll need Sir Arthur to join too...though, who knows if he’ll grace us with his presence."

Ledley’s smile froze on his face. He couldn’t help but tighten his fists, but soon he adjusted his expression, as if nothing had happened.

The awkward situation made even Colly and Hoot cough softly, tugging at each other’s sleeves.

Over the past year, Ledley had experienced the sensation of tagging along with his tail between his legs, much like Brayden Jones did after Arthur left.

Although Arthur had fulfilled his promise by forgiving him for his betrayal after handling Princess Sophia’s illegitimate child...

Arthur’s stance didn’t reflect the attitude of everyone at Scotland Yard, particularly within the Police Intelligence Department, where many officers looked down on him.

Although most junior officers wouldn’t dare show their disdain openly due to Ledley’s rank...

Yet among senior officers, quite a few were displeased with him.

The worst part was Thomas Plunkett, the officer with the most volatile temper and worst attitude, had been promoted to Deputy Director of the Police Intelligence Department following the Ramsgate incident.

"Please go upstairs, officers." Colly attempted to ease the tension with a relaxed tone: "Tea and refreshments are set on the third floor, and there’s incense burning in the room, all prepared by Miss Fiona. Oh, and Chief Inspector Tom Flannigans from the Criminal Investigation Center and Tony Eckhart from Greenwich have arrived too. If you’re bored, you can chat with them."

Field was well aware of the conflict between Plunkett and Ledley; he ordered: "Enough, head upstairs first, let’s discuss the drinking later."

The third-floor door was open, and the corridor’s end was lit by a suspended silver oil lamp.

The meeting room wasn’t large, nor luxurious, but it was meticulously arranged.

The walls hung with oil paintings depicting Jesus’s suffering and the anointing of Mary. The curtains were heavy Russian embroidery, and the carpet featured the red and blue Union Jack, though the corners were a bit worn, the craftsmanship was still evident.

A long table stretched across the center, draped in deep purple velvet, with a kettle steaming on the fire, sending up curling white wisps.

On silver trays rested red tea, honey, gingerbread, and poppy seed pastries prepared by Fiona, each cup covered with a thin cloth to keep the fragrance in.

At the very end, Tom and Tony saw their colleagues from the Police Intelligence Department arrive and quickly stood with smiles to invite them to sit and chat.

Jones took out a box of matches and a cigarette case from his pocket, ready to smoke to kill time.

Ledley sat rigidly at the table’s corner, his posture precise to the point of exaggeration.

Plunkett hung his saber on the chair back, casually propping a boot over the other leg, picking up a cup of tea for a sip, then smacking his lips, muttering "lacks booze."

Field sat in the first position beneath the head of the table, hands folded on the surface, smilingly chatting about work with Tom and Tony, two old colleagues.