The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1978 - 172: The Hastings Gang of White Hall

The two police officers had almost finished eating, quickly placed the tin plate down, pulled out a few pennies and tossed them into the vendor’s hands, while walking away and still bantering with lowered voices. Their boots stepped on the damp stone path, splashing a few tiny droplets, disappearing into the mist shortly.

On the other side of the stall, there was an unnoticed long wooden bench where an ordinary-looking gentleman was sitting.

He wore a wide-brimmed hat, and the buttons of his wool coat were fastened neatly from top to bottom, with a polished cane placed by his feet.

He quietly sipped a cup of tea that had long gone cold, then slowly placed the tea cup down, tapping his fingers on the porcelain edge, producing a slight sound.

The vendor peeked over, recognized him as the regular Mr. Hastings, and grinned without saying anything, casually picked up a freshly baked slice of bread and carried it over.

Arthur took the steaming slice of bread, but before he could express his thanks, he heard a rush of footsteps echoing off the cobblestones from the foggy corner of the street.

Before people could see the visitor’s face clearly, his voice had already pierced through into Arthur’s ears.

"Bloody hell! This London weather! I’ve been out of the house for less than half an hour, and my hat’s soaked like it’s been dredged up from the Thames River!"

The vendor looked up and hurried forward with a smile: "Mr. Carter! Here early today? The usual?"

"Of course, the usual! James, unless you’ve got French veal steaks on the menu besides these shoddy ones?" Eld grumbled while vigorously brushing off his coat shoulders, scattering droplets everywhere.

Arthur saw his old friend coming, waved to indicate: "Eld, over here."

Eld swaggered over and sat down, the chair creaking under his weight.

He casually threw his soaked hat on the table, took the slice of bread the vendor handed over, and chomped down loudly: "I say, Arthur, sitting here like an old monk, nibbling bread thoroughly. Do you know? The Navy Department has been buzzing these past few days, saying Her Majesty the Queen plans to grant a batch of Baronets before the coronation, and your name is being discussed on the list."

Arthur glanced up at him, picked up the teacup and said: "The rumors from the Navy Department are probably no more reliable than the weather in London."

"Damn, you’re still pretending!" Eld bit half a piece of bacon: "The news isn’t from the Navy Department. It drifted out from the palace. How can that be unreliable?"

Arthur took a sip of tea: "Naturally unreliable."

"What part of it is unreliable?" Eld’s face was full of disbelief: "News coming from the palace, you dare say it’s unreliable?!"

Arthur put down his teacup and said blandly: "Because I refused."

Suddenly, the noisy air became quiet.

"You..." Eld nearly choked on the bread, beating his chest for a long time to catch his breath: "Are you out of your mind? That’s a Baronetcy! Even though it’s the most humble hereditary title, it’s enough to pin your surname on the pyramid. You’re not interested? Do you know how many people would give anything to squeeze in? Robert Peel is just a Baronet."

"Well, why don’t I tell Her Majesty the Queen to grant the title to you instead?" Arthur casually said: "A Baronetcy, the Carter family would be glorified."

Eld was stunned for a while, then suddenly slapped the table, nearly knocking over the teacup.

He declared with righteousness: "Arthur, what do you take me for, this kind of hand-me-down Baronetcy is a disgrace to my character, a trampling of the Carter family’s hundreds of years of honor! Our Carter family for generations, although not hereditary English nobility, is at least a genuine Irish aristocracy, having produced MPs, generals, estate owners, and political leaders, all clean and achieved step by step!"

He spoke more and more passionately, even ignoring the kettle the vendor handed over, slapping the table and shouting.

"My great-grandfather old Thomas Carter stood on the city walls during the Siege of Derry! 105 days, they were eating belts in the city, and he was still using a pipe stem to fend off James II’s men from climbing up! Later at the Battle of the Boyne, he charged with William III, routing James II’s Royalists and the French reinforcements, capturing the field, and personally seizing James II’s documents and seals.

Then my grandfather, young Thomas Carter, served as Ireland’s Chief Justice and State Minister, and with Ireland Lower House Speaker Henry Boyle and Chief Prosecutor Anthony Malone formed a triumvirate in the Ireland Lower House, was one of the founders of the Ireland Patriot Party and the most capable assistant to Governor of Ireland, Duke of Bedford.

My great-grandfather Henry Boyle Carter, although without political achievements didn’t serve as a State Minister in Parliament, his deeds were much more practical than any in Parliament. As proprietor of Martin Castle Manor, he was the kind that walking into Dublin City Hall, everybody had to doff their hat. My great-grandmother, a widow from the Shane family, possessed genuine Annaly Noble lineage, brought several hundred acres of land and a heap of troublesome distant relatives when she married into the Carter family.

Then there’s my uncle John Carter, who joined the Royal Navy at 13, served on the Excellence of the Mediterranean Fleet, and later with apprentice officer status on the Penelope participated in the blockade of Malta, capturing the French Navy’s second-rate battleship William Tell, and later followed General Horatio Nelson on the Victory engaging in the Egyptian Campaign and the Battle of Trafalgar. On his wall still hangs the sword and telescope General Nelson gifted him..."