The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 550 - 285: Hastings with Insightful Eyes

The night in Liverpool was cloudless, stars filled the sky.

Adjacent to the dock, Arthur opened the window in his hotel room, savoring the salty sea breeze from the Irish Sea.

The dock was crowded with merchant ships from around the world. Although it was nighttime, the ships still had their kerosene lamps lit.

Sailors confined to their ships, unable to disembark, held beer mugs in their hands as they cursed the port authority’s expensive yet poor-quality meals while complaining about Britain’s Parliament’s ineffectiveness.

The land was within sight, yet they were locked in cabins filled with the stench of sweat and vomit, bound to remain there for forty more days.

Perhaps it was the recent dock riots that had the Liverpool authorities on edge, or perhaps Arthur’s array of titles that unnerved them, but today, there were noticeably more military police at the docks than usual.

Apart from a few dockworkers engaged in loading and customs officers clearing goods, other idlers at the port were carefully watched by them.

However, due to the outbreak of cholera, the Liverpool docks were no longer as bustling as they had been two months earlier.

Whether the peddlers who sold various goods or the girls looking to attract customers, everyone stayed away from the docks, understanding that coming here now not only meant no business but also potential infection with the deadly "blue death."

For most people in Britain, the fear of cholera was not only about death but that they couldn’t achieve a dignified end.

Compared to tuberculosis, a disease romanticized for causing pale skin and rose-scented cheeks and lending an elegantly melancholic demeanor—none of which made you appear attractive or allowed you to collapse into the arms of a beauty—

cholera would only cause you to vomit last night’s dinner and defecate a rice-water stool. Once you were dehydrated, your skin would soon slacken, wrinkle, and your complexion would start to turn blue-black. If not treated well within 24 hours, you would dry up into a blue-black, skeletal mummy.

In such a state, not to mention beauties or handsome men, even your family and friends would shun you.

In a country where the poor would spend most of their wealth on funerals, such an undignified death was terrifying, even more so than the fact of death itself.

Fueled by this fear of cholera, the always noisy and divided political scene on this small island of Britain had unusually quickly reached a consensus.

Based on the reports Arthur had received today, the committees under the Privy Council were meeting almost daily, and the Cholera Prevention Manual he had personally handed to Mr. Chadwick from the Paris police had, after several amendments, officially become a "Cholera Prevention Bill."

Once the new session of Parliament was formed, they would immediately vote on this bill.

According to insiders within the Lord Chancellor’s office, everyone was optimistic about the bill’s passage.

Under the leadership of Sir Peel, the Tory Party, persistent in their stance that the government should enhance its control, had no intention of arm-wrestling with the Whig Party over cholera prevention.

Knock, knock, knock!

A sudden series of urgent knocks echoed in Arthur’s room.

"Arthur, damn it, open up!"

Arthur had just opened the door when Great Dumas rushed into the room, about to celebrate grandly, but he stopped short when he saw Arthur leaning against the wall by the door, his revolver already cocked.

Great Dumas widened his eyes and asked, "Damn it! Arthur, were you planning to shoot me dead with that?"

Arthur peered outside for a moment: the hallway, dimly lit and empty. He then tucked his revolver back into its holster.

"Alexander, what time is it now? You came rushing over in the middle of the night; I thought someone had surrounded the hotel. This is Liverpool, not London. In other words, this isn’t my turf. Moreover, our business here isn’t exactly winning hearts—controlling the port reduces job opportunities for the poor, affecting many people’s livelihoods.

And for the large ship-owners and trading companies, it cuts off their money flow. While Britain is not as keen on political assassinations as France, we’ve still had our share of incidents, such as attacking Parliament, the Gunpowder Plot, assassination of the King, shooting the Prime Minister. You and I might not have the same status as the Prime Minister and the King, so I advise you not to sleep too soundly at night. Otherwise, you might wake up with a halo over your head, and don’t say I didn’t warn you," Arthur cautioned.

Great Dumas smirked dismissively, "Die in my sleep? That’s a pathetic way to go. Don’t worry about me, Alexander Dumas; I’m used to big scenes. During the July Revolution, I led men through bullets and stormed the armory. If dense gunfire couldn’t kill me, a stray bullet certainly won’t. Besides, don’t you know about my dueling record in London? 5 wins, 0 losses. Do you realize what that means?"

Arthur returned to his desk and poured a cup of coffee: "As the saying goes, those who know how to swim are the ones who drown. If it were as you say, the Royal Navy wouldn’t have sailors drowning during training every year. Do you know General Cordington’s youngest son? A promising young man, drowned at sea while apprenticing at the naval academy, dead at just thirteen years old."