Chapter 2269 - 269: The True Gentleman (3)

Arthur listened, tapping his fingertips lightly on the edge of the carriage window, as if doubting whether such speed was truly achievable: "Eleven miles per hour?"

Whickriff laughed heartily, "It’s not just you; even us coach drivers wouldn’t believe that Stevenson could really reach such speeds unless we saw it with our own eyes. He’s a legend in the coaching business, just like you are at Scotland Yard."

Arthur turned his face aside, giving a self-deprecating smile, "If Mr. Stevenson heard you placing me in the same category as him, he might not take it as a compliment."

The carriage was slowly moving along Grosvenor Square at this moment, the morning mist casting a faint white glow on the iron railings.

Whickriff held the reins and continued, "However, Sir, no matter how fast a coach driver runs, they can’t escape one rule—if they’re late, they have to pay out of their own pocket. For someone like me, earning less than forty or fifty pounds a year, losing five pounds is like losing half a life."

Arthur nodded, "So you left the coaching company."

"Yes, Sir." Whickriff recalled, "Later, when the railways opened, it became even harder for the coaching companies. Fashionable passengers all switched to trains. I thought that continuing to run long-distance coaches wouldn’t be sustainable, so I decided to switch to city cabs. But I didn’t expect, driving a cab looks free, but it’s actually tougher. Every day you first have to earn the cab fare, then consider your own. Every time it rains, with not many people on the road, that day is just a wasted effort. To get a good spot, I have to get up at four in the morning, rush to the corner of Regent Street, and queue for a place. But sometimes two hours pass without a single customer, and we just wait in the mist with over ten carriages before and after."

He coughed at this point, "And there are those who don’t have money to pay, drunkards, fake gentlemen, rascals causing trouble. They get in with a smile, but when they get off, they play dumb and claim they have no money. If we complain, they threaten to call the police and accuse us of speaking rudely or refusing to serve gentlemen... Sir, you work in law enforcement, you surely know what London is like at night. Driving the night shift regularly, without being beaten, robbed, or stiffed—it’s impossible."

Whickriff suddenly realized he had said too much, perhaps even just complained about the "poor public security" in front of a former high-ranking official at Scotland Yard.

He immediately bit his tongue, straightening his back, as if shrinking back into his uniform.

"Sorry, Sir," he quickly said, "I’ve said too much. I’m not saying that London’s law enforcement is bad, just that in those days of driving... some rascals were just born that way."

The carriage fell silent for a moment, then Arthur’s unconcerned voice came, "Thomas, there’s nothing wrong with you telling the truth of what you know."

Whickriff froze for a second.

Arthur continued, "Someone who’s driven on the streets for twelve years knows what the streets of London are like far better than most office-bound officials. I’d rather hear a few of your complaints than look at dozens of pages of some people’s law enforcement reports."

Upon hearing this, Whickriff couldn’t help but loosen his grip on the reins, "Meeting an employer like you... truly... previous clients either thought us drivers were the dust of the streets or gave us orders more comfortably than they did their own dogs. If they had a good temper, they would feign a little sympathy, but if you really asked them to pay half a shilling more, it was like cutting their flesh. A gentleman willing to chat with me and being so approachable... Sir, in twelve years of driving, you’re honestly the first."

Arthur chuckled, "Thomas, those who give you orders with ease are impolite not because they are gentlemen, but because they are just vulgar people in a gentleman’s clothing. If merely wearing a couple of good suits made one a gentleman, there would be far too many gentlemen in this world."

Whickriff followed with a couple of laughs, "You’re right, I was just intimidated by them before."

Hearing this, Arthur suddenly spoke up, "Since you’re willing to work with me, I should at least show you what a place truly meant for gentlemen is like."

Saying this, Arthur lifted his gaze, looking at the gradually brightening street scene ahead, his voice as calm as ever, "Would you like to go to a place truly belonging to gentlemen?"

Whickriff didn’t think much, blurting out, "Of course, Sir! Just say the word, and I’ll ensure you get there on time, no matter where it is!"

"Very well."

The carriage turned onto St. James Street, the flagpole atop the palace walls faintly visible in the distance.

Arthur said casually, "Then let’s go to Buckingham Palace."