Chapter 2272 - 270: Will Sir Arthur Have His Own Cook? (3)

Although government reports, in most cases, are merely dry lists of data and Civil Servants showcasing their literary skills in a rambling manner, resulting in Victoria having to force herself to finish reading them each time.

However, the national security reports drafted by Arthur always stand out among the government reports, seeming extraordinary and distinguished.

This famous novelist of Britain can write government documents like stage plays with dramatic ups and downs, making Victoria eager to know the plot of the next issue every time she finishes reading.

Of course, this doesn’t mean Arthur lacks the ability to write government reports as "precise in wording," "clear in logic," and "detailed in data" as other Civil Servants.

It should be noted that every time he drafts a security report, Arthur usually writes two copies.

The one written in a formal and conventional manner is submitted to the Home Office for archiving, while the lively and vivid version is a special edition for Buckingham Palace, specifically to entertain Victoria and make the newly ascended Queen feel involved in police work.

In the latest issue of the national security report, the "righteous" Sir Arthur even cited a criticism from The Times about Scotland Yard.

The Times Reader Letters Section

"Scotland Yard Officer Too Close with Servants During Patrol"

Dear Editor, now, please allow me to describe an example I just witnessed in the house opposite.

A few days ago, at about ten o’clock in the evening, I heard unusually lively conversations from the street opposite while sitting in the living room. I saw a patrolman, who was supposed to be on night duty, leisurely leaning against the railing, talking and laughing with two servants. The dining room window of that residence was directly facing him, and he seemed to be fully focused on it.

Moments later, he walked down the steps and received from the talkative maid a handful of cake or other food through the window and immediately dug in, while continuing a stimulating chat with her that lasted quite a while. Subsequently, the officer left for two or three minutes, presumably to return to his post and continue patrolling. At a quarter past ten, he returned. Perhaps being cautious, or perhaps to aid digestion, he began pacing again shortly, leaving for a longer period until nearly eleven to resume that delightful conversation...

Such calm and shameless conduct, I truly can say I have never had the dubious pleasure of witnessing. In summary, this officer’s duties tonight were confined to a corner, accruing a stay of at least (perhaps longer) an hour. Not to mention, during this time, he indulged in boisterous and shameless antics that certainly disgraced the decorum of a respectable street.

I suppose this might be why the public finds it difficult to locate police officers when needed. In my view, it seems every officer has on their patrol route (or should I say, on every street) at least one darling companion from the kitchen as they accompany them. Not only do they not regard the duty as arduous and troubling, but they rather seem to eagerly await the moments of whispered conversation and gourmet enjoyment with their beloved.

Victoria frowned slightly as she read this.

Then, she couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Though she felt annoyed at the police not doing their duty, the story was simply too vividly written.

It turns out that while on duty, officers are far less serious and proficient than she imagined.

They would slack off, gossip, indulge in a kitchen maid’s pastries, and even treat the patrol route as a stage for a few minutes of leisure.

Victoria even read that section again.

"Leisurely leaning against the railing...the maid handing over a handful of cake...eagerly awaiting whispered conversation like awaited rain after drought..."

Victoria put down the document and sighed softly: "It’s really too outrageous."

It made her feel angry but also amusing.

Victoria raised her hand to cover the corner of her mouth.

She thought for a moment and realized perhaps she had set her expectations for all police officers too high.

After all, the man she regarded as the benchmark for police officers was the finest officer in all of Great Britain, the strongest voice from Scotland Yard.

Victoria leaned back in her chair, her gaze resting on the faintly blurred dawn outside the window, seemingly wanting to rest for a bit.

But suddenly, a thought that shouldn’t have passed through her mind did anyway, and it was unstoppable.

"Did Sir Arthur ever do the same when he was a patrolman...?"

Her heart skipped a beat.

She didn’t genuinely believe Arthur would behave like the "protagonist" featured in The Times’ publication, flirting while enjoying cake.

Yet...

He is so young, so handsome, so courteous, his every move so poised and confident.

She can vividly imagine how, eight years ago, when he walked through some moonlit street in a blue uniform, many girls couldn’t resist stealing glances at him.

Kitchen maids, laundresses, passing flower vendors...

London streets are full of young girls daring enough to tease policemen.

She gently shook her head, her hair swaying softly in the morning light.

But her brain spontaneously fantasized.

That composed and aloof temperament...

Wouldn’t it make people want to tease him more easily?

Wouldn’t it make some bold girls more excited when handing over a cake?

Wouldn’t it...

She pressed her hand against the document, forcefully diverting her thoughts.

She must not entertain such thoughts anymore.

She is the Queen of a country, reviewing the National Police Report, and cannot casually speculate on the romantic history of her most outstanding officer.

However, the more reason says so, the more emotions seep through the gaps in the pages.

Victoria looked at the sentence on the report and found it increasingly amusing: "Certainly disgraced a respectable street’s decorum..."

She picked up her pen and lightly tapped on the paper.

This does indeed spoil the appearance, she had to admit.

But she couldn’t help thinking, doesn’t London’s appearance also contain those sneaky, real, head-shaking, even slightly syrupy moments?

This sense of reality, instead, makes the city feel more alive.

After a moment, she moved the report aside.

She is the Queen, and Arthur is about to come to report to her or discuss the crime statistics, street layouts, patrol systems, and police discipline.

She must appear mature, rational, and orderly.

Yet she couldn’t deny that she was impatient to ask him, "What do you think of the article about the officer and the cook?"

She was even a bit curious if Arthur would blush?

Or maybe, as usual, would he remain calm on the surface, yet with a smile she couldn’t understand hidden in his eyes?

How would Arthur answer her?

In what kind of tone?

With what kind of gaze?

What kind of story?

As Victoria imagined Arthur’s reaction with a pursed mouth.

"Knock, knock, knock."

"Ah!"

She let out a soft cry, a sound as light as a startled sparrow but enough to draw a surprised look from Leisen, who was dozing beside her.

Victoria’s hand reflexively reached for the documents on the desk, but upon grabbing the first one, found another left open, and when she gathered one, a third was exposed.

"Your Majesty?" Leisen gently reminded.

"I... I’m here!"

Victoria lowered her voice, with a hint of panic in her tone.

The attendant outside respectfully said, "Your Majesty, Sir Arthur Hastings has arrived at Marble Arch and is awaiting your presence."

Victoria’s heart jumped fiercely, almost leaping into her throat.

"Tell him..."

She wanted to say "wait a moment," but realized that would be too improper, her words hesitated at her lips, forcing herself to sit up straight.

Take a deep breath.

Another deep breath.

Once again.

The next moment, Victoria cut off the panic entirely, forcibly switching herself into the Queen’s demeanor.

"Let Sir Arthur come in."

"As you command, Your Majesty."

The attendant responded and withdrew.

"Leisen, tidy up the desk," she added.

Leisen raised her eyebrows slightly; she, of course, noticed Victoria’s earlier startled exclamation and hasty tidying action, but said nothing, merely following orders silently.

Victoria quickly checked her appearance.

Shoulders straightened, chin slightly raised, eyes calm...

At least she didn’t have that galloping heartbeat panic just now.

Footsteps began to sound in the corridor outside.

Steady.

Neither hurried nor slow.

Each sound was a familiar rhythm.

The attendant softly knocked on the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and Arthur’s figure appeared at the entrance.

Morning light slanted through the window, falling on his shoulder, as the attendant stepped aside, making way.

Arthur stepped forward, stopping at a perfectly appropriate distance from the desk.

"Your Majesty."