The Shadow of Great Britain-Chapter 803 - 376: Britain, Do Not Cry for Me (Part 1)

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.

—— Shakespeare, "All’s Well That Ends Well"

On a gloomy and wet afternoon in London, the sky suddenly tore apart, and torrential rain gushed down like a waterfall, sweeping over the entire city. The streets and alleys instantly transformed into a vast expanse of water, with the cobblestone and blue stone brick roads becoming extraordinarily muddy under the deluge. Every rut was deeply embedded in the sticky mud, appearing like the scarred veins of the earth.

And amidst the dense curtain of rain that pressed heavily on the breath and obscured the view ahead, was the chaotic and heavy sound of hobnailed boots striking the ground.

They wore simple, homemade oilcloth raincoats, and topped their heads with bowler hats whose brims dripped with sparkling water droplets. Their epaulets shimmered with a faint but radiant light in the rain.

On the road, groups of carriages trudged arduously through the mud, their wheels emitting a heavy rumble as coachmen waved their whips, striving to spur on the exhausted horses. From inside the carriages, gentlemen and ladies could not resist opening the windows to cautiously observe the group of ’Blue Devils,’ curiously guessing where these men might be headed.

But in an instant, curiosity transformed into hesitation. The gentlemen glanced up at the rising smoke columns in the sky. Under the washed-away rain, the gunpowder-scented air seemed somewhat diminished.

The noblewoman gently took her husband’s hand, asking uncertainly: "Dear, why don’t we head home first? Judging by the expressions on these officers’ faces and their orderly running steps, things... don’t seem as terrible as we imagined."

The gentleman looked at his wife, puffing silently on his pipe. He stared at the officers running past, and suddenly saw a few mounted police riding up through the curtain of rain.

The hoofbeats splashed through the puddles, sending up bursts of murky water. Their figures appeared and disappeared in the rain like a dynamic black-and-white oil painting. Shops along the way shut their doors and windows tightly, pedestrians hurriedly sought shelter from the rain, and only this disciplined force moved upstream, advancing toward the prosperous London Financial City.

The leading mounted officer seemed to have noticed the slowly stopping carriage. He tugged the reins to turn his horse around and trotted it over in small steps.

The officer removed his hat, bent down slightly, and raised his hand to lightly knock on the window’s edge. Outside the window, his eyes, faintly glimmering with red light, appeared.

"Sir, Madam, do you need any assistance?"

The noblewoman glanced at her husband and replied apologetically: "Officer, thank you for your help. We... we just feel a bit anxious, frightened."

Arthur laughed lightly, straightened his posture, and replied: "Madam, I assure you, London’s situation will soon stabilize. It is our responsibility that you are worried, so we are now ready to shoulder it. Go home, get some rest, and by the time you wake up tomorrow, the rain will have stopped. Trust me, though it’s my first time predicting the weather, having lived in London for so many years, I have at least this bit of common sense."

With that, Arthur swung the reins again. A horse neigh filled the air, and quickly he shot forward like an arrow released from a bow, the hooves splashing mud from the puddles onto the road. Some naughty splatters even leapt into the carriage, staining the noblewoman’s beloved white dress.

But the noblewoman had no mind to blame this seemingly ungentlemanly policeman at the moment. Instead, she turned her head and asked her husband: "Dear, do you think..."

The gentleman tapped his pipe outside the window, clearing out the ashes: "Mary, let’s go back. Suddenly remembered we left some good tea leaves at home. Let’s light a bonfire, brew some tea, slice some ham, and you can tell me about Mrs. Hawkinson you mentioned last time, and the little stories from your ladies’ book club. I’m actually quite interested in you ladies’ hobbies."

...

The London Financial City, referred to as the ’Square Mile’ by London citizens, is located in the heart on the north bank of the Thames River, adorned by ancient church spires, heavy Gothic buildings, and new commercial towers, melding the solemnity of history with the breath of modern industrial civilization.

The area known as the Square Mile is not exceptionally large in the majestic and expansive London. However, anyone stepping into it for the first time would be stunned by its wealth and luxurious adornments.

Banks in neoclassical style have risen here, built with hard stone, adorned with luxurious sculptures and reliefs, showcasing the power and prestige of financial giants.

Here is home to the England regional headquarters of domestic banking giants such as Barings Bank, Rothschild Bank, Lloyds Bank, and the Bank of Scotland, standing like fortresses guarding the nation’s financial lifeline. Beyond them, countries from South America and Europe have also opened multinational banks in the Financial City of London to issue their national bonds and raise sufficient funds.

Nevertheless, the most eye-catching throne among all the banks still belongs to Britain’s top bank— the Bank of England, jointly subscribed by twenty-one British banking giants.

With the Financial City being a gathering place for these high net-worth individuals, its entertainment and dining industries naturally thrive. Elegant gentlemen’s clubs and cafes used by merchants to pass the time and exchange information line both sides of the streets.