Chapter 2002: Chapter 180: Scandalous Rumors
Disraeli, after hearing these words, couldn’t help but sarcastically say, "When you put it like that, I suddenly feel that Gladstone’s face is actually a walking ’James I’s Authorized Version of the Bible.’ Just that this version is printed too densely, without a single breath of punctuation."
"You do have a keen observation on Gladstone, but... Benjamin, don’t just focus on studying him, what about your side? You’re not involved in the matter with Mrs. Sikes, are you?"
Arthur’s words were like water poured into a furnace, nearly causing Disraeli’s cigar to fall to the ground.
He blinked, and the smile on his face suddenly became subtle, half embarrassed, half resigned in front of an old friend where no disguises were needed: "Arthur, I thought we were discussing the nation’s future and the mental health issues of Oxford University’s voters today."
Arthur took out his pocket watch and glanced at it: "The gunpowder smell in politics is certainly overwhelming, but if you haven’t cleared up the scent of perfume in your own room, how can those middle-class voters trust you with their votes?"
Disraeli coughed: "Actually... Mrs. Sikes and I, after that holiday in Ramsgate, have barely been in contact..."
Arthur lit another one: "Of course I know that, otherwise, the one Sir Francis Sikes caught in the act wouldn’t have been that handsome Irish painter Daniel MacLise, but you."
"Caught in the act?" Disraeli was stunned for a while: "You mean, Henrietta and MacLise were caught by Sir Sikes..."
"That’s right, caught directly in bed." Arthur, upon first hearing the news, was as shocked as Disraeli: "I heard from people at the Chronicle Morning Paper that Sir Francis Sikes bought a whole page from them to detail the facts of his wife’s infidelity and adultery and even publicly declared that he would no longer repay any debts his wife had incurred, and even plans to demand back the 2000 pounds he once lent her."
Disraeli’s smile froze abruptly on his face, as if a court summons had suddenly floated in through the smoke.
"You mean..." His throat was a bit hoarse: "They’ve already started legal proceedings? Public prosecution?"
Arthur nodded, his expression absent of any exaggeration, yet the news seemed more deadly because of his excessive calm: "It’s rumored they’re preparing to file a lawsuit for adultery, Sir Francis Sikes has already commissioned a lawyer, leaving column space reserved in both the Chronicle Morning Paper and The Observer. If their editor wasn’t lying to me, Sir Sikes’s exact words should be: He will no longer foot the bill for a woman’s account, a bottle of perfume, or even the postage for an old love letter delivered by a postman."
Disraeli instinctively took a step back, as if shot under the Tower of London.
His previous mocking demeanor of Gladstone vanished without a trace, leaving only a look of "I’m finished."
"Damn it..." he muttered softly, "Those two thousand pounds are already spent..."
Arthur, feigning ignorance, slowly turned his head and asked, "What did you just say?"
"I said..." Disraeli snapped back to reality, immediately switching to a grim yet barely held smile: "I said that painter MacLise is indeed a troublemaker, the Irish are all like John Conroy."
"Really?" Arthur offhandedly said, "God bless, luckily the 2000 pounds Sir Sikes wants to reclaim from his wife have nothing to do with you."
Disraeli didn’t respond to this, he just froze in place, smoke swirling in front of him as if even God was waiting to see whether his next words would be a confession, denial, or a flamboyant lie.
He finally moved his lips, voice so faint it was almost blown away by the night wind: "Arthur... that was the most financially strained winter of my life."
Arthur lightly acknowledged with a hum, his tone free of fluctuation or judgment.
He was merely listening, like a patient judge sitting in the dark tribunal, waiting for the defendant to speak for himself.
"I mean..." Disraeli took a step forward, the last bit of pride in his voice humbly slipping into the crevices of his words: "That was during the most intense period of the election campaign, I had to write articles during the day and appear in three different salons dressed in a tailcoat at night, chatting and cajoling, while making time every day to get acquainted with bankers and factory owners, discussing rhetoric, Abraham, and the vintage of champagne. You know, my publishing work has never had issues, the circulation accounts of the British are clearer than that of the Treasury, but..."
Disraeli cradled his head in his hands, looking deeply remorseful: "But politics... is the most expensive business in the world. I had to spend a fortune on hiring dancers, bands, hosting banquets, entertaining parish priests, country gentlemen vacationing in London, the gentlemen’s wives, and even their dogs, buying seats for them, renting carriages, booking theater boxes... just to let the wives of a few leading voters in the Tower Hamlets constituency enjoy a stint of flower viewing in Holland Park cost me an entire book’s worth of manuscript fees."
Arthur wasn’t particularly surprised, but he indeed had a question: "But weren’t you serving as a Vice Minister of the Foreign Office in the Peel Cabinet? I remember that position had an income of 1500 pounds a year?"
"1500 pounds does sound like a lot." Disraeli sighed: "But that’s if you can actually complete the year. How long did Peel’s Cabinet last? Four months and sixteen days! To be exact, summoned by His Majesty William from December 21st until bowing out on April 8th the following year in the Lower House, then limping back home in resignation."
Arthur nodded in deep agreement: "I almost forgot about that."
"That cabinet experience was less enduring than the reprinting cycle of my ’Vivian Grey’." Disraeli spread his hands: "I hadn’t even familiarized myself with the office layout at the Foreign Office before I was dismissed. I intended to use that position to close the distance between myself and respectable people, but in the end... I didn’t even hand out many of those gold-embossed business cards."
"So you accepted the money from Mrs. Sikes?"
"I didn’t accept it, I... I originally planned to return it." Disraeli stiffened his neck: "She said it was a personal gift, she even joked that if I indeed became a Cabinet Minister, she’d consider it a political investment."
Arthur looked down at the cigar butt sparking with fire: "Did you write an IOU?"
"I..." Disraeli opened his mouth, stammering: "She said... she said it wasn’t necessary, that we never fussed over things like that."
"Hmm... must be a good girl..." Arthur nearly snorted with laughter after hearing that: "At least, to you she was."
Disraeli nodded guiltily: "Of course, though our fate together has ended, at least during our association, the emotion was indeed genuine. However..."
However, before he could finish his sentence, Disraeli started pacing restlessly: "If he really intends to sue, not only me... but also Henrietta, and that damn MacLise, the three of us would be thrown into the newspaper slaughterhouse of Fleet Street... Once those two thousand pounds are traced, those tabloids will definitely latch onto me, saying I accepted ’amorous donations’ from a married woman! They’ll say I’m just a male prostitute! They’ll claim I extracted campaign fees from a society lady! Damn, this is precisely the kind of report those third-rate tabloids on Fleet Street love the most... Even if I pay to settle, they may not let me off... my political career will be ruined... the seat in the Lower House will be gone too, my opponents in Tower Hamlets will plaster posters everywhere about me! With Peel’s character, he might even expel me from the party... Gladstone, that woodsman, will likely write an obituary for me after morning prayers..."
"Enough." Arthur interrupted him: "Stop whining. Benjamin, aren’t you a lawyer? Even though you’ve never practiced, you shouldn’t be panicking like this."
"You’re right." Disraeli straightened his back, feigning bravado: "Arthur, lend me two thousand pounds first, I’ll give you an IOU right now."
"The money isn’t urgent, don’t worry about it, not just two thousand pounds, even three thousand pounds I can lend you." Arthur tossed the cigar into a puddle, leisurely dusting off the ash from his hands: "But the issue is, how do you explain how those two thousand pounds from Mrs. Sikes ended up in your hands?"
(Thanks to the Alliance Hierarch for the reward, another Chapter coming in addition)
