shadow of britain

Chapter 755 My Dear? My Deer!

The private carriage carrying Arthur and Disraeli departed from Kensington Palace. The coachman first took Arthur back to the manor at Lancaster Gate to collect the luggage for the short hunting trip from the maid Betty. The carriage then sailed out of the city along Westminster Bridge, passing through Clapham, Wimbledon, and Epsom, gradually entering the rolling hills of Surrey border, and then into Hampshire.

Compared to London, the air in Hampshire seemed to have been washed clean, carrying a faint scent of grass and damp leaves. Even in late autumn in November, it lacked the suffocating smell of coal smoke and steel that the capital had.

In late November, the countryside in southern England is always much livelier than usual.

Every now and then, Arthur would see several ornately decorated carriages drive by on the road.

Generally speaking, only a few groups of people can afford such carriages. Judging from the timeline, the recent autumn jury in Hampshire has just ended, so these carriages mostly belong to sheriffs, lawyers, and their families and friends who are returning to their estates for the winter.

Of course, it's also possible that some local gentry or retired military officers returning from London might be mixed in, as it's the end of London's social season.

Arthur habitually tries to deduce the owners of these carriages based on clues, while Disraeli, who is also bored on the journey and looking for some fun, sets his sights on the former Prime Minister, Viscount Melbourne.

"Arthur, do you know about that Viscount Melbourne thing?"

"Which one? The one where he fell asleep at the cabinet meeting? Or the one where Mr. Joseph Hume of the House of Commons came to visit him and explained to him in person the necessity of reducing the death penalty and implementing compulsory education, only to find that the Viscount Melbourne was pulling feathers out of the chair cushion, tossing them in the air, and then blowing them to the other side of the desk."

"Well, so you know both stories. But I suppose that makes sense. After all, Lord Brougham was a participant in the Cabinet meeting, and Mr. Hume is from Westminster. They must have complained to you about Melbourne quite a bit, right?"

"The word 'complain' might be a bit strong, but they do suspect that the Viscount Melbourne is somewhat senile, even though he doesn't look that old. But considering that the Viscount Melbourne can even irritate someone as good-natured as Faraday, I think it's not wrong to say that he's frivolous."

“Flirtatious?” Disraeli perked up immediately upon hearing the word. “My dear Arthur, you clearly don’t know which part of him is truly frivolous.”

Arthur was clearly uninterested in the topic: "You mean his deceased wife Caroline? Please, her affair with Byron is ancient history. You're not planning to tell me about that, are you?"

“Old almanac? You’re mistaken, I’m talking about an even older almanac!” Disraeli proudly pulled out the “Melbourne family secrets” that Mrs. Sykes had told him: “Do you know who the Viscount Melbourne’s biological father is?”

Arthur was just thinking about what to eat tonight when Disraeli's words almost made his mind go blank.

"The Viscount Melbourne's father?" He realized things weren't quite right. "Couldn't it be the old Viscount Melbourne?"

“Of course not,” Disraeli said confidently. “His biological father is the Earl of Egremont, the lover of the old Lady Melbourne.”

“Egremont?” Arthur frowned, slowly setting down his pipe. “Peter Lear Egremont? The one from Petworth Estate?”

Speaking of Earl Egremont, Arthur actually knew this elderly nobleman who was nearing his eighties.

The reason is simple: the Earl of Egremont can be considered one of the most prominent patrons of the arts in British history.

Mr. William Turner, who painted Arthur's portrait, received long-term patronage from the Earl of Egremont, and was even allowed to live at the Earl's Petworth estate to paint.

Of course, the Earl of Egremont did not only patronize famous painters like Turner; even lesser-known painters like John Martin and William Blake received some form of funding from him.

In addition, the Earl of Egrémont was one of Britain’s most famous collectors, and his Petworth House housed the largest private art collection in Britain, including works by Reynolds, Gainsborough, Turner, Watteau and others.

His wealth stemmed from his development of his fiefdom; the Petworth Canal and many agricultural improvement projects in Sussex were his creations.

However, this highly sought-after eligible bachelor never married.

Of course, being unmarried doesn't stop him from being a womanizer. Some people claim with certainty that the Earl of Egrémont had 43 illegitimate children, while others even believe that the number was more than sixty. But even if we choose the smaller number, it is still an exaggeration.

But Arthur never expected that the Viscount of Melbourne would be one-forty-one percent.

However, upon further reflection, he realized that this matter was not particularly exaggerated, since the old Mrs. Melbourne was not exactly an easy person to deal with. Although she had once been furious about her daughter-in-law Caroline Poncenby's affair with Byron, and had angrily denounced Caroline as a "crazy woman" who had brought shame upon the Melbourne and Poncenby families and smeared the entire Whig party circle with buckets of excrement.

In reality, the old Mrs. Melbourne herself was one of the Whig Party's most prominent socialites. She hosted London political salons for many years and was also an unofficial royal mistress.

She maintained a close relationship with George IV for a long time. Although George IV himself never publicly acknowledged the relationship, their affair was as obvious as a louse on a bald man's head. The old Lady Melbourne also made full use of this relationship, acting as an intermediary in George IV's political circle for a long time, resolving many matters that George IV, who was then a prince, could not handle personally.

George IV rewarded the Lady of Melbourne by knighting her husband, Lord Burns, after his accession to the throne; this is how the title of Viscount Melbourne came about.

Besides George IV, the old Lady Melbourne had many other well-known lovers, such as Charles James Fox, a key figure in the Whig Party and leader of the Fox Faction, and the Earl of Egremont, whom we just mentioned.

Given that the old Viscount Melbourne and his wife had been separated for a long period of time, you really can't jump to conclusions about Disraeli's statement.

These claims have never been officially confirmed, nor have they ever been clarified by Mrs. Melbourne.

Perhaps for her, this ambiguous blood relationship was part of her strategy to demonstrate social power and elevate her son's political standing.

After all, besides the Earl of Egremont, either Fox or George IV could also be the father of Viscount Melbourne.

Judging from the later development of Viscount Melbourne, her tactic does seem to have worked.

If you were to ask what the difference is between Mrs. Melbourne and her daughter-in-law, the answer would probably be that the former is much more shrewd than the latter.

Thinking of this, Arthur couldn't help but chuckle and said, "I thought the reason why Viscount Melbourne could remain calm in his marriage was because of his moderate and peaceful personality. Now that I think about it, it might be because he has had enough."

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, the carriage jolted violently, almost throwing Arthur and Disraeli off their seats.

The next second, a dull thud followed by the driver's scream: "My God! This is insane!"

……

At Broadlands Manor, the mist had not yet dissipated, and the autumn leaves rustled in the breeze. A group of gentlemen dressed in hunting attire strolled slowly along the forest trails.

Viscount Melbourne, dressed in a grey-blue hunting robe, rode a white horse. A cloak draped over his shoulders, a hunting rifle in his hand. His expression was as usual, almost as faint as the mist, as if he had come not to hunt, but to find a sunny spot to take a nap. To his right, Viscount Palmerston, riding a black horse, looked much more energetic.

He wore a well-tailored dark brown hunting outfit, covered with a dark green deerskin cloak, and on his feet were freshly oiled high riding boots. An old-fashioned gunpowder pouch was slung across his waist, and a new flintlock shotgun with a half-circle of leather over its butt was slung over his shoulder.

Palmerston did not urge his horse forward immediately. His eyes swept around the woods and suddenly stopped on a clump of bushes to his left.

"Shh..." He gestured softly to his servant, then pointed to a mossy stone next to the bush.

A sliver of sunlight peeked through the mist, and a silly-looking pheasant stood by the mossy stone, tilting its head warily as it watched the group of uninvited guests.

Palmerston didn't say much. He simply turned the gun around, rested his shoulder lightly on the butt, and flicked his fingertips.

boom!
Flames shot from the gun barrel, and the pheasant flapped its wings, trying to fly away. But as soon as it got up, it rolled back to the mossy stone, fluttered twice, and then fell silent.

"Good marksmanship." Melbourne lazily patted the saddle.

Palmerston didn't immediately respond to the praise. He put away his gun and waved to the hunter behind him: "Go, take 'Nick' and get it back. We'll have stewed pheasant for dinner tonight."

Upon receiving the order, the servant immediately led out a Setter hound with glossy fur and drooping earlobes and headed towards the spot where the pheasant had fallen.

Palmerston straightened his gloves and casually remarked to Melbourne, "I made a pair here last year too, but the kitchen overcooked them and ruined them all."

“When did you become so picky about the kitchen?” Melbourne covered her mouth and yawned. “I remember when you were young, you even drank potato soup for breakfast.”

“People change. Especially when state affairs are less digestible than dinner.” Palmerston saw the hound return with a pheasant in its mouth. He took the prey, glanced at it casually, and tossed it to a servant. “We’re all out of power, but His Majesty’s attempt to put the Tories back in control can’t last. The country won’t tolerate it any longer. It won’t be long before Peel’s government collapses. I should enjoy this free time as much as possible.”

Melbourne chuckled softly, as if in agreement, or perhaps dozing off.

Seeing this, Palmerston then asked, "However, some recent signs do warrant our attention. William, what are your thoughts on the election in London?"

Melbourne stated calmly, "It was a tough win for us, with 11 seats to 7."

“It’s not 11 to 7, it’s 9 to 7,” Palmerston corrected. “I seriously doubt whether Brougham and his men are really on our side now. Before His Majesty dissolved Parliament, Brougham and Dalamore’s men had failed to vote in the House of Commons with their party members several times. Therefore, my opinion is that the two Westminster seats cannot be counted in the Whig Party.”

“Perhaps,” Viscount Melbourne seemed reluctant to discuss the topic, “but we still won two seats from the Tories.”

“But the changes in the election are worth noting,” Viscount Palmerston cautioned. “William, you can’t possibly have missed what Disraeli and Hastings have been up to in London lately.”

“Disraeli is, after all, a Tory MP, so it’s not hard to understand.”

"And Hastings?" Viscount Palmerston was furious at the mere mention of the name. "First the Caucasus, then London. No wonder he's a fine student of Brougham. We need to keep a close eye on him; I hear he's already in Kensington Palace."

Compared to Palmerston's hatred for Arthur, the Viscount of Melbourne didn't have any negative feelings towards him.

This was not only because his sister, Lady Cowper, often spoke well of Arthur in his presence, but also because when Viscount Melbourne was the Home Secretary, Arthur had helped him out of trouble in the Swain riot trial and the Norton case, and had mediated his relationship with Faraday.

Although the memorial service for Robert Culley was somewhat of a slap in the face to the former Home Secretary, the suppression of Scotland Yard and the Army was not his idea alone, but rather an established policy of the Whig Party. Moreover, there had been no criticism of him personally in the newspapers these days; most of the criticism was directed at the Home Office and Whitehall. Therefore, Melbourne itself was not particularly angry.

Viscount Melbourne began, “Hastings’s arrival in Kensington isn’t entirely bad news. While he has indeed been reckless in the Caucasus, it at least demonstrates his liberal tendencies. Weren’t you worried that the bishops would exert too much influence on the Crown Prince? Now, the conservative bishops can balance things out with Sir Arthur Hastings, and I’m sure they’ll raise a Whig-minded queen. Henry, you’re too tense. In the countryside, it’s time to have fun; this isn’t the place for politics.”

Seeing Melbourne's attitude, Palmerston could only shake his head. He bent down and patted the hound's head: "Lead the way, Nick, let's try that old oak grove again."

Upon hearing this, Nick excitedly wagged his tail, sniffed the bushes a few times, and then quickly darted into the bushes ahead.

Viscount Palmerston tightened the reins, leaned slightly forward, and followed closely behind.

The Viscount of Melbourne, still looking tired, slowly turned his horse around, intending to catch up at a leisurely pace.

A moment later, Nick stopped at the edge of a moss-covered woodland, his limbs taut, his ears perked up, his whole body taut like a fully drawn bow.

Seeing this, Palmerston whispered, "There's potential."

He spurred his horse forward two steps, half-turned to the side, drew his rifle from his holster, and looked in the direction of the hunting dogs.

Beneath the withered beech tree, a rather large doe was leisurely munching on acorns on the ground, seemingly unaware of anyone approaching.

A few withered leaves still clung to its back, clearly indicating that it had just emerged from a dense forest; its fur gleamed a pale golden-gray in the dim afternoon sunlight.

“Beautiful,” Palmerston murmured to himself as he carefully raised his gun and aimed it at the deer’s shoulder blade.

boom!
The gunshot rang out in the forest, startling several crows into flight from the tall trees.

The doe jolted, leaping high into the air with a powerful push of her limbs. But instead of falling, she darted into the woods, leaving only a few drops of blood splattered on the damp moss.

Palmerston gritted his teeth and cursed, "Damn it!"

Melbourne also commented, "It seems to be off by an inch."

Nick the hunting dog had already pounced on it, chasing closely behind the deer.

Without a word, Palmerston spurred his horse on the flank and urged, "Keep up! Don't let it get too far!"

P.S.: One more chapter, coming later.

(End of this chapter)