shadow of britain

Chapter 826 The Disappearance of Victoria

The sea outside the Albion villa was tinged with a dark bronze hue by twilight, the deep, resonant sound of the tide forming a massive curtain that separated the villa from the outside world. Inside, the lamplight filtered through the heavy curtains, its rays slicing into thin golden lines.

Victoria hasn't left her room since returning to it the afternoon before yesterday.

According to her maid, she was "feeling particularly unwell" and had even stopped writing in her diary, something almost unprecedented for her.

The Duchess of Kent sat in a corner of the living room, snuff bottle in her hand, looking uneasily at the clock above the fireplace.

Conroy, as always, sat steadily by the window in front of the fireplace, gloves in his hand, an impatient composure on his face, as if he were trying to suppress the matter, just like countless times before.

“Your Highness,” he said in a tone that was almost a conclusion, “it’s just the young lady having a tantrum. You know her personality; she likes to act sick to get attention whenever she’s unhappy.”

The Duchess tapped the snuff bottle lid nervously, trying to keep her voice as gentle as possible: "But she looks...really weak. Besides, Clark was personally recommended by Leopold; he's a highly skilled doctor. Whether she's faking it or not, a quick look from him will tell..."

Conroy raised his hand to interrupt the Duchess: “Your Highness, you are her mother, not Leopold. You don’t need to be swayed by these appearances. Her Highness is perfectly fine. You should understand better than anyone that this is just a little emotional outburst from your daughter. You need to stay calm. Besides, I’ve already sent Clark back to London. Even if I send someone to summon him back now, it will take some time.”

The Duchess turned her gaze to the beach outside the window. Although she was skeptical of Conroy's words, she was unwilling to confront him directly at that moment.

For the past few months, she had been receiving nothing but bad news. Relations between Kensington Palace and William IV continued to deteriorate, and even her brother Leopold had stopped corresponding with her. Just a few days earlier, the Duchess of Northumberland, the Lady-designated Duchess, had handed over her resignation in person…

Those who were once considered friends of Kensington Palace are saying goodbye to her one after another, and this situation is making the Duchess of Kent feel increasingly isolated.

She never dared to offend Conroy, especially not at a time like this.

But two days later, the upstairs remained eerily quiet.

The maid's whispered reports repeatedly broke the silence in the living room.

"Her Highness eats very little."

"Her Highness the Princess has been bedridden."

On the third day, Conroy's furrowed brow finally relaxed a little.

Perhaps he also realized something was amiss, because even if Victoria was determined to throw a tantrum, staying in bed for five whole days and barely eating, it would still harm her health. And if something really happened to Victoria, his dream of becoming a powerful minister would naturally shatter.

What's even more frightening is that, as the Crown Princess of the United Kingdom, Victoria's every move is under public scrutiny.

Especially in resorts like Ramsgate, many tourists visited the local beaches this year specifically to see what the future queen would look like.

Besides tourists, the annoying news media is also keeping an eye on Kensington Palace.

It wasn't just media from Fleet Street in London, but also from Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham...

Even journalists from Edinburgh and Glasgow in Scotland came out in droves.

The first to notice this anomaly were the local newspapers in Ramsgate. When they realized that Victoria had not been seen for several days, they came to inquire about the reason. Conroy had to give them a vague answer, saying, "A servant at the Albion villa is sick, and Princess Victoria has only caught a slight cold from her."

However, despite Conroy's best efforts to minimize the impact, as Victoria's disappearance dragged on, the number of reporters and people gathering outside the Albion villa grew larger and larger. What worried Conroy even more was that he saw several familiar faces through the gap in the curtains.

Among them were renowned journalists from The Times who covered the Kensington Palace trip, professional writers from The Economist who came to Ramsgate to research the tourism economy, and several literary giants from The Englishman who were relaxing and vacationing there...

Conroy's pressure was mounting, and at times like these, he naturally thought of an old friend who had rescued him from his hardships—Sir Arthur Hastings.

Fortunately, he had not yet left Ramsgate at this time, and Conroy heard that Miss Flora Hastings would take a walk on the beach with her cousin every evening.

Of course, given his previous "rough" treatment of him, Conroy understood that Arthur might not be willing to listen to him.

So he could only privately ask Flora to ask Arthur for help, hoping that Arthur could use his influence in Fleet Street to help deal with the group of reporters.

However, Sir Arthur Hastings clearly saw through Conroy's scheme.

According to Flora, although her cousin did not directly refuse her request, he spoke at length about freedom of the press in front of her and shamelessly emphasized: "Since Her Highness the Princess will sit on the British throne in the future, her every move is a public affair of this country. As the fourth estate in British society, it is the duty of the news media to provide faithful and credible news reports. Fleet Street does not exist to facilitate the court's announcement of good news."

Arthur refused to help, more and more news media gathered, and after taking the medication, Victoria's condition showed no signs of improvement...

Finally, Conroy couldn't take it anymore.

He sent someone to London early this morning to recall Dr. Clark, but starting at noon, Victoria developed a high fever and even began to talk nonsense.

At this point, Conroy couldn't care less about waiting for Dr. Clark to arrive. He hurriedly summoned several trusted confidants and asked them if they knew any trustworthy doctors in Ramsgate, especially those who were particularly tight-lipped.

As it happened, Flora mentioned that she had a doctor friend who worked at Westminster Hospital and was on vacation in Ramsgate. This doctor friend, named John Snow, immediately became Conroy's only lifeline.

When Snow, who was sunbathing on the beach, was summoned to the Albion villa, it was already dark, and there were still a few curious people lingering outside the villa.

After the servant led him into the living room, he did not immediately take him to see the patient, but instead asked him to wait.

Snow took off his top hat and habitually shook the fine sand off his cuffs.

His feet still felt salty and cool from walking all the way from the beach.

The living room of the Albion villa was darker than he had imagined. The heavy curtains almost blocked out the twilight light, and the air was filled with the scent of burnt wood and rose essence. The stagnant air made him feel suffocated.

The Duchess of Kent sat at one end of the sofa. She glanced up at him, her tone barely polite: "Mr. Snow, you've had a long day."

Snow gave a brief bow, glanced around at his surroundings, and was still processing what was going on.

However, before he could figure it out, the side door was pushed open, and Mrs. Lezen rushed in, her eyes filled with obvious anxiety: "Doctor, I must explain to you..."

"Shut up!" The Duchess's voice was sharp and thin, like a needle suddenly piercing the air: "This is just Victoria's temper and your overreaction."

Lady Leysen was taken aback; she clearly hadn't expected the Duchess to lose her composure like this: "But, Your Highness, the Princess's condition has already..."

“You’ve already made a big fuss enough to frighten everyone in the house!” The Duchess interrupted Lady Lezen abruptly. “She’s just in a bad mood; there’s no need for you to add fuel to the fire.”

Snow was startled by the tense atmosphere. His gaze darted between the two men, as if he were considering whether he should speak. But in the end, he remembered the benefactor who had sent him to the University of London Medical School, and the words Sir Arthur Hastings had spoken to him before his departure.

“Your Highness,” Snow said calmly, “regardless of the severity of the illness, I need to examine it myself. Medical judgment is best based on accurate observation.”

The Duchess of Kent pursed her lips and turned her gaze to the window, as if to pretend that the unfamiliar doctor did not exist.

After a moment, she waved her hand, as if she had made a reluctant decision: "Fine, whatever."

Upon hearing this, Leizen breathed a quiet sigh of relief and quickly turned around to lead Snow upstairs.

The corridor was filled with an unpleasant smell of dregs and stuffiness, and the candlelight cast trembling shadows on the walls.

As soon as the bedroom door opened, a wave of heat almost hit me.

Victoria was curled up on the bed, her face pale, but her lips were an unusual red. Her forehead was covered with a wet towel, and her breathing was rapid but shallow.

Her eyes were half-open, as if she was trying to make out who it was.

"Lai...Laizen, is that you?"

Leizen walked to the bedside, bent down, and said gently, "It's me, Your Highness. And Dr. Snow, he's Flora's friend, and he came to see you."

Victoria's gaze slowly turned to Snow, her eyes filled with a dazed and weary look, as if she were looking at him through a thin mist.

She moved her lips slightly, making a soft sound: "Flo... Lola's friend?"

Her voice was almost swallowed by her breathing, yet it carried an instinctive resistance and wariness.

Leizen gently pressed the back of her hand and whispered comfortingly, "Your Highness, he just came to see you."

However, Snow did not rush to touch her. Instead, he leaned down slightly, getting so close that they were only a breath's distance apart, and whispered in her ear in a voice only Victoria could hear: "Sir Arthur Hastings sent me."

Victoria's hand, hidden under the covers, trembled almost imperceptibly: "He knows I'm sick?"

“I don’t know, but he has similar suspicions,” Snow said calmly. “That’s why he made sure I saw your condition in person before he could be at ease.”

Victoria closed her eyes in relief upon hearing this, then slowly extended her cold, damp hand and placed it on the bedding, tacitly acquiescing to Snow's examination.

Snow placed the medicine box on the small coffee table at the foot of the bed, sat down on the chair next to the bed, then reached out and removed the damp towel from Victoria's forehead, gently pressing the back of his hand against her forehead and the side of her neck.

Almost instantly, Snow frowned: "He's burning up..."

"Your Highness," he lowered his voice, trying to make his tone soothing, "Please answer a few questions for me. Is your headache severe?"

Victoria said weakly, "It's like...like being held in a straitjacket."

"Does your throat hurt? Do you feel tightness in your chest?"

"It's not boring."

"Does your stomach hurt?"

"In the lower right corner... faintly visible."

Standing on the other side of the bed, Lyzen heard Snow's question and couldn't help but whisper, "Her Highness has had a high fever for three days now, and she's been sleeping almost all day. Even when she wakes up, she falls asleep again very quickly. And last night, she started to talk nonsense."

She paused, glanced at the door behind her, and only after confirming that it was locked did she lower her voice and say, "I have almost no appetite. I've only had a few sips of sweetened tea in the last three days. My stomach is very weak, and I often frown and clutch my stomach. I've had diarrhea twice already. I'm worried that there's a problem with the water source, but everyone in the villa drinks from the same well, and I haven't heard of anyone else getting sick yet."

Snow's brow twitched slightly as he listened. He reached out to straighten the bedding for Victoria and continued, "Did you sweat a lot last night?"

Leizen nodded: "Yes, but after a while I get cold again and have to wrap myself up in a blanket. My breathing is always rapid, and... my cough is a bit dry."

Snow didn't rush to speak, but instead had Lyzen move the candlestick next to the bed closer so he could examine Victoria's tongue closely. It was covered with a thick, pale yellow coating with slightly reddish edges.

Snow straightened up and lowered his voice to Lyzen: "These symptoms—high fever, rapid pulse, delirium, accompanied by abdominal tenderness and diarrhea—I suspect Her Highness may have contracted typhoid fever. This kind of fever can easily be fatal if it's not brought down immediately and she's rehydrated. Go and tell someone to open the windows to let in fresh air, and turn off the fire in the stove. Every hour, remember to have someone wipe her limbs with a clean towel, and make sure she drinks some boiled, lightly salted water in between. We can't let her get dehydrated any further."

At this point, Snow squatted down beside the medicine box, unbuttoned it, and took out a small cloth bag containing coarse salt and a silver teaspoon. He then instructed Mrs. Lytzen to send a pot of freshly boiled warm water from the kitchen. "For every quart of dehydration, add one level spoonful of salt, no more, no less. This is the optimal ratio for treating dehydration that Sir Arthur Hastings developed when he quelled the cholera outbreak in Liverpool. You absolutely must not remember it wrong."

As he spoke, he used the tip of a spoon to smooth the surface of the salt, poured it into a porcelain pot, and stirred it gently. As a fine ripple appeared on the surface of the water, the salt grains quickly disappeared, leaving only a slight salty taste.

Then, he took out a small glass bottle from the medicine box, inside which snow-white crystals could be vaguely seen.

He measured out two grains of powder with a silver spoon, poured it into a small porcelain cup filled with warm water, and instructed the maid to add a spoonful of honey: "This is quinine, a highly effective antipyretic. It tastes very bitter, so remember to add some honey to soothe the taste before brewing."

Snow held the glass of slightly sweet bitter water to Victoria's lips, and Lyzen gently guided her to take a sip while supporting the back of her neck.

Victoria frowned slightly as the bitter taste entered her throat, but she still swallowed it with difficulty.

Snow watched her slowly finish the drink before placing the cup on the bedside table and instructing, "Give her another small cup in two hours. If she vomits in the middle, don't force her to drink it; wait until she calms down before trying again. Until her fever subsides, she must be rehydrated and given quinine every so often."

Just then, Conroy's hushed rebuke and footsteps came from downstairs. He had obviously learned that the doctor had been in the ward for a long time and was about to come up to find out what was going on.

Lezen immediately closed the lid of the medicine box, quickly put the empty bottle and spoon inside, and then turned to look at Snow.

Snow understood and moved the medicine box to the side against the wall.

The moment the door was pushed open, Conroy appeared in the doorway. His gaze swept over Victoria first, and when he saw that the towel on her forehead had been changed and the window by the bed was slightly open, he immediately frowned.

"Who gave you permission to open the window?"

(One more chapter, coming later)

(End of this chapter)