shadow of britain

Chapter 827 Summarizing the Entire Group
The sea mist was slowly drifting in from the dock, like wet ropes binding the whole town under the dim sky.

Arthur sat in his room at the Albion Hotel, flipping through several newspapers he had bought at a street newsstand.

With the parish tithe now paid in cash, farmers no longer have to laboriously carry ears of rice from the fields into the church.

Parliament might have thought that exchanging grain for coins would quell the grumbling of the country folk. But whether it was a heap of rice or a shilling, they could both sleep soundly in the priest's pocket. Meanwhile, the farmer's pot remained bland. Of course, the passage of the Tithe Monetization Act didn't leave everything unchanged. At least we can be certain that the living standards of the rats in the parish barn would decline considerably. After all, everyone knows that not all animals that reap without sowing eat silver.

The Marriage Act has been formally passed: Non-Soviets can now also say "I do" before God.

After years of public debate and parliamentary wrangling, the Marriages Act, which establishes a civil marriage registration system, has been officially passed. According to the Act, starting in September, the government will allow British citizens to hold weddings in non-Anglican churches and will establish a General Registry of Births, Marriages and Deaths. For those who were previously forced to exchange vows in Anglican churches while secretly praying to another deity, this is a dignified liberation. Perhaps God doesn't care who registers the marriage, but the registrars of Whitehall will certainly care how much they can collect from the marriage registration system.

The first section of the London-Greenwich railway officially opened to traffic, and construction of the extension line was announced.

Our esteemed engineers announce that the railway extension project is progressing smoothly, and the tracks will soon reach Greenwich Docks. At that time, London gentlemen will be able to travel from Paddington directly to the docks on the south bank of the Thames at an astonishing speed. As for investors, they have already arrived at their destination before the passengers, their gold pounds lying securely in their pockets, more punctual than any train. Following the news of the railway's opening, the share price of London-Greenwich Railway surged 12%, closing at £59.10 on the day, arguably the most exciting figure on the London Stock Exchange this week.

The Berkeley estate dispute continues as the Australian missionary brother abandons his inheritance.

Lady Theresa Berkeley, a London socialite known as "the governess" and equally famous in gentlemen's circles and the Scotland Yard archives, died in early September at her home in Marylebone, London, at the age of 9.

As the inventor of the "Berkeley Trojan Horse" and the owner of the undisclosed private club at 28 Charlotte Street, Mrs. Theresa Berkeley led a legendary life. As an expert in various "torture devices," she not only profited greatly in her career but was also suspected of being the author of the obscene novel "Exhibition of Female Whippers."

Shortly after her death, Mrs. Berkeley's brother, who had been a missionary in Australia for 30 years, arrived in London, but he was unable to see his sister one last time. Fortunately, the childless sister left him an inheritance of £100,000. Shockingly, when Reverend Berkeley learned the true source of this enormous fortune, this devout believer immediately renounced all inheritance rights and returned to Australia by ship that very afternoon.

With no heirs, the estate was bequeathed to Dr. Vance, Mrs. Berkeley's medical advisor and executor, but Vance also refused to manage it. Thus, with both of the most qualified recipients declining to take possession, this estate, valued at £100,000, may, according to law, be directly transferred to the Royal Family…

Typically, Arthur would read interesting news like this several times over.

He will definitely study that article about Mrs. Berkeley very carefully.

This was not only due to Mrs. Berkeley's £100,000 estate, but also because she was a pioneer in the industries that Miss Fiona Ivan is now engaged in.

Arthur didn't care how much money Mrs. Berkeley made, but he was very interested in how many letters she left behind, and how many of those letters were connected to those "all show and no substance" high-ranking nobles.

If Dr. Vance is willing to transfer these letters, Arthur is more than willing to pay £10,000 as a reward, and he can even write IOUs on top of that.

However, Arthur couldn't focus on the news that would normally keep him occupied for half a day today.

Although he was still sitting in the Albion Hotel, his mind had already flown with John Snow to the Albion Villa just across the street.

Although he always thought the idea that Victoria might be pregnant was absurd, even the slightest possibility was enough to keep him up at night.

He read the exciting newspaper news with a dull and uninteresting attitude, but his mind was completely focused on listening.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching hurriedly down the corridor. The pace was neither the composed demeanor of a gentleman nor the cautiousness of an innkeeper's servant, but rather that of a man in a great hurry.

Could it be that something really happened?
Arthur frowned, even forgetting how to breathe, and his leaky heart seemed to stop beating in shock.

Whooped.

The door was pushed open, and John Snow stood there, his coat open and one button undone at the collar of his shirt.

He first looked around the room, as if to make sure there were no outsiders there, before closing the door.

"Sir, Your Highness..."

"Your Highness?" Arthur's eyes widened instantly. "Is it really her?"

Snow's Adam's apple bobbed. He hadn't completely calmed down from Conroy's rough treatment, but he managed to suppress his anger and reply as calmly as possible, "Your Highness's condition is worse than I expected."

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn't help but raise his hand to cover his mouth: "John, please don't tell me..."

The long-absent Red Devil Agares sat on his desk, slapping his thigh and trying not to laugh, but the devil still pretended to be comforting: "Well, Arthur, young people are bound to have some accidents."

"If I had known this would happen, I should have had Hugh and Cowley go all out!" Arthur suddenly remembered Elfen Stone, and in his anger, he slammed his fist on the table. "To India? And as Governor of Madras? That's too good for him! I want him to go to Tasmania! I, I'm going to report to His Majesty the King, to the Duke of Wellington, to Sir Robert Peel, to the Viscount of Melbourne... I, I'm going to report to the Privy Council!"

Agares laughed so hard he almost fell off the table, but he tried his best to keep his mouth down: "Oh, my dear Arthur, why are you doing this? They're just going to fly away and have a great time, why bother worrying about them? Look at you, back when your pigs in York were rooting up other people's vegetable gardens, I didn't see you this anxious."

Arthur glared at him, but then he remembered that this was not the time to argue with the Red Devil. He turned around, pulled a sheet of paper from his desk, took out a quill from the inkwell, and began to write in large scribbles: "John, you say it, I'll remember it!"

Snow was taken aback by his sudden outburst of anger, but quickly tightened his lips, as if worried that his own temper would be ignited: "Her Highness the Princess is seriously ill. She hasn't eaten properly for three days. She's very weak and needs help even to get up. If she doesn't receive treatment soon, typhoid fever will quickly take her life." "Hmm? Typhoid fever?" Arthur abruptly stopped writing, paused for a moment, then turned to ask, "Isn't she pregnant?"

Snow was taken aback by his question, as if he had been doused with ice water from head to toe: "Pregnant? My God, Sir, who told you this nonsense? Her symptoms, high fever, night sweats, joint pain, are all typical signs of typhoid fever."

"But...that prescription?"

“That’s what I’m saying,” Snow roared angrily. “Laudam, benzoin tincture, valerian, lemon mee balm, and ergosterol! When they mix all that stuff together, they’re not treating typhoid fever, they’re gambling with the patients’ lives!”

Arthur blinked several times, his mind racing like a wheel spinning before he finally regained his composure: "So...it's not pregnancy?"

Snow's tone held a sharp edge, tinged with a hint of offense: "Of course not!"

Arthur, like a deflated balloon, leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh.

Snow continued, "If pregnancy could cause a person to have a high fever to the point of unconsciousness, and at the same time have gastrointestinal discomfort, then the human species would not exist."

“That’s hard to say.” Arthur smiled more, and even had a joking thought: “At worst, we can all start over. I’ve seen examples like that around me.”

Agares gave the kid a disdainful look: "Look at you, you look like Baal has eaten shit."

Arthur ignored the Red Devil's sarcasm and instead asked, "However, that prescription from before... Dr. Clark has been sent back to London. If it wasn't him, then who else could it be?"

Snow's face was cold, clearly he was also quite angry: "Sir, I think you already have the answer in your heart. There wasn't even a doctor's signature on that prescription, so either some big shot in Kensington Palace made the decision, or they just found some quack doctor who would just nod and say 'yes.' But if there really is such a quack doctor, then he's quite good at protecting himself, knowing he shouldn't sign such prescriptions, otherwise if the Medical Association finds out he's prescribing such prescriptions for typhoid patients, he can expect his medical license to be revoked!"

Arthur pulled the medication list from his pocket, glanced at it, and his mood, which had just begun to improve, immediately darkened again: "How is Your Highness now?"

Snow gathered his thoughts and sighed, “When I went in, she was half-lying down, her face was deathly pale, her lips were dark, and her eyes were unfocused. She tried to talk to me, but her voice was so weak that it was almost inaudible. Her forehead was burning hot, but her hands and feet were ice cold. I took her pulse, and it was weak and rapid, almost without any strength.”

He paused here, pursed his lips, as if suppressing a rage: "I asked for her dressing to be changed, her fluids replenished, and her fever reduced, but Conroy, that Grand Steward... he barged in and then said something to me, that girls' fragility is sometimes just affectation, and then he hinted that I should stop exaggerating her illness in front of His Highness. When I insisted that I should follow my doctor's orders, he simply had the servants lock up my medicine box, saying that they had already consulted someone and had the prescription, so there was no need for me to give any further instructions."

Arthur raised an eyebrow: "So you didn't give her the drug?"

“I could only use the small amount of medicine powder I carried with me to barely bring her fever down a little, but that's not a long-term solution. Typhoid fever requires continuous symptomatic treatment and nutritional support, and now she can't even drink soup. Plus, with all those other random medications, Laudam will make her drowsy, benzoin and valerian will slow down the reaction, and ergosterol can even cause convulsions. This is pushing her into the grave!”

Snow couldn't help but raise his eyes and look directly at Arthur, saying, "Sir, I must be frank, we can't let them continue like this. Otherwise, Her Highness the Princess's life could be lost at any moment!"

Since becoming the provost of the University of London, Arthur has had quite a bit of contact with Snow.

He had to admit that this was the first time he had ever seen this mild-mannered young doctor get so angry.

Of course, Snow had every reason to be angry. He was not only angry that Conroy questioned his abilities, but also angry that these people were using drugs recklessly and treating human life with contempt.

However, Arthur could probably understand why Conroy would rather fire Snow than admit he was wrong.

If he were to admit that Victoria was critically ill, it would be a dereliction of duty on his part and that of the Duchess of Kent. The Crown Prince’s serious illness would cause a huge uproar throughout Great Britain and Ireland, and would lead public opinion to question whether Kensington Palace was capable of taking good care of Victoria. In that case, the Duchess of Kent’s regency would be in jeopardy, and Conroy’s dream of becoming a powerful minister would also be shattered.

Arthur could understand Conroy's thoughts, but his approach of prioritizing his own interests over those of others was simply a sweeping generalization.

If he really went that far, Arthur, that "drowned water ghost," would definitely strangle him with water plants.

Seeing Arthur's grim expression, Snow suddenly stood up and took out a letter from his pocket, handing it to him: "Sir, when I left Albion Villa, the princess's governess asked me to bring out a letter, saying that it must be delivered to you."

"Huh?" Arthur took the letter, glanced at it solemnly, then thought he was seeing things, scanned it again, and then his eyes widened in anger. He slammed his hand on the table: "This is outrageous! Is he trying to rebel?!"

"Sir?" Snow was startled. "What did the letter say?"

Arthur glanced out the window with annoyance; the lights were still on at the Albion villa across the street.

He paced back and forth in the room, hesitating for a long time before finally making up his mind and saying, "The pharmacies on the street should still be open. Go and buy the medicines you might need to treat typhoid fever. We'll meet outside the hotel later."

Snow paused, not understanding Arthur's meaning: "You mean? But the Albion Villa is no longer open to visitors..."

"Whether or not they see guests isn't up to them to decide." Arthur took a deep breath, then opened the door and roared, "Thomas, call your men! There's no sleep tonight!"

(End of this chapter)