shadow of britain

Chapter 831 The final conclusion
Night had completely enveloped Ramsgate. The gaslight outside the Albion villa cast the shadow of the iron fence onto the wet stone pavement. A gentle breeze blew by, and the shadow swayed gently like seaweed.

Although it was already late at night, the crowd gathered outside the fence was even larger than during the day.

Among them were journalists, artists, and many local residents who came here out of curiosity.

Some of them had old woolen coats draped over their shoulders, some had sketchbooks and short pencils tucked under their arms, and others stood with their arms crossed, occasionally asking those around them what had happened.

Disraeli, Dumas, Dickens, and Elder stood side by side at the front of the crowd, their expressions revealing an indescribable solemnity.

Although none of the four of them said it, everyone knew that Arthur had taken a huge risk by forcing his way into Albion's villa tonight.

If the facts are not as Arthur believes, or even if they are, but Arthur has no evidence to prove that he did the right thing, he could still be exiled, or even... hanged, for his actions today.

“The light is still on.” Dickens looked up at the half-open window on the third floor. His voice trembled slightly, whether from the cold night wind or from worry for his friend, he couldn’t tell: “If Her Highness is really as ill as Arthur says, then this light… may be the only sound tonight.”

Disraeli paced anxiously in front of the door with his hands behind his back: "Damn it! Arthur should have consulted with us more before taking action. If he barges in so rashly and fails to persuade the Duchess and Conroy, there will be big problems."

At this point, he couldn't help but mutter to himself, "The Earl of Lindhurst... no, no, he's not enough. I should write to Peel and the Duke of Wellington first. I hope they'll step in and protect him, considering Arthur's many years of loyal service and the fact that I still have some use to the Conservative Party..."

Upon hearing this, Alexandre Dumas spat on the ground: "Pah! Benjamin, what's there to be afraid of?"

He puffed out his chest and said nonchalantly, "If Arthur can't make it in England, I'll bring him back to Paris right away! I've lived in his house for free for two years, and if he wants, I'll support him in Paris for twenty years! Perfect timing, my new theater in Paris is about to open, so I'll have Arthur as the theater manager, managing the accounts, scolding the actors, collecting tickets. He likes ballet dancers, right? I have plenty of girls there! This is the life a man should live, much better than you guys arguing in the lower house! Let's go open a bottle of champagne in a bit to celebrate him finally getting rid of this mess!"

Upon hearing this, Disraeli pointed at Dumas and glared, saying, "Alexander, if only things were that simple! Do you think this is the Bastille? You can't just come and go as you please!"

Dickens quickly came up to them and said, "Shh, stop arguing. There are so many ears listening outside!"

Elder, who had been silent all along, was also seething with anger. He finally spoke up and yelled, "What's all the noise about? You two are just like fishmongers at the docks."

At this point, he took out his pocket watch, glanced at the time, and then snapped it shut: "I'm not leaving tonight. Even if I have to stand here all night, I have to see him come out as soon as possible."

……

The living room of the Albion villa was brightly lit.

Hearing the commotion outside, the servant standing by the window couldn't help but pull back the curtains and peek out.

He should have kept quiet, because what he saw terrified him.

The attendant couldn't help but hurry over to the Duchess of Kent, who was sitting on the sofa, and whispered, "Your Highness, there are quite a few people gathered outside."

"A person?" The Duchess of Kent was startled and quickly asked, "Who?"

“I don’t know, but… I saw Calvin from The Times and Hodgson from The Morning Chronicle in the crowd.”

"A reporter?" The Duchess of Kent's fan fell to her lap. "How many people are there outside?"

“I’m afraid…at least thirty or forty people,” the attendant replied cautiously. “And it looks like there are even more people heading this way.”

Conroy, standing next to the Duchess, slammed the ledger shut, muttering, "Damn it! I knew it would turn out like this!"

He got up, walked to the window, lifted a corner of the heavy curtain, and glanced outside.

The shadows cast by the gaslight moved like flowing ink on the stone pavement, as if they were about to surge into the Albion villa at any moment.

Conroy lowered the curtain and said to the Duchess, "Your Highness, we must immediately send someone to drive away all those reporters and busybodies, otherwise every newspaper in London tomorrow morning will carry tonight's scandal."

"Drive them away?" The Duchess looked up, her expression a mixture of alarm and hesitation. "They're journalists, not thugs. How can we drive them away?"

“Your Highness, reporters are far more dangerous than thugs. Thugs can be dispersed with a single blow, but once reporters open their mouths, they're like rats scurrying into a granary, biting you until you're covered in wounds.” Conroy walked up to Sheriff Murphy, who was pretending to inspect the kitchen, with a gloomy face: “Mr. Murphy, today’s events started because of you, and you should be held responsible.”

“Me?” Murphy looked up, pointed to himself, and replied rather awkwardly, “Sir, I’m just doing a routine checkup.”

"An inspection?" Conroy sneered. "If you were really inspecting, those vultures outside wouldn't have gathered here by the scent. You're a sheriff, not a nobody. You're responsible for dispersing these people, now!"

Conroy's attitude was so resolute that Murphy's forehead was beaded with sweat.

He was actually quite unsure, especially after seeing Arthur go up to the third floor and not come down for a long time. He didn't know what had happened up there.

Conroy didn't want to get rid of the reporters, and neither did the sheriff.

After all, nobody wants to be featured in the newspapers by these gossipy fellows and become the subject of ridicule for the entire British public.

Murphy figured he probably couldn't change Conroy's mind, so he went to the Duchess of Kent and carefully reminded the lady who really had the authority: "Your Highness, if we use force to disperse the reporters... it will only cause a bigger backlash. In my opinion, the best thing to do now is to ignore them."

Conroy followed Murphy out of the kitchen, yelling, "Who told you to use force? Find a few reliable men and tell them a fisherman drowned at the docks and they're retrieving the body. Just you wait, these reporters will be chasing the smell of blood in no time. If any of them are still being unreasonable, have them go to the sheriff's office to give statements and ask them if they were trying to spy on the royal residence or disturb the peace by crowding outside late at night. I guarantee not many people want their names on the sheriff's records!"

Murphy had to admit that Conroy's proposal was indeed feasible, and that the government often used similar methods to divert public attention.

However, compared to the fisherman drowning, the crown prince's critical illness is definitely more newsworthy, so Murphy doesn't think these reporters will give up easily.

Secondly, the tactic of sending someone to intimidate reporters is only applicable to local tabloids. For newspapers with huge circulations like The Times and the Morning Chronicle, it's simply wishful thinking for a local sheriff in Ramsgate to try to intimidate them and threaten them into silence.

“Sir John Conroy,” Murphy began, “these reporters are from London. If this escalates… it won’t just damage the Duchess and Her Highness the Princess’s reputations; it could also implicate Kensington Palace itself. Are you sure your approach won’t backfire?”

Conroy met Murphy's gaze and said firmly, "Precisely because they're from London, we can't let them go back with tonight's rumors. Otherwise, tomorrow morning's newspapers will spread like a plague throughout Britain, and by then, whether true or false, the public will only remember 'a scandal at Kensington Palace.' We must nip this in the bud tonight, by any means necessary!"

At this point, Murphy could only place his hopes on the Duchess of Kent. He asked softly, "Your Highness, what do you think?"

The Duchess bit her lip, clearly swayed by Conroy's words, but before she could speak, she heard steady footsteps coming from upstairs.

Arthur emerged from the shadows down the spiral staircase, and Murphy saw him as if he were a lifeline: "Sir Arthur, how is the situation upstairs?"

Arthur gave Conroy a meaningful look, then turned his gaze to the Duchess of Kent.

He removed his hat and gave a slight bow to the Duchess, then said, "Your Highness, after my careful inspection, there are no potential criminals on the second and third floors of the Albion Villa. However, since I did not inspect the first floor, I will not draw any conclusions."

The Duchess was slightly taken aback, clearly not expecting Arthur to give such an ambiguous reply at this moment.

Conroy's brow furrowed immediately: "Sir Arthur, what are you implying?"

Arthur slowly pulled his hat back on, his fingers gently twirling the silver eagle-headed cane: "I am not implying anything, Sir John, I am merely reporting my observations."

He paused, then added with a half-smile, "Of course, if you have particular confidence in the condition of the first floor, which I haven't personally inspected, then that's fine too." His words were spoken casually, yet they were like a sharp slap across Conroy's face, leaving him speechless for a moment.

The Duchess of Kent's expression shifted slightly under the light, clearly stung by Arthur's words, "very confident," yet she refrained from asking further questions at that moment.

Arthur noticed her subtle expression, and slowly withdrew his sharp edge, lowering his voice to say, "Your Highness, regarding the princess's condition... I must solemnly remind you that her illness is more serious than you imagine."

Upon hearing this, the Duchess unconsciously tightened her grip on the hem of her skirt, her gaze darting away as she replied, "But John... no, everyone thinks she just caught a cold and will be fine after a couple of days of rest..."

Arthur shook his head slightly: "A cold wouldn't make a young heart beat so slowly, nor would it cause her strength to decline to the point where she struggles to even lift a teaspoon in just a few days. Your Highness, I'm not here to scare you, but... if she isn't given the most appropriate care in the shortest possible time, her condition might deteriorate rapidly before you're even prepared."

The Duchess was stunned, and seemed to want to refute.

But Arthur had already quietly stepped forward and said, "I understand that there may be some distance between you and the princess... but you are, after all, her mother, and she is, after all, your daughter. Nothing in this world can make you regret it for the rest of your life like losing her."

The candlelight flickered on the eagle's head of his silver cane, casting a cold light, yet Arthur's eyes were warm: "Your Highness, the crowds, the reporters, the rumors outside—I can handle those. But the one upstairs is the only one you cannot entrust to anyone else. Go see her; she was delirious with fever again just now. I heard her say something like she missed her mother."

The Duchess of Kent's breath hitched noticeably; her eyelids trembled slightly, and her lips moved, but she couldn't utter a sound for a moment.

"She...she really said that?" The Duchess's voice was very soft, with a barely perceptible sob.

Arthur simply nodded and didn't say another word.

The Duchess slowly reached for the ivory fan on the coffee table, but stopped halfway, instead grasping the lace cuff of her wrist. The movement of her fingertips was subtle; she seemed to be suppressing some kind of impulse.

Conroy frowned, about to speak and dissuade him: "Your Highness, you don't need to..."

“Enough, John.” The Duchess suddenly looked up and interrupted him. “Deline is my daughter. Although it’s only a small risk, we can’t take even that. Get her a doctor immediately, the most respected doctor in all of Ramsgate, Dr. Prundlis.”

After saying this, as if afraid that she would hesitate any longer, she slowly stood up, holding onto the back of the chair, and walked towards the spiral staircase.

Arthur stepped aside slightly, making way for the path upstairs.

He watched the Duchess's skirt disappear around the corner of the spiral staircase, then slowly turned around, his cane striking the ground heavily with a deep, crisp sound.

despair!
The matter of the Albion villa has been settled.

“Sir John,” Arthur’s voice was not loud, but it was chilling: “Tonight, both the Duchess and Her Highness the Princess have made their decisions. I think we’d better not try to change them.”

After saying that, he raised his hand, pressed his fingertips against the edge of his top hat, and leaned forward slightly toward Conroy.

This was an extremely restrained and formal farewell ceremony, showing neither too much respect nor too little courtesy.

Conroy remained silent with a somber expression, but his Adam's apple bobbed as if he were forcibly swallowing something unpalatable.

Arthur tapped his silver eagle-headed cane lightly on the ground and turned to his servants: "Please open the door for me."

The servants exchanged a glance, then quickly walked to the door, pulled out the latch, and opened the heavy oak door.

The night wind immediately rushed in, carrying with it the light and shadow of the gas lamps and the noise of the crowd outside.

Arthur tightened the collar of his coat, his gaze passing over the threshold to the swaying figures outside the iron fence.

Under the gaslight, the onlookers outside the iron fence saw the gate open and immediately stirred like a school of fish startled.

The first person to see him was Alexandre Dumas. His face, which was always adorned with a bold smile, paused for a moment before breaking into a wide grin as if he couldn't contain himself.

"I knew it! You bunch of jinxes, how could Arthur possibly be in trouble? He's tough as nails!"

He strode forward, but was blocked by the crowd on the other side of the fence, and could only wave to Arthur through the iron bars.

Disraeli's brow slowly relaxed, but his expression remained grave. He muttered under his breath, "That gambler..."

Dickens took a deep breath and smiled at Elder beside him, saying, "Great, he doesn't look injured."

However, as soon as he turned around, he found that Elder was gone.

Dickens frantically searched around and found Elder somehow caught in the surging crowd of reporters. He was struggling to move towards Arthur, yelling, "Damn it! You reporters, do you know him better than I do? Why are you interviewing him?"

Reporters surged forward from every corner of the crowd like a tide.

Some held up sketchbooks, while others raised their quills high, shouts rising and falling.

"Sir Arthur, Sir Arthur, what brings you to Albion Villa tonight? You and Her Highness have always been close; were you invited by her personally?"

"Sir, visiting late at night is not a good custom in London, unless it is really urgent or the tea is really good."

"It's widely rumored that Her Highness the Princess has been bedridden for three days. Are you here to visit her or to investigate?"

"We've heard this is a cover for a secret political meeting. Are you here today representing the Conservative Party or the Whig Party?"

Arthur paused briefly on the steps, letting the wave of questions wash over him.

Gentlemen.

He raised one hand and gently tapped the stone steps with his cane. The crisp sound was particularly abrupt in the cold night, and it even caused the noise to pause briefly.

"I was indeed invited tonight, but it is neither a secret political meeting nor a leisurely tea gathering. As for whether your organization will use headlines like 'Midnight Secret Meeting,' 'Albion Horror,' or other more sensational terms tomorrow... I have no right to interfere."

Before the words were even finished, the reporters erupted in a commotion, with someone shouting:
"And what about His Highness's condition? Is it as serious as the rumors say?"

"Can you at least confirm that she's alright?"

"Sir Arthur, who did you see inside just now? Were the Duchess of Kent and Sir John Conroy also present?"

Arthur slowly withdrew his smile, and said solemnly, "Her Highness's health is a private matter of the royal family, and I will not release it to the public. But I can tell you that she needs peace and quiet, she needs a doctor, and she needs her mother's company, not rumors."

He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping over the group of reporters holding sketchbooks and quill pens: "As for who I met tonight, if you are interested, you can go to the Albion Hotel not far ahead, and I promise to tell you everything I know. It is already late, and if we continue to linger here and disturb a patient who needs to rest, a seventeen-year-old girl, it would be truly ungentlemanly."

(End of this chapter)