shadow of britain

Chapter 852 Your Highness, Please Hold On
I am both calm and composed as I eagerly anticipate what is likely to happen soon. I feel no fear, nor do I feel entirely capable of handling everything. But I am confident that, with goodwill, honesty, and courage, and with the help of Baron Stockmare, Sir Arthur Hastings, and Lyzen, I will not fail under any circumstances.

—From Victoria's letter to her uncle Leopold I, June 1837

Night had fallen, and a single lamp still burned in Sir Arthur Hastings's office on the third floor of Scotland Yard.

The streetlights slanted through the blinds, casting dappled shadows on the walls.

Arthur stood by the desk, a nearly burnt-out cigar between his fingers, his gaze fixed on the map of London hanging on the wall.

He used fine needles to stick red thumbtacks into several locations on the map that were related to the royal family, and the outer edge of Kensington Palace was covered with them, so densely packed that it looked like the hidden lines on an alarm cable.

"Mogg's Guide to London for Strangers, 1837" was produced by Edward Mogg, a 19th-century publisher and engraver.
The fire in the stove in the room was not lit; only a portable kerosene lamp in the corner emitted a faint light.

On the sofa on the other side of the room, Cowley and Hught had taken off their hats, their shirts were half-undone, and even their scarves were askew on their shoulders, clearly indicating that they had just finished an undercover operation.

“It’s the third day.” Cowley’s voice sounded a little hoarse, as if he had caught a cold from the cold wind outside. “Hugh and I have been taking turns guarding the outer perimeter for the past three days. On the first day, we thought it was just a routine shift change. After all, Kensington Palace often has night shift rotations. But on the second day, we found that even the mailman was being kept out, so we felt that something was not quite right.”

He paused, then reached into his briefcase and pulled out several creased handwritten notes: "This morning, I went to keep an eye on the southeast corner of the stables. The palace milkman has been temporarily replaced with a new face and is not allowed to talk to the palace servants; he can only leave the milk jugs on the steps at the main gate."

"What about the servants?" Arthur asked. "Has anything changed?"

"Several maids were transferred, and Matilda, who was originally in charge of assisting in the kitchen, disappeared overnight. We made some inquiries and found out that she seemed to have taken leave to go back to her hometown."

Arthur remained silent for a moment, then stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray and slowly sat down.

Hughes summarized in a low voice: "The gatekeepers have been replaced, the servants have been reassigned, the postman can't get in, and the milkman has to stay outside. Even the Scotland Yard police outside the palace have been verbally ordered to retreat to the outer street corners. Sir, Inspector Ridley King of the Fifth Division has preliminarily determined that Her Highness the Princess is probably under house arrest again."

Cowley excitedly rubbed his hands together and said, "Sir, let's just let our Fourth Division lead the charge this time! Our Commissioner, Inspector Braden Jones, has already given the order for our officers to be on standby for the next few days. As soon as you give the order, we'll immediately organize our forces and storm Kensington Palace."

It's no wonder Cowley was so excited; after all, the story of Superintendent Thomas Plenkitt and his old buddies following Sir Arthur to protect King Ramsgate in Scotland Yard had become legendary throughout the past year.

Not to mention, these officers were all promoted one rank. Plenkitt became the deputy director of the Police Intelligence Bureau, and the others were transferred to other key cities as assistant police chiefs.

This opportunity to get promoted and make a fortune... no, that's not right, it's to serve the royal family. It's about time that Michael Cowley "sacrifices himself for the country"!
Compared to Cowley's excitement, Hught was noticeably calmer.

Perhaps because of his brother's teachings, who worked in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Hughes knew that speaking at such a time was taboo.

He cautiously inquired, "Sir, shall we rescue Her Highness?"

Arthur leaned back in his armchair, staring up at the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought. After a moment of silence, he suddenly spoke: "Now is not the time to act."

Upon hearing this, Cowley was dumbfounded. He had thought that tonight's visit to see Arthur was just a formality, but who knew that Sir Arthur Hastings, who had been charging fiercely in Ramsgate, would be so uncharacteristically unwilling to give orders.

He couldn't help but press, "Sir, why is that? Her Highness the Princess is under house arrest. How can we just sit idly by?"

Upon hearing this, Hught was startled and quickly reached out to tug at his "good brother" Cowley's sleeve, whispering, "Stop talking! Are you instructing the knight on how to do things?"

Cowley then realized his slip of the tongue and was about to apologize when Arthur waved his hand dismissively.

“You don’t need to be so cautious in front of me. Besides, even if you didn’t ask, I would still have to explain this to you. I know you all want to make a good impression, but London is not Ramsgate, and according to the intelligence I have from other sources, Her Highness is not critically ill, but her personal freedom is restricted to a certain extent.”

Although Arthur's words were brief, they clearly explained the current situation.

Last year at Ramsgate, Arthur was able to act with impunity because he was far from the power center of London and Victoria was suffering from typhoid fever. In addition, Plunkett and others were on vacation at the time, so they followed Arthur into Albion Villa in a private capacity.

With all these conditions combined, and Arthur ultimately getting things done, you gentlemen can naturally turn a blind eye.

However, in London today, although Arthur is the Commissioner and Secretary General of the Police Commissioner's Committee, in theory he only has supervisory power over the police force, not executive power.

Therefore, his decision to mobilize the Police Intelligence Service to force his way into Kensington Palace at this time is not legally justifiable.

Moreover, Arthur also has Lord John Russell, the Home Secretary, and Viscount Melbourne, the Prime Minister, above him. Back in Ramsgate, Arthur could claim that his unauthorized actions were due to a lack of time to ask for permission, but now that he's in London, if he were to act first and ask for permission later again, he might end up in trouble.

Secondly, Kensington Palace is not Albion Villa; it cannot be entered simply by applying for a search warrant. As a royal palace, Kensington Palace is the private property of King William IV, and unless they have the King's authorization, forcibly entering the royal residence is a serious crime of treason.

Even if all these obstacles were to disappear, Victoria would simply be confined to her room at Kensington Palace. If the Duchess of Kent were to speak up for Conroy and say that Victoria was unwell due to her frequent participation in celebrations, then outsiders wouldn't have much of a chance to deal with them.

Of course, these are not the most important things.

the most important is……

Arthur took a document out of the drawer and threw it on the table: "Read it yourselves. After you've finished reading, remember to go back and tell the brothers to be patient. There will be plenty of opportunities. You don't need to rush."

Cowley opened the document with some skepticism, but the more he looked, the more his brow furrowed. Finally, he couldn't help but hand the document to Hugh: "This is a telegram, isn't it? Didn't you go for telegram translation training? Come and translate it for me."

Hughes took the document with a guilty conscience. He had indeed received training in telegraph translation six months ago, but he didn't usually do this job. Who knew how many codes he could still remember?
Fortunately, the document wasn't too long. Hughes only glanced at it before he was speechless: "This... Windsor Castle says His Majesty the King... is critically ill..."

The room fell into a deathly silence.

"Is he...is he critically ill?"

Cowley repeated the words he had just translated, his voice a few decibels lower than before.

Hughes was stunned, and it took him several seconds to realize what was happening before he cursed, "Damn it, no wonder Kensington Palace is in such a hurry..."

"The royal physicians haven't given a definitive diagnosis yet. But as far as I know, Windsor is planning to make a public announcement, and His Excellency William Howley, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the First Bishop of England, is already on his way to Windsor Castle." Arthur stood up and paced slowly, his tone unusually calm: "Judging from the wording of the telegram sent by Lord Cunningham, the Lord Chancellor of the Household... the situation is critical and unstable, and he suggested making proper arrangements... everything indicates that this is probably not a false alarm."

Arthur didn't spell it out too clearly, but this information was enough to make it clear that Victoria's coronation was just around the corner.

If William IV were to pass away, Victoria, as the legal heir to the throne, would, according to custom, have the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Lord Chamberlain read out the decree of succession immediately, and the transitional process for accession would begin right away.

Both the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Marquess of Cunningham are currently waiting at Windsor Castle.

“But what if Her Highness the Princess is currently locked in her room…” Cowley suddenly interrupted, then stopped, realizing he shouldn’t have said the second half of the sentence.

Arthur raised his hand to signal Cowley to stop: "At this moment, we outsiders can't help much. Right now, she has to rely on herself. She can't break down, and she can't stay silent. She has to stand up and prove herself to be someone who can shoulder heavy responsibilities before we arrive."

Cowley and Hewitt exchanged a glance, and the two officers said in unison, "Understood, Sir." Arthur's gaze fell on the map of London, his fingers slowly moving along several major roads that stretched from Windsor into central London.

He didn't sit down, nor did he speak immediately; he just stood there quietly, as if weighing something.

Cowley and Hughes fell silent; they knew that whenever the Jazz fell into deep thought like this, it meant something big was about to happen.

After a moment, Arthur finally spoke: "Cowley, please tell Field that he should immediately send men to check every roadblock, construction, carriage blockage, and traffic situation along the southwest corridor, which is the main road from Slough through Euston to Chelsea... check them one by one! Make sure that no caravan entering the city from Windsor Castle is delayed for even a minute."

Upon hearing this, Cowley immediately stood at attention, raised his hand in salute, and said, "Yes, sir!"

"Don't rush off to have fun." Arthur looked up and turned to the other side: "Hugh."

"Yes, sir!"

"Tell your director, tell Ridley, to have the people in the Fifth Division keep a close watch on any motorcades and pedestrians entering or leaving Kensington Palace, regardless of which faction's messengers, carriages, or couriers they are. If they are active in the vicinity, they must be registered."

Hughes readily agreed: "Yes, Sir!"

Arthur nodded and added, “Finally, please pass on a message to Ministers Rowan and Maine. Tell them that the situation is urgent and I need the Royal Canadian Mounted Police of Scotland Yard to be deployed along Kensington High Street and Cathedral Street. All mounted police should be on standby within a two-mile radius of Kensington Palace, working in two shifts from dawn to midnight each day, and not allowed to leave their posts.”

As soon as Arthur finished speaking, he saw Hught standing straight, his face flushed with excitement under the light.

He didn't say much, but quickly straightened his collar and fastened the buttons on his uniform jacket one by one.

Cowley's eyes lit up instantly, like a pipe lit by a spark.

His shoulders jerked slightly, and he took a step forward with his right foot, almost instinctively turning to leave.

He suppressed his excitement, quickly pulling his hat back onto his head, a beat faster than usual. Before he had even finished putting on his gloves, he was already reaching for the door, as if he couldn't wait to rush out of the office.

"Rest assured, Sir." He said these words with a tight voice and his Adam's apple pounding, as if trying to suppress his burning passion: "I assure you, even if the ground collapses and the horses stop, Windsor's caravan will be able to safely enter London."

The next second, the two pushed open the door, and the wind rushed into the room. Cowley and Hught strode out.

The office fell into a deathly silence as soon as they left.

Arthur stood by the window with his hands behind his back, looking up towards Kensington Palace. Gaslights flickered on the streets, and the moon and stars were bright in the sky.

Arthur, who rarely prayed to God, raised his hand and made the sign of the cross on his chest.

……

Kensington Palace, East Wing Tower.

The night wind tapped against the windowpanes, and the curtains swayed gently, as if something was trying to sneak past the thick brick walls of the palace.

Victoria sat curled up in a corner of the bedroom bed, the curtains half-drawn, the embers in the fireplace casting a dim light, her face appearing and disappearing in the shadows, making it impossible to discern her expression.

Another gust of wind blew outside the window, carrying a light drizzle that pattered against the window frame, causing the glass to vibrate slightly.

Victoria shifted slightly, as if she had heard something. She instinctively looked towards the narrow, high window embedded in the corner of the wall. That window was usually sealed shut, only occasionally opened for ventilation in the summer. Now, however, it had been pried open a finger's width.

A very faint sound came on the wind.

Snapped!
A small piece of paper was thrown in through the window.

Victoria stood up alertly, barefoot on the wooden floor. She first glanced back at the locked door behind her, then carefully walked over and bent down to pick up the crumpled paper.

Victoria unfolded the paper ball by the light of the fireplace.

The paper was slightly wrinkled, with one corner dampened by rain. The handwriting on it looked crooked and uneven, as if it were a hastily sketched work, or perhaps it was done on purpose to avoid being recognized.

Even so, Victoria recognized her at a glance.

That was Sir Arthur Hastings's handwriting.

—God bless, Your Highness, please hang in there.

She gripped the paper tightly, her fingers clenched, but there were no tears in her eyes.

Although it was only a few words, it was enough to strengthen her resolve.

She slowly raised her head and looked out the window.

She knew who handed it to her.

She doesn't need evidence.

Because, apart from Miss Flora Hastings herself, most people probably forgot that she has always kept the key to the windows here.

Then, she went to the bedside and opened the ivory writing box that she had never parted with since it was lost and found.

The quill pen, dipped in ink, glides lightly across the paper.

She wrote slowly, as if weighing the weight of each word.

—I already know.

These few words, though brief, carry a unique weight.

She took a deep breath, then crumpled the note back into a ball and threw it out the window.

"Thank you," she whispered into the night, even though she knew no one could hear her.

(End of this chapter)