shadow of britain

Chapter 855 Jane is in the Emperor’s Heart

As the doors to the reception room slowly opened, the lamps in the main hall were not yet completely extinguished. The morning mist outside the window draped the palace walls like a light veil, and even the air carried a lingering chill.

The Duchess of Kent, who had just finished washing up, was wearing a dark purple morning robe with an peridot earring hanging from her earlobe. Her hair was styled in a bun, but her temples were slightly disheveled, showing that she had come in a hurry.

Her expression was calm, her gaze serene, and her face showed no signs of fatigue, as if nothing had disturbed Kensington's daily routine.

But Arthur knew that the Duchess's composure was nothing but an act.

He's seen far too many people like that.

Those people whose palms were sweaty, yet still took off their hats and bowed.

Those whose steps trembled, yet still insisted on walking the red carpet.

A person whose knees buckle before a pastor, yet still claims that "his soul is ready to go to heaven."

The Duchess of Kent entered the drawing room without slowing her pace, but without any hurry, appearing as if she were following her daily social list, fulfilling a routine social obligation before her morning nap.

“Your Excellency, Your Excellency the Marquis,” she nodded slightly in greeting, “please forgive me for not being able to greet you in time.”

Finally, she added, "Delina is still changing; Lezen has already gone to call her."

The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Marquess of Cunningham returned the greetings one after the other: "Your Highness, there is no need for such formalities. We have indeed come in haste."

The Duchess walked to the chair, but did not sit down immediately. Instead, she gently brushed the cushion with her fingertips, as if she were brushing away a layer of non-existent dust, or perhaps she was considering some unspeakable thought.

"Excuse my abruptness, but when did His Majesty the King pass away?"

“2:12 a.m.,” Cunningham replied with extreme restraint. “The Queen and the Archbishop are present, and all sealing and document processing have been completed.”

"I understand." She nodded gently, as if confirming news that would come sooner or later.

There was no sadness, no comfort, only a brief silence.

She instinctively turned her head to look at Conroy, who was standing by the colonnade.

That was an instinct she developed during her eighteen years of life at the British court.

Faced with an out-of-control situation, she was used to looking to Conroy, used to letting him speak, and letting him come up with solutions, rhetoric, and rules.

This scene has played out almost every day for the past eighteen years, with Conroy always managing to give the perfect answer after her silence.

However, this time, the Duchess miscalculated.

Conroy clearly noticed her gaze as well.

He had been standing in the shadows between the pillars and curtains, like a dusty statue, but when he realized the Duchess's familiar call, he unconsciously leaned forward half an inch, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, as if he were preparing some opening line.

He spoke up for the Duchess of Kent countless times in this silence, from speeches advocating for a budget for Kensington Palace to Victoria's course schedules, and from arguments with St. James's Palace over the lavish travel arrangements for the Prince of Wales.

He was adept at responding to the Duchess's hesitant pauses with appropriate words, turning awkwardness into strategy and unexpected situations into leverage in his own hands.

At that moment, he almost instinctively wanted to do it again.

His lips twitched, as if he was about to start with some platitudes like "Your Highness is overly worried" or "At this time, stability should be the priority," but before he could utter a word, he sensed a cold gaze falling upon him.

Arthur did not speak.

He stood by the fireplace, no more than five steps from Conroy, his posture upright, his left hand lightly resting on the buckle of his glove, but his gaze seemed to pierce through the entire drawing room, past the positions of the archbishop and the marquis, and straight into Conroy's pupils.

There was no obvious anger in his eyes, nor any identifiable hostility.

It's not even a gaze; it's more like a prompt.

No verbal prompts or threatening actions are needed; a single glance is enough to convey the message:
This is not the time for you to speak.

Conroy felt as if an invisible boulder was pressing down on his chest.

He was no stranger to scrutiny in the dock, nor to the sarcastic remarks whispered in the parliamentary corridors, but he had never before been so utterly cut off from all escape routes by a terrifyingly young knight with just a single glance in such a silent setting.

He desperately wanted to look away and pretend he hadn't seen it.

But he knew that would only make him feel more embarrassed.

He could certainly force himself to speak, but he also understood that once those words were uttered, he would be placing himself in opposition to the new regime.

He hesitated for a moment.

Just for a moment.

The next moment, his throat moved, but no sound came out. He silently withdrew his hand half an inch, straightened up, and quietly retreated into the shadows, hiding in a corner where the Duchess of Kent could not see his face.

He didn't lower his head or open his mouth; he simply turned his face slightly, as if to re-examine the wall clock.

At that moment, Arthur also withdrew his gaze.

He didn't even change his posture; he simply moved his left hand behind his back and placed it back on his right wrist.

Everything returned to calm.

Cunningham didn't look at Conroy, but instead took out a neatly copied list from his pocket, speaking calmly and directly: "His Majesty William left no oral decree. Royal property has been sealed as per custom, and the Home Office has sent personnel to Windsor to handle the aftermath. The Privy Council's notification is being drafted and will be delivered to the House of Lords before nine o'clock, and the official announcement of His Majesty's passing will also be released at the same time."

The Duchess took a barely perceptible breath.

The movement was extremely subtle, yet Arthur still noticed it.

She didn't say anything, but she stood up straighter.

She wanted to wait, to wait for Conroy to be able to squeeze out a suggestion, a word, or even a vague opening remark.

That kind of euphemism, which can be used to justify the situation by saying "the princess is young" or "the affairs of state are complicated," is a phrase that countless regents throughout history have used to come to power.

Conroy remained silent.

His gaze remained fixed on Arthur.

Because he knew Arthur was watching him.

Conroy retreated quietly.

But what was happening before her eyes was enough for the Duchess of Kent to understand that this time, Conroy could not help her.

The atmosphere in the reception room froze briefly once again, like a clockwork toy that was wound up but could not swing again.

A few light footsteps came from the doorway.

That was the soft, clear sound of silk slippers stepping on the tiles and carpet.

Everyone heard it.

Before the door was fully opened, light had already seeped in.

It was a dim ray of morning light, slanting in through a half-open window at the end of the corridor. Through the lingering dust in the air, it seemed like a silent ribbon spread across the carpet in the reception room.

Then, a graceful figure slowly stepped through the beam of light and into the hall.

Princess Alexandrina Victoria.

She is coming.

She wore a navy blue morning robe with white trim, draped with a thin grey shawl, and her hair was neatly combed, held in place only by a pearl hairpin given to her by her aunt, Queen Adelaide. She had clearly been hastily awakened, but her gait was unusually steady, her eyes showing no sign of panic, and not even a hint of drowsiness.

It was as if she had foreseen this moment.

Victoria paused for a moment at the doorway, her gaze sweeping across the room, passing over the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Marquess of Cunningham before settling on her mother.

She did not speak, and the Duchess of Kent did not come forward, but sat quietly in her chair, meeting her gaze for a moment, a fleeting, indescribable emotion flashing in her eyes.

It was neither pity, nor joy, nor sadness, but a sudden sense of unfamiliarity and alienation.

Victoria glanced at her, then slowly turned her gaze to Arthur.

Arthur stood by the fireplace, still silent. He was as calm as a well, neither eager nor evasive, just quietly gazing at her and nodding slightly, as if to say, "It's time for you to get to that position."

Immediately afterwards, Arthur placed his right hand, gloved in white, on the hilt of the bestowed sword, and slowly bowed his head, kneeling on the ground.

The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Marquess of Cunningham, as if waking from a dream, also knelt down.

“We have come to report to you by order of your presence. His Majesty William passed away peacefully at Windsor House at 2:12 this morning.” Victoria nodded slightly and extended her right hand, bestowing upon the Marquess of Cunningham the honor of kissing his hand.

Cunningham leaned forward and reverently kissed the back of her outstretched fingers, as if he had already decided that these hands would hold the fate of the entire kingdom.

The Archbishop of Canterbury followed closely behind. Despite his advanced age, he bent down, his movements less reserved than usual, and kissed Victoria's hand, his voice trembling with reverence: "May God be with you, my Lord. You are now the leader of the Church, the Defender of the Faith."

As Victoria withdrew her hand, her gaze shifted slightly and fell on Arthur.

She looked at the dark figure who hadn't uttered a word but stood firmly at the edge of the reception room, his calm yet sharp figure, and his silent yet intimidating eyes that kept Conroy at bay.

She seemed to recall the black knight she had sketched in her sketchbook the night before; that blurry face was now finally becoming clear in the morning light.

She slowly reached out her hand.

Arthur hesitated for a moment, then knelt down, lowered his head, and kissed the back of her fingers.

That kiss was neither reverent nor obsequious; it was like a vow, or a promise.

He knew that he was kissing not only a hand, but also the beginning of a new era.

Arthur took a half step back, raised his head, and spoke in a tone that was as usual but with a solemn gravity: "Your Majesty, the security situation in London is currently good. Scotland Yard has completed the temporary closure of all main roads between Whitehall, St. James's Palace, Kensington, and Windsor. Police stations in all districts began coordinating operations at 3:00 a.m. today, and apart from a few small-scale gatherings, there have been no reports of violence."

He paused briefly, then added: "The ferry crossings and parish markets on the south bank of the Thames are under guard. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police are on high alert. The major newspapers on Fleet Street will issue announcements at 9:00 a.m. as scheduled. The city's clock towers will chime simultaneously at 9:00 a.m. to mark the start of the national mourning period."

Victoria listened quietly without uttering a single word.

Arthur's tone was calm and even, yet every word was clear. As soon as he finished speaking, he bowed his head, bowed again, took a half step back, and then knelt on the ground.

Victoria said softly, “Thank you, Sir Arthur Hastings, you’re always so reliable.”

Arthur pressed his white gloves to his chest: "It is my honor, Your Majesty."

Victoria's gaze remained fixed on the spot where Arthur had retreated, and she did not move for a long time.

The phrase "You're always so reliable" was spoken very softly, as if she herself hadn't expected to say it in this setting.

Only after that did she seem to realize something, lower her head, and slowly clasp her hands together.

It wasn't a gesture of etiquette, nor was it like the hand gestures in class; rather, it was an unconscious expression of emotion.

After a moment of silence, she spoke again: "Aunt Adelaide... is she alright now?"

The Marquess of Cunningham paused, then replied in a low voice, "Your Majesty, Queen Adelaide remained by His Majesty William's side the entire time. She did not leave the palace until the very last moment."

He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words, before adding, "Although she was very sad, she did not cry out or weep. She simply wiped the sweat from His Majesty William's brow and then covered him with the white cloth herself."

Victoria gently closed her eyes, lowered her head, and tightened her grip on her fingers: "I will write to her. If she wishes, I hope she can stay in London during the national mourning period... stay by my side, and I will always be with her."

Cunningham's eyebrows twitched slightly, and he was about to reply when he saw the Archbishop of Canterbury slowly bow down and speak in an almost prayerful tone: "God will surely hear Your Majesty's benevolence."

Victoria paused for a moment, then looked around at everyone, her voice soft but firm: "Please rise."

The figures, who had been kneeling, stood up one by one.

Victoria nodded to the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Marquess of Cunningham, and Arthur, then turned and walked into the inner room.

As the door was half-closed, she suddenly turned around and met everyone's gaze, as if she wanted to remember this moment before the door was completely shut.

boom.

The door closed gently, and the corridor behind it was quiet.

Lezen was already waiting there. Just like every morning, Victoria walked up to her, said nothing, and simply rested her forehead gently on her shoulder.

Victoria took a deep breath, as if trying to force back her tears.

But she couldn't control herself, and her shoulders began to tremble slightly.

Leizen didn't ask anything, he just reached out and hugged her.

She cried without losing her composure, without even making a sound, but simply clenched her knuckles tightly around Lezen's arm.

The tears were both because her uncle, whom she didn't know very well, His Majesty King William IV, had passed away, and because she was overwhelmed with relief that she herself was not fully aware of.

However, her tears stopped very quickly.

"Leave me alone for a while."

This was the first order issued by the new monarch of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

The Duchess of Kent's footsteps caught up from around the corner, her hem brushing against the wall, her hairpin lightly touching the back of her neck with a crisp sound.

“Delina…” she lowered her voice, trying to make it sound gentle: “Child, I want to say a few words to you, just a few words.”

“I said, Mom,” Victoria repeated without turning around, “Let me be alone for a while.”

The Duchess acted as if she hadn't heard her: "I'm just worried about you. There are so many people gossiping outside, you have to be careful about many things, listen to me..."

Victoria didn't explain further. She simply turned her head slightly and said calmly to Leizen beside her, "Move my bed out of Mom's room."

Lezen was clearly taken aback by Victoria's order. The Hanoverian governess paused for a moment, then nodded hesitantly: "If this is your will... yes, Your Majesty..."

Victoria turned to her mother and gave a very restrained curtsy: "I will see you later."

He then turned and walked away.

Her silk slippers slid silently across the carpet, and her figure quickly disappeared into the gradually brightening morning light at the end of the corridor.

The moment Victoria's figure disappeared, the Duchess of Kent felt as if something had been ripped out of her heart.

She stood there, her hand still suspended in mid-air. She maintained this posture for one second, two seconds... until her arm trembled slightly and she could no longer hold on, and then it suddenly fell down.

"I'm... finished," she murmured to herself.

These words sounded like they'd been drawn from the deepest, most profound well. The Duchess of Kent felt as if a string had snapped, and she slumped against the wall. Her deep purple morning robe spread out on the carpet, and her peridot earrings trembled twice at the side of her neck, glistening with tears.

"I'm finished...I'm finished..."

She wailed and repeated herself, her voice growing softer and softer until it was almost inaudible, with only the rise and fall of her chest remaining.

Arthur, who had witnessed everything, walked over from the other end of the corridor.

He didn't say anything, but stood half a step in front of the Duchess, bent down, took out a handkerchief and placed it in front of her eyes, his movements extremely light, like putting a fallen leaf back on a branch.

He raised his hand and patted the shoulder of the servant beside him, signaling them to step back and give her enough dignity.

"Your Highness," Arthur's voice was exceptionally clear, "please accept my condolences."

The Duchess of Kent looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion and shame. She realized that she had lost her composure in front of Arthur and tried to wipe away her tears, but the more she wiped, the more chaotic her tears became.

Arthur neither urged nor advised her, but simply stood diagonally between her and the wall, blocking the view of those coming and going.

He turned slightly to the side, using his body and cloak to shield her from the light at the entrance of the corridor, so that passing servants would not see her disheveled state.

“Your Highness,” Arthur added, his tone calm yet powerful, “I assure you, Her Majesty will summon you soon. But before that, you need to stand up. For your own sake, and for Her Majesty’s sake. You have managed Kensington Palace for so many years, so you must know that many eyes are on you at this moment.”

The Duchess of Kent's shoulders twitched twice, and her breathing gradually evened out.

She clenched her handkerchief, struggled to lift her upper body, and stood up straight against the wall.

Arthur stretched out his arm, but instead of helping, he stopped in mid-air, providing an imperceptible fulcrum.

But the Duchess did not hold on; she eventually stood up on her own.

Arthur nodded slightly to the person behind him, and the maid in the distance understood and brought him a glass of warm water.

He took the water glass and handed it to the Duchess.

The Duchess of Kent held the rim of the glass, her fingertips still trembling, and it took her a while to manage to take a sip.

“Thank you, Sir Arthur,” she said with difficulty, her voice still hoarse.

Arthur nodded slightly: "It's my duty."

"Your Highness," Arthur finally spoke, "It's windy in the corridor. Please go back to your room to change. You can see His Majesty after the bell rings."

(End of this chapter)