shadow of britain

Chapter 856 The Value of an Imperial Tutor
The morning light was not bright; it filtered through the curtains and fell into the room, shrouding all colors in darkness.

In the empty room, Victoria sat alone on a chaise lounge, draped in a gray-white gauze shawl, her eyes fixed on the lingering fog outside the window.

She neither straightened her clothes nor summoned any maids, but simply leaned against the wall quietly.

The moment she made up her mind to sleep in a separate room from her mother, she felt as if the stone that had been weighing on her heart for eighteen years had finally been removed.

But when she is alone, she always feels empty inside and her chest aches.

The constraints of the Kensington system were gone; she was free.

But at the same time, following the loss of her father seventeen years ago, she has now severed ties with her mother.

The world is empty, and I am all alone.

She took a slow breath, but it felt like she was inhaling a whole cold morning.

The air was humid and stagnant, and even the breath we exhaled was devoid of warmth.

The fireplace had been extinguished, with a few wisps of white smoke still floating on the ash, as if the years of strife were still radiating their last embers.

She wrapped her shawl tighter, not to keep warm, but to put a layer of armor on her heart.

Victoria's fingers unconsciously traced the wood grain of the armrest, each line seemingly reminding her that from now on, no one could shelter her from the wind and rain.

She has few memories of her father; her impressions of him come almost entirely from portraits and snippets of conversation from others.

She couldn't imagine the tone of her father's voice. She also had no recollection of the warm embrace he had given her.

And now, her mother has also left her.

Perhaps long before, her mother had already started walking a different path from her.

That's why when she reached the finish line and looked back, she couldn't find even a trace of her mother.

She sat there quietly for a long time, without saying a word or crying.

She wondered, if her father were still alive, would he tell her how to face all of this? Would he tell her what to do next?
Just then, there was a soft knock on the door, neither hurried nor disruptive.

“Your Highness…no, Your Majesty.” It was Lyzen’s voice, her gentle tone like a soft, warm coat: “May I come in?”

Victoria didn't answer immediately. She closed her eyes, as if gathering her emotions, and after a few seconds, she whispered, "Come in, darling."

The door slowly opened, and Lezen saw Victoria sitting there wrapped in a shawl, her eyes slightly red. She didn't ask any questions, but walked straight to her side, slowly squatted down, and gently asked, just like when she used to lull her to sleep as a child, "Your Majesty, the Privy Council advisors will come to see you at nine o'clock to hear your first speech after your ascension to the throne."

Victoria looked up, her eyes suddenly filled with confusion.

It was only then that she realized that as queen, she not only had the power to move her bed out of her mother's bedroom, but also the obligation to maintain the normal operation of the government.

"Speak?" Her voice sounded a little dry. "I... what should I say?"

Upon hearing this, Lyzen took out a neat roll of parchment and placed it on the small tea table in front of her: "This was given to me by Sir Arthur just now. He said you might find it useful."

Victoria picked up the roll of parchment and gently unfolded it.

The ink marks are clear, and the strokes are steady.

"Since God has entrusted me with this responsibility, I will strive to fulfill my duties as Queen with gratitude and humility. I am very grateful for the kindness and love that the people have always shown me, and I firmly believe that the wisdom of Parliament and the loyalty of the British people will be my most important support."

I understand that this is not a symbolic honor, but a truly heavy responsibility. Although I am still young, I hope that my future words and actions will be worthy of the trust and expectations of my subjects.

I was born and raised in England, under the tutelage of a gentle and wise mother. From a very young age, I learned to respect the constitution, love this country, and understand the true meaning of liberty and order.

From this day forward, I will do everything in my power to uphold the religious order as established by law, and to guarantee religious freedom for all my subjects. I will uphold the rights of the people, strive to promote the well-being of all classes of the nation, and safeguard the interests of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

Victoria lowered her head and read silently, word by word, her fingertips still lingering on a small, still-wet ink stain on the edge of the parchment.

The paper was slightly yellowed, yet it exuded a clean and calming aura, just like the person who wrote these words.

"It's not about honor, it's about responsibility."

"I will do everything in my power to defend the rights of the people."

"To safeguard the interests of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland."

As she read, she suddenly felt that the fog outside the window seemed to have dissipated a bit, and the gloom in the air was slowly driven away.

For a moment, Victoria felt somewhat dazed.

Sir Arthur Hastings seemed to stand right in front of her, wearing that well-fitting black morning suit with the cuffs neatly tied.

He had one hand in his pocket and a few pages of lecture notes in the other. His tone was low, but calm and composed.

“A constitutional system is not a system that the king can rely on, but rather a bottom line that the king must hold in times of crisis.”

“Your Highness, being a symbol of the nation is not the same as being an ornament. You must first learn to convince others before you can earn their respect.”

“He always does this…” Victoria said softly, her eyes slightly reddening, “When I’m about to give up, he gives me something… something that will keep me going.”

Leizen didn't say anything, but simply raised his hand to tidy her disheveled hair.

Just then, a soft knock came at the door, followed by a servant's slightly hurried but restrained voice: "Your Majesty, the Prime Minister, Viscount Melbourne, the Duke of Wellington, Sir Robert Peel, Viscount Palmerston, and others have all sent messengers. They are expected to arrive at Kensington Palace within two hours."

Finally, seemingly worried that Victoria might not be aware of the rules, the attendant added, "Your Majesty, according to the constitution, after your accession to the throne, you must obtain advice from the Prime Minister regarding your duties and conduct as monarch."

Victoria did not get up immediately; she simply took a deep breath, rerolled the parchment, and placed it on the table.

Then she stood up, turned to the door and asked, "Sir Arthur, are you still in Kensington?"

The servant paused for a moment, but quickly recovered: "You may invite him to have breakfast with you. Sir Arthur seems to have been preoccupied with matters of succession all night."

Victoria nodded slightly. "Then please, Sir Arthur, proceed to the dining room. Also, please invite Baron Stockmay." ...

The fireplace in the living room was already lit, and the oak wainscoting reflected the ripples of the firelight, like the mane of a lion, trembling slightly.

Kensington Palace was much busier than usual today, with many political heavyweights who rarely visit Kensington gathered there.

The Duke of Wellington sat in the straight-backed armchair by the fireplace, leaning on his cane, his silver hair neatly combed.

His gaze was fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace, and the renowned European general asked as if inspecting a battlefield, "When will the council be able to renew its oath?"

The Viscount Melbourne looked up from his seat opposite the fireplace. Although he was the Prime Minister and belonged to a different party from the Duke of Wellington, he still dared not neglect this national hero: "The notice to summon both houses of parliament was issued at 4:30 this morning. According to Chapter 15 of the Seventh and Eighth Acts of William III, members of the House of Lords should be summoned to the palace immediately upon receiving the notice. The House of Lords is scheduled to convene at 10:15 this morning, and the swearing-in ceremony can begin as early as 11:00. As for the House of Commons, due to the large number of members, it will take longer to notify them, and their swearing-in ceremony is expected to begin at noon."

As he finished speaking, the Viscount of Melbourne gently took a neatly folded letter from his pocket and pushed it to the center of the coffee table.

"This is the letter I received the day before yesterday, written by Dr. Clark."

The Duke of Wellington did not open the letter, but he had heard something about it: "I've heard that quite a few people have been talking badly about Princess Victoria... no, Her Majesty the Queen to you these past few days?"

Viscount Melbourne glanced around, then nodded slightly. "There are quite a few people, and you probably know who they were sent by. They are doing everything they can to make me believe that Her Majesty the Queen is often mentally unstable and talking nonsense. You probably have a similar situation on your end, right? Dr. Clark wrote this letter specifically to explain this to me."

"What did he say?"

"Clark swears to God on his honor that he believes Her Majesty has no mental problems and is willing to risk his life for it."

The Duke of Wellington nodded slightly and said, "Clark is a meticulous man; he never makes judgments lightly. If he says there's no problem, then there's no problem."

After speaking, he looked up at Viscount Melbourne: "Since there is no conclusive evidence, if anyone dares to mention the Regency Act again, I will personally go to the House of Lords to defend Her Majesty the Queen."

Seeing that he had aligned himself with the Duke of Wellington on the issue of regency, the Viscount Melbourne, the naturally easygoing prime minister, finally relaxed: "I am pleased that we have reached an agreement, Your Excellency."

Although Conroy has always been close to the Whig Party and often sided with the radical liberals in order to win Whig Party support for Kensington Palace, he would speak out for them from time to time.

However, just as Robert Peel is often jokingly referred to as a Whig within the Conservative Party, the Viscount of Melbourne is often considered a Conservative within the Whig Party.

Especially given the current backdrop of the Whig Party's strong crackdown on radicals, the Viscount of Melbourne is even less willing to see a regent like Conroy emerge.

Moreover, even setting aside Conroy's political views, the Viscount of Melbourne did not believe he was capable enough to assist the Duchess of Kent in her regency.

Over the past month or two, he has had private conversations with many people associated with Kensington Palace, and their responses can be almost entirely summarized by a single sentence from Baron Stockmare: “Although I often agree with Sir John on the issue of creating a good image for Her Highness the Princess, Sir John is extremely volatile and unpredictable, so even if they manage to make him their private secretary, it won’t be long before he suffers the consequences of his own stupidity.”

Compared to Lord Stockmay's assessment, Sir Arthur Hastings was even more blunt in his evaluation of Conroy: "As a veteran policeman and a frequent courtroom visitor, whether from a legal perspective or from the common understanding of the public, I have no doubt that if the House of Lords were willing to launch an investigation, then Sir John Conroy's actions in the Ramsgate affair would be sufficient to constitute preliminary treason."

Just then, footsteps were heard outside the reception room.

The attendant pushed open the door and entered. After bowing, he addressed the Viscount Melbourne, saying, "Prime Minister, Her Majesty the Queen wishes to speak with you privately first. Please move to the study."

Melbourne nodded without asking any further questions or hesitating.

He rose, put on his coat, and turned to Wellington with a slight bow: "Sir, I shall take my leave."

"Good luck." The Duke of Wellington raised his hand to bid him farewell. As the leading royalist in British politics, he had no complaints about the arrangement.

The Viscount of Melbourne left the drawing room with his attendants, leaving only the Duke of Wellington inside.

Before the others arrived at Kensington Palace, the Duke originally wanted to rest for a while.

However, just as he closed his eyes, he heard a familiar, humble voice in his ear: "Your Grace, Duke."

Arthur arrived without us noticing.

The Duke of Wellington opened his eyes and said in a low voice, "I thought Her Majesty the Queen would keep you by her side. After all, today's situation is not easy for a young woman who has just come of age."

Clearly, the Duke of Wellington already knew Arthur's itinerary for today.

This is not surprising, because Arthur had privately informed him of the plan a few days earlier, and it had been approved by the British military leader.

Arthur smiled slightly, walked to the fireplace, and took off his gloves: "She is braver and stronger than you think."

“Is that so?” Wellington looked at him with a half-smile, as if he were sizing up a raw recruit. “But she’s only eighteen, after all. When I was eighteen, I had just graduated from the Pinherol Military Academy. My mother said of me then: I don’t know what to do with my little Arthur; he doesn’t seem to have any other talents besides playing the violin.”

Arthur smiled. "But you later defeated Napoleon, didn't you?"

The Duke of Wellington pursed his lips and shook his head: "Just luck."

Upon hearing this, Arthur laughed loudly: "Only if these words came from your mouth could they be convincing."

A few crisp footsteps came from outside the door, followed by the soft sound of leather boots on the oak floor.

“You always arrive earlier than scheduled.” The Duke of Wellington turned his head and greeted him, “Good morning, Robert.”

Pierre, wearing a black cloak and carrying a top hat, paused subconsciously as he entered, clearly not expecting to see these two "old friends" chatting so enthusiastically in the drawing room.

“But we arrived a step later than you, Your Grace.” Pierre’s gaze shifted from Wellington to you, Arthur.

“No rush, it hasn’t even started yet.” Wellington raised his cane. “The Viscount Melbourne just went to his study.”

Peer put down his hat and handed his cloak to a servant beside him: “What a misfortune for the nation! At this very moment, we have lost a man of integrity and responsibility, an experienced and powerful king. Now, we must entrust the fate of the entire country to a young girl who has just come of age.”

After speaking, Peel shook his head pessimistically: "How many years has it been since Britain had a queen? I can hardly remember who the last queen was."

“The last queen was Anne of the Stuart dynasty.” Arthur paused. “One hundred and twenty-three years ago, or, to be more precise, one hundred and twenty-two years and ten months ago.”

Pierre gave him a disapproving look: "Thanks, Arthur, you're very good at history."

“Thank you for your compliment.” Arthur said without changing his expression, “As you know, I studied history at the University of London and received a gold medal after three years of study.”

(One more chapter, coming later)

(End of this chapter)