shadow of britain

Chapter 872 Your Majesty, I, Hastings, am on your side!

For Arthur, July 1837 was one of the few days of leisure since Victoria ascended the throne.

Princess Victoria, who was unknown before her accession to the throne, is now surrounded by countless courtiers eager to curry favor with her. If it weren't for Victoria frequently summoning him to Buckingham Palace to excitedly discuss various anecdotes about her accession to the throne with this former rhetoric teacher, Arthur would hardly have been able to squeeze into the inner circle of court life.

The Viscount of Melbourne, the Marquess of Cunningham, the Duchess of Sutherland, and many other prominent British nobles and noble ladies practically surrounded Buckingham Palace, all vying to pledge their loyalty to the newly enthroned Queen.

But Arthur didn't need to do that, because in the Queen's eyes, he had long been synonymous with loyalty.

However, this did not prevent Victoria from expressing some dissatisfaction with Arthur's recent behavior, because she felt that Arthur could come more often. After all, she had already granted Arthur the right to pass through the palace, but at least for now, it seemed that the young tutor did not like to exercise this right.

However, this is not a major problem, because the Viscount of Melbourne is now filling the vacancy. She can vent her anger on the Prime Minister, who unfortunately lost his son at the beginning of the year, as she pleases. The Viscount of Melbourne, who is all alone, seems very happy to stay by the Queen's side. So much so that even the sharp-tongued Privy Council Secretary, Mr. Greville, privately had to wonder if the Viscount of Melbourne's strong affection for Victoria stemmed from his seeing the Queen as a substitute for his deceased son.

The topics he discussed with the Queen were very wide-ranging, ranging from trivial matters like food, chimney sweeping, and teeth, to literature, such as the widely circulated works of "The Englishman" in Britain. Of course, Victoria's family relationships were also indispensable, involving her wicked uncles and her parents. When they really didn't know what to talk about, they would also talk about history, philosophy, and etiquette.

In short, the two of them always had a lot to talk about.

However, while the Viscount of Melbourne was having a son late in life, many people forgot that there was another person experiencing the grief of losing a son, namely the Duchess of Kent.

Immediately upon ascending the throne, Victoria announced that she would not elevate her mother's status, nor would she consider appointing Conroy as her private secretary or the Royal Treasury. They all knew that their future influence over the Queen would be minimal, or even nonexistent.

Many in the royal court were well aware of this. Although the Duchess had pleaded with Victoria not to tell Melbourne about their feud, the Prime Minister was now fully aware of it and had made no effort to bridge the gap between the two sides.

The Duchess of Kent continued her efforts to reinstate Conroy to his post, but to no avail; Conroy was barred from any occasion in which the Queen was present.

After a long period of setbacks, the Duchess of Kent could no longer be as assertive as before, and her tone towards her daughter softened considerably.

“At least forgive him, don’t label him and his family and shut them out. As Queen, you should forget the things that made you, as a princess, unhappy. Remember, I have the utmost respect for Sir John and cannot forget what he did for me and for you, even though he unfortunately offended you.”

Look, if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, Arthur wouldn't have believed that the words above came from the Duchess of Kent.

She looked somewhat sad and melancholy. Since she was living in Buckingham Palace and could no longer see Conroy in person, she could only confide in her close friend, Lady Levine, and was now deeply saddened by her insignificance.

The serious discord between the mother and daughter could not possibly escape the eyes of London's third-rate tabloids. This strange incident, which was taking place in Buckingham Palace, has now become the talk of the town in London. However, bystanders are basically unaware of the cause of the incident and can only speculate wildly like headless flies.

As for those Fleet Street reporters who are keen on making unfounded accusations and always believe whatever they hear, they don't care how much psychological turmoil or family trauma the mother and daughter went through. They only care about whether they can write an eye-catching headline for their next column, preferably one that is a little erotic, a little silly, and a little aristocratic neurotic.

A small tabloid, which has never been subject to stamp duty and is mainly aimed at the working class, first published a short article.

The title boldly proclaims, "Was Her Majesty the Queen misled by Sir John Conroy?" The content itself is rambling and illogical, but the general meaning is not difficult to understand.

Conroy was merely a loyal Irish gentleman, and the newly crowned queen may have been swayed by some "new-school political advisors" to suddenly shut out this old friend.

The article even hinted that "the influence of a certain gentleman who has been frequently visiting Buckingham Palace recently may have exceeded Her Majesty's imagination."

Although this was just an old trick used by tabloids, it was quickly imitated by other tabloids.

The World of Light went a step further, simply using the headline "Did the Duchess of Kent and Her Majesty the Queen have a quarrel with a nobleman?" to vaguely point out that a gentleman with "an unhappy early family and a history of extramarital affairs" frequently entered and exited the corridors of Buckingham Palace, often accompanying the Queen, which displeased the Duchess of Kent and further led to discord between mother and daughter.

The Isabella Evening News went so far as to fabricate a drama, claiming that an anonymous servant heard the Duchess of Kent weeping by her window late at night, muttering, "He was a good man, he saved us," and even fabricated a scene in which the Queen rebuked her, saying, "XXX is better than him!"

Such a sentimental scene, along with the poster for the upcoming play "The Bride" in front of the Royal Theatre in Haymarket, sparked a lot of discussion among middle-class ladies. Even coachmen and laborers began to gossip about courtly affairs in the station tavern.

Faced with these slanders against Her Majesty the Queen, Sir Arthur Hastings, Secretary General of the Commissioner for Police Affairs, was naturally "furious." Yesterday afternoon, before the Trooping the Colour ceremony at Windsor Castle, he convened an emergency meeting of senior London police officers at Scotland Yard, where he severely reprimanded Sir Charles Rowan, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, and Sir Richard Maine, Deputy Commissioner.

According to Superintendent Charles Field, Chief of Police Intelligence Service, Sir Arthur flew into a rage at the meeting, and every officer at Scotland Yard above the rank of superintendent was reprimanded. This was because, in Sir Arthur's view, while the government had no power to censor newspaper publications, the lack of such power did not preclude Scotland Yard from exercising its power of post-publication punishment.

After all, during Sir Arthur's time in charge of Scotland Yard, they had repeatedly used libel laws, sedition, and unpaid stamp duty to cooperate with the Home Office in raiding printing plants, seizing printing presses, and arresting their editors.

Sir Arthur was extremely dissatisfied with Scotland Yard's negligence and immediately demanded that Scotland Yard make comprehensive reforms to its operations, requiring Inspector Tom Flanders, the person in charge, to submit a written report to him within three days.

Of course, it was a bit much to ask Tom to write a self-criticism within three days. After all, before coming to Scotland Yard, he was an honest farm laborer. If he hadn't received Darwin's guidance and been sent to the University of London for further studies, he might not have been able to recognize all twenty-six letters of the alphabet.

Now, although he can recognize all twenty-six letters of the alphabet, it is still a tall order for him to write a proper self-criticism.

Therefore, this examination will most likely have to be done by his two good sons, Adam Jr. and Pinkerton.

However, Adam and Pinkerton don't need to be too anxious, because although Uncle Hastings said he would be there within three days, he actually set off for Windsor Castle early this morning after his meeting yesterday.

After attending the military parade in Windsor, he still had to go to Paris, and it would be at least ten days to two weeks before he returned.

If you can't even produce a written self-criticism in ten days or half a month, aren't you slapping Hastings College, University of London in the face?
Leaving aside Adam Jr., even if we just take Pinkerton out on his own, he is still...

Allen, Allen Pinkerton, you're a member of the first class of Hastings College, how can you be so unprofessional in official writing!

……

Arthur rode his Brougham carriage all the way to Windsor, where the afternoon wind rustled across the lawn.

The bugle call for the military parade rehearsal was still echoing in the distance, but he walked into the corridor outside St. George's Hall first.

The shadows of the stone arcades kept out the summer heat, and a damp, cool atmosphere permeated the long corridors. The Hanoverian royal flags hanging on the walls trembled slowly in the air.

He had just shaken the dust off his cloak when he heard light footsteps approaching from afar.

At the corner of the corridor stood a slender woman, her lace hat pulled low over her head, her body wrapped in a plain-colored morning dress. It was the Duchess of Kent.

She looked noticeably haggard, her face had lost its usual color, and her brows were furrowed with melancholy and exhaustion.

Perhaps it was the long-standing burden of her worries, or perhaps it was the loneliness of Buckingham Palace that finally overwhelmed her.

When she saw Arthur, she was first startled, then forced a smile and nodded slightly to him.

Sir Arthur.

Arthur paused briefly, removed his hat, placed one hand on his chest, and bowed, saying, "Your Highness."

Arthur's tone remained gentle and proper, neither humble nor arrogant, carrying the sense of propriety expected of a traditional court.

The Duchess of Kent remained silent for a long time.

She stood at the edge of the shadow cast by the sunlight, as if hesitating, or perhaps seeking some faint support.

Arthur noticed a fleeting wavering in her eyes, and said softly, "Your Highness, are you waiting for someone?"

Upon hearing this, the Duchess gently shook her head, the former arrogance in her expression long gone: "No... actually, no one will come."

She paused for a moment, then added in a low voice, "Sir Arthur, are you... very busy right now?"

When she said this, her eyes were slightly hesitant, and her voice was much softer, as if she was trying to hide the pride in her heart that she was unwilling to show weakness easily.

Arthur instinctively took out his pocket watch from his pocket, opened the cover and glanced at the dial; the hands had just passed one o'clock.

Before he could speak, the Duchess interrupted, asking, "Whom did you arrange to meet? Does Her Majesty the Queen wish to see you?"

Although the Duchess tried her best to keep her tone steady, she could not hide the bitterness in her voice.

Arthur closed his pocket watch and said with a smile, "If you need, I can decline."

There was no affectation or flattery in Arthur's words, but rather the gentlemanly demeanor that the Duchess knew from the moment she first met him.

Upon hearing this, the Duchess of Kent gave a slight, pale, and forced smile: "You should go instead. Don't let me interfere with important matters. Her Majesty the Queen has plenty of people around her now, and it's not easy to get an audience with her."

Upon hearing this, Arthur nodded slightly in farewell.

But halfway there, he suddenly stopped.

He turned to look at the Duchess of Kent, and felt that her shadow looked empty in the sunlight.

He pretended to hesitate for a moment, then turned around as if he had made a great decision: "I think I should stay, Your Highness. You look very unwell."

The Duchess of Kent was stunned.

She stood there, stunned, without responding immediately. She simply lowered her head and took a slow, light breath, as if she had used all her strength to do so.

Sunlight streamed in through the stained-glass windows of the corridor, casting almost transparent shadows on her drooping eyelashes. Her hand gently gripped the hem of her cloak, a subtle movement that betrayed a panicked feeling of having her vulnerability exposed.

She has always been reluctant to show vulnerability in front of others. Even in her most impoverished and helpless moments, she always maintained the dignity of a crown princess's mother, presenting herself as someone who remained unmoved amidst applause and prejudice.

But now, without Conroy or Victoria by her side, she has no longer been able to pretend.

"Why did you..." she began to speak softly, but suddenly choked up, her voice as if something had cut it off. She looked up at Arthur, her eyes glistening with tears: "You... you should leave."

Arthur did not answer, but simply looked at her quietly with a gentle smile on his face.

The Duchess of Kent's lips trembled slightly: "You...you've never been on my side before."

“I’m not on either side, Your Highness,” Arthur said softly. “I just can’t bear to see anyone suffer.”

These words seemed to shatter her defenses.

She slowly closed her eyes, and tears uncontrollably slid down her cheeks, first a single drop, then a torrent of tears like a burst dam.

She instinctively reached out to cover herself, but her movements were too slow and too weak.

She didn't even have time to think about taking a handkerchief out of her sleeve; she could only let the dampness slide down her cheeks, leaving a few blurry marks on the lace of her morning dress.

Arthur gently took out his white handkerchief from his bosom, took half a step closer, but did not reach out rashly. Instead, he quietly placed the handkerchief on her fingertips.

She looked at the outstretched hand, hesitated before taking it, as if she suddenly realized that she had been impolite, or as if she remembered some tenderness she hadn't felt in a long time.

She grasped the soft white cloth, her fingers trembling slightly, but ultimately couldn't bring herself to say thank you.

But Arthur doesn't need to listen to what she has to say.

He understood the weight behind that silence.

(End of this chapter)