shadow of britain

Chapter 874 Would an Electromagnetic Master Dream of Central Air Conditioning?
Disloyal people will never succeed, but only those who know when to be disloyal can last, because betrayal is the only political principle that can withstand the test of time.

—Arthur Hastings

When the servants at Windsor Castle opened the small door to the inner chamber, carved with gold oak leaves, Arthur did not immediately go in, but instead glanced at the furnishings inside.

The room was quiet. There were no maids, no attendants, and no ceremonial guards. Even the wall lamp burning inside emitted an unusually lukewarm and dim light, not the kind of light used to welcome ministers or receive distinguished guests.

He stepped into the room, the thick velvet carpet beneath his feet almost swallowing the echo of his boots.

As soon as Arthur regained his footing, he casually removed his hat, stood in front of Victoria, and gave a slight bow: "Your Majesty."

Immediately afterwards, he heard the sound of the door closing behind him.

Victoria sat by the fireplace, one hand supporting her chin, her knuckles brushing against the corner of her lips, her posture relaxed and nonchalant.

She changed out of her military uniform from the parade and into a light gray woolen women's dress, her hair loosely tied up.

When Victoria heard Arthur speak, she didn't immediately respond as usual. Instead, she looked up at him with an indescribable emotion in her eyes, an emotion that was somewhere between scrutiny and hesitation.

Beneath the calm surface of the water, something seemed to be moving silently.

“You…” she finally spoke, her tone soft but surprisingly direct: “You spent quite a long time with Mom today.”

Arthur remained calm, as if it were no big deal. He chuckled softly, "She was in very poor condition at the time, Your Majesty."

However, his answer did not satisfy Victoria; instead, it made her secretly a little angry: "You mean, if I'm in a bad mood today, I can have you accompany me on a walk like Mom does?"

Arthur smiled and nodded, saying, "If Your Majesty requires it, I will naturally be at your service at any time."

“So she didn’t ‘summon’ you, did she?” Victoria leaned back in her chair, muttering, “She just happened to run into you, and then you stayed, you stayed on your own initiative.”

These words didn't sound like a question, but more like a complaint, and they also seemed to hide a childlike sense of grievance at having something taken away from them.

She didn't raise her voice or get angry; she just stared into Arthur's eyes, wanting to know if he was lying.

Arthur didn't flinch; instead, he stood ramrod straight. "If you had seen what happened, you would have stayed too. I believe... no one could bear to see someone standing at the end of the corridor crying like that. Admittedly, she did make many mistakes, but..."

“You’re always like this!” Victoria interrupted him, her words quickening. “You always make excuses for others! She’s a mother, so she deserves pity. I’m the Queen, so I have to restrain myself. The London tabloids slander you, and you say there might be some misunderstanding. Mother cried, so you went for a walk with her. Conroy is so vicious, and you say he’s blinded by greed. But what about me? What about me! I stood by the window and watched you walk past her side by side, and I couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t you just, even just once, stand on my side?”

As soon as she finished speaking, Victoria's eyes immediately welled up with tears.

Arthur was initially taken aback, as if he hadn't expected his student to be so angry with him. He remained silent for a moment, without any panicked attempt to explain, only with a gentle restraint and apologetic look in his eyes: "Your Majesty, while I was in Ramsgate, I stood guard outside the gates of the Albion Villa for two weeks."

When Victoria heard those words, she felt as if she had been gently pierced by something.

Her suppressed anger and grievances seemed to suddenly overflow from a tiny crack.

“Of course I remember!” Her voice trembled, not from anger, but from a sob. “Do you think I would forget? Those were the loneliest two weeks of my life! I knew nothing, couldn’t leave, couldn’t communicate, couldn’t go out, and even Lyzen didn’t dare tell me what was going on outside. But you, but you were still standing outside! Conroy lied to me, saying you had left, but I believed you definitely hadn’t. Every night, in the dead of night, I could still hear the sound of riding boots on the cobblestones from my bed, hear you coughing, hear you pacing outside. That’s what kept me going back then… that’s what kept me going!”

As she spoke, she wiped her eyes hard with the back of her hand, but she still couldn't hold back the tears, which fell drop by drop.

“I thought you were the person I trusted most in my life.” She bit her lip and whispered, “I thought… even if one day everyone thought I was willful, heartless, politically naive, and unfit to be queen, you wouldn’t doubt me. You know perfectly well why I hate her, you know! You know how she controlled me, locked me up, threatened me with Conroy’s letter, saying she would send me to Coburg, saying that if I didn’t obey, she would marry me off to the Duke of Cumberland’s son, to George’s cousin… What did she take me for? A tool! A pawn! She didn’t treat me like her daughter at all!”

Arthur's expression finally softened as he listened to these words.

He didn't offer any explanation, nor did he try to soothe the agitated girl with his usual gentle tone.

He simply raised his head slowly, his eyes calm, like someone who had weathered a storm and was waiting for the tide to recede.

Victoria gasped for breath, as if the pain in her chest was surfacing from her memories: "You said you stayed with her because you couldn't bear to see her suffer. But what about me? You've seen all the suffering I've endured for over a decade. How could you... how could you suddenly become that kind of person, and start thinking she deserves pity?"

Her voice was hoarse and broken, but she still used the last of her strength to force these words out of her throat: "You know how sad I am, but you still went to be with her... You still stood by her side, walking side by side with her, as if there was never that chasm between you. She used to not even remember your name properly, she used to look down on you! She said you were just a policeman, a nouveau riche, a worker, an employee of mine! But today, when you walk beside her... it's as if she has forgiven you, and you have forgiven her too, so what am I? What about all the things I said for you before?"

After she finished speaking, she was so weak that she could barely stand.

Victoria's shoulders trembled as if she had exhausted all her strength. She turned her back to Arthur, her hands gripping the hem of her dress tightly.

“Your Majesty.” Arthur stepped forward, wanting to take her hand and steady her swaying body.

"Do not touch me!"

Arthur's hand froze in mid-air.

He neither took another step forward nor retreated, but simply maintained that posture.

A chilling silence fell over the room.

“I understand,” he said softly, his tone sounding as if he had laid down something heavy. “If this is your will.”

He didn't approach Victoria, but stood still and spoke slowly, his voice sounding almost like when he used to teach rhetoric: "I remember when I was in Ramsgate, I promised you that your illness would eventually subside, your predicament would be resolved, and those petty people who tried to exploit your will would be eliminated without exception..."

Victoria didn't turn around, but Arthur knew she had heard him through her trembling shoulders.

“So I’m not walking beside anyone today,” he said slowly. “I’m standing at the end of a past. She’s old, lonely, and has been consumed by the empty house she built herself—it’s her own fault. But I can’t kick her while she’s down just to protect you. I’m not a shrewd and despicable person who would trample others underfoot when they’re down. Because if I did, I would become Conroy, exploiting one person’s weakness to gain another’s loyalty.”

The fireplace crackled softly, and the dim light cast dappled shadows on the windowsill in the corner of the room.

Sitting on the windowsill, Red Devil rubbed the goosebumps on his arms: "That's a really heartbreaking thing to say. It's not that she's old, it's that you made your move too late. My dear Arthur, it's a good thing you look like a good person. If you had been born twenty years earlier, what chance would that Irishman John Conroy have?"

Victoria remained standing with her back to Arthur, her shoulders trembling slightly, as if she had not yet fully recovered from her emotions.

"You go out."

Arthur was taken aback. He had expected her to say something else, perhaps a reproach, perhaps a question, or perhaps just silence, but whatever it was, he was prepared to accept it.

But the option of simply asking him to resign was not on his mind.

“Your Majesty…” Arthur hesitated, he didn’t move, “I didn’t mean to…”

“Get out,” Victoria interrupted him. “Sir Arthur.”

Arthur stood there, his expression shifting as if he wanted to explain or offer another word of advice. But when he turned back, he felt that saying "drink more hot water and get some rest" would only make things worse. So, after much deliberation, he forced himself to remain silent.

Because he knew that Victoria had already given her boundaries.

Arthur slowly lowered his head and bowed, saying, "If this is your wish."

Victoria did not respond, nor did she watch him leave.

He turned around and walked toward the door, his steps slow but steady. As he placed his hand on the latch, he paused deliberately and glanced back at Victoria.

However, the girls seemed to have this intuition, and Victoria repeated, "I said, let's go out."

The door closed silently, the lamplight flickered, and the room returned to silence.

Victoria stood by the window for a while, then returned to the chair by the fireplace and sat down.

The firelight illuminated her eyelashes and gently closed eyes, as well as the hem of her skirt that her fingertips were tightly gripping. Everything returned to silence.

Only the Red Devil remained sitting on the windowsill. Agares took a bite of carrot and hummed softly, "Tsk... Nobody won, but nobody lost. Not bad, not bad at all."

He picked up a small piece of charcoal ash, rolled it into a tiny firecracker between his fingertips, and flicked it gently into the fire.

A crackling sound.

Like a confrontation meticulously planned and improvised by the actors, it has finally come to an end.

……

The corridors of Windsor Castle are spacious and long, with high-pitched vaulted ceilings and gilded and silvered walls that gleam in the sunlight.

Arthur stepped onto the edge of the carpet, a long, narrow red carpet that led to the west wing of the main building, outside of which was the courtyard where he and the Duchess of Kent had just taken a walk.

His steps were not as fast as usual, but slow, as if he was deliberately adjusting his breathing rhythm, as he moved forward.

As he walked, he repeatedly replayed the scene in his mind.

He admitted that there were indeed many areas for improvement in today's play, and that Victoria's emotions were more turbulent and stubborn than he had expected. However, given that this was his first time acting in such a traditional court drama, facing this young but emotionally complex new monarch, Arthur was still willing to give himself an A+ rating for his performance.

In fact, from the audience's perspective, those imperfections and unexpected elements might actually elevate the expressiveness of this lyrical drama.

The queen was crying, and the wronged little girl was crying, yet she cried with such dignity, with such defiance, that even the way she wiped away her tears seemed like she was gritting her teeth at fate.

And what about him?
Sir Arthur Hastings, standing in that opulent, almost suffocating inner room, plays the role of that silent but reliable old man.

Mature, steady, loyal, non-competitive, non-aggressive, and non-arguing, he made no attempt to comfort or readily admit his mistakes.

He didn't want to win today, nor did he intend to persuade her to forgive him immediately, nor did he want to take advantage of the tears to "reclaim" the position he had worked so hard to build in Victoria's heart.

Even at this moment, she closes the door and shuts him out completely.

Even if she still harbors resentment, wariness, suspicion, and confuses him with her mother tomorrow...

In the long run, however, establishing Sir Arthur Hastings as a kind, honest, and courteous gentleman in Victoria's mind is far more important than her current petty resentment.

After all, it's unlikely that he'll be removed from his position as Secretary General of the Police Commissioner's Committee in the short term.

Moreover, considering that Fleet Street might launch a full-scale offensive against a certain gentleman who resides at Buckingham Palace, it is perfectly safe and appropriate to maintain a proper distance from Victoria at this time.

As Arthur rounded a corner, he saw a gentleman in a dark brown morning suit with silver hair walking slowly towards him, followed by a young attendant carrying a briefcase.

The man looked up and saw Arthur, then slightly raised his hand and gave a mild smile: "Sir Arthur."

Arthur stopped and bowed slightly to him: "Your Excellency, are you busy with the military review?"

Viscount Melbourne nodded and said, "I was just about to report to Her Majesty the Queen. Did you just come from her?"

At this point, he couldn't help but sigh: "As you know, Her Majesty the Queen has very high standards for these ceremonial matters."

Arthur nodded slightly and said, "Your Majesty has indeed been working very hard lately."

Viscount Melbourne smiled and then changed the subject: "Then I won't keep you on your way back, Sir Arthur. See you at the parade."

“I won’t keep you any longer.” Arthur stepped aside to make way for him: “See you at the parade.”

The two passed each other.

Arthur did not turn around and leave immediately, but stood still and watched the Viscount Melbourne's figure walk further and further away.

Arthur's lips twitched, and a very faint smile appeared in his eyes: "Good luck, Your Excellency the Prime Minister."

(End of this chapter)