shadow of britain

Chapter 875 Escape
The July sun beat down on London’s cobblestone streets and riverside warehouses, and the air was thick with the anticipation of the approaching height of summer.

The wooden piles of the dock were submerged in the receding river water, and the boardwalk was scorching hot. Through the gaps in the wooden planks, the salty, muddy smell of rotting wood and dead fish could be smelled everywhere.

Due to the death of William IV, Parliament closed earlier this year than in previous years.

According to the constitution, a new general election must be held within six months of the monarch's death.

So on July 17th last week, as is customary, Victoria appeared at Westminster Palace for the first time in royal robes, delivered her first parliamentary speech to all members of both houses of parliament, announced the adjournment of Parliament, signed the order to dissolve Parliament, and ordered a new general election to be held from late July to early August.

This is why the members of the House of Commons, having just finished a busy session, immediately threw themselves into a battle for the survival of their seats after the session ended.

However, the fact that the members of the House of Commons were in a great hurry did not prevent the gentlemen of the House of Lords, whose seats were inherited by their ancestors, from enjoying their holiday as scheduled.

As the last batch of Lords quietly left the city, London's social season, like a cherry pit that had been eaten, was carelessly tossed into the rapids of the Thames.

Names on social lists disappeared one by one, theaters closed, dinner parties ceased, and behind the high windows of the various clubs on St. James Street, only servants remained, clearing away candlesticks and tableware.

The dock was bustling, but not with the hawkers' cries or the porters' noise; rather, it was the hurried pace of wealthy people rushing off to vacation elsewhere.

The carriage rumbled along, its wheels leaving wet ruts as it rolled over puddles.

Tweed skirts, sheer hat brims, silver-plated binoculars, and tiny French poodles filled the docks, everyone heading to the season for the wealthy, to Norfolk, Bath, Brighton, Baden-Baden, Vienna, and Paris.

Some families hired two whole carriages to carry their luggage, one of which carried only hat boxes, clothing, and dog cages.

The housekeeper, wearing a soft cloth hat, gestured and directed the drivers and porters as they scrambled up and down loading and unloading luggage. Meanwhile, uniformed Thames police officers stopped vehicles for inspections and shouted warnings to travelers to be wary of criminal gangs operating around the docks. Vendors, pushing carts or carrying boxes, hawked refreshing drinks like lemonade and rice milk.

Amidst this chaotic yet orderly rhythm, the steamship flying the red flag was slowly approaching the shore, its hull gently swaying between the tide and the soot.

Several crew members in dark blue uniforms stood at the top of the gangway, tidying up the mooring lines on the deck while giving perfunctory responses to the shouts of passengers on the shore.

Most of the passengers on shore had binoculars and small handbags hanging from their waists, while some ladies simply handed their children to their servants and took out fans to scan the ship's position from a distance across the crowd.

At the edge of the crowd stood two unassuming gentlemen.

One of them was tall and slender, wearing a black top hat and a fitted double-breasted long coat. He was carrying a brown leather suitcase, and the toes of his shoes were lightly touching the mottled rusty iron nails on the boardwalk.

The other man was also quite tall, but his skin was darker than most Londoners. He was holding a hand-rolled cigarette and slowly exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. It was clear that he was very impatient with the noisy kids around him.

"Tsk!" Elder looked around: "Once summer comes, these people flee London like refugees. I thought we were early enough to leave, but we were still a step too late."

Arthur looked up at the red flag fluttering in the wind atop the ship: "You should be content. If it weren't for the elections in July and August, there would be twice as many people on the dock."

“That’s true.” Elder chuckled, flicked away his cigarette butt, and kicked the half-bald bastard dog in the rear. The dog whimpered and tucked its tail behind the pile of luggage. “Let’s go, get on the ship.”

Neither of them brought servants, nor did they have a long procession to see them off.

Arthur only brought his ever-present eagle-headed cane and a small brown leather trunk.

Elder was carrying a canvas travel bag with the Royal Navy insignia, a souvenir he had kept on HMS Beagle.

The clock on the distant dock tower had just struck 9:30 when the crew began urging passengers to board. The crowd surged forward, hatboxes, baskets, umbrella handles, scarves, and canes swirling in the air, occasionally punctuated by the barking of dogs and the screams of children.

Arthur stepped aside slightly to let a maid holding a baby pass: "I thought I would have to wait for you in London for a few more days before I could leave. Has the handover of the work at the Chart Survey Bureau been completed so quickly?"

Elder, carrying his travel bag, squeezed onto the gangway and said, "Actually, there's not much to hand over. The Hermes-class dhow at the Hermes shipyard is going to be launched in August and should have a few sea trials before the end of the year. They asked the bureau for some nautical charts in advance."

"Hermes-class?"

"That's right, the Hermes-class frigate. There's also one at Pembroke Shipyard that's expected to be launched in August, but there's a design problem with that ship. During previous tests, they found that it had too deep a draft, so they had to close the gun ports on the lower gun deck. A perfectly good 12-gun frigate can only be converted to a 6-gun one now."

Upon hearing this, Arthur couldn't help but raise an eyebrow: "A 12-gun ship has become a 6-gun ship? Didn't the Navy cause trouble for the ship designers? This is not like them."

"Trouble with the ship designers?" Elder scoffed. "Come on, who would dare to mess with Sir William Symonds? Turning a 12-gunship into a 6-gunship would only result in a loss of a few thousand pounds, and they wouldn't have to pay for it themselves. Nobody would be stupid enough to be the first to stick their neck out."

Upon hearing Elder's words, Arthur immediately understood what was going on.

Sir William Symonds was the Director of Naval Survey at the Admiralty. At the same time, he was an important assistant in the Admiralty reforms launched by Sir James Graham, the Whig First Lord of the Admiralty, in 1832. He was also a favorite of the late King William IV, who last year even granted him the title of Knight of the Lower Order of the Admiralty directly at St. James's Palace without prior notice to the Admiralty.

For this reason, although Symonds's job was to oversee the shipbuilding plans of the naval shipyards, this renowned yacht designer repeatedly overstepped his authority by interfering in ship design and forcibly demanding that the Royal Navy adopt his designs, using his position as Director of Naval Survey.

Admittedly, Symonds designed luxury yachts for many British nobles and even served as the designer for the Royal Yachts at one point. However, even though yachts and warships both float on the sea, they are fundamentally different types of vessels, and the cargo they carry is also quite different. Therefore, it's not particularly difficult to understand why Symonds' warships might have excessively deep drafts.

Moreover, in a sense, the excessive draft cannot be entirely blamed on him, since some ships were designed without any consideration that the Royal Navy would suddenly start promoting the construction of steam-powered hybrid ships.

When you stuff two 160-horsepower engines manufactured by Seward and four copper boilers for steam generation into a sailing warship out of thin air, how can it not have a deep draft?
However, regardless of the circumstances, this was still a design flaw. If the ship's designer hadn't been Sir William Symonds, he would certainly have faced severe consequences. After all, all new Royal Navy ships underwent acceptance testing and approval by him as the Director General of Naval Survey. If he approved them, the Royal Navy, despite its numerous complaints, had no choice but to accept them.

This incident also shows that the Admiralty is indeed much more lucrative than the police system. The cost of a single ship can easily start at 20,000 pounds, and a few orders placed by the Royal Navy with the shipyard can be equivalent to Scotland Yard's annual operating expenses.

With so much money piled up there, everyone who passed through the middleman's hands was making a killing.

Arthur reached out and patted Elder's bulging pockets: "Did Sir William Symonds say hello to you?"

"Say hello?" Elder stared at Arthur with an upright expression and said, "Arthur, the Navy Department is not a place where filth and corruption are hidden!"

Arthur almost burst out laughing: "Fine, then I'll assume you earned everything you did for your new house."

Elder snorted and slung his travel bag over his shoulder. "Don't tease me. That's true, but favors in the Navy aren't so easy to settle. If you help me today, I'll help you tomorrow. If I don't accept, Symonds will probably think I'm up to no good and planning to stab him in the back."

Arthur laughed heartily, "What are you saying, Elder? If I didn't know you had only recently received your commission, I would have thought you had been a bureaucrat in the Admiralty for twenty years."

“There’s nothing we can do,” Elder said calmly and without batting an eye. “Isn’t it just that the overall environment is bad?”

The two slowly climbed the gangway with the flow of people, the wooden planks under their feet creaking as the ship swayed.

Arthur looked up and saw several crew members urging the passengers to move to the side so that the coal miners could push a cart full of coal up the gangway.

They found their cabin with their tickets, put their things down, and headed straight to the ship's restaurant, where they ordered two cups of refreshing sweet tea.

"Speaking of which..." Elder took a sip of tea, glanced around mysteriously, and then said, "Have you heard? On the day the council adjourned..."

"Can't you just say what you want to say?" Arthur said, picking up his teacup. "You're acting like a French spy."

“You said it yourself! So I’ll get straight to the point.” Elder began, “After you returned from Windsor, did you say anything to Lord Brougham?”

"What did he say?" Arthur frowned. "The last time I saw him was before His Majesty the King passed away."

“That doesn’t make sense!” Elder was taken aback. “Then why did Lord Brougham choose the day Parliament closed, when he addressed the Duchess of Kent as ‘Queen Mother’ during his speech in the House of Lords?”

Upon hearing this, Arthur nearly spat out his tea onto Elder's face: "Are you kidding me?"

It's no wonder Arthur was so surprised, because the title of Queen Mother cannot be used casually in England. To obtain this title, one must first be the widow of the former king, and secondly, the mother of the new king or queen.

If it is merely the widow of a former king, such as the Queen of Adelaide, then only Queen Dowager can be used, not Queen Mother.

In cases like the Duchess of Kent, neither the Queen Mother nor the widowed Queen Mother can use the title; she can only be referred to as "the Queen's Mother," not "Queen Mother."

It's hard not to draw conclusions when a Lord Brougham, a House of Lords, addresses the Duchess of Kent as "Mrs." at this time, especially since his speech was delivered in front of Victoria, who was attending the closing ceremony of Parliament.

Before, Arthur didn't understand what Lord Brougham and Earl Daramore were thinking when he got into trouble.

But now, he finally understands.

Elder said sullenly, “I heard from others that after the closing ceremony, the Viscount Melbourne angrily confronted Lord Brougham and demanded that he apologize for using that inappropriate title to refer to Her Majesty the Queen’s mother.”

Although Arthur wasn't in the Upper House at the time, just thinking about the scene gave him goosebumps: "And... what happened next?"

"And then?" Elder rolled his eyes. "Does that even need to be said? You know our school's chairman of the board, how could Lord Brougham possibly tolerate him? He left in a carriage."

Elder muttered, "If you ask me, this is political suicide. He used to have a good relationship with the Duchess of Kent, and I guess he was unhappy with how the Queen has been treating her mother lately, so he chose this way to express his opinion indirectly. But he probably didn't expect Melbourne to take it so seriously."

“And…” At this point, Elder began to list the Prime Minister’s problems again: “I’m not saying this, but isn’t the Viscount Melbourne really taking himself too seriously? Where was he hiding when Parliament was reforming? Where was he when the Ramsgate affair happened? And now, he’s the Whig leader, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and the most loyal subject to Her Majesty the Queen.”

Arthur put down his teacup, but his gaze didn't follow the bottom of the cup to the tablecloth: "I can understand Lord Brougham's idea, but unfortunately, Viscount Melbourne also needs an opportunity to prove himself as Her Majesty's bodyguard, so of course he's going to keep pressing on."

Elder spat, "That kind of person is truly disgusting. Arthur, haven't you thought about going to Windsor and giving Her Majesty the Queen a proper report on him? What right does this old sleepyhead have?"

(End of this chapter)