shadow of britain

Chapter 894 What kind of identity and status do you have that you deserve to attend a meeting at the Carlton Club?
The British summer sun rarely manages to truly dispel London's dampness, but St. James's Street, the street leading to the heart of the elite, is always dry and clean.

After all, every carriage traveling from Buckingham Palace to Parliament has to go through this street, and the boots and wheels of upper-class gentlemen are most afraid of mud.

The Carlton Club was quiet as usual today. As the location of the Conservative Party's electoral commission, August is never the busiest time of year at Carlton.

Those gentlemen of the House of Lords were either on holiday back home or in Windsor.

The newly elected Conservative Party members, now in the House of Commons, finally had a chance to let loose after the election campaign ended.

The election campaign that lasted from the end of July to the beginning of August had really been tough on them; they were either writing campaign speeches day and night or putting on a morally exemplary act in front of voters. Fortunately, all of that is in the past now, and they can finally seize the opportunity to do some bad things.

Of course, the premise is that Fleet Street doesn't find out.

Therefore, leaving London became the only option for most people.

However, even though many people are not in London, and the Conservative Party, as the opposition party, does not have to assume any government responsibilities, this still does not prevent some Conservative Party bigwigs who regard their political future and the fate of the country as their goals from coming to the Carlton Club as usual.

The light streaming in through the high windows cast long shadows on the carved carpet in the reading room. Through the windows, one could see several elderly Conservative gentlemen scattered between the fireplace and the sherry cabinet. Some were reclining in armchairs reading newspapers, while others paced around the room with pipes in their mouths.

"So, even though we won back a lot of seats in this election, we still have to sit here in this room drinking cold wine?"

Lord Lindhurst put down The Times and gave Peale a mocking look.

Portrait of the First Baron Lindhurst, painted by British artist Felix Logue in 1836.

Pierre didn't respond; he simply stood by the window, silently listening to Party Secretary Francis Bonham's low report on the by-election accounts, while gently rubbing the chain of his pocket watch with his thumb.

Lord Lindhurst, seeing that Peel was ignoring him, added, "I bet Melbourne is drinking tea at Buckingham Palace right now, the kind the Queen pours herself."

This remark made several heads in the reading room start to move.

The Duke of Wellington lowered his monocle, folded the newspaper, and said, "That's enough, John. If you're unhappy about anything, don't drag Her Majesty the Queen into it."

Lord Lindhurst, hearing the Duke of Wellington speak, could only wave his hand and give up: "Very well, Your Excellency, but what do you think of this? Her Majesty seems to admire her Prime Minister, perhaps too much."

“Young, isolated, and newly enthroned, so immature.” The mild-mannered Earl of Aberdeen sensed the hostility in the Earl of Lindhurst’s words and quickly stepped in to smooth things over, saying, “She hasn’t yet learned how to be a proper monarch, but at least at the age of 18, she hasn’t performed particularly poorly.”

“Well said.” Lord Stanley, who had defected from the Whig Party over the Irish church issue, sat by the fireplace, taking a cigar from his silver case. “So you mean we should follow Melbourne’s example and choose a gentle, kind old man to go to the palace every day to tell her bedtime stories?”

Seeing that they seemed poised to launch a collective attack on the Queen, the Duke of Wellington stood up and said, “Enough is enough, gentlemen. Rather than worrying about what stories Her Majesty the Queen likes to hear, we should focus our energy on how to resolve the negative impact the Whig Party has had on the government.”

After speaking, the Duke subconsciously turned the conversation to his most trusted ally: "Don't you think so, Robert?"

When the Duke of Wellington called him, Peele had to interrupt the party secretary's report and instead reassure these influential figures within the Conservative Party: "Judging from the outcome of this election, our situation isn't too bad, at least much better than five years ago. Although the Whigs won 344 seats, considering that nearly sixty of those seats actually came from their allies—the reform radicals and the Irish O'Connells—they actually only have 284 seats firmly in their hands. On the other hand, we won 314 seats this time. In terms of the number of seats alone, we have already overtaken the Whigs. In other words, after this election, we have essentially secured that the Whigs will no longer be able to do whatever they want in the House of Commons."

Lord Lindhurst laughed and said, “I don’t think that’s the most gratifying thing. If we’re talking about the funniest thing about this election, it’s that Palmerston lost his seat at Cambridge University.”

Several elderly men who were engrossed in reading their newspapers couldn't help but shrink their heads further under the pages when they heard this.

It was obvious that everyone was secretly laughing.

In fact, in theory, nobles like Palmerston should not need to work themselves to death participating in elections.

After all, nobles should sit high in the upper house and issue orders.

However, Palmerston's noble title was Irish.

In terms of political rights, Irish nobles were far inferior to English nobles and nobles of the United Kingdom who were granted titles after 1801; not every Irish noble could obtain a seat in the House of Lords.

According to the Act of Anglo-Irish Union of 1801, Irish nobles were required to elect 28 representatives to the House of Lords. Although these representatives served lifetime terms, their seats were not hereditary. Whenever an Irish representative died, the Irish nobles would vote to elect a successor.

Of course, Irish nobles didn't need to complain about being treated differently, since Scottish nobles had fewer seats in the House of Lords than Irish nobles.

According to the Anglo-Soviet Union Act of 1707, whenever a new parliament was convened, the Scottish nobles were required to elect 16 representatives to the House of Lords. Furthermore, the Scottish noble representatives did not serve for life, but were rotated out at each general election.

Currently, Viscount Palmerston is neither a representative of the Irish nobility in the House of Lords nor has he lost his constituency in Cambridge in the general election. This has created a serious problem – he is neither qualified to sit in the House of Commons, nor has he the right to speak in the House of Lords, nor does he have any legitimate source of legitimacy to serve as a minister.

Within the framework of the British parliamentary political system, this means that although Viscount Palmerston remains the Foreign Secretary in the Melbourne cabinet, he can no longer speak, answer, or push for any bills in the House of Commons, not even to answer routine diplomatic questions.

In short, he became a mute minister.

“I think he’ll have to find a safe constituency for a by-election sooner or later.” Lord Stanley squinted and slowly lit his cigar. “If Melbourne can’t bear to part with him, then they’ll have to find him a docile pocket constituency, even a village in Cornwall would do.”

"You think he didn't want to?" Lord Lindhurst crossed his legs, a smug look on his face. "I heard he originally wanted to go to Southampton, but the Whig MP elected there made it clear to the voters that he would never accept being replaced. You're telling me, a foreign minister, a nobleman's son, has to humbly beg some small-time lawyer? Is that believable?"

Everyone burst into laughter upon hearing this.

However, Peel was not as optimistic as Lord Lindhurst. He said, "Gentlemen, don't be too quick to celebrate. I've called you all here today to discuss this matter. If nothing unexpected happens, Palmerston will most likely go to Hampshire for the by-election, which is the traditionally influential area of ​​the Palmerston family. Almost every year during the recess of Parliament, he hosts a banquet for the local gentry and goes hunting with them at the family estate. Moreover, I have received reliable information that the Whig Party has persuaded George Prafoy-Jervas, the Hampshire MP, to resign his seat. Based on the timeline, the by-election should be held in Hampshire at the end of August."

Lord Lindhurst was not surprised by this arrangement: "They acted quite quickly. What benefits did the Whigs offer Gervas that made him resign so readily?"

Peel paced back and forth, shaking his head. "Nobody knows the specifics of the benefits yet, but it's probably one of those things: two thousand pounds plus a recommendation for a local position. Or maybe it's just repaying a favor. After all, Gervas was elected as a Hampshire councilor unopposed in the 1820 election. That seat was originally entrusted to him by Palmerston, so returning it now is only fair."

Peel paused here: "So, gentlemen, does anyone have a suitable candidate in mind? I'm not talking about some kid who just goes on stage and recites a speech, but someone who can really stir things up in the Hampshire by-election. Although I don't think anyone can beat Palmerston in Hampshire, if we do manage to do so, then Melbourne will have to consider changing its Foreign Secretary."

The room fell silent immediately.

The Earl of Aberdeen stroked his chin, his eyes darting around, as if he had a few candidates in mind, but none of them were so certain that he could easily bring himself to say them.

Lord Stanley frowned, his mouth slightly agape, as if searching his mental address book. If you were to ask who in this room most wanted to see Palmerston and Melbourne make a fool of themselves, it would undoubtedly be him, the old Whig who had completely fallen out with the Whig Party.

Lord Lindhurst racked his brains for a moment, then shook his head regretfully and said, "It's too late, Pierre. If we had known Palmerston would lose his seat at Cambridge, we wouldn't have been in such a hurry to send Disraeli. No one is more suitable than that young man for the role of a spoiler."

Pierre didn't believe his nonsense.

Everyone knew that Disraeli was one of Lindhurst's closest confidants; that Jewish lad had once been his private secretary, and it was rumored that both of them had had illicit relationships with Mrs. Sykes, through whom they had gotten their hands on each other. Why would Lindhurst send such a trusted confidant to a hopeless constituency, just to annoy Palmerston?

Peel considered himself one of the most selfless politicians in Britain, but if he had a similar confidant, such as Arthur, who finally came to his senses and was willing to join the Conservative Party, Peel asked himself honestly, he would absolutely not be willing to send him to a constituency with no chance of survival.

Because that would not only create a rift between the two parties, but would also waste several years of his time doing practical work.

In Peale's view, truly talented people shouldn't focus their energy on figuring out how to garner votes.

However, seeing how Lord Lindhurst, the former Lord Chancellor, treated Disraeli with such care and regarded him as his prized student, Peel couldn't help but find it amusing.

After all, from a certain perspective, Disraeli's friend Arthur was also a protégé of another former Lord Brougham.

What's even more ridiculous is that Lindhurst and Brougham were extremely incompatible.

In the divorce case between King George IV and Queen Caroline, Brougham appeared in court as the Queen's defense lawyer, while Lindhurst, then Deputy Attorney General of the United Kingdom, represented the King as his defense lawyer.

Both men gained fame and fortune through this case, laying the foundation for their future appointments as Supreme Court Justices. However, the case also created a rift between them.

These two men have been at odds for nearly two decades on a number of issues, including the abolition of slavery, electoral systems, and court reform.

Even after they entered the House of Lords, their aristocratic status did not improve their manners much. Scenes of the two engaging in heated debates and refusing to listen to each other became almost commonplace.

In particular, during the Parliamentary Reform of 1832, Brougham delivered a passionate speech in the House of Lords, defending the necessity and legitimacy of the reform. Lindhurst, who was equally adept at legal agendas, adopted a strategy of technical opposition in the House of Lords, using methods such as vetoing bills and delaying speeches to prevent the passage of the Reform Act.

Brougham loved to slam his fist on the table, and Lindhurst imitated him by doing the same.

Lindhurst liked to push his glasses up on his nose, and Brougham imitated him by doing so to mock him.

Brougham often privately called Lindhurst "a snake in a judge's robe, a dog of Downing Street," while Lindhurst mocked Brougham at parties, saying that "even without the judge's robe, he still looks like a clown on stage."

In short, how should I put it...

Their relationship is quite complicated.

After Brougham lost power in the Whig Party and stepped down as Supreme Court Justice, many of his political enemies took the opportunity to leak information in newspapers, implying that Brougham had abused his power and interfered with judicial fairness. At the time, everyone thought Lindhurst might take the opportunity to kick his old rival while he was down.

To everyone's surprise, when Lindhurst saw someone attacking Broham in the House of Lords on this issue, he coldly defended Broham, saying, "These arguments are unfounded, and the House of Lords should not make baseless accusations."

However, Brougham seemed unimpressed by his old rival's defense.

He was so angry he jumped up and down, saying that Lindhurst was hypocritical and cunning, and that he was secretly manipulating everything while pretending to be a good person.

Of course, whether Lindhurst was behind the attacks on Brougham is something that probably no one except the parties involved knows for sure.

But if Lindhurst is genuinely speaking well of Brougham, it's hard not to wonder whether this is a case of old rivals appreciating each other, or whether his private secretary, Disraeli, has been whispering in Lindhurst's ear because of his friend Arthur.

Thinking of this, Pierre suddenly looked up and asked, "Speaking of which... John, about what I asked you to pass on a few days ago... has there been any reply from Disraeli?"

Lindhurst was flicking cigar ash with his fingertips when he heard Pierre's question. He raised an eyebrow, as if he had expected him to ask that question.

“I gave him my instructions, but he hasn’t replied yet. Last week, the boy suddenly went off to Oxfordshire in a mysterious manner, saying he was going to attend a Christ Charity dinner hosted by Sir Francis Sykes. He might not be back for another two days.”

Upon hearing this, Pierre frowned slightly: "So, he hasn't visited Arthur yet?"

Lindhurst shrugged. "All I can say is that he promised to sound him out, but how he plans to do it depends on what his sometimes brilliant, sometimes fuming brain comes up with..."

Before he could finish speaking, the door to the Carlton Club was pushed open with a loud bang.

A young figure strode in, half-jumping with excitement, followed by the sound of riding boots hitting the floor from the corridor, approaching rapidly like the beat of a drum.

The servants at the door were about to stop him when they were intimidated by his excited and confident face.

As Disraeli took off his gloves, he called out, "Guess who's back?"

Before he could finish speaking, the heavy doors to the Carlton Club's reading room slammed open with a thud: "I just got back from Bromley, and I almost got kicked in the chin by the Mail Horse, but..."

Before Disraeli could finish speaking, he sensed something was off about the atmosphere in the reading room.

The playful and excited smile hadn't even spread across his face before it froze completely in the next instant.

His gaze swept past the sherry cabinet by the door, over the carpet and the fireplace, and finally settled on those faces that were so familiar, yet rarely appeared together in the same room.

The Duke of Wellington, Sir Peel, Lord Stanley, Earl of Aberdeen, Lord Lindhurst, Earl of Ellenborough, Your Excellency Henry Goulburn…

Two former prime ministers, a former postmaster general, a former foreign secretary and colonial secretary, a former chief justice, a former chairman of the Indian Affairs Council, a former finance minister and home minister...

The least capable person here is probably Francis Bonham, the party secretary and head of the election commission, but even such a guy can decide how much money to allocate to Disraeli in the next election.

The air in the room seemed to have been sucked out instantly.

Disraeli could almost hear himself swallowing.

He had clearly prepared an exaggerated opening speech, a humorous metaphor, and even a rhyming joke that might come in handy, but at this moment, all these brilliant ideas flew out of his head like crows.

Disraeli finally realized what kind of place he had stumbled into, like a street vendor who had accidentally wandered into a royal palace. He froze for a moment, trying to move to the left towards the wine cabinet, as if standing next to the wine cabinet would make him, the former Parliamentary Vice-Minister of Foreign Affairs, seem less out of place.

“Uh… Your Excellencies… I’m not…” Disraeli lifted his hat and stammered a slight bow to the crowd: “I… I’m here to see Lord Lindhurst.”

Lindhurst looked at him and suddenly grinned: "Weren't you too busy to reply to my messages? How come you sent someone before the message arrived?"

“I… originally intended to write a letter.” Disraeli gave a guilty smile. “But I thought that since I already know Arthur’s attitude, I should report back sooner rather than later, so as to save you all the trouble….”

(End of this chapter)