shadow of britain

Chapter 896 Human hearts are made of flesh and blood, but some people aren't.
In Windsor in August, the sweltering heat gradually subsides, but the air still carries a hint of humidity.

As is customary, Victoria, who had just finished breakfast, should have rested for a while before going to her study to work.

But an urgent letter from Canada disrupted her plans for the day.

She sat upright at her desk, listening intently to the Viscount of Melbourne's report, the small quill pen twirling gently in her hand, as if ready to jot something down at any moment.

"Although the Earl of D'Arlamo has officially assumed the post of Governor General of Lower Canada, it is not difficult to see from his letter this morning that the situation in Canada has not improved. The majority in the Lower Canada Parliament continues to launch scathing attacks on the government, demanding regional autonomy and a responsible government. Louis-Joseph Papino, leader of the Lower Canada opposition Patriots Party, has frequently convened rallies, calling on people to boycott all British goods imported into Lower Canada. His inflammatory rhetoric has even influenced some farmers, causing them to refuse to pay taxes..."

Viscount Melbourne paused here, looked up at Victoria, and patiently explained, “Your Majesty, this Papino is the so-called leader of the people of Lower Canada. His followers are mostly French Canadians. The main issue for them is that Lower Canada was originally a French colony until General Wolf conquered Quebec in 1760, after which it became part of Britain.”

Victoria nodded slightly and jotted down this note: "In 1760, General Wolfe..."

However, she suddenly stopped writing when she was only halfway through.

The young queen couldn't help but recall something; she remembered that this wasn't the first time she'd heard someone talk to her about Canadian history, except...

The Viscount of Melbourne, oblivious to the Queen's distraction, was still preoccupied with the Canadian letter that had arrived that morning: "If the Earl of Daramo's observations are true, the culture of French Canadians has remained virtually unchanged for the past 200 years. They are a people with neither literature nor history, completely devoid of the progress achieved by British culture. Therefore, they are forced to rely on French literature and art, and given the tensions between Britain and France, it's not hard to understand their hostility towards us. Moreover, the conflict in Lower Canada is indeed far more intense than the resistance in Upper Canada. There have been recent rumors in Montreal and along the St. Lawrence River that peasant militias might gather after the harvest, and if left unchecked, this could inevitably escalate into an uprising and riots..."

“Your Majesty, we…” Viscount Melbourne said, but then suddenly noticed that the Queen’s gaze was not on him or on the notebook, but rather hovered between the window frames, as if her thoughts had been drawn away by something.

He paused slightly, placing the letter on the table: "Your Majesty, you seem to be thinking about something else. Was my report too dry?"

Victoria immediately snapped back to reality, a barely perceptible hint of panic flashing across her face.

To cover her momentary lapse in concentration, she leaned down and tapped the paper with the tip of her pen: "No, I was just... momentarily lost in thought... Please continue, what else did Count Dalamore say?"

Viscount Melbourne cleared his throat, picked up the letter again, and read aloud: "In Canada, the French people complain of the arrogance and injustice of the English, while the English accuse the French of possessing the inherent weaknesses of a weak and conquered people, accusing them of being despicable and treacherous. This utter distrust between the two groups has led them to habitually assume the other's intentions with the utmost malice, judging every word, action, and motive with prejudice, imposing the most abhorrent schemes upon others, and regarding any well-intentioned or just proposal as a hidden plot of betrayal and malice..."

Victoria pondered for a moment upon hearing this, and then asked, "I want to know Earl Daramore's request. Don't you always tell me that in a constitutional monarchy, it is important to listen to the advice of experienced ministers?"

Viscount Melbourne nodded slightly upon hearing this: "He believes that given the progressiveness shown by the United States, the neighboring country of the Canadian colonies, reform of the colonial government is imperative, and he suggests that Parliament should grant more power to the colonists by helping Canada establish a responsible government. He even wants to go further and merge Upper Canada and Lower Canada into a unified Canadian overseas province governed by a single legislature."

Upon hearing this, Victoria couldn't help but frown and said, "These demands... Lord Russell and the others probably won't agree to them, after all, the Ministry of the Interior and the Ministry of Colonial Affairs already agreed to reform the land system and to consider establishing the Executive Council for Canadian Reform when responding to the Canadians' petition..."

Viscount Melbourne looked troubled upon hearing this and said, "Your thinking is correct. I discussed this matter with Russell via telegram this morning and scheduled a cabinet meeting for tomorrow morning to discuss it. However, based on the current feedback, it seems highly likely that the cabinet will reject Earl Daramore's suggestion. But if we reject his suggestion, then what about Daramore..."

"What happened to Count Daramo?"

Melbourne shook his head, rubbing his forehead, and placed Dalamo's letter on Victoria's desk: "Your Majesty, you should read it yourself."

Victoria brought the letter to her eyes.

She glanced at a few lines of text; it was initially the kind of rigid colonial report, full of data on taxes, gatherings, and security.

But as she turned to the second page, a line of abrupt words suddenly caught Victoria's eye.

—If my suggestion is rejected by the Cabinet again, then I will have no choice but to resign as Governor General of Lower Canada.

Victoria looked up at Viscount Melbourne, a hint of surprise in her eyes, followed by anger: "Is he...is he threatening to resign?"

Viscount Melbourne sighed. “Daramo has always been like that, Your Majesty. You are well aware of his rebellious nature. He always remembers that he is the standard-bearer of parliamentary reform, but often forgets his role as governor of the colony. I know what he thinks: if he cannot uphold the principles of responsible government, he is tantamount to colluding with the diehards.”

Victoria couldn't help but get angry when she heard this, and said, "I didn't mean to disrespect Earl Daramo, but if every governor threatened to resign like him when he encountered something unpleasant, wouldn't the foundation of the country's rule be shaken to its core?"

Upon hearing Victoria's outburst at the Earl of Daramore, the Viscount of Melbourne spoke up in his defense: "In a sense, without him, the Parliamentary Reforms of 1832 might not have succeeded, so his contribution cannot be erased. But correspondingly, we have also seen the consequences of such radical reforms. Have you forgotten? Perhaps Sir Arthur Hastings did not speak to you of his past, but as a former Home Secretary, I clearly remember that this finest police officer in Great Britain almost perished in this wave."

Victoria was already displeased by Dalamo's words, "Resign if you disagree," but when Viscount Melbourne mentioned the name "Arthur Hastings," her heart skipped a beat.

She remembered the letter Arthur had sent her from Paris, in which the venerable teacher had said that his chest, his heart, seemed to be aching again these past few days.

For a moment, Victoria felt a little ashamed.

Even when he was unwell and even when he was having a disagreement with his friend, this national hero still remembered the Buckingham Palace concert.

He didn't send someone or ask someone to help him; he went to Paris himself.

This was merely to leverage his connections in the arts and culture world to find her a few pianists capable of carrying the concert.

Poor Sir Arthur Hastings, he always seems to play this tragic role.

He could have hidden in Scotland Yard like an ostrich on the day of parliamentary reform, but instead he went to the Tower of London and took a bullet for everyone.

He could have easily rested and recuperated in Paris, but he still personally contacted those eccentric artists.

He could have simply written a letter of recommendation, but he still personally took care of everything for her.

For her concert, he was willing to set aside his dignity and bow and scrape to those arrogant pianists.

Even though this old packhorse suffered a loss, it kept it to itself.

At most, in that letter from Paris, he casually wrote, "My chest hurts a little more."

How could there be such a stupid person in the world?

Victoria's gaze lingered on the letter, but her mind was no longer on those few lines of text.

Her thoughts had already drifted back to that rainy night, the final volume of the recently released "The Murders of Hastings," the chaotic crowds beneath the Tower of London, the roars of soldiers, the echoes of falling stones, the sudden muffled thud of a gunshot, and the great detective Mr. Hastings lying among the rubble.

The death of the great detective Hastings still weighs heavily on her heart.

Not long ago, she, like many readers, was dissatisfied with why Mr. Arthur Sigmar had given the great detective Hastings such an ending, and even considered writing to The Englishman magazine to ask them to revise the ending, just like other readers.

However, she was having so much fun at the recent Windsor Ball that she forgot about writing a protest letter.

Time and play can indeed fade those memories, but today they have been quietly awakened again.

However, Victoria no longer wants to write a letter of protest. She is still saddened by the death of the great detective Hastings, but she also admits that it was the best ending.

“Your Majesty?” Viscount Melbourne softened his voice when she didn’t respond. “If you’re upset about Daramo’s resignation, there’s no need to get too worked up. Daramo is indeed arrogant, but he never deliberately makes things difficult for anyone. It’s just that sometimes… he’s too stubborn.”

Victoria snapped out of her reverie, looking somewhat sullen and tired. "I understand. It's not about who's right or wrong, but I am indeed quite tired today." She closed the letter and added, "You may leave now. I will hear your opinions after the cabinet meeting tomorrow, and then I will give my final decision."

Viscount Melbourne glanced at her, seemingly wanting to say something, but in the end he simply bowed slightly and put away the documents on the table: "As you wish, Your Majesty."

The study door slowly closed.

After the Viscount of Melbourne left, the room returned to silence.

But this tranquility could not soothe the restlessness in Victoria's heart.

She sat in the chair for a long time, the paper in front of her completely blank.

But what worried her wasn't the phrase "what if my suggestion is rejected again...", but rather "my chest hurts a little more."

Victoria suddenly stood up and paced around the room, aimlessly walking from the desk to the fireplace, and then from the fireplace to the window.

The air felt stifling, like a thick curtain covering her face. Even with the wind blowing across the lawn outside the window, she still felt like she couldn't breathe.

She didn't like this feeling of being lost and disoriented.

This isn't like her; she's the queen.

But she knew that the source of that discomfort was the absence of Sir Arthur Hastings.

She hadn't seen him for almost a month. The last time they met was at the Trooping the Colour ceremony in Windsor, where they parted on bad terms because of the Duchess of Kent.

Where did he go?

Did you only go to Paris?
If you only went to Paris, why haven't you come back yet?
She didn't want to ask Arthur directly, because that would make her seem like she cared about him a lot.

But even without asking Arthur, she still needed to know exactly where he was.

Victoria picked up the brass bell on the desk and shook it a few times.

A few seconds later, footsteps sounded outside the door, and a familiar figure appeared in the doorway—it was Mrs. Lezen.

"Your Majesty?" Lyzen looked bewildered, as she was rarely summoned at this time. "What are your orders?"

“Lezen.” Victoria hurried to greet him. “How are the arrangements for the concert at Buckingham Palace going?”

Leizen paused for a moment, then replied, “Your Majesty, the Duchess of Sutherland sent the seating chart last night, and the arrangements are proceeding as planned. The lamps, carpets, and flowers have all been ordered. As for the court orchestra's rehearsal, it is scheduled for this weekend. Would you like to be there to oversee it?”

“Hmm.” Victoria nodded, her tone casual as if asking a question at random: “And Sir Arthur? How’s the search for a pianist in Paris going?”

Lezen paused slightly, his eyes flickered, and then he smiled and replied, "It went smoothly, Your Majesty. Sir Arthur has good relations with the cultural elites of Paris. Several pianists, including Thalberg, Chopin, and Liszt, have already agreed to perform in London."

"Oh?" Victoria looked up, feigning nonchalance as she asked, "How do you know they all agreed? Has Sir Arthur returned to London?"

"The day before yesterday, Your Majesty. Sir Arthur returned the day before yesterday."

"The day before yesterday?" Victoria's eyes lit up suddenly. She couldn't help but take two steps forward, her voice filled with undisguised joy: "You mean he came back the day before yesterday? Really?"

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lyzen nodded with a smile. “Sir Arthur sent a telegram to Windsor Castle last night to inform me of the good news that several pianists would be participating. But it was too late then, so I didn’t bother you.”

A long-lost smile instantly appeared on Victoria's face, but this joy only lasted for a few seconds before her smile froze, replaced by disappointment and confusion: "Since he has already returned to London, then... then why didn't he come to Windsor?"

Leizen opened his mouth, looking somewhat embarrassed.

Victoria noticed Lezen's expression and asked repeatedly, "What's wrong? Has something gone wrong? Has one of those arrogant French musicians changed his mind?"

“No, that’s not how it is.” Lezen shook his head repeatedly. “Nothing went wrong, and no one went back on their word. Sir Arthur said that the negotiations with the pianists were unexpectedly successful, and it was almost the easiest job he’d done in the last ten years.”

“If that’s the case…” Victoria’s brows furrowed more and more, and her tone unconsciously rose: “Then why hasn’t he come yet? Why didn’t he come to Windsor himself to tell me? Is he afraid I’ll get angry at him, and that he thinks I’m still holding onto those things from before?”

Upon hearing this, Leizen couldn't help but lower his head, his hands tightly clasped together, as if he was considering whether or not to speak.

“Lezen!” Victoria could no longer contain herself. She snapped, “Don’t hide it from me. If he really doesn’t want to come, then tell him for me that he should never come to Windsor again!”

“No, Your Majesty, you have misunderstood!” Lyzen hurriedly explained upon hearing this, “Sir Arthur said in yesterday’s telegram that the matter had been settled and that he would come to Windsor in person today to report to you in person.”

Upon hearing this, Victoria's anger immediately subsided, and a warm feeling welled up in her heart, bringing a smile to her face.

But before she could speak, Leizen's words struck her hard in the chest.

"But...this morning, on his way to Windsor, Sir Arthur suddenly, suddenly..."

“Suddenly what?” Victoria’s heart clenched.

Lady Leather's voice trembled: "This morning, Sir Arthur collapsed on his way to Windsor... near Piccadilly Square."

"Ugh...he fainted?" Victoria felt dizzy and slumped back in her chair. "Where...where is he now? Has anyone taken him to the hospital? Is he conscious?"

"Fortunately, Sir Arthur was in the carriage with some of his friends at the time," Lyzen quickly replied. "They immediately took Sir Arthur to the free general hospital at the University of London. According to their telegram, the doctor examined Sir Arthur and made a preliminary diagnosis that his old heart condition had relapsed. Combined with the fatigue of the journey and perhaps not having rested properly, this led to his fainting spell."

Victoria's eyes began to redden. She didn't cry, and no tears fell, but her face was terribly pale. She murmured, "My chest hurts a little more... I thought he was just joking..."

Victoria looked up at Leizen: "Did the doctor say...did he say when he can be discharged?"

“It’s not certain yet, Your Majesty,” Lyzen replied cautiously. “The doctor advised him to stay in the hospital for at least three days to see if he will experience arrhythmia or angina again.”

Victoria nodded, but her eyes looked somewhat vacant: "No... I have to go back to London... at least I have to... I have to see him..."

"Your...Your Majesty?" Lady Lezen asked hesitantly, "Should we prepare the carriage now?"

"Prepare the carriage! Now, immediately!" Victoria shook the bell anxiously. "Just the lightest carriage, no need for a caravan or entourage. I need to go to London to see him right away."

(End of this chapter)