shadow of britain

Chapter 909 Entangled in emotional debts, Arthur, you brought this on yourself.

The wall lamps in the backstage area of ​​Buckingham Palace are covered with milky white glass shades, and the light is as gentle as moonlight with its edges smoothed out.

The music coming from outside was in its second movement, with layers of brass and strings enveloping the entire Buckingham Palace like a curtain woven with golden threads.

Arthur leaned against the shadows on the right side of the stage, his gaze passing over the half-drawn curtain as he quietly watched the performance outside.

The stage was brightly lit, but the place where he was was dark and quiet.

The stark contrast of light and shadow made it seem as if Arthur were sitting in Scotland Yard's interrogation room, except that tonight, the one being interrogated was not a criminal, but art.

He was listening intently when suddenly someone whispered his name from behind him: "Arthur."

The voice was deep and gentle, sounding like dew falling into a deep pool, creating ripples.

Arthur's shoulders twitched slightly, and he slowly turned around.

The light shone obliquely on the person's face.

It was a face that he could never mistake, no matter how much time had passed.

Her gentle eyes and brows exuded the elegance of a traditional aristocratic lady; the curve of her chin was clean and soft, and even her breathing seemed very restrained.

The only difference between her and his memory was that she was thinner than she had been two months ago.

"Flora?"

Arthur whispered her name, his tone tinged with surprise and bewilderment.

"Am I disturbing you?" Flora's voice was very soft. She stood straight with her hands folded in front of her. Her dark blue velvet court dress shimmered with a faint silver light under the lamp, and even the lace on the cuffs was gently illuminated.

“No.” Arthur shook his head. “I just didn’t expect to see you here.”

Flora smiled slightly, her smile gentle but tinged with weariness: "I came with the Duchess tonight. She hasn't been feeling well lately, and Sir John couldn't come, so I'm here to accompany her."

She paused, then added softly, "And I heard that you'll be performing tonight... so I thought that if I came to Buckingham, I might be able to see you."

Her words were extremely calm, but the phrase "perhaps I will see you" sounded so jarring to Arthur.

Arthur dared not look her in the eye, and could only lower his head and apologize, saying, "It's been a while since I've come to Kensington Palace to chat with you."

“You don’t have to force yourself.” Flora shook her head gently, her smile still on her face. “Since the Queen ascended the throne, I’ve heard that you’ve had more and more official business in Whitehall… It’s really hard to hear your name anymore if you’re not in the palace.”

Arthur could hear the tremor in her voice, but he could only pretend not to notice. He smiled and replied, "Sometimes duty can indeed alienate people, but alienation does not mean forgetting."

Flora looked up at him.

For a moment, the light in her eyes seemed to burn, then quickly went out.

She lowered her head and said softly, "That's good, because... I still miss you."

There was a brief silence between the two.

Suddenly, the music outside changed dramatically, with brass instruments playing in unison, and applause erupted in the distance, shaking the curtains slightly.

They were both startled by the applause from the audience, and their silent world as a couple was once again shattered by the power of reality.

Arthur was silent for a moment before finally speaking: "Flora, is there anything else?"

He spoke these words very softly, but for some reason, to Flora's ears, they sounded like a door closing.

She paused for a moment, then forced a smile.

“Of course,” she replied softly, her voice gentle yet tinged with sadness. “I should go back to the Duchess; she needs someone to look after her.”

She curtsied politely and then turned away.

The light slanted across her hair, casting a soft glow.

She walked very slowly, as if afraid of making the slightest sound.

But when she reached the backstage entrance, her eyes finally filled with tears, almost overflowing.

however,
at this time,

She suddenly felt her wrist being gently grasped by a warm, broad, calloused hand.

The force wasn't strong, but it was enough to freeze her in place.

"Flora."

Arthur's voice came from behind him, lower and closer than before.

She didn't dare turn around, but she heard him whispering behind her.

"Can you stay here with me? As for the Duchess... I'll explain to her myself later."

He paused, his tone suddenly becoming hoarse and awkward: "I'm going on stage to perform in a little while. To be honest, I'm... a little nervous right now."

This sentence seemed to shatter all of Flora's psychological defenses.

The concert outside did not stop.

Through the half-drawn curtain, Miss Clara Novello's figure was faintly visible.

As the lights cascaded down like a waterfall, her singing voice began to rise.

That's an excerpt from "The Sleepwalker," titled "Ah! non credea mirarti" (Oh! All the flowers have withered).

The melody is as soft as a cicada's wing, like a sleepwalking girl sighing softly under the moonlight.

Potria novel Vigorore (Perhaps, my tears)

il pianto mio recarti (May you regain your life)

ma ravvivar l'amore (But let love be resurrected)

il pianto non può (Tears are powerless to help)

The song, word by word, fell like a gentle rain on the heart.

Flora slowly turned around and saw that in Arthur's dark eyes, there was no longer his usual composure and aloofness, only a fragile emotion torn apart by tension.

Ah! non credea mirarti (Ah! I never expected this)

sì presto estinto，o fiore (I will see you wither so early, oh flower)

passasti al par d'amore (You vanish like love)
che un giorno sol durò (It withered after only one day in full bloom)
Flora's tears could no longer be held back and gently slid down her eyelashes.

Arthur reached out and gently wiped away her tears.

“Please, Flora,” he whispered, his voice almost pleading, “Just let me be selfish this once.”

Flora stared at him, her lips trembling slightly, and her chest tightened as she listened to the poignant melody.

Tears welled up again, but she tried her best to hold them back.

Ah! non giunge uman pensiero (Ah! Human thoughts)

al contento ond'io son piena (I can't describe my happiness at this moment)
a quest'almaè sì serena (My soul is at peace)
ch'altri affanni non provò (No more worries to bother you)
Flora looked at Arthur's face, unable to say anything, only slowly nodding, her smile tinged with tears.

Ah! mi abbraccia, e sempre insieme (Ah, embrace me, let us be together forever)
in contenti e in pace ognor (May you live forever in happiness and peace)

Sposo amato, a te mi dona (My dearest love, I give myself to you)

fida in ciel la mano ognor (Before God, this hand will forever be faithful to you)

Clara Novello's singing had just ended, and her last sigh still lingered in the air.

The next moment, Flora reached out and tightly grasped the hand she had held countless times in her dreams.

She knew the song was about "a dream that has ended," but she wished she would never wake up.

It was a moment so tender it almost took your breath away.

Arthur and Flora stood side by side backstage, peering through the curtain at the light on stage.

They saw thunderous applause from the audience, yet all of this turned into a silent stillness between them.

Flora was still immersed in the lyrics; the voice still echoed in her heart.

She didn't speak, but simply took a small step closer to Arthur.

Arthur felt the warmth from her fingertips and heard his own heartbeat sync with the applause of the audience. The last time he heard it so clearly was during that life-or-death moment at the Tower of London.

Two outlines, one bright and one dark, almost overlapping.

“This music is so beautiful, it’s frighteningly beautiful,” Flora whispered. “Miss Novello sings it so well.”

“Yes,” Arthur replied, but seemed to be saying something else absentmindedly: “That’s nice.”

The Red Devil, who was leaning against the wall with his arms wrapped around himself, witnessed this scene and couldn't help but sneer, "You're entangled in love debts, Arthur. You brought this on yourself."

Arthur ignored her and instead squeezed her hand even tighter.

Through Flora's eyes, one can see the heavily indebted Mr. Brabham appear, singing an old-fashioned Italian ballad in his slightly aged voice.

The melody is melancholic and the emotions are poignant, like a hero looking back on his lost youth on the road to repaying his debts.

Arthur listened, slightly lost in thought.

Completely oblivious to Agares's sigh beside him: "Even he is paying the price, do you think you can escape?"

The sound of a violin began; it was Henri Braburov's Fantasy in D major.

The tone is clear and pure, carrying the sorrow of an elegy.

Flora looked up and said softly, "This is Queen Adelaide's favorite piece."

Arthur nodded, his gaze drifting into the distance: "Respect her, and respect all that has passed away."

As the last note of the violin faded away, the stage lights came on again, and Johann Strauss, the composer who had recently gained fame in Vienna, took to the stage to present his "Homage to Queen Victoria of England".

The Royal Orchestra played the first main melody, with brass and strings intertwining, the waltz rhythm light and dazzling, and even the air seemed to be filled with the luxurious atmosphere of perfume and gold dust.

It was a kind of gorgeous, almost illusory music that sounded like a gilded smile—both empty and lively.

The music surged in like golden waves.

The brass pipes gleamed in the air, and the violin strings vibrated slightly under the lamplight, like birds awakened by the dawn.

The melody of the music was both magnificent and soft, like a slowly flowing silk covering the dome of Buckingham Palace.

Looking through the gap in the curtain, the entire palace was illuminated.

The crystals hanging from the chandelier were lit by candlelight, refracting countless feathers of light that danced in the audience seats.

The light gradually crept onto Flora's face, coating her eyelashes, lips, and the whiteness of her neck with a soft glow.

She breathed softly, as if afraid of disturbing this dream.

"So beautiful," she whispered.

“Yes.” Arthur’s voice was also very soft, almost drowned out by the music: “It’s so beautiful…like a dream.”

Flora turned her head slightly to look at him.

Her eyes shimmered with a faint golden-brown light, and Arthur's face was reflected in her pupils.

The music grew increasingly lively, and the three-beat dance steps echoed on the floor.

Through the curtain, they could see the noblemen and ladies in the front row of the stage swaying and dancing lightly. Even the oldest and most discerning court ladies couldn't help but gently wave their fans to the melody.

This dance belongs to glory, to the empire, and to all those who are still dreaming at this moment.

Flora's fingertips twitched involuntarily, her lips parted slightly, and she gently rested her head on Arthur's shoulder with a tenderness that was almost too much to bear.

Their shadows were stretched long by the candlelight, intertwining on the wall.

The melody of the dance music swirled and rose, like a curtain woven with golden threads being rolled up little by little.

The brass pipes blared, the strings soared, and the dome on the ceiling seemed to be spinning.

At that moment, the whole world seemed to be dancing for them.

"Thank you."

"no need thank me?"

"Thank you for making me believe... that happiness may really exist."

There was a light in her eyes as she said this.

That wasn't candlelight, but the shimmering light of unshed tears.

Arthur lowered his head, his gaze falling on a strand of hair on her shoulder, gilded by the light. He didn't answer, but simply reached out and gently adjusted her shawl that had slipped down.

The music gradually slowed down.

The final melody seemed to transform into a golden butterfly, resting on the palace dome, fluttering its wings.

The crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause, the ladies rose with smiles, and the gentlemen removed their hats in greeting.

The applause came in waves.

Amidst that golden clamor, Flora's world was eerily quiet.

Her hand was still in Arthur's palm, gently enveloped by him.

She whispered, "I wish this music would never stop."

Arthur looked at the stage and answered softly, "It certainly won't stop."

"why?"

"Because Felix is ​​about to go on stage."

She smiled.

That smile was so gentle it was almost transparent.

At the height of the applause, the lights dimmed slightly.

But soon, the stage lights shone again as Mendelssohn appeared on stage.

Variations Solemnis No. 54

Flora blinked, seemingly startled by the brief darkness.

She looked up at Arthur, wanting to say something, but found him gazing at the stage, his expression as serene as a statue.

On the stage, Mendelssohn is walking towards the piano.

He bowed slightly, and his fingers fell.

The music started again.

That was the rational voice of Bach's successor. The first set of variations was like a clear spring on a rock, with a clear and crystalline tone. There was no virtuosity, no sentimentality, but rather a calm, restrained, and solemn tone, like that of a church.

Flora leaned quietly against Arthur's shoulder, almost holding her breath.

Arthur's eyes gradually dimmed.

He watched those fingers darting across the black and white keys, and in Mendelssohn's playing, he seemed to see himself—a person bound by reason and duty.

"Arthur."

Flora called to him softly.

Arthur turned his head and met those sparkling eyes.

She whispered, "This music reminds me of you."

"why?"

Flora smiled radiantly: "Because it is both gentle and inescapable."

Arthur paused for a moment, then replied in silence, "Perhaps."

Applause broke out from under the stage.

Mendelssohn rose to greet him, remaining polite and composed as ever.

Amid cheers from the audience, the next performer stepped forward—Frédéric Chopin.

A thin figure, a pale face.

Wearing a minimalist tailored tuxedo, she seemed to blend into the background.

He made no extra movements, simply sat down, and gently placed his fingers on the piano keys.

The nocturne begins.

The melody under the soft light is like a light rain.

Each note was so light it was almost shattering.
It's like a letter written to the deceased.

Flora rested her head on Arthur's shoulder, her breathing very shallow.

It's not just attachment, but a natural and blissful closeness after exhaustion.

Her natural scent mingled with a faint perfume.

It's like air brought from the distant York countryside.

Pure, and irreversible.

In that instant, all sounds seemed to fade away.
Only her heartbeat and her breath remained.

As the final section of the nocturne fades away, the Polonaise begins.

"Hero" in A-flat major.

The music suddenly shifted to a fiery intensity.

The piano marches forward like an army.

The rhythm is brisk, solemn, and full of pride.

Chopin's fingertips danced like sparks.
Every high note seemed to be a cry for national dignity.

The Polish battle flags fluttered amidst the musical notes; the piano was no longer just a musical instrument, but a bugle call to arms.

Flora, half-asleep, looked up in surprise. Her heart was shaken by the sudden rhythm, and her breath almost stopped.

She looked up and stared blankly at the stage.

She had never seen a battlefield.
But when "Hero" played, she seemed to see the Tower of London that night.

The flames of the riot, the dust kicked up by horses' hooves, and the screams coming from the air.

Arthur's uniform was soaked in blood as he lay on the stone steps, still clutching the police knife tightly in his hand.

Chopin's rhythm was just like the shouts of the crowd that night.

Breaking, rolling, heart-wrenching.

The piano's bass register exploded with a thunderous roar, like the sound of bullets whizzing by.

Flora saw the image of Arthur propping himself up in the firelight.
At that moment, he must have stood tall and straight, just like he does now, without backing down.

Her hands involuntarily gripped Arthur's sleeve tightly.

Arthur sensed it, but said nothing.

He simply let her hand rest in the crook of his arm.

Chopin on stage has finished his final cadenza.

He stood up and bowed.

The applause erupted, deafeningly loud.

However, that was not the end.

The stage lighting was adjusted again.

Talberg makes his appearance.

His expression was stern, his demeanor impeccable, and his almost religious elegance silenced the entire hall.

Moses Fantasy.

The opening piece features his famous "double-tone technique".

Two melodies run parallel, one rational and one emotional, one cold and one hot.

His hands danced across the piano keys, like a saint preaching the new gospel from the pulpit.

The air in Buckingham Palace seemed to freeze as his fingers glided across the piano keys.

It was an extreme restraint, a beauty bordering on cruelty.

The two tones are symmetrical like magnetic poles; as soon as one tone falls, the other immediately rises.

It's like a dialogue between heaven and hell, or a struggle between faith and desire.

The audience gasped in amazement.

Flora held her breath, her gaze drawn to Talberg's music.

She had never seen such power before.

The melody seemed to tangibly cleave the air; she could almost hear the roar of Moses parting the sea, and the human soul trembling between faith and desire.

Agares leaned against the wall, squinting, a mocking smile on his lips: "Listen, Arthur. Even Moses had to part the sea to cross it, yet you dare not even cross a small river."

Arthur's brow twitched slightly.

On stage, Talberg suddenly pushed the melody to its climax, with the two parts intertwining in the high register, bursting forth with a magnificent roar.

Flora's eyes were glistening with tears, and she almost forgot to breathe.

She felt that the music was burning in her heart.

That intensity and restraint, like Arthur's eyes, is seemingly ruthless, yet harbors an irresistible warmth deep within.

When the last chord fell silent, the entire venue was deathly quiet.

Only the crystal of the chandelier swayed gently, making a creaking sound.

Then, thunderous applause erupted.

The nobles all stood up, and Victoria couldn't help but nod slightly, smiling along with Leopold.

Talberg bowed, his expression remaining calm.

His exit was like a fleeting shadow.
Clean to the point of being cruel.

He wants to defeat Lister.

Right here, today.

Arthur turned his head and looked at Flora.

She was still lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about?"

“I was thinking…” Flora replied softly, “If God’s voice really is like that, how lonely people must be!”

Arthur's Adam's apple bobbed, but he didn't speak.

He simply reached out and gently placed his hand on the back of her fingers.

At that moment, the stage lights came on again.

Franz Liszt, the King of Pianos from Paris, makes his appearance.

A thunderous applause erupted.

He held his head high and smiled, as if the whole world should make way for him.

Liszt's eyes gleamed with pride and a predatory light; when he sat on the piano bench, even the surrounding air seemed to become dangerous.

"Memories of Don Juan" is sure to shine!

"He seems to be smiling?" Flora asked softly.

“Yes.” Arthur’s gaze was fixed on Lister, and his mind finally seemed to snap out of his dream. He was smiling too: “That is the smile of a victor in triumph.”

"What about you?"

Arthur straightened his back and let out a soft breath: "Some people go on stage for applause, some people go home for triumph. Tonight, I want both."

(End of this chapter)