Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

"Mrs. Eleanor has fallen from a building!"

This will be the first wrong conclusion they draw.

In the dark alley, Eleanor heard hurried and chaotic footsteps rushing in from the direction of the salon's side door.

She closed her eyes, relaxed her limbs, and tilted her head to one side, assuming a completely detached and strange posture.

She also controlled her breathing. She had received professional training, and even soldiers on the battlefield could not tell the rise and fall of her chest with the naked eye.

The ice was still in my mouth, and the temperature in my oral cavity was so low that I couldn't exhale any white mist.

As expected, the officials in the hall only glanced down before turning and heading towards the side door.

And so, the most cunning and difficult person in the room left, and the remaining young masters and ladies did not dare to go forward and find out what was going on.

Then it was Millie's turn to appear. She knelt beside Eleanor, thinking about all the saddest things in her life, and cried uncontrollably, but her eyes were clear.

Richard hadn't expected a private doctor, but that didn't stump him.

The man ran out from the crowd, stood next to Eleanor, and professionally took her wrist.

The pulse had stopped.

He didn't move his fingers to Eleanor's neck, but simply felt the temperature of her neck.

Because professional doctors understand that improper pressure on the carotid artery could affect blood supply to the brain, and with so many people around, he was unwilling to further desecrate Mrs. Eleanor's body.

He then announced the final result.

"Mrs. Eleanor has passed away."

But no one knew that Eleanor was carrying a wine cork under his arm.

It pressed on her brachial artery, blocking blood flow and causing her wrist pulse to stop.

Her neck had been wiped with alcohol beforehand and exposed to the cold winter night wind. The temperature dropped quickly, though not as cold as a dead person's, it was almost indistinguishable from a body that had just died.

The police officers who rushed to the scene were arranged in advance by Inspector Logan. They would not take Eleanor to Scotland Yard, but would instead lift her into a carriage waiting at the alley entrance and take her to a secluded corner.

Next, she would change out of the blood-stained dress, put on an inconspicuous old coat, and board the night train to Southampton.

From there, you can transfer to a ferry, cross the English Channel, and head to the European continent.

Richard snapped out of his daze and realized that Eleanor would never return; she and Millie had vanished from England forever.

The secret room in that clothing store had long been demolished by Eleanor herself; it would be repainted by the new residents and turned into a bakery or another clothing store.

Those influenced by her intelligence will never know her true identity.

As for the Prussian spies still lurking in Britain, they might initially be fooled by Richard's little trick, but once they realize that the matter has neither been reported nor announced, they will soon realize that they have been played.

However, in the 19th century, even if a spy knew that his colleague had faked his death, the risk of tracking him down was extremely high. There was no need for them to risk exposing the entire spy network to track down a spy who had already retired.

Furthermore, given that Prussia was indeed short of funds for its operations in Britain, there was even less reason to delve deeper into the matter.

But they won't let the person who orchestrated this get away with it, namely Richard.

He had thought all these things through, but right now there were more pressing matters than being hunted down by a group of leaderless spies.

Gladstone had secretly informed Richard that Queen Victoria would "happen" to pass by Richard's laboratory in a few days, and the most urgent task was to prove his worth to Her Majesty.

He took a deep breath, straightened up, and rallied his spirits.

A few days later, a series of hoofbeats came from outside the shipyard, and a troop of royal cavalry in scarlet uniforms emerged from the fog.

They rode identical black horses, lined up on both sides, clearing the way for the carriage behind them.

The carriage was painted with patterns of pure gold and black lacquer, and gilded crowns stood at the four corners of the roof. Even the coachman was dressed in a luxurious dark blue tailcoat.

Although this display of power and prestige appears ostentatious, it is actually the lowest standard for the Queen's travels.

Reginald had arranged for his most trusted men to be in charge of security along the route a few days earlier, and he personally set up every checkpoint, so Richard was not worried about secrecy.

He had already given the factory workers a holiday in advance, leaving only the necessary guards and Professor Abel, and of course, Reginald himself.

The three men left the shipyard early and stood on both sides of the muddy road to wait.

Abel, on the far right, was particularly nervous. Although he was the chief chemist at the Royal Arsenal, he had never seen the Queen in person at such close range before. For a loyal servant of the royal family like himself, this was a great honor.

Then, the carriage slowly came to a stop.

A corner of the car window curtain was gently lifted by a hand wearing a black gauze glove, revealing a small patch of pale face.

A tall figure dismounted from his horse. He was robust, with a sword at his waist and eyes as sharp as a hunter's.

He was John Brown, a Scotsman, Queen Victoria's personal male servant and bodyguard.

John first met the Queen at Balmoral Castle. He was one of Prince Albert’s most trusted men, and even princesses like Louise would call him “Mom’s best friend.”

He walked to the carriage door and respectfully opened it.

Queen Victoria stepped out of the carriage.

She was still wearing a heavy black silk dress, with intricate sage patterns embroidered on the hem and cuffs, and a black cap that revealed a snow-white edge of fabric.

A long black veil fell from the brim of her hat, obscuring her face, and hung down to her waist, fluttering gently in the morning breeze.

She wore an obsidian pendant around her neck, with a miniature portrait of Prince Albert in the center.

When Reginald saw the Queen alight from her carriage, he raised his hand and waved to the guards hidden in the shadows, signaling them not to disturb the royal procession. They immediately dispersed silently.

He lowered his hand and led Richard and Abel forward.

Reginald stopped about three steps away from the Queen.

He removed his hat and paid homage to the Queen with the most standard royal guard etiquette.

"God bless you, Your Majesty."

Although Reginald was merely the illegitimate son of a nobleman, he had once been in charge of the royal family's security. Compared to the politicians in Whitehall who argued all day long and Gladstone who stood tall and righteous in front of her, Her Majesty had a kind of institutional trust in him.

The Queen nodded slightly, a tacit approval of her seasoned minister. Her voice came from behind the black veil: "You too. How is your father's health?"