Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

The corridor leading to the secret room was narrow and dark. Richard felt as if he were stuffed into an airtight box. He held onto the cold walls and moved down step by step.

Suddenly, his foot stepped on a stack of papers, making a rustling sound that was amplified several times in the enclosed space.

He reached out and touched the kerosene lamp on the table, next to which were matches. He struck one, lit the wick, turned up the flame, and orange light spilled from the lampshade, slowly filling the entire room.

Richard straightened up, held up the lamp, looked around, and then froze in place.

The four walls were covered with documents: hundreds of newspaper clippings, copies of letters, court records, and hand-drawn maps densely covered every inch of the wall, like a large web woven in a spider's nest.

He approached the nearest wall, which displayed the Prince of Wales's letters of infidelity. This was not a copy, but the original, written in hasty and hurried handwriting, filled with longing for "dear Mrs. Mordaunt," and containing many blush-inducing phrases.

Next to him were the Countess of Kadiche's divorce papers, with court records interspersed with the parties' handwritten testimonies. Further on were the names, addresses, and social schedules of several high-society ladies, some of whom Richard had seen in the newspapers, while others he had never heard of.

He looked through the documents one by one, his heart pounding faster and faster. This secret room was Eleanor's safe; she kept other people's secrets inside, waiting to use them in exchange when she needed them someday.

He turned around and walked to the wall on the right, where the contents were more densely packed, arranged in rows according to the date of the events.

From the death of Prince Albert in 1861, during which the Queen mourned for a long time and lived in almost complete seclusion at Balmoral Castle, to the detailed timeline of the 1867 Crackenwell bombing, from the bomb's making to its detonation, arrest, and trial, every step is marked with the date, location, and names of the participants.

Richard skimmed through the text, then suddenly stopped.

On the left wall, a section was deliberately left empty, outlined by a thin red line. Several pieces of paper were pasted inside the red line, the top one bearing the name: Richard Bryan.

He brought the lamp closer; the paper listed his basic information and a family tree, the Brian family's network of relationships, from his father to his mother to distant relatives, some of whom he didn't even know.

A layer of cold sweat broke out on his back.

Next to that family tree, there were several names connected by lines: Louise, Sean... and even Martini, the gunsmith who lived far away in Switzerland.

He straightened up and took a deep breath.

Richard was actually prepared; what else could a spy's secret room contain but intelligence? But he didn't expect Eleanor to focus so much on him.

He forced himself to look away from his own name and look elsewhere.

On the other wall hangs a more prestigious name: William Yurt Gladstone.

The Liberal Party leader, a frontrunner for prime minister in 1868, has no scandals or dirt on him, only his policy proposals, parliamentary voting records, and relationships with various interest groups.

Richard crouched down and looked at the bottom row, where there was a piece of paper that read "The 1868 Election - Gladstone's Path to Victory".

The list next to it includes several key constituencies, each labeled with the target voter groups to be won over, the local forces that can be influenced, and...

His eyes lingered on the last word.

"Richard Brian," he read aloud.

Just as Richard was about to get closer to take a look, a voice suddenly came from behind him.

"It is very impolite to enter a woman's private space without an invitation."

Richard turned around abruptly, nearly dropping the kerosene lamp he was holding.

Eleanor stood at the entrance to the hidden door, one hand on the doorframe, the other in her skirt pocket. She wore a dark gray evening gown, and a feather was pinned to her hat, as if she had just attended some noble tea party.

"You..." Richard steadied the light, his heart still pounding in his throat, "You think you're still a medium?"

"Who told you I'm a medium?" Eleanor raised an eyebrow, then smiled with relief. "Hans?"

Richard nodded.

"That fool can't tell the difference between necromancy and spiritualism," Eleanor said, not angry, but like a mentor, "Also, next time you show up uninvited, remember to close the door."

"Uh, I'm afraid if I lock myself in there, who knows when you'll come down again."

“And you’re too noisy,” Eleanor said, taking the kerosene lamp from his hand and hanging it on a hook on the ceiling. “You’re breathing so loudly I can hear you in the hallway.”

Richard stood still. Eleanor's profile was calm under the light, but her gaze would occasionally drift to the documents on the wall, as if checking which ones had been turned over.

"Aren't you angry?" Richard asked cautiously.

"What's the point of getting angry?" Eleanor looked at him, arms crossed. "You're already here, you've seen everything. What can my anger change?"

"Or," her eyes narrowed dangerously, revealing her neat, rounded nails, "should I leave you here?"

"what?"

Before Richard could react, Eleanor's hand was already poking him in the ribs, not with much force, just enough to tickle him.

"Stop messing around!" Richard took a few steps back to dodge her continued attack.

"How boring," Elinor shook her head. "So what did Hans tell you?"

Richard then briefly recounted the conversation that had taken place in the living room, about Hans asking him to arm the Irish in order to disrupt the British. As he spoke, he kept his eyes fixed on Eleanor's face, trying to gauge her reaction.

Eleanor rubbed her forehead and rolled her eyes.

"This idea is so much like his," she said. "Please tell me, you didn't agree."

"Of course not," Richard quickly explained, "He used you as leverage to threaten me, but I didn't back down."

Eleanor lowered her hand, looked at him, and a slight smile appeared on her lips.

"Now I'm a little disappointed again."

"What?"

“You were right not to accept his offer,” Eleanor said, walking to the wall. “Hans is an officer; he thinks espionage is all about coercion and bribery, pointing a gun at people’s heads. He always oversimplifies things.”

She turned around and looked at him.

"So, are you going to accept my suggestion, or just do nothing at all?"

Richard didn't rush to speak; he wanted to hear what Eleanor had to say first.

"Your plan is to support Gladstone?" Richard asked. "Sounds like any other voter."

Eleanor smiled, walked to the wall covered with Gladstone's information, and patted it.

"You're already in my head," she said. "See for yourself, I won't waste my breath."