Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Richard crouched down and continued reading from Richard Brian's line.

"The plight of Irish laborers at the Greenwood factory: Exposed through Richard Bryan's investigation. Bryan has established contact with people inside the factory and can obtain firsthand testimonies. The Pence will then cover the working class and incite Irish voters to vote for Gladstone."

Richard's fingers paused on the paper. He remembered that he had Eleanor check Greenwood and that list of workers. He thought she was helping him, but she was helping herself while also paving the way for this plan.

He continued reading.

The wall was covered with newspaper clippings about Gladstone, the earliest dating back two or three years. He glanced at the headlines: "Gladeston: Non-interference in continental Europe is the wise choice for Britain."

One long article was highlighted, and Richard leaned closer to look; it was an excerpt from Gladstone's speech in Parliament:

"If Britain becomes embroiled in the complex situation on the European continent, it will only worsen the domestic situation. Our energy should be focused on domestic reforms and colonial affairs, rather than becoming a pawn in the power struggles of European nations."

Richard straightened up; his knees were a little sore from squatting.

He looked at the wall and suddenly felt a little dazed. He had read about these things in his history textbooks, but now they were pasted on the wall by a Prussian spy and connected by red thread, like a giant chessboard, and he himself was one of the pieces.

"How's Mrs. Mordaunt doing?" Richard turned to look at Eleanor.

She leaned against the wall, hands on her hips, and her shoulders slumped helplessly when she heard the name.

"Why did you have to bring this up now?" Eleanor asked, her mood low.

"You used her letter of infidelity to threaten the Prince of Wales into keeping Britain neutral," Richard insisted. "Is that no longer effective?"

Eleanor walked from the bottom of the stairs to the table and leaned against the edge of it.

"I went to her place today," she said. "I held a small séance."

"A séance?"

"Using my mouth to speak to my dead relatives," Eleanor chuckled. "You think I went to see Countess Harriet for tea?"

Richard nodded matter-of-factly; in his mind, Eleanor was more of a socialite than a fortune teller.

"Mrs. Mordaunt hasn't been doing well lately," she continued. "She feels... she doesn't deserve to be a mother."

"So you only pretended to be a medium once?"

“I used some intelligence,” Eleanor sighed, “to convince her that even if the child wasn’t Sir Mordaunt’s, her loved ones in heaven would forgive her.”

Richard knew that this was the difference between Elinor and Hans; even when it came to completing the same task, she treated each target as a person, not an object.

"You're helping her too," he said.

"Perhaps, but this trick won't work many times." Eleanor's tone softened. "Threatening Prince Wells isn't a long-term solution; he'll turn on us eventually."

She looked down at her hands, which were folded over her knees.

"After the séance, Mrs. Mordaunt hugged me and cried, thanking me for giving her salvation, but I knew..." She looked up at Richard, "that guilt would eventually break her, she was on the verge of collapse, I could see that, so I needed some more practical solutions."

Richard was silent for a few seconds.

"You've said all this," he walked up to her, "are you trying to tell me you don't want to threaten people anymore?"

"No, maybe next time..." Eleanor grinned mischievously, "...how about an easier role?"

Richard didn't speak. He looked at the weariness hidden beneath her smile and suddenly realized that the things in this room were her lifeline, but had she ever truly been happy living off someone else's secrets?

“You want the Irish workers to testify against Greenwood,” Richard changed the subject, “but you and I both know that workers won’t testify against their bosses; they only care about food, clothing, and wages.”

"So I'm not looking for ordinary workers." Eleanor stretched out her hand and pointed to a row of words on the wall. "I'm looking for him."

Richard looked in the direction she was pointing.

Finba.

Richard's first meeting with the Irish foreman at the Greenwood factory, a leader among the workers, didn't go smoothly, but he knew the man was honest and reliable.

"Did you make your choice a long time ago, or was it a spur-of-the-moment decision?" Richard asked.

“Before you went to see him,” Eleanor said, “I knew he had worked at the Greenwood factory for over a decade, and he had more influence among the workers than the foremen, even though he had a lot of complaints about Greenwood and dozens of families behind him.”

"The more you say that, the less I feel he will come forward to testify."

"What if he has no other way out?" she said.

Richard paused, then asked, "What do you mean?"

"Finba has tuberculosis," Eleanor's calm words pronounced Finba's death sentence.

In this era, there were no antibiotics, no effective drugs, and the only way to recover was through rest, nutrition, and fresh air—precisely the three things an Irish worker lacked most.

He remembered seeing Finba in the tavern last time. Finba turned his head away and coughed. He didn't pay attention at the time, thinking it was from the coal smoke or that Finba was old. Both of these reasons were easier to accept than "tuberculosis".

"Does anyone else know?" Richard frowned.

"Then there's the doctor he saw," Eleanor replied. "The doctor told him to go to the countryside to rest and not to go back to the factory. He left right after hearing that, without even taking his medicine."

Why?

"Because going to the countryside to recuperate requires money, and that's what he lacks most." Eleanor straightened up. "He still has a family to support. If he dies in the factory, at least he can leave behind a pension."

Richard recalled how Finbar had taught the young man how to avoid dangerous work in the tavern, and how, when they were negotiating, he hadn't asked about his own escape route. He already knew he was about to die.

“When I handed him the guarantee that he would accept his fellow countrymen,” Richard said, his eyes lowered, “Finba looked…relieved. He knew he couldn’t help them for much longer.”

"If you can take down Greenwood beforehand," she said, "Prussia will help you."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll help you take over his factory and his production line," Eleanor said in a low voice, "and those Irish people won't get worse off, they'll only get better."

"What are the conditions?" Richard asked cautiously.

“You support Gladstone,” Eleanor replied, “using your factory as a positive example, and your Swiss account for campaign funds. Gladstone wins the election, Prussia gets a non-interfering British government, and you get the Greenwood factory and your position in the arms industry.”

"It sounds like you've thought of everything for me." Eleanor always seemed to be ahead of her.

"You have no idea how much time this job leaves for thinking," Eleanor said with a wry smile.

She didn't press for more details, but instead gave Richard a few minutes to think before asking, "Do you agree?"

"I agree," Richard agreed, because so far the plan didn't seem to be doing anyone any harm.

Eleanor's lips curved into a smile: "There's one more thing, you might not see Finbar in the tavern anymore."

Why?

"Greenwood noticed that the factory's output was declining. He didn't know it was because the workers were deliberately slacking off. Firing employees didn't work, so he increased the working hours," Eleanor explained. "Now the workers are working non-stop every day and don't even have the energy to go to the pub."

Richard clicked his tongue. It seemed that his plan had only caused the workers to suffer, and a sense of guilt crept into his heart.

"You'll see him on Sunday," Eleanor said, "early Mass, St. George's Church in Southwark."

Richard nodded and memorized the name.

"I've said enough for today," Eleanor said, taking down the kerosene lamp and walking to the top of the stairs. "I have to get back to work."

"I thought your real job was down there."

“No,” Eleanor turned her head, “my job is to get you.”

After saying that, she went up the stairs, the lights followed her, and Richard quickly followed. The secret door then closed, leaving countless secrets behind.