Europa Universalis 1867: Start by inheriting an armory

Mr. Nose raised his eyebrows slightly, perhaps thinking he had the inside scoop, but this man who had been lying in bed for two days casually revealed secret information.

"You knew all along?" he asked.

Richard nodded mysteriously.

He knew far more than Mr. Nose thought, Gladstone’s speaking tour was a great success, and the Liberal Party won one after another in key ridings.

Traditionally, prime ministers must wait until the new parliament opens, debate the motion of no confidence, and then resign.

But he decided there was no need to go. The ballots had clearly expressed the will of the people, and Gladstone had mobilized almost all the workers in the country. There was no need for him to go through that humiliating debate that was destined to fail.

Richard knew this from history books, but he couldn't tell Mr. Nose.

He simply nodded and let Mr. Nose figure out for himself how this arms dealer lying in a hospital bed knew something that even most cabinet members were unsure about.

This led him to believe that he had accurate information channels and intelligence sources, and even made him mistakenly believe that he had someone in the cabinet.

The more he thought, the safer Richard felt.

Mr. Nose was silent for a few seconds, then stood up with his hands behind his back.

He walked to the window and said, "Since we're going to cooperate, it's necessary to introduce myself. I'm Reginald Somerset, and I work for British Military Intelligence."

After he finished speaking, he turned around, as if he were making his first appearance on stage.

Richard had heard of that surname.

Somerset is a prominent noble family in southwest England, holding the title of Duke and hereditary fiefdoms, and boasting a history spanning centuries.

But he had never heard of that name.

"Are you a nobleman?" Richard asked. "How did you end up in this line of work?"

Mr. Nose pursed his lips, and Richard saw weariness and helplessness on his face.

"I'm afraid I'm the kind of son who isn't exactly honorable."

Richard understood immediately: he was the illegitimate son of a nobleman, with no right to inheritance, no right to the surname, and could not appear in the family genealogy.

If he does well, it will be an honor for the family; if something happens to him, it will be the illegitimate child's own fault.

The state could easily sever ties with him; he was not an officially appointed official, his name was not on any public document, and no one even knew who was paying his salary.

Similarly, the Somerset family will cooperate, since family scandals should not be aired in public, and troubles caused by illegitimate children can be resolved privately.

Richard hadn't expected to find himself in such a dilemma. A moment of pity flickered in his heart, but looking at Mr. Nose's arrogant expression, which always seemed to be scrutinizing people with his nostrils, any feeling of sympathy vanished in the blink of an eye.

This person doesn't need sympathy; he's long past that stage.

“If you want me to cooperate with you,” Richard said, “you have to agree to one condition.”

"What are the conditions?"

"Don't follow me anymore."

Meanwhile, in Camberwell, the steps in front of Anna's house had been scrubbed clean, the rain stains from the previous days were gone, and even the moss in the crevices had been carefully scraped away.

Detective Logan stood at the door, dressed formally today. He wasn't carrying a notebook or handcuffs, only a hat he had taken off.

He straightened his clothes and knocked on her door.

dong dong dong.

The door opened, and Anna stood in the doorway, wearing a light blue dress. There were no classes at school today, but she was at home grading her students' French homework.

When she saw Inspector Logan, her lips unconsciously pursed slightly.

"Detective?" Her voice was tense. "What happened?"

Logan nodded to her and said solemnly and cautiously, "The murderer who assassinated your husband has been apprehended and will face legal judgment and imprisonment."

Anna was startled, covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes reddened, and her lips trembled slightly beneath her hand.

She took a deep breath and said, "Thank you, Detective, thank you for still thinking of my son and me."

Logan waved his hand: "It's nothing, it's my job. Actually, I have another purpose for coming here this time."

Anna nodded.

"Do you remember that philanthropist lady from before?" Logan said. "She decided to give your daughter the opportunity to learn art. She hired a tutor for Ella, who comes twice a week to teach her sketching and watercolors. All the art supplies, paints, and canvases are provided free of charge."

Anna's eyes widened, and she gripped the doorframe.

A few days ago, she received an unsigned package containing brand new crayons, a thick stack of drawing paper, and a small sum of money, enough for her and Ella to get through several winters.

She didn't know how to thank the woman, but little did she know that this was just the beginning.

"Please be sure to thank that lady for me," Anna said nervously, clutching her skirt, afraid that her movements wouldn't be proper.

Logan nodded and put his hat back on.

"That lady also made a request of you," Logan said, deliberately lowering his voice. "You can accept it or refuse. If you feel pressured or uncomfortable, you don't have to force yourself. You just need to think about yourself and your child."

Anna was a little confused: "What request?"

Logan glanced behind him.

Anna followed his gaze.

Under the gaslight on the street stood a policeman, handcuffs and a baton hanging from his belt.

Hiding behind him was a child, a red-haired boy, as thin as a stalk of wheat bent by the wind, wearing an ill-fitting but clean coat.

His eyes were still red, and there were still a few tear streaks on his face.

Anna understood immediately, as if she were infected by his sorrow.

"This child has just lost his mother," Logan said sadly. "He has no other relatives in London. It would be best if you could take him in. If that's inconvenient for you, we completely understand. We can arrange for him to go to an orphanage, or..."

"It's alright," Anna said, not letting him finish. She walked up to the boy and knelt down.

"What's your name, child?" she asked.

The boy looked at her. He had never seen this woman before, but he could tell that Anna was a kind lady. Children have this ability; they can tell the difference.

"Imon," he said.

Anna smiled; she knew what the child was going through.

"Eamon," she repeated, "do you understand what happened, child?"

Aemon hesitated for a moment, then nodded. His eyelashes trembled slightly, and a tear that hadn't yet fallen finally succumbed to its weight and rolled down from the corner of his eye.

Anna straightened up, turned her head and called out into the house.

"Ella?"

A small head popped out from the crack in the door. The girl's face was flushed, and she was holding a red crayon in her hand.

When she heard her mother's voice, she thought she was being asked to help set the table or to tidy up the drawings spread out on the table.

She cautiously peeked out halfway and then she saw the boy in front of her mother.

"Ella, this is Eamon. He's going to stay with us." Anna's tone was as if she were saying something that had been decided long ago.

Ella opened her mouth into a round "O" shape, and then revealed a big smile.

She ran to put the crayons back in the box, then took small, quick steps to stand in front of Eamon, tilting her head to look at the red-haired boy who was half a head shorter than her.

"Can you draw?" she asked.

Aemon shook his head: "No."

Ella grabbed his hand directly. Her fingers were still stained with crayon.

"Then you absolutely have to come and see," Ella said. "Drawing is... the best thing ever!"

She pulled Imon along and led him into the house.

Anna stood up, nodded to Logan, and then Ella's voice came from inside the room:

"Look, this is green, this is blue, this is... Your hair is red, you must like red the most, right? Red is here!" Then there was a rummaging sound, and crayons clattered in the cardboard box.