The Shadow of Great Britain

233: Chapter 157 Destiny’s Pendulum_2 233: Chapter 157 Destiny’s Pendulum_2 As the saying goes, even if you haven’t personally defeated the French, haven’t you ever read about the French fleeing in the newspaper?

Viscount Melbourne leaned forward from his seat on the couch, “Who is the new Chancellor of the Exchequer?”

Viscount Palmerston picked up the bottle of wine and poured himself another glass, “The founder of the ‘Edinburgh Review.’”

Viscount Melbourne frowned deeply, “‘The Edinburgh Review’ had more than one founder.”

Viscount Palmeston set down the bottle, smiled, and patted his lover’s brother on the shoulder, “But only one of them is qualified to be the High Chancellor, you should still remember the lawyer who helped Queen Caroline win the divorce case against King George IV, right?”

Upon hearing this, Viscount Melbourne immediately stood up, his face lit with surprise, “Henry?”

“Exactly,” Viscount Palmeston grinned, “Not me, but another Henry—Mr.

Henry Peter Brougham.

Perhaps before long, we shall have to call him Lord Brougham.”

Unable to contain his delight, Viscount Melbourne clapped enthusiastically, “Splendid!

He made his name from that royal divorce case.

I believe if I explain Mrs.

Norton’s situation to him clearly, he would certainly be willing to help me.”

Viscount Palmerston joked, “You should thank our late King George IV for dying at just the right time—well, maybe I shouldn’t say so.

But if the old king were still alive, Mr.

Brougham would probably never manage to be ennobled by him, let alone become the High Chancellor.

After all, the resentment between Queen Caroline and King George IV was extraordinarily deep.

When the Queen died, he even refused to allow her coffin to pass through London.

Sir Robert Peel, who was in charge of the route, couldn’t stand the public pressure and eventually allowed the Queen’s coffin to pass through the city.

Right after the funeral ended, Sir Peel was dismissed by His Majesty the King in a rage.

Looking back now, Sir Peel was quite wronged.”

Joy lights the human face, and Viscount Melbourne’s radiant smile showed no trace of his earlier gloom.

He asked, “By the way, in which constituency is Mr.

Brougham running this year?”

Viscount Palmerston closed his eyes and massaged his temples, “Hmm…

let me think, I remember it was…

York?

Yes, he’s running in York!”

“York?” Viscount Melbourne slapped his forehead, “Good heavens!

So it was Mr.

Brougham who defeated George Norton in York?

Isn’t that just God’s arrangement?

It’s all too coincidental.

With so many corrupt constituencies they could choose from, how did they just happen to clash there?”

Viscount Palmeston shrugged and chuckled, “Who knows, maybe it’s as you say, God’s guidance.

God is paving the way for you, you are ultimately meant to be with Mrs.

Norton.

William, although Lady Ponsonby broke your heart, that was so long ago, maybe you should find another fine lady to be by your side.

God let her torment you for twenty years, giving you an unhappy marriage, so now He plans to send a true angel to compensate you.”

Viscount Melbourne just smiled helplessly at these words, shaking his head, “William, you think too much, I really just want to help her.

If someone had helped me like this when my marriage was falling apart, my deceased wife and I might have pulled through.”

Seeing that his future brother-in-law wouldn’t listen to advice, Viscount Palmeston could only shake his head and sigh, “You!

Why must you live so exhaustingly?

Learn from me, wouldn’t it be better to live easily, leisurely?

Life is but a play, don’t take it too seriously.”

But Byron is such a fucking scumbag, destroying your better part of life, a poet’s representative sent by Satan, that title truly fits him.

His only purpose in coming to this world, besides getting involved with Greek independence and the Italian Carbonari movement, was to ruin you!”

The words had barely dropped when a sudden flurry of urgent, intense, and splendid piano sounds came through the window glass.

Viscount Palmerston and Viscount Melbourne both slightly frowned.

“What’s that noise?”

The two stood in front of the window and glanced down; in the center of the first-floor stage, a young man dressed in a tailcoat was waving his arms as if they were fluttering butterflies, his fingertips dancing between the piano keys, sending a string of notes throughout the hall, instantly eliciting exclamations from several ladies and a burst of cheers from the gentlemen at the card tables.

Viscount Melbourne, puzzled, said, “Isn’t that Mozesales?

Has the Philharmonic Society changed their pianist?”

Viscount Palmerston, seeing the smiling Mrs.

Copper seated right in front of the stage, couldn’t help but think of some unsavory matters from the night before; he chuckled and winked at Viscount Melbourne.

“Why not go down and find out?

We’ve been so tensed up lately with the election and the motion of no confidence, it’s time to relax a bit.

The pianist is here; why don’t you ask Mrs.

Norton for a dance?”

Viscount Melbourne was hesitating, but Palmerston did not give him time to think further, draping an arm over Melbourne’s shoulder and walking him out, “William, listen to me, be bold, there’s nothing much to it.

What could it possibly matter if something actually happens with Mrs.

Norton?

A husband who can swap a judge’s position with a night’s sleep—is there any deal better than that?

George Norton has really hit it big this time; you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

The two jostled each other as they left the room, but in a spot they could not see, the Red Devil was lounging on the windowsill, munching on a red apple with a pained human face, blood oozing from his mouth, his long, powerful black tail whipping the pink curtains, causing ripples.

The Red Devil casually threw the apple core out, striking Mrs.

Norton, who was watching Arthur’s splendid performance in the ballroom.

The apple core slid down her hair, eventually stopping at her heart, a pale red glow flickering as it slowly merged into her chest, disappearing into her breast.

The Red Devil let out a long, loud belch, the sudden sound startling Arthur into pausing his performance.

Squinting, he looked up towards the second-floor window, but all he met was the Red Devil’s malicious grin.

Agares clasped his hands together and murmured softly, “Coincidence?

How many coincidences can there be?

Whether it’s fate’s guidance or God’s arrangement, whatever you call it, Professor Agares only asks that things must go in the direction I point.”

He pulled out a sheepskin scroll tucked at his waist, glanced at Arthur who was still playing, gave a slight nod, and then casually drew several strokes on the yellowed page with his feather pen.

With the fiery tip of the pen moving, a lifelike painting appeared instantly on the scroll.

In front of the piano, stands Arthur in his tailcoat, and above his head, a magnet entwined with lightning and a blood-dripping scepter are placed upon a swinging pendulum clock.

The pendulum swings, in the silent room, ding-dong, ding-dong, the second hand of fate is already moving…