The Shadow of Great Britain

After about half a cup of tea’s time, he finally spoke softly, as if merely continuing an unfinished topic: ”So... have you seen Elphinstone again recently?”

Victoria’s fingers tightened slightly, and the water in the cup almost spilled.

She slowly lifted her head, her eyes still glistening with tears.

”No.” She answered in a low voice, paused, and almost seemed to grit her teeth repeating it: ”No.”

”Really no?” Arthur’s tone held no doubt, only probing.

”I can’t even receive his letters.” She pushed open the window, gazing out, her eyes falling on the distant river mist: ”Yesterday at Windsor Castle, he left me a letter, but I didn’t open it, then Conroy took it away, I don’t even know where it is now.”

”Hmm...” Arthur closed his eyes in contemplation, as if pondering something: ”Your Highness.”

”Hmm?”

Arthur took a deep breath, as if making a significant decision, he reached into his breast and pulled out a letter: ”You have three minutes to read it, after which immediately return the letter to me, I need to destroy it.”

Victoria blankly stared at the letter, it was a thick piece of stationery folded with old-style parchment, the seal was already opened, but the creases were still neat, the signature read: Lord John Elphinstone.

”How... how did you get this letter?”

”Conroy asked Flora to dispose of this letter.” Arthur answered briefly: ”But she didn’t hand it over to Leisen, nor to Conroy, she gave it to me because she has great sympathy for you.”

Victoria’s fingertips trembled for a moment, and after a pause, she finally took the stationery and gently unfolded it.

She read quickly, or more accurately, she had already rehearsed such a letter countless times in her mind.

My dearest Princess, my Delina:

When you read this letter, I have already left our country’s shores.

From now on, I will no longer be that young man who often walked with you in the garden and discussed politics and poetry with you, but the administrative head of the Indian Colony, a colonial bureaucrat under the Crown, outside the Royal Family. I have received a new appointment, Governor of Madras, India, I accepted, or rather, I had no power to refuse.

I do not know if Conroy will allow you to open this letter, if not, perhaps it merely rests now in some locked drawer, quietly buried by some maid self-proclaimed as loyal. But I hope you will ultimately see it.

I did not come to bid you farewell because I dare not face you, even if you were to merely look at me silently, I cannot bear it. I always thought of myself as a coward, until you said those words — you were not afraid of giving up, but of external pressure. Yes, Delina, what I have always feared is not afar, but staying behind.

I love you.

This is the sentence I dare to finally write down.

But I also know, this sentence has no right to be remembered by you. The destiny on your shoulders no longer permits a man to use ”companionship” as comfort, only ”submission” as a facade for affection.

So I left, I left this land.

But I will remember you, remember you whispering in my palm ”If only I weren’t a royal member” that evening.

May you, under the future Crown, not forget that brief moment of freedom you once had.

Your loyal servant and captive until death.

John Elphinstone

The 13th Lord Elphinstone