The Shadow of Great Britain

The air in Windsor carried a slight dampness, and the archways of the stone corridors exuded a grayish-white chill under the winter afternoon light.

Arthur, led by an attendant, walked through the corridor lined with portraits of the Royal Family. Just as they turned the corner, Arthur suddenly noticed a familiar stranger—a middle-aged gentleman of medium build, well-dressed, with a slightly receding hairline.

He heard footsteps and slowly lifted his head, his gaze swiftly and politely fell upon Arthur.

Those eyes did not carry the sharpness of interrogation, yet naturally gave the impression of being appraised.

Mr. Edward Drummond, great-grandson of the 4th Viscount Strathallan, a shareholder of Drummond Bank.

Of course, most importantly, he was the personal secretary to Sir Robert Peel, the leader of the Conservative Party.

”Sir Arthur Hastings.” Drummond nodded slightly, his voice steady with a touch of professional courtesy: ”Do you have a moment?”

Arthur smiled slightly, as if he had expected to meet him here. He took out his pocket watch and glanced at it: ”As long as you speak, there’s always time for a few minutes of pleasantries.”

Drummond nodded gently, said no more, and naturally gestured forward with his hand.

Arthur apologized to the attendant beside him: ”Please wait for a moment.”

Then he followed Drummond, strolling through a side door into a quiet gallery filled with displays of armor.

Seeing no one around, Arthur finally spoke at ease: ”Since we’ve met, I doubt you are truly here just for a few words of pleasantries. So, frankly speaking, is there something the dignitaries wish for you to convey?”

Drummond rested one hand on the railing of the display stand: ”There’s no shortage of opinions, Sir Arthur, and every bit of discussion that has surfaced at Windsor Castle these days, I dare not forget.”

”What about the Duke of Wellington and Sir Robert Peel?”

Drummond paused, speaking like he was casually chatting: ”You know, the sir is always cautious, and he believes it’s inappropriate for him to intervene in Royal Family affairs, so at most, he sighs before His Majesty the King about how Conroy is ’overworked and loyal,’ saying he is ’always loyal and inevitably a bit hasty.’ Words of conciliation like this, you should understand my meaning.”

Of course, Arthur understood Drummond’s meaning. On the surface, Peel seemed to be exonerating Conroy, but in reality, he was fanning the flames, intending to see Conroy brought down.

Arthur was just about to inquire further when suddenly urgent footsteps echoed from outside the gallery.

Shortly after, a young man hurried in, his face showing a barely contained excitement. The buttons of his dress were not fastened properly, as if he had hurried all the way without time to straighten them.

Drummond’s brow moved slightly, his hand resting on the railing slowly withdrew, though his expression remained unchanged, merely casting a faint glance at the newcomer.

”Sir Arthur,” the newcomer eagerly said: ”I am here on the orders of Viscount Melbourne to ask if you could spare a moment.”

Arthur turned, sizing up the unexpected guest.

He recognized the young man; they often met at the Almack’s Club dances, Mr. William Cooper. From the surname alone, one could tell he was Lady Cooper’s son, and at the same time, Viscount Melbourne’s nephew and personal secretary.

He wasn’t as renowned as Drummond, who had assisted in the administrations of four Tory Prime Ministers, including George Canning, Viscount Godric, the Duke of Wellington, and Sir Robert Peel. Nonetheless, even if Mr. Cooper had limited experience in politics, as the current Prime Minister’s personal secretary, no one would disregard his words.

Seeing Cooper had arrived, Drummond spoke before Arthur even requested him to.

He took his leave: ”Seems I need not delay you further.”

Drummond bent slightly, bidding farewell in a way that was simple to the point of coolness: ”Sir Arthur, let’s continue our conversation another day.”

With that, he tucked his briefcase under his arm and unhurriedly left through the other corridor.

Cooper looked at Drummond’s disappearing figure, grumbling a few words: ”Again with this, acting like he’s seen a ghost when he sees me...”

Then, he turned to Arthur and asked: ”What did he say to you just now? It seemed like something important.”

Arthur chuckled lightly, refastening his pocket watch: ”Important? Perhaps, but right now, nothing is more important than meeting His Majesty the King. Are you in a hurry? If not, we can discuss it after I’ve met with His Majesty.”

Cooper was momentarily taken aback by Arthur’s words, but then he remembered the item he had in his pocket.

Eagerly, he drew out a neatly folded document from his inner pocket and handed it to Arthur: ”Meeting His Majesty is certainly important, but before that, allow me to hand over this document to you.”

”Document?” Arthur raised an eyebrow as he took it, his fingertips sliding over the clear seal on the cover. It was a Home Office document format, the writing upright, recognizable by any senior officer who had served in Scotland Yard as a direct order from the Home Secretary.

Arthur opened the document, his eyes swiftly scanning the text on its pages.

He initially thought it was a recent order issued by the Home Office, but to his surprise, it recorded an event from years ago.

This was a series of internal directives from Viscount Melbourne, who was then Home Secretary, surrounding the Cold Bath incident of 1833.