The Shadow of Great Britain

For the two Lower House members and Whitehall officials who have just finished a busy day of work, there is no better place for relaxation and entertainment than the ”Blue Posts” pub on Cork Street.

Especially on a cold winter’s day, this has always been an excellent place for friends to gather for a meal.

Although the pub’s small private rooms aren’t as comfortable as the boxes in the gentlemen’s clubs, what the environment lacks can be made up for with taste and service.

The fish, veal ribs, and boiled beef here are unparalleled, the wine is of excellent quality, and the punch is nothing short of perfect. The waiters gracefully carve steaks for the diners in the private rooms, and the Porto wine is served in special black bottles at the table. Although the wine here may not be of the topmost quality, the portion sizes are abundantly generous and the prices are reasonable.

If those noble youths of ”Young England” following Disraeli were to see this scene, they might be stunned on the spot.

Because the well-dressed, sharp-tongued leader they imagined as if naturally born to stand center stage was now slumped against the back of the chair like someone with his spine removed, only one step away from kicking his boots up on the table’s edge.

Arthur, who was cutting the veal ribs, glanced at him: ”Why so late today? Just the third reading of the Canada Bill, is that really worth the Lower House debating until ten?”

”Whether it’s worth it depends on who you ask.” Disraeli rolled his eyes: ”If you ask the forty or so who voted against it, debating until ten is entirely worth it.”

”Over forty opposition votes in the Lower House?” Arthur forked a piece of veal rib into his mouth, chewing slowly: ”That’s more than I expected.”

”Why?” Disraeli downed his wine: ”Do you have any insider information?”

”I wouldn’t call it insider information.” Arthur took a handkerchief and wiped the wine stains at the corners of his mouth: ”This morning, when I was reporting to Her Majesty the Queen on the progress of the coronation security arrangements, she mentioned an interesting matter.

”What matter?”

”Last Friday, the Duke of Wellington went to visit the Earl of Dalmo, and stayed at his residence for an hour and a half. The two of them thoroughly discussed matters related to Canada, and the Old Duke gave Dalmo unreserved guidance, telling him how to move the troops from one location to another. After the meeting ended, Dalmo went to see Viscount Melbourne, expressing his hope to reinforce the troops in Canada. It’s said that the Duke of Wellington told him that to fully settle the situation in Canada, it would require deploying seventy-five thousand men there.”

”Seventy-five thousand men?” Disraeli’s face was full of expressions: ”Is it really necessary to deploy that many?”

Arthur shrugged: ”You know, the Duke of Wellington’s military style has always been conservative. He’s probably estimating the numbers based on a hundred percent success rate. Perhaps it won’t take seventy-five thousand men to solve the issue, but the success rate would certainly be compromised.”

”Do you know what it means for the military budget with seventy-five thousand men!” Disraeli muttered to himself: ”Even in times of peace, the colonial government of Canada can’t support itself, requiring tens of thousands per year just to rescue them in the budget. If seventy thousand men are really sent to that godforsaken place, next year Canada’s fiscal deficit will at least sprint towards three million pounds.”

”What else can be done?” Arthur refilled his glass: ”Are you planning to support Lord Ashburton’s trendy theory? To abandon a colony as soon as there’s a bit of trouble?”

”Not quite...” Disraeli pouted: ”However, deploying seventy thousand troops is an exaggeration. I think His Excellency the Duke is perhaps being overly cautious.”

Arthur dismissively waved his hand: ”You can rest assured about that point; the Prime Minister agrees to reinforce, but not to the extent of seventy thousand men. After all, the new English Poor Laws haven’t yet saved the government that much money.”

Hearing this, Disraeli couldn’t help but ask: ”From what you’re saying, has the reform of the English Poor Laws really been shelved?”

”Shelved? Of course not.” Arthur raised his head, organizing his words: ”It’s just that the issue needs further evaluation, requiring a more comprehensive reevaluation within a broader context, and thus it would be inappropriate to make any rash decisions in the current stage.”

Disraeli tilted his head, shrugging: ”Alright. But why do I hear the talk that there’s going to be a personnel change at the Poor Law Commission?”

”Who did you hear that from?”

”Relevant sources from the Navy Department.”

”Eld?”

”Arthur, it’s basic professional ethics for politicians not to disclose the real names of whistleblowers.”

”Fair enough.” Arthur picked up the napkin to wipe his hands: ”To be honest, I also don’t want Mr. Chadwick to leave at this time. The decision is always in his hands, not mine. However, given his recent strong stance and his continued reluctance to ensure his continued service as committee secretary, it’s also reasonable for me to find a timely replacement candidate.”

Disraeli twirled the empty wineglass in his hand: ”Strong stance? Is that your official characterization of him? If Chadwick heard, he might think this is the most malicious accusation from Whitehall bureaucrats.”

Arthur did not deny, just gave a slight smile: ”I have left him enough face. If it were phrased by a minister, it would probably be more direct.”

”For example?”

”A lack of judgment aligned with the constraints of reality and an overly strong belief that the system itself is enough to replace political negotiation.”

”It seems the death sentence has already been drafted.” Disraeli sighed regretfully: ”Chadwick must be out of his mind to think you would fully support him after taking office. Now, everyone’s attention is on Canada and Her Majesty’s coronation. At this time, the Whig Party surely doesn’t want any domestic trouble.”