The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 1742: Chapter 76:

The old gentleman with a seemingly serious demeanor suddenly cracked a joke, which inevitably amused both Arthur and Victoria present.

Victoria looked at the amiable old man who suddenly played the jester, and couldn’t help but ask with a maiden’s innocence, ”Sir Herbert, I always thought being the King’s personal secretary was a great position, do you always have to endure such hardships?”

Taylor shook his head with a smile, spreading his hands with a knowing look: ”Your Highness, this is the fate of an old servant. When I was young, I carried the luggage and guns for the Duke of York, and as I got older, I passed messages for His Majesty the King. In which role do I not have to watch others’ faces? Why would you think this is a great position?”

”Because...” Victoria started to speak but seemed to have some reservations, hesitating to continue.

Taylor leaned forward to inquire personally: ”What’s the matter? Do you have some unspoken concerns, Your Highness? If... you really don’t want to say, no one can force you.”

Seeing this, Arthur spoke the words Victoria wanted to say: ”I guess it might be because of Sir John Conroy.”

Upon hearing this, Taylor glanced at Arthur. He frowned at first, but soon the old secretary understood what it was about.

He had long heard that Conroy wanted to become the young Queen Victoria’s personal secretary upon her accession, and the Duchess of Kent was also striving to make this happen.

However, from the current situation, the Princess’s own wishes were otherwise.

Taylor first nodded slightly at Arthur, then bent down again and said softly to Victoria, ”Your Highness, the same words still apply, I assure you that if you don’t want, there is no one in this world who can force you.”

Hearing this solemn promise, Victoria looked up at Taylor, her eyes conveying a hint of sincere gratitude: ”I... I will remember that.”

Taylor smiled at Victoria, but he soon turned his attention to Arthur. The old gentleman patted Arthur’s shoulder and said, ”You were too quick to act in the Caucasus, but today your timing was just right. That’s why I say, Sir Arthur Hastings, you are not the kind of person who can stay in campus forever.”

Arthur only smiled slightly at this: ”You just took bullets for His Majesty and the Duchess, so there’s no need to reward me with another one, right? After all, as for bullets, I’ve already taken more than one before.”

...

At half-past three in the afternoon, on the driveway in front of Kensington Palace, Victoria, holding onto Lady Leisen’s hand, slowly boarded the black and gold-trimmed enclosed carriage; her skirt gently brushed the door edge, while Arthur, standing to the side, slightly bowed and closed the door for her.

Seeing everything was ready, Arthur bid farewell to the Duchess of Kent and then mounted his horse, leading six plainclothes patrolmen from Scotland Yard.

As he raised his hand slightly, the tall cast-iron gates slowly opened, and the sound of hoof beats began to echo on the damp cobblestones.

Arthur rode ahead, his posture as upright as an unmistakable signpost.

A pure black tailcoat over a high-collared white shirt and a silver-gray waistcoat, he carried neither sword nor gun, just a pair of pure white riding gloves and a silver-adorned eagle-headed staff on the side of the saddle, which made pedestrians give way.

Behind him, six shadow-like Scotland Yard riders followed closely, flanking the carriage in two columns.

These riders all came from the Bow Street Riders of Scotland Yard, and before officially joining, they were elite troops from the 7th Guard Dragoon Regiment ’Black Knight.’

This is a cavalry unit renowned in the British Army, which in the Salamanca Battle 22 years ago, under the command of the Duke of Wellington, swiftly flanked the French cavalry and artillery commanded by Imperial Marshal Marmont from the southwest side; they not only killed several senior French officers and smashed the French artillery positions, but also captured an entire brigade of French infantry.

After the battle, the Duke of Wellington expressly commended this unit in his report to the Cabinet: Our light cavalry moved swiftly and fiercely; the performance of the 7th Guard Dragoon Regiment was especially valiant, they tore through the enemy’s heartland at the most critical moment.

Thanks to this brilliant victory, the 7th Regiment was permitted post-battle to have Salamanca engraved as a battle honor on the regimental flag.

Although these old cavalrymen from the 7th Regiment have long retired, it doesn’t prevent them from liking to embroider ’Salamanca’ on their coat cuffs.

And the element of vanity regarding dress and appearance is still perfectly preserved in the Guard Cavalry units.

The riding coats of black wool are well-tailored, their tails neatly dropping to the knees while astride, with a hint of a deep red lining visible at the collar, symbolizing their former identity as a guard unit. The boots are polished to a shine, the boot shafts as straight as tree trunks.

Their saddles, too, are distinctive; they don’t use the standard equipment of regular patrolmen, but instead, gear authorized for them to keep on retirement, some even have faded regiment number insignias affixed to their saddles.

From their weapon choices, it is also evident that they wish to present themselves not as policemen, but as old Guard cavalrymen.

The six patrolmen all carried sabers, but more striking was the short-barreled Dragoon flintlock pistols they wore at their sides.

Seated inside the carriage, Victoria gently lifted a corner of the curtain, allowing a ray of afternoon light to spill into the carriage, lighting up her delicate lace gloves.

The six riders flanking the carriage maintained a perfect echelon formation, even the rhythm of the hoofbeats seemed to harmonize under unspoken command.

This level of coordination didn’t stem from Scotland Yard training, but rather the instincts honed during years of military service: among themselves, without orders or conversations, a mere glance or gesture would indicate the next action.

The purebred English horse at the lead strode steadily on the left front side of the carriage, ridden by that gentleman, Sir Arthur Hastings, who with the wind lightly lifting his tailcoat’s hem, revealing the subtly gleaming decoration on his boot’s shaft, and the posture with which he gripped the reins in his white gloves, seemed like he had stepped out from a medieval knight’s painting.

As the ”Song of Roland” said: if God grants favor, may there be a knight to stand by me with a sword after my death.

Whenever the convoy turned into a street, or needed to give way at an intersection, Arthur would ride ahead, then the team would split apart and regroup like a wave, forging a path amid the congested streets for the carriage.

In front of Buckingham Palace, the majestic Hanover Royal Family’s crest hung high above the palace walls, and the golden iron bars gleamed coldly in the afternoon sun.

The carriage slowly approached the main entrance, the sound of hooves and wheels gradually merging into a solemn echo on the broad cobblestone road.

Sir Herbert Taylor, who had been waiting for a long time, stood atop the steps, several guards from Buckingham Palace standing by his side.

Already changed out of his gray wool coat from the morning, Taylor donned a formal black tailcoat, with his necktie tied meticulously.

”Sir Arthur!” Taylor called out in a clear voice, the tone not loud but sufficient to convey importance.

Arthur dismounted, handing his reins to a nearby rider, and walked briskly forward.

Victoria also disembarked from the carriage with Lady Leisen’s assistance, holding the carriage door with one hand, and lightly lifting her skirt with the other as she gracefully descended.

Taylor nodded to Arthur, ”His Majesty the King has been waiting for quite some time.”

He glanced back at Victoria, then addressed Arthur again, ”You and Lady Leisen should go in together.”