The Shadow of Great Britain

At half-past three in the afternoon, we went out for a ride, and the loyalty and affection shown by the people were incredibly comforting. Parks and streets were packed with people, and a festive atmosphere was everywhere. Many left their signatures as souvenirs, including the kind old Rabach, and we attended the ball held at St. James’s Palace. The courtyard and streets were crowded beyond measure, and people were eager to catch a glimpse of this foolish me. I was very touched and proud. I have always been proud of my country and the British nation.

—— Alexandrina Victoria, ”The Diary of Queen Victoria”

The early summer sunlight slanted through London’s thin clouds, casting onto the streets outside Kensington Palace.

The avenue stretching straight from the palace gate to Hyde Park was now filled with throngs of people, and the gas lamp posts were entwined with white silk ribbons and green laurel branches. Most shops along the street had closed their doors, with shopkeepers giving their employees the day off to celebrate this national holiday for all Britons. Even their shop windows were already decked with wreaths and ribbons, as if the entire city was holding its breath awaiting the arrival of Princess Victoria.

Children stood on tiptoes by carriage wheels and fences, while young girls draped in light gauze cloaks used handkerchiefs to shield against the sun, unable to hide the excitement and curiosity in their eyes.

Gentlemen wearing top hats, some holding binoculars, and others even carrying small wooden stools, jostled for a vantage point at the front.

Craftsmen and newspaper boys seized the opportunity to sell sketches depicting the ”future queen” and the special edition of the London News Magazine, which had been reprinted today. The headline on the front page was boldly printed in large black type - ”The Princess at Eighteen, the Empire Comes of Age.”

A straight-standing elderly woman was at the forefront of the crowd, wearing the Waterloo medal her late husband left to her on her chest.

She said her husband had once escorted George III as a cavalryman, and she wanted to see whether Princess Victoria shared the same serenity and dignity as her grandfather.

In the distance, many upper-class families had already taken their seats on the temporary wooden viewing platforms set up on either side of the street. Aristocratic ladies, with aloof expressions, raised ivory-handled monoculars to share with their companions the news they had gathered from elsewhere: ”I’ve heard that Her Highness the Princess will be wearing that teal silk dress today, perhaps with the blue sash from Saxony...”

Amidst this lively and bustling crowd, there was a small group of people who remained silent.

They neither shouted nor carried any insignia, and even their clothing was impeccable. Their leather boots were polished to a shine, their coat collars showed not an inch of fur, and their cuff buttons were fastened with precision. Most mingled among the crowd, some leaned against newsstands browsing old newspapers, or stood at the bridgehead smoking pipes. Yet, all of their gazes were quietly scanning every shadow that might be overlooked.

As for those at street corners, beneath eaves, on church rooftops, or behind the half-open windows on the third floor of hotels and shops across the street, another group was keeping watch.

The members of the Police Intelligence Department’s Ghost Squad had taken up these predefined positions as early as last evening. However, today, the veterans of the 95th Regiment were not wielding their beloved Baker rifles but rather the latest precision rifled weapon issued in small numbers last year to the Army - the Brunswick Rifle.

Although this new rifle had a low muzzle velocity, was heavy, cumbersome to load, and required complex sighting equipment, making it unsuitable for field units, the sharpshooters of the Police Intelligence Department deemed its long-range accuracy sufficient to overlook all its drawbacks.

Most members of the Ghost Squad could easily hit targets within 300 yards when using this rifle, while elite members could reliably hit stationary targets beyond 350 yards.

Of course, the maximum range of this rifle was still being determined by Deputy Director of Police Intelligence, Superintendent Thomas Plunkett.

During the Peninsular War, this sharpshooter had used a Baker rifle to headshot French Cavalry Major General Colbert de Chabanai from beyond 300 yards. This time, at the range, he successfully hit a target at 450 yards with the Brunswick Rifle.

Inside the third-floor window of the hotel, Plunkett was slowly adjusting his viewpoint through the sights.

His gunstock rested steadily on the padded wooden windowsill. Today, his hands did not tremble, perhaps because of the few sips he had in advance, or perhaps because he was reluctant to let go of the new rifle, affectionately termed the ”Silent Queen” by the Ghost Squad members.

Plunkett’s shoulder remained motionless, but the corner of his eye suddenly caught sight of a young man in a top hat and tailcoat standing on the eaves across the street, accompanied by two high-ranking officers in Scotland Yard uniforms.

Needless to say, the man in the tailcoat was Sir Arthur Hastings, a member and secretary-general of the Police Commissioner Committee. The two officers beside him were the Chief of the Royal Greater London Police Department, Charles Rowan, and Ledley King, head of the fifth section of the Police Intelligence Department, nodding and bowing to the two.

Arthur removed his gloves and raised his hand to shield his eyes, seemingly surveying the crowd before him: ”Today’s scene is even more bustling than I imagined. From here to the Thames South Bank, it seems most shops have spontaneously closed.”