Chapter 1999: Chapter 179: A Likable Fellow (2)
"Heartache is better than being framed." Peel turned with a smile and said, "If Richard Mayne hadn’t been smart enough to leave a written record of his conversation with Viscount Melbourne, could Scotland Yard’s position in the Cold Bath incident be cleared up?"
Arthur noticed Peel starting to assert dominance and had a good sense of his position. Therefore, he no longer hid his feelings, candidly revealing the origin of the court appointment list: "Although I was not involved in this court list, I had advised Her Majesty the Queen on the morning of her accession during breakfast if she wished to consolidate her position, she should rise above party struggles and steer clear of scheming. However, it seems Her Majesty might have forgotten the first few sentences and instead remembered Baron Stockma’s subsequent words."
Peel patiently asked, "What did the Coburg man sent by the King of Belgium say?"
Arthur expressed delicately, "I think Baron Stockma might want to shape Her Majesty after His Majesty Leopold. He said that while rising above party struggles, the Queen shouldn’t be a drowsy political figure. When she has gained enough experience and ability, she can act independently."
After hearing this, Peel’s face darkened, his eyes mixed with a cold smile: "Ah, I see, it really is Leopold’s shadow. Superficially, it sounds grandiose — rising above party struggles, independence for the Queen — but isn’t it really about replicating Brussels’ model in the London Court to benefit Belgium? Acting independently? Such words laid upon an eighteen-year-old girl amount to handing the power to her emotions and a few close ministers."
He paced over to the fireplace, continuing in a low voice: "I bear no ill will towards Stockma, he may genuinely hope for the Queen’s strength. But strength isn’t driven by emotion; it’s bound by rules. Self-governance without rules will only bring one political disaster after another. We, the ones who have struggled in the Lower House for decades, all understand one thing: a country is not sustained by individual will but by institutional maintenance."
Arthur took a sip of wine, calmly responding: "That’s also my concern. Her Majesty the Queen is too young, she can’t yet distinguish the line between authority and capriciousness. Yet, if we sternly warn her, she will only become more reliant on Viscount Melbourne and those ladies’ flattery."
Peel turned to glance at Arthur: "So you plan to use your eloquence to slowly guide her? Arthur, I know you’re quite persuasive. If not, I wouldn’t have invited you to join the Conservative Party before. You can rally the professors at the University of London to work for you willingly and have Scotland Yard’s police obediently lining up for you. But Buckingham Palace isn’t Kensington Palace’s classroom, nor is the Queen a student anymore. What she’s likely to listen to now is only Stockma and Melbourne’s sweet talk, because it sounds pleasant and makes her feel superior to everything."
Upon hearing this, Arthur slightly curled his lips, raised his glass, and gently swirled it: "Sir, so don’t you know better than I how to solve this problem? Say nice words to Her Majesty the Queen, compliment her, make her feel incredibly smart and unmatched. As long as she feels respected and seen, she will naturally lower her guard. Then, amidst the flattery, you can insert the real advice sharply."
To everyone’s surprise, Peel merely shook his head coldly, his voice as hard as iron: "I won’t. I can’t, Arthur. You know I haven’t used sweet talk to muddle through affairs in my twenty-eight years in politics. If I had to rely on flattery to gain trust, I’d rather give up my position as Party Leader of the Conservative Party and never compromise my reputation. On the Catholic Emancipation Act, I can concede to the Lower House, negotiate within the party, but I won’t exchange principles for trust just to cater to the Queen’s emotions."
Arthur pretended to be troubled and was silent for a few seconds, lowering his eyes as if deep in serious thought.
He slowly put down the wine glass, his fingers rubbing the rim.
"If you really can’t do it..." Arthur began softly, "then perhaps we can only seek another way."
Peel raised an eyebrow: "Oh? Do you have a good idea to change Her Majesty the Queen’s mind?"
Arthur smiled at him and suddenly changed the subject: "Speaking of which, Sir, I’ve always wanted to ask you something. How did you meet your wife?"
Peel was slightly taken aback; he hadn’t expected the conversation to suddenly jump from political storms to his marital past: "What? You have emotional issues you need advice on? In this area, I’m not the best candidate."
"Kind of." Arthur shrugged: "Even though you’re not the best candidate, I’d still love to hear your opinion."
Peel’s mouth twitched.
He stared at Arthur for a few seconds, as if judging whether he intended to offend, but Arthur’s expression was perfectly balanced between jest and sincerity.
"Julia and I..." Peel hesitated for a moment but then slowly began: "I met her when she was still called Miss Freud. She was a very pure young lady then, the youngest daughter of Sir John Freud."
"Oh, indeed." Arthur nodded: "I heard from some ladies that she was quite famous in Windsor at the time, and you waited for her for several years before proposing?"
