Chapter 2012: Chapter 184: Do Electromagnetism Masters Dream of Central Air Conditioning? (2)
Victoria took deep breaths, as if the pain in her chest was surfacing from her memories: "You say you stayed with her because you couldn’t bear to see her suffer. But what about me? You’ve witnessed my suffering for so many years, how could you... how could you suddenly become such a person, believing she deserves sympathy?"
Her voice was somewhat hoarse and broken, yet she still used all her remaining strength to push the words past her throat: "You know how sad I am, yet you still went to accompany her... you still stood by her side, walked alongside her, as if there was never that abyss between you. She used to not even care to remember your name clearly, she used to look down on you! She said you were just a policeman, a parvenu, a worker, an employee around me! But today when you walked by her side... it was as if she forgave you, and you forgave her, so what am I? What do the words I spoke for you in the past count for?"
As she finished speaking, she nearly couldn’t stand anymore.
Victoria’s shoulders shook, as if she’d exhausted all her strength, turning away from Arthur, tightly gripping the edges of her skirt.
"Your Majesty." Arthur stepped forward, trying to hold her hand, steady her swaying body.
"Don’t touch me!"
Arthur’s hand froze in mid-air.
He did not take another step forward, nor did he withdraw, maintaining that posture.
The room plunged into a heart-wrenching silence.
"I understand." He said softly, his tone sounding as if he’d released something heavy: "If this is your will."
He didn’t approach Victoria, just slowly spoke from where he stood, his voice almost like when he used to lecture on rhetoric: "I remember, when I was in Ramsgate, I promised you that the illness upon you would eventually recede, the predicaments you face would eventually unravel, those who attempt to manipulate your will would be cleared away entirely..."
Victoria didn’t turn around, but through her trembling shoulders, Arthur knew she heard him.
"So today I am not walking by anyone’s side," he said slowly: "I am standing at the end of a past. She has grown old, lonely, and has been bitten back by the empty house she created with her own hands—this is her own doing. But I cannot, for your protection, then kick her when she’s down. I am not a clever, despicable person who steps on others when they lose power. Because if I did, I would have become Conroy, which is using one’s weakness to exchange for another’s loyalty."
The fireplace crackled softly, the dim light casting the window sill in the corner of the room into mottled contrast.
The Red Devil sitting on the window sill rubbed the goosebumps on his arms: "Those words really hurt. It’s not that she’s old, it’s that you acted too late. My dear Arthur, thank goodness you look like a good person. If you had been born twenty years earlier, what business would that Irishman John Conroy have?"
Victoria still stood with her back to Arthur, her shoulders gently trembling, as if she had not completely emerged from her emotions.
"Leave now."
Arthur froze.
He had originally thought she would say something, perhaps blame, perhaps question, or perhaps just silence, but regardless, he was prepared in his heart to endure it.
But the option of letting him directly leave was not in his considerations.
"Your Majesty..." Arthur hesitated, he didn’t move: "I’m not trying to..."
"Leave now." Victoria interrupted him: "Sir Arthur."
Arthur stood in place, his expression shifting as if he wanted to explain one more sentence or persuade one more time, but upon turning his head, he felt that saying "drink more hot water, rest well" at this time would probably only make things worse, so after much thinking, he still held back from saying it.
Because he knew, Victoria had already given her boundary.
Arthur slowly lowered his head, bowed and said: "If that is your wish."
Victoria did not respond, nor did she watch him leave.
He turned around and walked towards the door, his pace not fast but extremely steady. At the moment he placed his hand on the latch, he deliberately paused his step, glancing back at Victoria.
However, young ladies seem to have this intuition, Victoria repeated: "I said, leave now."
The door closed silently, the lamp shadows flickered, the room returned to tranquillity.
Victoria stood by the window for a while, then returned to the chair by the fireplace and sat down.
The firelight reflected on her eyelashes and gently closed eyes, also on the fingertip tightly gripping the skirt’s hem, and everything returned to silence.
Only the Red Devil on the window sill still sat there, Agares bit into a carrot and hummed lightly: "Tsk... no one won, but no one lost. Not bad, really not bad."
He picked up a small piece of ash, rubbed it into a small salute at his fingertip, and flicked it lightly into the fire.
A crackling sound.
As if the curtain had finally fallen on this meticulously planned and spontaneously performed confrontation of actors.
...
The corridors of Windsor Castle were vast and long, with vaulted ceilings hanging high, and the gold and silver-inlaid walls glistened peculiarly under the sunlight.
Arthur stepped along the edge of the carpet, which was a narrow red runner leading to the west wing of the main building, outside was the courtyard where he had just walked with the Duchess of Kent.
His steps were not as quick as usual but moved slowly, as if deliberately adjusting his breathing rhythm, treading forward.
As he walked, he repeatedly replayed the scene just now in his mind.
He admitted, certainly there were many parts of today’s play that needed improvement, Victoria’s emotions were more tempestuous and stubborn than he had anticipated, but considering that it was his first time participating in such a traditional court drama, facing this young yet emotionally complex monarch, Arthur was still willing to give himself an A+ for his performance.
Even, from the audience’s perspective, those imperfections and unexpected parts perhaps instead elevated the expressiveness of this lyrical drama.
The Queen was crying, the wronged young lady was crying, yet she cried with such grace, cried with such unwillingness to yield, even her movements in wiping her tears seemed like she was gritting her teeth at fate.
And him?
Sir Arthur Hastings, standing in that opulent, nearly suffocating chamber, playing the role of the silent yet reliable old friend.
Mature, steady, loyal, unaggressive, uncompetitive, unarguing, he hadn’t tried to comfort, hadn’t submissively admitted fault either.
Today he didn’t want to win, nor did he plan to persuade her to immediately forgive, much less take advantage of the tears to "restore" the position he had painstakingly established in Victoria’s mind.
Even if at this moment she closed the door, keeping him at bay.
Even if tomorrow she still resents, remains vigilant, doubts, mixes him up with her mother...
But in the long run, establishing an image of Sir Arthur Hastings in Victoria’s mind as a gentleman who is sincere, kind, and courteous is far more important than being slightly resented by her right now.
After all, in the short term, he’s unlikely to adjust his position as Secretary of the Police Commissioner Committee.
Moreover, considering the comprehensive offensive that Fleet Street might launch against a gentleman residing permanently in Buckingham Palace next, keeping a proper distance from Victoria at this time is also quite safe and appropriate.
Arthur had just rounded a corner when he saw a gentleman dressed in a dark brown morning suit with silver hair draping his shoulders slowly approaching in the distance, followed by a young aide carrying a briefcase.
The man looked up and saw Arthur, slightly raised his hand, showing a gentle smile: "Sir Arthur."
Arthur stopped and slightly bowed to him: "Your Excellency Viscount, busy with the parade matters?"
Viscount Melbourne nodded: "Just about to report to Her Majesty the Queen, did you just come from her?"
Saying this, he couldn’t help but sigh: "You know, Her Majesty has very high standards for these ceremonial affairs."
Arthur slightly nodded: "Her Majesty indeed has been quite busy lately."
Viscount Melbourne smiled, he smoothly stopped the topic: "Then I won’t delay your return, Sir Arthur, see you at the parade."
"I won’t hold you up either." Arthur sidestepped half a step, letting the way clear: "See you at the parade."
The two passed each other.
Arthur did not immediately turn to leave, but stood where he was, watching the back of Viscount Melbourne gradually recede.
Arthur’s mouth twitched slightly, a very light and faint smile appeared in his eyes: "Good luck, Your Excellency Prime Minister."
