Chapter 2276 - 272: Nightingale Mansion Is Not a Place for Freeloaders

"Disraeli to Her Majesty Queen Victoria"

Please allow me, in the most respectful and brief manner, to express my gratitude to Your Majesty.

The other day, to be able to have an audience with you at Buckingham Palace and converse with Your Majesty in such an unguarded atmosphere, was an exceedingly rare and precious honor for me. If I seemed overly light-hearted in my conversation, or if, out of habit, I appeared somewhat presumptuous, I hope Your Majesty will see it as a mere mortal showing some slackness before Your Majesty’s composure and patience.

I am well aware that what Your Majesty endures daily is not merely documents and ceremonies, but also a kind of sobriety and responsibility that others cannot easily share. It is precisely for this reason that Your Majesty’s focus and acuity during our conversation left a deep impression on me. This is not only because of Your Majesty’s eloquent words but more so because of Your Majesty’s naturally superior judgment that surpasses any deliberate display of authority.

If I may dare to say a personal word, it would be this: In Your Majesty’s patient listening, one easily forgets one’s identity, yet can more clearly recognize Your Majesty’s noble qualities. I have found that Your Majesty is always correct when discussing issues, though many can achieve this. The difference lies in that Your Majesty arrives at the correct conclusion by intuition, whereas others can only barely reach there after lengthy discussions.

This letter does not intend to delay Your Majesty’s time, nor do I dare to hope for Your Majesty’s response.

It is merely an honest greeting from a loyal subject who holds sincere respect for Your Majesty’s demeanor and restraint.

Most respectfully,

Benjamin Disraeli

...

As the carriage passed through the familiar wrought-iron gate outside Buckingham Palace, the wheels made a very light jolt on the gravel road.

Arthur leaned against one side of the carriage, his gloves still on, yet his gaze was not fixed outside the window. His thoughts clearly remained in the study at Buckingham Palace just now.

Or, more precisely, they lingered on the letter Disraeli asked him to deliver to the Queen.

Flatterer.

This adjective flashed across Arthur’s mind, requiring almost no embellishment.

Ah! I do not hope for a reply; I simply wish to express my respect to Her Majesty!

How did Benjamin write these sentences without turning red or his heart skipping a beat?

Isn’t this just taking advantage of Victoria’s simplicity and youth to fulfill that little bit of a young lady’s vanity through letter writing?

Pah!

Disgusting!

One Buckingham Palace cannot accommodate two flatterers!

Still, even though Arthur somewhat disapproved of Disraeli’s crude flattery, the fact remained—Victoria indeed fell for it.

Especially when she had just broken free from the shadow of the Kensington System.

Of course, Victoria’s deep impression of Disraeli was not necessarily a bad thing.

After all, Arthur’s intention in introducing his friends to Buckingham Palace was precisely with this purpose in mind.

He just didn’t expect Disraeli to make such rapid progress.

In the past, Arthur only thought his Jewish friend had his own theories when it came to dealing with older women.

But now it seems, Master of female psychology, Disraeli is not only adept with older women but equally capable of charming young girls.

The reason Disraeli had not previously shown any impact on young girls was purely because he hadn’t focused his energy in that area—after all, everyone knew this fellow had no interest in young chicks.

However, when you place a target as significant as Victoria in front of him, Mr. Disraeli immediately manages to brush aside age biases and analyzes it thoroughly.

In this light, the Conservative Party indeed has promising successors.

When the carriage merged into the traffic on St. James Street, the speed slowed down.

Only then did Arthur raise his hand, unclasp the gloves that had been fastened to his wrist, and casually placed them on his knee.

He glanced at Whickriff’s somewhat stiff back in front of him and suddenly found it amusing.

"Thomas."

"Yes, Sir."

"You’ve been waiting for me in the stables for so long, did you come across anything interesting?"

Whickriff seemed to be saved by this sentence, his shoulders immediately relaxing.

He lightly cleared his throat, with a trace of leftover tension in his tone: "Truth be told, Sir, putting the carriage in the Royal Family’s stables for the first time, I was indeed a bit daunted."

"Hmm?"

"The place was too clean," Whickriff said earnestly. "So clean it hardly seemed like a place for horses. There wasn’t a single straw visible in the aisle, and even the corners were spotless. When I led the horse inside, I felt as if I were dreaming."

"And then?"

"Then it got much better," Whickriff answered honestly. "Carriages kept coming in steadily, all familiar faces. A warm-hearted person saw I was unfamiliar and took the initiative to greet me, even offered me a cigar. Initially, I didn’t dare to take it, but when the person saw my hesitation, he laughed and said it wasn’t a reward, but a custom. As long as you’re waiting inside, you can have one, no matter whose carriage you’re driving."

"Custom?"

"Yes," Whickriff nodded. "He said, although there are many rules in the palace, the stables aren’t that particular; after all, everyone there is just waiting for instructions."

The carriage slightly slowed down at the street corner, outside came the sound of vendors and horse hooves clattering on wet cobblestones.

"What did you all talk about then?"

"At first, not much really," Whickriff replied. "Mostly asking who I was driving for, where I was from. Once they knew I was driving for you, they became quite polite."