Chapter 2187 - 243: The Earl of Dalmo Has Gone Mad—He Says He Wants to Start a New Whig Party

The wind at Whitehall always carries an unreasonable vigour, just like Viscount Palmerston’s diplomatic policy towards weak countries.

Eld walked into the small café near the side entrance of the Navy Department White Building, and as soon as he pushed open the compartment door, he couldn’t help but shiver and curse: "God bears witness, Arthur, if it weren’t for your invitation, I absolutely wouldn’t have come out for lunch in such wretched weather."

Arthur held the tea saucer and took a sip of hot red tea: "No matter how bad the weather, one must come out for meals, right? The Navy Department doesn’t have a canteen, if you don’t come out to eat, are you going to starve in the office?"

Eld took off his gloves, slumped onto a chair, and complained constantly: "True, there’s no canteen, but the snacks I brought yesterday aren’t finished yet. They’d suffice for a meal. If worst comes to worst, just have a clerk fetch me a takeaway from the café."

"Is that so?" Arthur set down his teacup: "You really do wield quite a bit of authority at the Hydrographic Office then!"

"What else?" Eld stretched out a hoof, putting his right leg over his left: "I’m the director!"

"Deputy."

"Who cares if it’s director or deputy, as long as Director Beaufort isn’t around, I’m the one running the show. Go ask around the bureau, who dares say I’m second-in-command? If there is someone brave enough to say that, note their name down and give it to me later."

"You plan to retaliate?"

"What retaliation? I’m not as petty as you." Eld poured himself a cup of tea: "I just feel such daring young people should be given more responsibility."

After a cup of hot tea, Eld finally felt a bit warmer: "Alright, what’s the good news you’re announcing that required bringing me out in this cold? You couldn’t wait until the end of workday to tell me, so it must be significant news, right? Have I secured my Royal Medal?"

Arthur gently tapped his fingertips on the saucer: "Earl of Dalmo said he’s planning to form a party."

"Oh? Really?" Eld didn’t seem surprised at all: "Has he invited you?"

Arthur initially thought Eld would leap up from his chair, but Eld merely raised an eyebrow, as if he just heard someone in the next office spill an ink bottle - utterly mundane.

This reaction made Arthur pause slightly.

But, come to think of it, Eld wasn’t the excitable university student he once was, and he had been managing affairs at the Hydrographic Office for half a year. He should’ve picked up some of the calm demeanour of the old bureaucrats at Whitehall.

"He didn’t invite me, but he’s written letters to Lord Brougham, Mr. Thomas Vickley, and others."

At this, Eld nodded slightly: "What about the ladies? Didn’t you inquire about the guest list for the women?"

"Ladies?" Arthur blinked: "What do women have to do with this? They can’t be MPs."

Just as Arthur finished speaking, Eld clicked his tongue: "Arthur, you’re too utilitarian. True, women can’t be MPs, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t important. A party without women is incomplete; for the ball, what then? You surely don’t imagine Lord Brougham holding Mr. Vickley’s hand to dance, do you?"

"Eld, what are you thinking of?"

"Didn’t you say Earl of Dalmo intends to hold a party?"

It took Arthur a moment to realize the misunderstanding, and he almost couldn’t resist slapping Eld: "I said forming a party! Forming a new political party! Not a skirt-and-dance party! Earl of Dalmo intends to start a New Whig Party!"

"Oh..." Eld suddenly understood: "Now it makes sense. No wonder you put on such a sour face, I thought you were sulking because Earl of Dalmo hadn’t invited you."

With this realization, Eld rubbed his chin in contemplation: "Wait... Didn’t you visit Earl of Dalmo yesterday? Why are you only telling me this now?"

"You returned home at 2 AM last night, didn’t you ask me?"

"Then why didn’t you say anything this morning?"

"Eld, have you been going to Leicester Square so often lately that you got amnesia?" If not out of respect for the Navy Department, Arthur probably would have kicked Eld’s behind by now: "When I got up for work, you, the most diligent bureaucrat of the Navy Department, were still lying in bed!"

Eld ignored Arthur’s accusation; he set down his teacup, his expression suddenly growing solemn, but Arthur couldn’t be sure if Eld was reflecting or trying hard to recall what time he came home last night.

Eld furrowed his brow, staring at the salt shaker on the table for a good while: "Arthur, do you think... Earl of Dalmo might be off his rocker? Having just extricated himself from the mess of Canada, and not opting to return to Durham as a gentleman of leisure, but instead wanting to run to London and form a New Whig Party — isn’t this madness borne of too much wealth?"

"Count, Up Your Excellency has always been this way." Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples: "You know his temperament well. Upper Canada was in such turmoil that Parliament was nearly set ablaze, and in Lower Canada there were even whispers of armed revolt. The Cabinet expects him to deal with it properly but won’t grant him authority; Earl of Dalmo, caught in the middle, how can he not be frustrated?"

With that, he threw a glance at Eld: "Aren’t you going to comment on recent political commentary from the coal mines? Don’t you know what London’s political scene has been debating these past months?"

"I’ve seen some." Eld took a sip of tea: "However, truth be told, I don’t quite understand what they’re quarrelling about. After all, Canada is further away from my office than it is from Buckingham Palace."