Chapter 2271 - 270: Will Sir Arthur Have His Own Cook? (Part 2)

The road inside the palace walls was divided into two sides.

The left led to the stables area and service passage, while the right led to the main building’s entrance and the Marble Arch.

Thomas, following the guards’ direction, lightly shook the reins twice, guiding the horse slowly towards the main building.

The main block of Buckingham Palace had just been rebuilt, with its facade representing the early Victorian Era, both austere and striving to exhibit solemn architectural charm.

The window frames were wide, and between the stone columns, one could still see traces not completely polished.

Morning light reflected on the stone surfaces, making the palace seem to silently rise from the grey mist.

Whickriff dared not look around randomly.

He only stole a glance with his peripheral vision.

The attendants in the corridor were performing the routine morning preparations within the court; the stone bricks freshly polished were so bright they almost reflected a human figure; the copper lampshades at the door looked crystal clear, as if just purchased from a shop.

Whickriff suddenly conceived a thought he had never imagined.

Following such a person...

Perhaps, the fate of Thomas Whickriff could truly change.

Whickriff cautiously brought the carriage to a steady halt on the gravel before the main building.

The gravel was fine, light-colored, and produced a subtle but orderly sound when trodden on. This was the "ceremonial path" specially laid by Buckingham Palace, ensuring the sound of carriage movement was neither too harsh nor entirely unnoticed. It is said that Buckingham Palace regularly relays these gravels to maintain the perfect sound, akin to an orchestra tightening its strings to ensure accurate timbre.

The carriage came to a complete stop.

Thomas immediately jumped down from the seat, tidied up the tail of his tailcoat, and steadily opened the carriage door.

Sir Arthur Hastings disembarked with his usual grace, no excessiveness, no intention to parade, but also devoid of timid subservience.

He was like a sharp, silent dagger placed within a velvet box.

Not glaring, but dangerously commanded respect.

When Arthur’s toe touched the gravel, the subtle sound almost made Whickriff’s entire body erupt in goosebumps.

"Thomas," Arthur slowly put on white gloves, turned his head indicating the direction of the palace’s left wing: "Wait for me at the Royal stables."

Thomas paused: "Royal stables... Your Excellency, I..."

"Buckingham Palace’s stables are just behind the corridor in the left courtyard. If you don’t know the way, an attendant can guide you. Just hand your horse over to the coachman there; you don’t need to take care of it personally."

Thomas stood there dumbfounded.

Not because he couldn’t discern the direction, but because, in his inherent belief, handing over a horse for someone else to care for was like handing over one’s pride and livelihood for a coachman.

Arthur seemed to have seen through his hesitation, explaining calmly: "The handling of horses in the palace is exceptionally strict. The Royal stables have their own coachmen, feed room, farrier, and inspectors. Remember, just do three things there."

He raised one finger.

"First, keep an eye on your carriage, don’t let anyone tamper with it."

Raised the second finger.

"Second, maintain your uniform neat. The Imperial Stable is filled with coachmen of various notable figures; you need not show off there, but don’t embarrass me either."

Third finger.

"Third, wait for my call."

Thomas listened quietly, his heart beating faster than when he saw Buckingham Palace’s gate.

"Moreover," Arthur paused, adding: "If there is tea and snacks offered to you there, feel free to consume them; request more if insufficient. If an attendant asks you to sit on a nearby bench and rest, just sit relaxedly. Don’t be constrained, nor deliberately try to please anyone. No one here bullies honest people, but also does not tolerate disorderly folks. Just remain composed, stable, and keep your eyes bright; I believe you can do this."

Thomas took a deep breath: "Y...Yes, Sir."

Arthur nodded slightly, then turned and walked towards the marble steps.

A few court attendants were already waiting; they seemed informed beforehand of Hastings’s arrival, respectfully approaching, guiding him into the tall palace door.

Thomas stood in place, watching Arthur’s silhouette disappearing into the depths of the arch.

He felt a complex emotion swelling in his chest, neither solely tension nor pure awe, but a peculiar feeling of elevation.

As if he himself was being lifted from the muddy track of London streets into a completely different new world.

He deeply inhaled, clenched the reins tightly.

Court attendants were already approaching him.

...

The window frames of the east wing study in Buckingham Palace gleamed slightly in the morning light.

Victoria had been awake for more than an hour.

Leisen had just replaced her morning gown, following the usual routine; she should first receive the greetings of the ladies-in-waiting, then begin the serious yet monotonous daily royal routine affairs.

However, Victoria postponed all of this today, not due to weariness, but because she was sitting by the window at the small writing desk, fully absorbed in reading several distinctly different documents.

One was the latest issue of the Police Gazette.

Another was an excerpt about "the state of nearby law and order" from the regular report of the Buckingham Palace Guard.

The third was Arthur’s monthly compiled national security report, a special requirement from Victoria to the Home Office, perhaps due to her particular feelings towards the police force, since ascending the throne Victoria has treated the security report with extraordinary solemnity.