## Chapter 178: A Farcical Parliament
Wednesday, a day that always felt somewhat ambiguous. It wasn’t as dreadful as Monday, the first day of the workweek, nor as anticipated as Friday or Saturday. For the Duke of Wellington and the Tory members still supporting the cabinet, it was also a day of subtle tension.
Today, a special and solemn event was scheduled in Parliament – Prime Minister’s Question Time.
North of the Thames, near Trafalgar Square, the clock towers of Westminster Abbey and St. Margaret’s Church simultaneously struck twelve noon.
Westminster Palace, home to the House of Lords and the House of Commons of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.
Two Gothic spires, each exceeding 100 meters, soared skyward at the southwest and northwest corners, seemingly poised to pierce the gloomy sky. Beneath them, countless smaller, pointed turrets were scattered, resembling a line of infantry soldiers in bright yellow uniforms, armed with flintlock muskets, marching in the distance.
Before the dark entrance of Westminster Palace, countless dark, open lamp niches adorned the bright yellow exterior walls, emitting faint light that illuminated the scarlet uniforms of the Royal Guard patrolling the nearby sidewalk.
Several dark black carriages arrived from Downing Street and Whitehall, converging before Westminster Palace and eventually stopping before the bustling entrance.
As the carriages pulled in, the noisy crowd suddenly fell silent. Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the attendants running alongside the carriages stepped forward to open the carriage doors one after another, and pairs of sturdy leather boots emerged from the carriages, step by step.
First to alight was a gentleman in a dark gray tailcoat, wearing a white shirt. He stood tall and straight, his face calm, but the hint of sharpness in his eyes still made it clear he was not someone to be trifled with.
Although, as a soldier, he disliked being in the limelight, many in the crowd recognized him.
Sir Edward Barnes, former Director of Military Affairs for the British Army during the Battle of Waterloo, Admiral of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, soon to be appointed Commander-in-Chief of the British Army in India.
Standing beside him was Roland Hill, Viscount Almarez, former commander of the British Second Army during the Battle of Waterloo, current Governor of Plymouth, Commander-in-Chief of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Army, Admiral.
Beside him stood a man in black, his face gentle but with an empty trouser leg, forcing him to walk with a cane.
That was Henry Paget, Earl of Anglesey, Wellington’s right-hand man during the Battle of Waterloo, then Deputy Commander-in-Chief and Commander of the Cavalry, now Minister for Irish Affairs, Admiral of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.
The three generals exchanged glances and then stood respectfully on either side of the road.
A gust of cold wind suddenly swept through the gloomy sky. Despite the frigid weather, the audience could sense a lingering, unmistakable scent of gunpowder in the air.
A few raindrops fell on the brick path in front of Westminster Palace. The carriage door was slowly pulled open by the attendant, and a high-top boot slowly extended, landing heavily and powerfully on the brick path soaked by the rain. The sound of the boot hitting the ground resonated with a clang. The force of the step was as if the owner of the boot wasn’t trying to walk, but to crush the bricks into mud.
The Duke of Wellington, clad in deep red, stepped out of the carriage, cane in hand. He looked up at the crowd lining the path, intending to wave in greeting, but before he could, a furious accusation pierced the quiet air.
A lady in a white dress, accompanied by two male servants, seemingly a supporter of the Whig Party, sneered, “Your Grace, if my husband opposed parliamentary reform like you, I’d definitely poison his breakfast coffee.”
Just as everyone thought the Duke of Wellington, who was always taciturn in public, would remain silent as usual, the man who was once hailed as the hero of Britain, now mocked as a senile old man with a rusty brain, scrutinized the lady from head to toe, then retorted.
“Madam, if I were your husband, even knowing the coffee was poisoned, I would drink it without hesitation. With a wife like you, I wouldn’t want to live a moment longer.”
With that, the Duke of Wellington, unfazed, strode towards Westminster Palace with his cane, leaving the crowd to their jeering and insults.
“Wellington, you will suffer Waterloo today!”
“Despotic tyrant, we expected you to be the next George Monck, but you want to be the next Cromwell!”
“Your presence in the Prime Minister’s position is the greatest stain on British democracy!”
However, the Duke of Wellington ignored these insults. He had heard too much of this kind of scratching at the surface, much softer than the mob that had attacked his mansion.
Although already a man in his sixties, the Duke of Wellington’s pace was still brisk.
Within Westminster Palace, a massive palace with over a thousand rooms and over a hundred staircases, the hallway that ran through the entire palace was 3 miles long.
Fortunately, the Duke of Wellington didn’t need to walk the entire distance.
He stood in the center of Westminster Palace.
On his right was the House of Lords, the Chamber of Lords.
On his left was the House of Commons, the Chamber of the Commons.
Although the Duke of Wellington, as a nobleman, had been involved in politics in the House of Lords for years, today his destination was the Chamber of the Commons.
The Duke of Wellington’s cane tapped against the ornate and intricate floor of the palace, the sound of “thump, thump” gradually fading into the distance.
The hall of the House of Commons was getting closer, and after a brief period of darkness and silence, the noise of the crowd’s shouts grew louder, and the Duke of Wellington’s vision gradually became brighter.
Although the chamber was not small, it was packed with 658 members of the House of Commons and numerous members of the House of Lords who had come to attend Question Time, making the chamber, with only over 400 green leather seats, feel cramped.
The Tory and Whig members were clearly divided into two camps. They were separated by the Speaker’s seat and the table, with supporters of the Whig Party seated on the left and the ruling Tories on the right.
Although Question Time had not yet begun, the air was thick with gunpowder. From the faces of Sir Robert Peel, the Home Secretary, Sir Henry Goulburn, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Earl Aberdeen, the Foreign Secretary, all seated in the front row on the right, one could tell that the morning session of the House of Commons had not gone smoothly.
When the Duke of Wellington appeared in the chamber, the already restless atmosphere reached a new peak.
The backbenchers of the Whig Party even shouted “NAY” at him, trying to give him a taste of their power before Question Time even began.
“John, give our Prime Minister a taste of our might!”
“Didn’t you visit Napoleon on St. Helena? Did he tell you how to defeat Wellington?”
“We will defeat you here!”
“Today, right here!”
The Tories, on the other hand, all stood up and shouted “YEA” in support of their leader, the Duke of Wellington.
“Your Grace, since you led Britain to defeat the French, there’s no reason why you should lose to these Whig scoundrels today.”
“John Russell, bring on your tricks!”
“If you can’t handle it, you and your brother, the Duke of Bedford, should go up together!”
“If that still doesn’t work, you might as well dig Napoleon out of the ground!”
The two parties’ members bickered and argued, and it seemed as if they were going to start fighting before Question Time even started. The Speaker, seated between the two parties’ members, had to raise his small wooden hammer and repeatedly strike the table, “Silence! Silence! Silence!”
However, the members ignored the Speaker’s request.
Perhaps because of the heated debate in the morning, the emotions of both sides had been heightened, and the appearance of the Duke of Wellington was like a spark that completely ignited the powder keg.
The backbenchers of both parties refused to shut up, they bickered and argued, and even repeated requests from the Speaker were in vain.
A Tory backbencher, heated by his argument, actually picked up a document from the table and threw it at the Whigs across from him.
He threw it while cursing, “Edward! You should be glad it’s not the 14th century. If Edward II hadn’t forbidden wearing swords and armor in the Houses of Parliament, I’d have taken your head off and used it as a football!”
The Whig member, known as Edward, was not to be outdone, and he retorted, “You don’t need weapons to duel, do you? Alex, I think your fists are not even half as hard as your mouth!”
“You impudent scoundrel, it seems I have to teach you a lesson today!”
As soon as he finished speaking, Alex, the Tory backbencher, couldn’t help but rush to the front row, waving his fist, ready to fight.
Seeing this, the Speaker couldn’t help but slam his wooden hammer on the table while roaring, “I repeat, no one is allowed to die in Parliament! Sergeant-at-Arms! Sergeant-at-Arms! Throw these two impudent scoundrels out immediately!”
(To be continued)