Around fifteen days after the funeral of William IV, Victoria issued a royal proclamation dissolving Parliament after consulting with Robert Peel.
At the time, the British Empire still operated under the principle that the authority and legitimacy of Parliament ultimately flowed from the Crown. Because of this, there existed a law stating that when the monarch died, Parliament itself could no longer legally continue.
In recent years some had begun questioning the purpose of this law, but as long as it remained in force, it had to be obeyed.
Thus, for what would later be remembered as the final time in British history, Parliament was dissolved due to the death of the monarch. A royal notice announcing the dissolution and the calling of new elections spread across the country.
After finishing all the procedures, Robert returned looking utterly exhausted.
A deep new wrinkle had appeared on his forehead, proof of just how much strain the matter had cost him.
"Thank you for your hard work, Robert."
"Parliament's been dissolved. That means I'm no longer Prime Minister."
"You'll be Prime Minister again soon enough. What difference does it make?"
"I certainly hope so… But tell me—did you confirm everything? Are you certain the Whigs are plotting something?"
"Absolutely."
I told him roughly half of what I had uncovered.
I explained that the Whigs were trying to remove Daniel O'Connell and install a pro-Whig successor to steer the Repeal Party in a different direction.
I did not mention the far more disturbing truth—that they intended to spark a massive uprising across Ireland, blame the Conservatives for it, and then wipe out both the Conservative Party and the Young Ireland faction in one stroke.
"So the Whigs plan to push out Daniel and install this fellow—O'Brien—as the next leader of the Repeal Party. Yet they told me they intended to eliminate the party altogether. As I thought… they had another plan all along."
"They'll probably use him until they've squeezed out everything they need, then dispose of him too."
In truth, O'Brien and the Young Ireland faction were nothing more than unfortunate puppets dancing in the palm of the Whigs' hands.
They believed themselves to be noble revolutionaries fighting for Ireland's independence.
What actually awaited them was a classic ending—useful tools discarded once their purpose was served.
If they were lucky, history might not even remember them as the worst traitors Ireland had ever produced.
They might even owe me a little gratitude.
After all, how many independence movements have ever succeeded by relying on the power of a foreign political party—especially one belonging to the very country that ruled them?
No. From the beginning, the first step of their plan had been fatally flawed.
The only real solution was to burn the entire scheme down and restore things to their original state.
"Still," Robert continued, "you said you had a plan, so I'll keep quiet and observe for now. But you understand that if things go wrong, this won't remain just your problem."
"I understand. But if I resolve this situation perfectly, I trust you'll consider giving me greater responsibilities in the next government."
"That much is obvious. I've thought about it carefully, and the reason these problems keep appearing is simple—we don't truly control Ireland yet."
He folded his arms.
"Our relationship with Daniel isn't bad, but he's getting old. And his goal is still independence. Eventually we'll end up on opposite sides."
"If not O'Brien, then someone from the Young Ireland faction will succeed him. And whoever it is will clash with us far more often."
"Exactly," Robert said.
"That's why when we form the next government, we must expand Conservative influence in Ireland no matter what. Conveniently enough, you'll come of age next year. That means you can finally enter politics properly."
Good. This was unfolding exactly as I had hoped.
But if I intended to swallow Ireland whole, Robert surely understood what I would require in return.
After all, if someone gives something, they must also receive something.
"However, Robert, even once I reach adulthood it won't be easy for me to make an impact in politics. I'm already an earl, which means I can't sit in the Commons. But Irish earls can't automatically enter the House of Lords either…"
"Don't worry about that," Robert replied.
"Once the election ends and the new Parliament is assembled, the party will request that Her Majesty grant you a peerage. You're close with Victoria. She won't refuse. When that happens, you'll be a member of the House of Lords starting next year."
"Won't there be opposition within the party? I heard some people are against placing me in the Lords the moment I come of age."
"When the election ends and the full story of this incident becomes known, opinions will change. Preventing a situation like this from happening again will require someone representing Ireland inside the Lords. That someone will be you."
Of course.
That was precisely why I had not told Robert the full story.
If I had revealed every detail of the Whigs' scheme, what would he and the Conservatives have done?
Simple.
They would have dragged the entire Whig leadership down in chains and crushed the opposition completely.
At first I would have been celebrated as a hero.
But how long would that admiration last?
Ironically, the value of Ireland—and of me—was greatest because the Whigs remained a dangerous opposition party.
If the Whigs collapsed into an irrelevant party with barely a hundred seats, my usefulness would vanish overnight.
Why would the Conservatives keep rewarding me with influence if they already controlled the government regardless of Ireland?
History had a clear example.
Scipio Africanus.
The man who defeated Hannibal at the Battle of Zama and ended the Second Punic War.
At first he was hailed as Rome's savior.
Later, the Senate feared his influence and forced him out of politics.
If the Whigs truly collapsed, my future might not be so different.
The Conservatives would crown me a "hero" who helped destroy the opposition—then quietly push me into the corner.
"Thank you," I said.
"If I enter the House of Lords, I'll devote myself even more to serving you and the party."
"Good," Robert replied. "I'll hold you to that."
The Whigs could not be destroyed yet.
Not until I was certain the Conservative Party itself had become mine.
Still, the more weaknesses I gathered, the more ways I would have to use them later.
Even the documents I had already collected could destroy the careers of figures like William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne or John Russell if I chose to release them.
Until the right moment came, however, the Whigs needed to remain a dangerous opposition.
Otherwise I might lose the opportunity to keep enjoying the crumbs falling from the table.
Cork County – The Day of the Rally
A small farmhouse near the southern tip of Ireland.
County Cork—one of the largest electoral districts in Ireland—would become the starting point of the coming chaos.
With the decisive day approaching, I met with O'Brien one last time to review the plan.
"That's everything," he said. "If we move without mistakes on the day itself, everything will go smoothly."
"So you'll be standing beside Daniel when he's arrested."
"Exactly. If the police fail to recognize him, I'll signal them."
Whether he intended it or not, the arrangement resembled the method used by Judas to betray Jesus in the Bible.
I merely nodded along, offering no criticism of the plan.
"The structure is solid. Killian Gore is coming all the way here to support the Conservative candidates, so the crowd will be huge. Once the attention is focused here… are you planning to carry out an actual attack on the Conservative politicians?"
"I'd like to. But for now we'll limit it to intimidation. After all, you promised to deal with Killian Gore yourself."
"That's right. And if you need additional support, tell me anytime. Money won't be a problem."
From the perspective of the man carrying out the plan, there could hardly be a more reliable backer.
Perhaps that was why O'Brien continued trusting me despite never seeing my face.
"When this is over," he said, raising his glass, "I suppose I'll finally see who you really are."
"Still curious? Or suspicious?"
"Suspicious? Not at all. You've funded everything without complaint. And I have a good guess why you can't reveal yourself."
He studied me thoughtfully.
"Someone your age who can move this much money… there aren't many people in this country who could do that."
Apparently he had a few suspects in mind.
He poured Irish ale into our glasses and raised a toast.
"Soon everything will return to where it belongs. To the success of our plan. To Ireland."
"To Ireland."
I drank the lukewarm ale without hesitation.
But the truth was simple.
The reason I never questioned his plans too deeply was because I didn't need to.
Money creates movement.
And if you understand the movement, the entire plan becomes visible.
Just by watching how O'Brien spent the funds I gave him, I already knew everything:
How the agitators were disguised.
Which towns would erupt in coordinated riots.
How evidence would be forged to make it appear that Daniel O'Connell stood behind the violence.
Every detail had already been uncovered.
If he had been older or more experienced, he might have sensed something wrong.
But he was in his thirties, intoxicated by the thrill of success.
Through him, I had also confirmed the ideology spreading among the radical extremists of the Young Ireland faction.
Unfortunately, such people were dangerous explosives.
Ireland could not afford to keep them around.
So if they insisted on becoming kindling for Ireland's cause—
I hoped they would burn brightly.
As brightly as possible.