In principle, the House of Commons and the House of Lords held their sessions separately, each in its own chamber.
While Killian was speaking before the Lords at the Prime Minister's request, the debate in the Commons was being driven by Charles Wellesley and Benjamin Disraeli.
"The first, second, and third duty of a politician is to serve the people!"
"The Irish are citizens of the British Empire, not colonial subjects. The government must use every means available to prevent this foreseeable catastrophe!"
"But that's easy to say. All of that requires money, does it not? If we pour excessive funds into Ireland, there will be serious backlash elsewhere."
"Are you suggesting Irish lives are worth less than others?"
"When did I say that? I merely said we must prioritize carefully."
The debate quickly turned chaotic.
Charles Wellesley would introduce a point, someone would object, and Daniel O'Connell would leap up to deliver an impassioned rebuttal.
The chamber grew louder than a crowded marketplace.
"According to this report," O'Connell thundered, "if a great famine strikes Ireland without preparation, the number of victims could exceed two million! One million may die of starvation, and another million could be forced to abandon their homes in search of survival!
If we had never seen this report, we might claim ignorance! But every single one of you has now read it!
When this disaster arrives—and it will—anyone who opposed preparations will bear responsibility for those deaths. Why? Because the evidence will show you knew and chose to ignore it!"
"Mr. O'Connell is right!"
"Are Irish lives not lives at all?"
"If you wish to treat Ireland differently from England, then declare it a colony outright! Otherwise, give its people the treatment owed to citizens of the United Kingdom! If it were predicted that one million Englishmen would starve, would this debate even be happening?!"
Some members spoke purely out of concern for Irish lives.
Daniel O'Connell and his Repeal Party allies led that faction.
Others took a more cautious tone.
"No one is saying we should do nothing. But the economy is weak, and China's indemnity payments have not fully arrived yet. We simply need time to secure funding."
They opposed immediate aid but did not want to appear heartless.
Then there were others.
"The famine may be a future problem, but the merchants who suffered losses before the war have already been harmed. They should be compensated first!"
These were the members who had received generous support from opium traders.
With so many conflicting interests, consensus did not come easily.
Yet the final direction of the Commons had never really been in doubt.
When O'Connell passionately argued that Ireland must be saved, Charles Wellesley stepped in with a carefully placed remark.
"If a catastrophe like this occurs in Ireland, it will not affect Ireland alone—it will affect the entire Empire.
What guarantee do we have that deteriorating security in Ireland will not spill over into Britain itself?
And more importantly—what happens if it becomes known that we ignored this warning?"
The chamber grew quiet.
"If word spreads throughout the Empire that we knew famine was coming to one part of the United Kingdom and chose not to act," Charles Wellesley continued, "how will our colonies react?
If the Crown allows its own citizens to starve, what do you think colonial subjects will believe awaits them?"
One member scoffed.
"That assumes anyone would learn about it."
Charles Wellesley shook his head.
"There will always be men who desire independence in the colonies. And there will always be foreign powers eager to destabilize us.
If I were French, I would make sure this information reached them. All it would take is a whisper in the right ears."
The point landed.
If Parliament had been ignorant, it could later claim it simply had not known.
But once the report existed, ignoring it became a conscious choice.
And that was far harder to defend.
Many members of the Commons privately regarded Ireland with little sympathy.
Even so, openly ignoring such a disaster was politically dangerous.
Meanwhile, the faction aligned with opium merchants decided to step back temporarily.
After all, they were confident the House of Lords would reject any major Irish relief measure.
Once that happened, they could argue for compensating merchants instead.
After several hours of heated debate, Charles Wellesley's proposal secured overwhelming support.
"The motion is approved," the Speaker declared. "A committee shall be established to prepare legislation preventing the Irish famine and organizing appropriate responses."
The chamber erupted in applause.
Once again, the Charles Wellesley faction had successfully imposed its will.
Yet one man watched the celebration with unease.
William Gladstone.
His discomfort had nothing to do with aiding Ireland.
He believed assistance was necessary.
If famine truly threatened, the government had a duty to act.
His concern was something else entirely.
The realization that the future of the Conservative Party might not include him.
That did not mean he would be excluded entirely.
William Gladstone was not on bad terms with Charles Wellesley.
Nor with Killian Gore, who had rapidly become one of the faction's central figures.
But even so, he would remain peripheral.
The core of the faction consisted of Charles Wellesley, Killian Gore, and Benjamin Disraeli.
And between William Gladstone and Benjamin Disraeli, ideological conflict was almost inevitable.
At best, I would remain the fourth or fifth man, Gladstone thought.
For most politicians, that position would be more than satisfactory.
But not for him.
Gladstone possessed both the ambition and the ability to lead a party.
And as his political career progressed, his doubts grew stronger.
The Conservative Party's ideology did not quite align with his own.
Better the claw of a lion… or the head of a wolf.
Sooner or later, he would have to decide.
As applause filled the chamber, William Gladstone watched Charles Wellesley and Benjamin Disraeli with complicated emotions.
House of Lords
Meanwhile, debate in the Lords had reached a deadlock.
With no consensus in sight, the Lord Speaker suggested a recess.
From my perspective, the timing was perfect.
If my calculations were correct, the Commons would soon reach its conclusion.
And the break provided an excellent opportunity.
An opportunity to silence certain people.
The moment the session paused, I scanned the chamber.
Before long I spotted a promising target standing alone.
I approached casually.
"The debate has grown quite long. You must be tired, Lord Anglesey."
He snorted.
"Whatever you intend to say, Minister, spare yourself the effort. I will not be persuaded."
"I'm not here to persuade you," I replied pleasantly. "I merely thought you might find a certain matter… interesting."
In politics, persuasion depended on choosing the right method.
Some men required gentle coaxing.
Others required something firmer.
Based on the information William Jardine had provided, the Marquis of Anglesey clearly belonged to the latter category.
He had earned his position as a hero of Waterloo.
But he also possessed a fondness for gambling and extravagant living.
"I heard you once carried significant debts," I said lightly. "Yet in recent years they appear to have vanished."
"…What is this? Have you been investigating me?"
"I must confess disappointment. A hero of Waterloo accepting discreet payments to settle gambling debts."
His face stiffened.
"And you may not know this, but I do not despise narcotics by accident.
The Prime Minister is working very hard to ensure this war is remembered as a legitimate exercise of British rights.
If certain individuals continue defending opium merchants… that becomes difficult."
"Well, I—"
"The Prime Minister cares deeply about this matter. As does the Duke of Wellington. And Her Majesty as well.
We have only just succeeded in removing the word 'opium' from the story of this war.
If it resurfaces now… are you prepared for the consequences?"
I handed him several documents.
Merchants rarely handed out bribes without insurance.
Jardine had meticulously recorded the financial trail.
The marquis's face drained of color as he skimmed the evidence.
"Where… where did you get this?"
"Next time you accept money," I said calmly, "you may wish to ensure the man paying you cannot betray you."
A moment later, he burst into forced laughter.
"Surely our good minister isn't angry over a simple disagreement! Of course human lives come first! Opium is hardly relevant anymore, is it? Ha! Ha!"
"Then you will support not only Irish relief, but also the removal of narcotics merchants from British politics."
His smile froze.
"It would be good for you as well. After all, this would eliminate your… vulnerability."
He hesitated.
But he had no choice.
Finally he grabbed my hand enthusiastically.
"Of course! Happy to help! And perhaps… those documents could disappear?"
"Certainly."
He believed me immediately.
Naturally, I had no intention of destroying anything.
But as long as he believed it, that was good enough.
I left him there and moved on to my next target.
This time, persuasion would require more finesse.
"Your Grace," I said politely, "it is an honor to meet you. I hope the extended debate has not interfered with your schedule."
Francis Russell, Duke of Bedford.
One of the wealthiest men in Britain.
A leading Whig aristocrat and elder brother of John Russell.
He was so wealthy that luxury scarcely affected his fortune.
Unlike Anglesey, he had no direct ties to opium merchants.
But unfortunately—
His relatives did.
"Frankly," the duke said bluntly, "you're wasting your time. No British aristocrat will rush to save Ireland."
"I expected as much," I replied. "But some of the opposition seems motivated by… other concerns."
"Oh?"
"The concern that compensation meant for certain merchants may instead fund Irish relief."
He frowned.
"That may be true. But what can be done? You cannot force them. Besides, some of us simply believe the indemnity should stimulate the property market."
There it was.
Most Lords were landowners.
Their priorities were predictable.
"I understand your position completely," I said. "I would oppose any bill that diverted the entire indemnity to Ireland.
However, I worry that reasonable men like yourself may be mistaken for allies of opium traders."
He laughed.
"You expect people to believe I take money from men poorer than myself?"
"Of course not. But I worry about your relatives."
I handed him Jardine's documents.
The duke's expression darkened instantly.
"You expect me to believe my family accepted these payments?"
"The money is not theirs, after all. And these records reveal something else."
"And that is?"
"These files were created so opium merchants could pressure influential figures in Parliament."
The duke leaned closer.
"Is that true?"
"Unfortunately, yes," I said solemnly.
It was a complete lie.
But a convincing one.
"Where are these merchants now?"
"Somewhere they will never trouble us again."
The duke smiled approvingly.
"Well handled, Minister."
When the session resumed, the atmosphere had completely changed.
"Why should we compensate men who traded illegal substances?" Anglesey declared loudly. "If any funds remain after legitimate expenditures, perhaps then we can discuss assistance."
"But… didn't you say earlier—"
"I reflected during the break. God reminded me that the Irish are also citizens of the Empire. I shall support their relief! Save Ireland!"
The chamber stared at him in disbelief.
Yet opposition collapsed.
Then the Duke of Bedford spoke.
"I see no reason to oppose Irish relief. But I see even less reason to rescue opium merchants."
With one of the most influential peers supporting the proposal, momentum shifted instantly.
The Speaker sighed.
"If agreement was this easy, one wonders why we argued so fiercely earlier."
He called for a vote.
"All those in favor?"
"AYE!"
"AYE!"
"AYE!"
"NO—"
"AYE!"
The scattered opposition vanished beneath the overwhelming chorus.
Moments later, the Speaker announced the decision.
"The House of Lords shall cooperate in drafting Irish relief measures as quickly as possible."
Applause filled the chamber.
I bowed deeply.
"Thank you. I will ensure the best possible results."
The elder peers applauded generously.
Good.
We won.