Almost no one believed the dispute inside the Conservative Party was truly about the Canadian Immigration Bill.
Whether the bill should remain in its original form or have the western expansion clause removed was not the real issue.
That was merely a pretext.
The real problem was the clash between the party elders and the rising faction.
The Whig Party, fully aware of this, initially chose not to intervene.
In fact, they intended to keep watching and allow the conflict to grow.
If the Conservatives continued tearing themselves apart in public, voters would inevitably grow tired of the ruling party.
And that would be good news for the opposition.
By letting the Conservatives display endless internal chaos, the Whigs could build momentum and steadily increase their own support.
At least…
That had been the plan.
"Damn it. Is this real?"
"This isn't some kind of joke, is it?"
"I'm afraid it's genuine," the aide replied.
"The letter refers to the incident with precise details."
The mood of Viscount Melbourne, leader of the Whig Party, and John Russell, widely considered the party's future leader, plunged into despair.
Just when it seemed the perfect opportunity had arrived…
A nightmare they had long tried to forget had suddenly returned.
"So this person intends to pressure us by exposing the incident?" Melbourne muttered.
"…Do you think the ones who interfered with us back then were Conservatives after all?"
"If that were the case," Russell said slowly, "why would they wait until now to reveal it?"
"I think I understand why."
Russell tapped the unsigned letter with his finger.
"The sender's intention is obvious."
"He wants you, my lord, to confront the Prime Minister."
"He even explains exactly when, how, and at what moment we should act."
Melbourne frowned.
"Then the sender cannot be Robert Peel or anyone from his faction."
"Which leaves Charles Wellesley," Russell replied.
"Or perhaps Wellesley himself."
"Charles Wellesley?" Melbourne said in disbelief.
"You're telling me the man who destroyed our plan and captured our weakness—then waited all this time—is Charles Wellesley?"
It was certainly possible.
Despite being barely in his early thirties, Wellesley had already built a faction controlling nearly half of the Conservative Party.
His ability was unquestionable.
And if that were true, then using a long-preserved trump card during the peak of the Prime Minister's factional conflict made perfect sense.
"If it isn't Wellesley," Russell said, "then it makes no sense for this letter to appear at this moment."
"True," Melbourne sighed.
"It could have been used in far more advantageous ways earlier."
"If Robert Peel and his senior allies are driven out now, the Conservative Party will belong entirely to Charles Wellesley."
"We wondered for years why our weakness had never been used against us."
"It seems he was waiting for precisely this moment."
Melbourne let out a long breath.
"A terrifying man."
"So he predicted a future factional war inside the Conservatives all along?"
"Could his harmless public persona have been nothing but a disguise?"
Melbourne had met Charles Wellesley several times when he was younger.
His impression at the time had been simple.
Not quite as impressive as his father.
The comparison had been unfair, perhaps.
After all, his father was the Hero of Waterloo.
Still, Melbourne had always believed that neither of Wellington's sons possessed the same greatness.
Yet somehow…
Charles had grown into something far more formidable.
Perhaps he lacked his father's brilliance as a soldier.
But as a politician…
He might have surpassed him completely.
A politician, yet I misjudged him so badly…
Melbourne sighed deeply.
"Russell," he asked quietly.
"What do you think?"
"Should we obey this demand?"
"We have no choice," Russell replied.
"But this situation isn't entirely bad for us."
"How so?"
"If the Conservative government collapses and a new election is held, some Conservative voters will inevitably defect."
"Do you think every supporter of Robert Peel will simply rally behind Wellesley?"
"Or might some drift toward us instead?"
Melbourne nodded slowly.
"So it's an opportunity for us to gain seats."
"Exactly."
"Especially since William Gladstone has recently joined our party."
"We can present the Whigs as a more open and fair political movement than the Conservatives."
"If we play this correctly…"
"We might even regain a parliamentary majority."
Even if Wellesley won the Conservative power struggle, it would take years to stabilize the party afterward.
If the Whigs secured gains during that chaos, they could still emerge stronger.
"Yes," Melbourne murmured.
"If we delay too long and the Conservatives reunite, it would defeat the purpose."
"Perhaps striking now is actually the better choice."
"But won't Wellesley continue using this weakness to control us afterward?"
"That is the problem," Russell admitted.
"There is a solution, however."
Melbourne's eyes lit up.
"Ah! I knew you would have an idea."
"What must I do?"
Russell hesitated.
Then he spoke quietly.
"…I'm deeply sorry to say this."
"But there is only one solution."
"You must step down as leader of the party."
Russell could not bring himself to say more.
But Melbourne understood immediately.
In other words…
He had to take full responsibility and resign.
If he did, the Whig Party could claim that the previous scandal belonged solely to the former leadership.
The party itself would emerge clean.
"…So that's the only way," Melbourne said softly.
"Yes."
"I intend to step away from leadership positions for a time as well."
"I will remain only as a simple member of Parliament."
Melbourne nodded slowly.
"That may be inevitable."
"We've been losing elections lately anyway."
"Stepping down voluntarily might actually look better."
"If Robert Peel is dragged down as well, it may be wise for us to present a new face."
"…I'm sorry," Russell said quietly.
"If I had executed the plan more perfectly—"
Melbourne interrupted him with a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"The responsibility belongs to the one at the top."
"No one else can be blamed."
"At least this way we leave behind an escape route for the party."
He smiled faintly.
"We still have capable men."
"Palmerston."
"And now Gladstone."
"Our future is not so bleak."
"You should lie low for a while, Russell."
"In time, you'll return to the center of the party."
"I will bear the responsibility."
"Viscount…"
Melbourne chuckled softly.
"I'm more worried about you."
"I'll spend my retirement peacefully."
"But you must now face the Conservatives."
"And not just any Conservatives."
"Those led by the monster called Charles Wellesley."
"We'll do our best," Russell replied.
But his expression betrayed little confidence.
How had the Duke of Wellington raised such a son?
That seemingly diligent second son had grown into a politician with a nest of snakes in his stomach.
Perhaps one day, when he was fully retired, Melbourne would visit the Duke and ask for advice on raising children.
"For these reasons, the Canadian Immigration Bill must pass exactly as written."
"It is essential for the permanent interests of the British Empire and the livelihood of its citizens."
Charles Wellesley's voice rang through the House of Commons.
I watched from the government bench, the best seat in the chamber.
From here, I had a perfect view of Wellesley firing his attack directly at the Prime Minister.
"Yet the Prime Minister has attempted to distort this bill using absurd excuses."
"As a representative of the citizens of the Empire, I cannot overlook this tyranny any longer."
"Tyranny?! Watch your words!" an elderly MP shouted angrily.
Charles Wellesley ignored him.
"It is tyranny!"
"If turning the lives of millions into tools of political struggle is not tyranny, then what is?"
"The real tyranny is your arrogance!" the man retorted.
"You call legitimate criticism political warfare!"
"If the bill is flawed, then debate it," Charles Wellesley shot back.
"I have repeatedly presented evidence supporting this policy."
"But some individuals have refused even to examine it."
"I even requested that the Foreign Secretary be allowed to speak."
"But the Prime Minister refused that as well."
"So is the government's position simply to close its eyes, cover its ears, and silence all opposition?"
"If you are confident in your position, then debate us!"
"There is no need for debate!" someone shouted.
Their strategy was simple.
If evidence was presented, they might lose.
So they simply refused to listen.
Crude…
But effective.
What are you going to do about it?
They had likely never suffered consequences before.
Naturally, they assumed the result would be the same this time.
Unfortunately for them…
This time they had chosen the wrong opponent.
If they were willing to lie down and expose their bellies…
I had already brought the scalpel.
"I agree with Mr. Wellesley!"
A voice suddenly rang out from across the chamber.
Every Conservative head turned.
Until now the Whigs had watched silently from the sidelines.
But Lord Palmerston, one of the rising stars of the Commons, had suddenly spoken in Wellesley's support.
I saw Robert Peel's eyes tremble.
"What… what do you mean by that?" Peel demanded.
"Settling Irish migrants in Canada is not merely an Irish issue," Palmerston said.
"It will shape the future of Canada."
"And by extension, the future of the British Empire itself."
"To turn such an issue into partisan conflict is shameful."
"That's not what we are doing!" Peel protested.
"After observing this debate," Palmerston continued calmly,
"our party has reached a conclusion."
"The Canadian Immigration Bill must pass in its original form."
Naturally, the combined seats of the Whigs and Wellesley's faction far exceeded a majority.
Even so, Peel's allies did not yet look completely defeated.
They probably believed this was simply another legislative loss caused by the opposition.
But if passing the bill had been my only goal…
I would never have chosen such a complicated method.
"Therefore, we will introduce a motion to pass the Canadian Immigration Bill in its original—"
"One more thing," Palmerston interrupted.
"After observing this debate, we have developed serious doubts about the Prime Minister's leadership."
"You argued that the bill must be altered to avoid conflict with the United States."
"For the Prime Minister of the British Empire to say such a thing is unacceptable."
"What are you—"
"Therefore!"
"We formally declare no confidence in the cabinet and request that the motion be brought to a vote!"
No one had expected a no-confidence motion over a single bill.
Peel's mouth fell open.
He turned toward Charles Wellesley in disbelief.
If Wellesley supported the motion…
The government would collapse immediately.
That would leave the Prime Minister with only two options.
Resign and appoint a successor.
Or ask the Queen to dissolve Parliament.
But after losing confidence in Parliament, appointing another member of his faction would never be accepted.
Which meant there was only one realistic choice.
Dissolve Parliament.
Yet how could a Prime Minister who dissolved Parliament after losing a factional battle ever regain power?
"We support the Whig proposal," Charles Wellesley declared.
"Regrettably, we can no longer trust this government's philosophy of governance."
"This is madness!" someone shouted.
"You would side with the opposition to bring down your own Prime Minister?"
"This is betrayal!"
"The betrayal came first from the Prime Minister!" Wellesley roared.
"If you truly represent the citizens of the Empire, then govern for them—not for petty power!"
Ah.
Even though I wrote those lines myself…
They still felt satisfying to hear.
At this point, cries of betrayal meant nothing.
They were merely the desperate excuses of the defeated.
As I listened to their outrage, Peel suddenly turned toward me.
His face had gone pale.
"You…"
"You knew this would happen, didn't you?"
"And you said nothing…"
"Prime Minister," I said quietly.
There was something I had wanted to say during our last meeting.
Now I finally spoke it.
"Perhaps this isn't much comfort, but when you leave this chamber, you'll see the River Thames flowing just outside."
"The proud river that runs through London—the center of the world."
"What are you talking about?"
"When the waters from upstream arrive…"
"The waters ahead must inevitably be pushed aside."
"It's simply the law of nature."
"So please don't take it too personally."
"You bloody bugg—!"
The Prime Minister shouted something behind me.
But I had already stood and left the chamber.
The vote's outcome was obvious.
And once the result became public, London would erupt.
Which meant I needed to keep throwing firewood into the flames.
The Prime Minister's faction would scramble to respond.
The Whigs would do the same.
But the rule of politics was simple.
Those who are unprepared can never defeat those who are prepared.
The vote of no confidence…
Was only the beginning.