I Became A Hidden Powerhouse Of The British Empire [EN]: Chapter 213

< Crossroads (2) >

In the original timeline, the 19th-century British Empire boasted capable prime ministers and enjoyed its greatest golden age.

Figures like Gladstone, Disraeli, and John Russell all left indelible marks on history.

However, my actions have caused such a significant upheaval in domestic politics that the original historical trajectory has been drastically altered.

While Disraeli and Gladstone might still have a chance at becoming prime ministers, Russell and Palmerston’s prospects are less certain.

In fact, even Disraeli’s position seems precarious, judging by the current political climate.

Charles Wellesley was increasingly solidifying his position, laying the groundwork to become the longest-serving prime minister in history, perhaps even retiring in office.

Ordinarily, politicians, regardless of their competence, inevitably face challenges from external factors.

No matter how diligently they work, international wars or devastating epidemics can undermine even the most capable leader.

Unless they were a reincarnated Hua Tuo [a legendary Chinese physician], even the most skilled person couldn’t cure an epidemic.

Cholera, in its original course, should have followed this pattern.

In the original timeline, the third global cholera pandemic was projected to cause immense devastation, with nearly 200,000 deaths in London alone.

I don’t know the precise figure, but I recall it being around that number.

Considering London’s population of 2 million, 200,000 deaths represent a significant loss – one in ten people.

Such a large-scale disaster would inevitably invite attacks from the opposition party, regardless of how strong the prime minister’s leadership was.

Questions would arise about the appropriateness of the initial response and whether the damage could have been mitigated.

Attacks would come from all sides, fueled by incitement and fabrication.

But now, even this cholera epidemic has become a catalyst for stabilizing the Wellesley regime.

“You’re amazing, Prime Minister! I hear the Conservative Party is expected to win the next election by a landslide…”

“Thank you. But predictions are merely predictions, and I intend to continue doing my best until the very end.”

“If the current cabinet remains in place, can we assume that our relationship with France will remain unchanged?”

“Of course. France is now a valued ally of our nation.”

Wellesley chuckled and added casually,

“We will actively share our information to prevent further tragic deaths in France as well. What does a border matter in the fight against disease? We must help each other.”

“Haha… Thank you.”

“Not at all. The British Empire should set an example for the world in this regard. Only then will the world recognize that powerful nations should lead by example.”

He subtly implied France’s inferiority, then waved his hand as soon as he noticed me, who had been briefly separated from the crowd.

“Who is this! The unparalleled medical genius produced by the British Empire since Edward Jenner [the pioneer of smallpox vaccine]! The cholera fighter, Your Highness.”

“‘Fighting’ is an overstatement. I merely identified the cause; I haven’t yet discovered a proper treatment.”

“Discovering a treatment would be too much to expect. People would question Your Highness’s identity. They might think you were a prophet receiving divine wisdom! Haha!”

“Or some might suggest I’ve awakened the power of an Eastern shaman, befitting someone with mysterious Eastern blood. Neither assessment would be pleasant. However, I am currently testing methods that might prove effective for cholera patients.”

“…Really? That’s news to me.”

Of course, you haven’t heard about it.

I was keeping it a secret, planning to announce it only after confirmation.

This is because I’m not a true expert with specialized knowledge but a charlatan with shallow, broad knowledge.

I’ve accumulated knowledge to the point of pretending to know things I’ve picked up here and there, but my maximum level is Wikipedia, and my actual level doesn’t even reach that of a university textbook.

The same applies to cholera.

I skimmed through information about cholera while pretending to be a doctor, but cholera is a rare disease in 21st-century South Korea, so I didn’t study it thoroughly.

Instead, I encountered more records of it while pretending to be a history professor.

I wish I had learned more about the treatment, but that was impossible.

However, I had heard that adequately replenishing fluids and electrolytes in cases of death from diarrhea could significantly reduce the mortality rate.

If this truly works, it would be another significant achievement, so I mentioned it to John Snow and Nightingale.

But there’s no way they could have immediately devised a solution based solely on these abstract words.

“…Certainly, cholera causes severe diarrhea and vomiting, leading to a complete disruption of the body’s electrolyte balance. Replenishing fluids and electrolytes should be effective… Perhaps injecting fluids using the recently invented syringe could be effective.”

“That’s right. But administering injections one by one would be too slow and quite costly, wouldn’t it? I think it would be beneficial to simply mix the ingredients and create a solution for oral consumption.”

“…It’s worth a try. But who will formulate it?”

“Who else but you? Should I do it myself?”

“……”

After that day, John Snow received an amazing design but glared at me resentfully, like an engineer tasked with implementing it, and began new research.

Still, if this works properly, it could save lives even if cholera outbreaks occur again due to unforeseen circumstances.

Only then will I be able to accept the praise of being a cholera fighter without feeling like a fraud.

Count Beaupoil, the French ambassador, who was unaware of this, listened quietly and then jumped in surprise.

“Are you saying that you are developing not only an understanding of the cause of cholera but also a cure?”

“It’s not certain, but it might be effective if things go well.”

“…No, how…”

Wellesley, noticing the ambassador’s bewildered expression, smiled strangely, as if he had discovered a delightful toy, and shook his head.

“You must be confused. We are sometimes astonished by the speed of our own progress.”

“…Well, anyway, if that’s all true, it would be a great blessing for the world.”

“Perhaps? I believe it’s all thanks to the government, the parliament, and the royal family working together harmoniously. It would be arrogant to suggest that this is an advantage unique to the British Empire, unattainable in other countries. Haha.”

The French ambassador couldn’t refute Wellesley’s words, which reeked of the tone, ‘You don’t have this at your house, do you? And you probably never will.’

It seemed he wanted to amuse himself with his newfound ‘toy,’ so it was best to step aside.

I bid farewell to the two of them and strolled around, greeting other dignitaries who attended the party.

Originally, Victoria should have been hosting, but she was pregnant with her third child and was resting in her room on the doctor’s advice to remain stable.

Consequently, I had to assume her role and become the main attraction of the event, leaving me no time for leisurely enjoyment.

Even amidst all this, I wondered if John Snow or Nightingale felt out of place among these dignitaries, but fortunately, they seemed to be enjoying the party.

After all, who would ignore the medical staff who saved London from cholera and were supported by none other than me?

Instead, they would strive to cultivate a better relationship.

Just like that.

“Oh… I wondered why this setting felt so familiar. Miss Nightingale’s level of knowledge is extraordinary.”

“She is also proficient in mathematics, enabling her to create such artistic statistical data. But how long do you intend to work as a nurse?”

“Are there any families considering marriage…?”

Praise poured in from all directions, but she didn’t seem particularly pleased.

Most people likely perceive her as a noble lady engaging in a commendable endeavor.

By the way, there are doctors who want her to meet their sons, but I don’t see anyone pestering her. Could it be that the nobleman John Snow mentioned didn’t attend this event?

As I looked around with curiosity and doubt, a face I seemed to have encountered a few times in the House of Lords approached me with a smile.

“Your Highness! There you are. I wanted to greet you, and I’m so glad I found you.”

“It’s been a while, Marquess. Are you enjoying the ball?”

“Of course. Haha! Your Highness has had a series of happy events recently, haven’t you? It seems that even God is propelling our British Empire forward.”

“You’re referring to the third child.”

“Yes. Not only I but also the citizens of the British Empire hope that there will be as many children as possible between Your Highness and Her Majesty.”

From a modern perspective, three children is a considerable number, but in the 19th century, it was considered a small family.

At least enough children to form a baseball team were needed to be considered a large family in this era.

In fact, Victoria expressed a desire to have at least five children, but one particular concern prevented me from actively pursuing more children.

Still, fortunately, it hasn’t become noticeable yet, so I suppose it’s manageable. The prevailing opinion is that one son and one daughter are insufficient in this era with high infant mortality rates, so I can’t resist the pressure.

The Privy Council is practically chanting for a second prince, and Victoria agrees, so what choice do I have?

When I recall her radiant smile upon hearing the news of her third pregnancy, I can only hope that no complications arise in the future.

“Thank you. But it seems you’ve been looking for me, Marquess. Do you have something to discuss with me?”

If you’re seeking me out at this time, I can surmise the purpose.

You want to participate in the large-scale overhaul of London’s water and sewage systems and infrastructure that will occur in the future.

Already, astute businessmen are visiting me with bags of money, presenting various investment proposals.

Of course, 99.99% of them are worthless proposals, so I’m casually dismissing them.

“Yes. I have something important to discuss with you, so I’m shamelessly seeking you out.”

“Discuss? Are you referring to investment discussions?”

“No. It’s not that… Hmm… Ah, I feel a little embarrassed and sorry to say this.”

Usually, when seeking an investment, one wouldn’t hesitate or be embarrassed like this. Could my prediction be incorrect?

I was slightly frustrated, but I didn’t press the issue.

The Marquess is a member of the Conservative Party, and above all, I believed it was essential to maintain a positive relationship with his family.

To be precise, it wasn’t because of the Marquess but because I was planning to groom his son, who showed great promise, as my right-hand man.

“It’s alright, tell me. Is it concerning your son’s academic performance? I heard he was experiencing some difficulties at Eton [a prestigious boarding school].”

“Ah… Yes. It’s about my son, but it’s not due to academic problems. So, my son…”

The Marquess glanced back, noticed Nightingale still surrounded by numerous nobles, and shook his head.

Something flashed through my mind upon seeing that.

Wait, could it be….

“What about the Marquess’s son?”

“My son was once treated at Your Highness’s hospital, and he says he was indebted to that nurse there. He fell in love at first sight and keeps asking for permission to court her, but there’s a ten-year age difference. So, I was wondering what to do and thought I should discuss it with Your Highness. Nightingale is a medical staff member personally selected by Your Highness, so…”

“Ah, I see. I heard there was a young nobleman proposing to Nightingale, and that was the Marquess’s son?”

“Yes. He’s my son.”

How could fate be so twisted?

I looked back and forth between the Marquess, who was lamenting here, and Nightingale, who was far away, realizing once again how frightening the butterfly effect of history can be.

That’s because the second son of the Marquess of Salisbury, who is complaining here now,

Robert Gascoyne-Cecil, who will become the next Marquess of Salisbury, was the very person I had earmarked as one of the future prime minister candidates to succeed Wellesley.

To think that a seventeen or eighteen-year-old is already pursuing an older woman who is ten years his senior.

I wonder if this guy will come to his senses if he gets a taste of my ‘hammer’ [a metaphorical expression for a stern reprimand or intervention].