A modern person might imagine that a prestigious school like Eton would hold a grand and glittering entrance ceremony for new students.
In reality, things were rather different.
Graduations were celebrated with considerable pomp.
Admissions, however, involved no official ceremony whatsoever.
That did not mean the school gates were quiet.
On the contrary, the entrance to Eton was crowded with families and servants who had come to see off the new students.
"Ha! To think my son will now study here and grow into one of the finest minds in the kingdom."My father sighed as he looked toward the school buildings. "Still… leaving you here like this makes it difficult for me to walk away."
"You needn't worry, brother," Aunt Cecilia said with a gentle smile. "James will check on him regularly, and I'll visit whenever I have the time."
"Well… if you say so."
"Of course," she replied. "Killian is my beloved nephew. Looking after him is only natural."
Since the family council months earlier, Cecilia and I had grown unexpectedly close.
Without even being asked, she had come all the way to Eton's gates to see me off.
"Killian," she said seriously, "if anyone bullies you because you're Irish, you must tell me immediately. I'll have your uncle speak to them personally."
"There's no need to worry that much," I said with a smile. "After all, I'm entering with a recommendation from the Duke of Wellington. Surely no one would be foolish enough to trouble such a student."
"In truth," she said quietly, "I would like to invite you to the palace every week. But for now… it would attract too much attention."
"That's alright. Just visiting once was already a wonderful experience."
I had hoped to become better acquainted with the Duke of Sussex before entering school.
Unfortunately, that had proved impossible.
Even though Cecilia now lived with him at Kensington Palace, her position was still delicate. Inviting me to the palace repeatedly would inevitably attract gossip.
Still, the Duke of Sussex seemed to hold a favorable impression of me.
After all, I was the favorite nephew of the woman he loved.
There was no need to rush.
Through my aunt, I could gradually close the distance.
"Father, Aunt… I should go now."
"Write to us often," my father said warmly. "And eat properly. Make friends with your classmates and seniors."
"You see?" Cecilia teased. "I told you I'll take care of him. You can return to Ireland with peace of mind."
My father chuckled.
"I'm glad you two have grown close, but honestly, when did this happen? Anyone watching would think you were his mother rather than his aunt."
"Actually," Cecilia said playfully, "more people might believe I'm his mother than you his father."
While my father looked momentarily speechless, Cecilia leaned closer and whispered quietly.
"By the way… I've finally found a way to contact Princess Victoria. You were right. The best approach was through the Duchess of Kent and Sir John Conroy."
"That's wonderful news," I whispered back. "And if you do meet the princess, please remember what I told you."
"Of course. And when I do, I'll make sure to boast about my handsome nephew."
I wasn't entirely sure whether it would truly work.
Even the king and queen reportedly struggled to see Victoria because of her mother's strict control.
Still, there was nothing to lose by trying.
After all, Victoria would one day rule Britain for more than sixty years.
Even a distant connection would be invaluable.
The more cards one held, the better.
In the 1830s, Eton typically admitted about 150 new students each year.
Most of them were known as Oppidans.
Oppidans were students who paid full tuition and received no scholarships—naturally meaning they came from wealthy families.
The other group, known as Collegers, studied on scholarships.
There were only about twenty of them per year.
Both groups received essentially the same education.
However, their living arrangements differed significantly.
Collegers lived under strict supervision in the main college buildings.
Oppidans usually stayed in boarding houses within Eton town and walked to school.
These boarding houses were operated by housemasters and their wives.
And the place I was first guided to was one of them.
"Welcome!" the housemaster said cheerfully. "This will be your room. It's a little small, but at least it's a two-person room. New students rarely receive one."
"Thank you for your consideration."
"As you know," he continued, "Eton maintains strict discipline to cultivate character. Although it's a shared room, your roommate will be a senior student. He'll also supervise you."
Ah yes.
The infamous fagging system.
Younger students serving older ones was apparently a tradition shared by many British public schools.
Officially, it was meant to teach respect for authority.
Personally, it looked suspiciously like a convenient way to manage the dormitories.
But perhaps I was being overly cynical.
"May I ask who my roommate will be?" I said.
"He's already arrived. Go ahead and introduce yourself."
The housemaster left after briefly explaining the day's schedule.
When I opened the door, the scent of aged wood filled the air.
For a room meant for the sons of aristocrats, it was surprisingly plain.
Two beds.
Two wardrobes.
A shared study table.
The candle and fireplace didn't look particularly impressive either.
Still, this austere environment was apparently part of the charm of traditional boarding schools.
Perhaps something like the dormitories of a certain fictional wizarding school.
"Oh, you're here," someone said.
"You must be Killian Gore."
"Yes. Were you told my name in advance?"
"No. My father arranged for us to share a room, so I expected you."
Ah.
So someone had indeed arranged this pairing.
Which meant the person involved had considerable influence.
But why me?
Allowing curiosity to remain hidden, I bowed politely.
"Allow me to introduce myself properly. I am Killian Gore, eldest son of Arthur Gore, Earl of Arran."
"And you are…?"
The boy laughed.
"Ah, right. I should introduce myself first."
He extended his hand.
"My name is John Robert Manners. Second son of John Henry Manners, the 5th Duke of Rutland. I'm only two years ahead of you, so don't worry too much about this 'fagging' business."
Rutland…
For a moment I searched my memory.
A duke was certainly powerful.
Yet the name wasn't particularly famous to me.
My lukewarm reaction seemed to puzzle him.
"Oh right," he said. "You haven't been in England long, have you?"
"Only two years," I admitted. "My knowledge is still limited."
"My father is a member of the Tory Party and a close ally of the Duke of Wellington," Robert said proudly. "Naturally, he became curious about you."
"Curious?"
"He wondered what kind of boy Wellington intended to raise as Ireland's leash."
"I see my reputation has spread rather quickly."
"Of course it has," Robert said with a grin. "Do you know how fast gossip travels in British high society? The moment the Duke wrote that recommendation letter, the entire Tory leadership knew about it. A day later, the Whigs probably knew too."
Even without the internet, social networks in this era were astonishingly fast.
Which was precisely why I had carefully separated my public identity from my true activities.
"Then you must know quite a lot about me already."
"Almost everything my father knows," he said proudly. "Including that you're new to England and friendly with the Duke of Wellington's younger son."
"That's impressive."
In other words, he knew only the information I had deliberately allowed to circulate.
Good.
That meant my precautions had worked.
"Oh, but I'm surprised you didn't recognize my father," Robert continued. "He's currently Lord Lieutenant of Leicestershire. And the owner of an Epsom Derby champion."
Ah.
Now that I recognized.
"That's remarkable," I said sincerely. "Owning a Derby winner is an incredible honor."
"What? You knew that but not my father's name?"
Robert laughed proudly.
In Britain, horse racing was no mere gambling pastime.
It was a grand social spectacle for the aristocracy.
And the greatest race of all was the Epsom Derby.
Only three-year-old horses could compete.
Since a horse only turned three once, it had only a single opportunity to run the Derby.
Winning it brought immense prestige to both owner and jockey.
Winston Churchill once joked that he would rather own a Derby winner than become Prime Minister.
Even Queen Elizabeth II spent her entire life trying to breed one.
In Britain, the Derby was not merely a race.
It was a national festival.
Even the two world wars failed to halt it.
And wherever large sums gathered…
So did opportunity.
I had no immediate plans involving horse racing.
But befriending someone connected to that world would certainly be useful.
More importantly, everything I did in front of Robert would inevitably reach the ears of the Tory leadership.
They intended to observe whether I was a useful tool.
As far as I was concerned…
That was perfect.
"Honestly," I said warmly, "I was worried about adjusting to school life. Meeting such a reliable senior on my first day is truly fortunate."
Robert laughed loudly.
"Well said! I'll take good care of you."
"Thank you. I'll rely on you from now on."
"In that case," he said, leaning closer, "I should introduce you to our group. Eton has plenty of unofficial clubs besides the official ones."
I had expected as much.
A school filled with aristocrats and wealthy heirs would naturally be full of private social circles.
Joining one early would be extremely advantageous.
"May I really join?"
"Of course," Robert said easily. "After all, you're the student personally recommended by the Duke of Wellington. Plenty of people are curious about you."
"Then I'm truly fortunate to share a room with you."
Robert waved his hand modestly, clearly pleased.
"It's nothing. Actually, in about two weeks we're hosting a tea with an alumnus who'll give us some advice."
"Oh?"
"He was quite famous here when he was a student."
Robert grinned.
"His name is William Gladstone."
"…Excuse me?"
"We're having tea with an alumnus," he repeated.
But I barely heard him.
William Gladstone.
One of the greatest prime ministers in British history.
And apparently—
I would be meeting him far sooner than expected.
Yes.
Coming to Eton had definitely been the right decision.