"If the Factory Act passes, the economy will fall into chaos—"
"It won't."
"Factories will face a crisis—"
"They won't."
If regulating child labor truly harmed the national economy that severely, how could a whole series of later labor laws have followed?
And this wasn't even a ban. The proposal merely sought to limit excessively long working hours for children.
Even for simple labor, there was a significant difference in productivity between workers who had received a basic education and those who had not.
Looking at the broader trend, the bill was bound to pass anyway—and history would almost certainly judge it as effective.
"Charles," I said calmly, "in case there's a misunderstanding, let me clarify something. The Tories who are partially siding with the Whigs aren't doing it because they share the same ideals."
"What?"
"Think carefully about who inside the party is supporting the creation of the commission. Aren't most of them traditional landowners?"
"…Ah. I see what you're getting at."
Charles Wellesley was no fool. That much was enough for him to grasp the situation.
"Yes," I continued. "Landowners don't actually like industrial capitalists very much. They probably believe this reform will slow down the pace of industrialization a bit. Ironically, it won't turn out that way—but that's what they expect."
"…So you really believe this bill will help the economy."
"Of course. The desperate era when factories had to drag children in simply because they lacked workers has already passed. What's happening now is just squeezing out a tiny bit more profit by burning through future resources. Watch closely. The capitalists running large factories with the most advanced machinery will probably end up supporting this law."
"What? Why?"
"Because they're no longer dependent on child labor. For them, this is a perfect opportunity to crush small and mid-sized factories that still rely heavily on it."
This wasn't my personal theory.
It came from something I'd once read about the historical development of labor laws.
Which meant this was exactly how things would unfold.
"So even if our party opposes it with full strength, it'll be difficult to block. If the party is divided, stopping the bill will be practically impossible… So you're saying we should just take the initiative instead?"
"Exactly. As the Duke's second son, you'll gain two powerful images at once: someone who genuinely cares about working-class children, and a thinker who considers the nation's economy from a long-term perspective. It will also help weaken the impression that the Tories ignore ordinary people."
And when I eventually entered Parliament, I would rise quickly by riding Wellesley's and Benjamin's influence.
If they faltered, I'd be dragged down with them.
"When this whole affair ends," I continued, "people won't remember you merely as the Duke of Wellington's second son. They'll remember the name Charles Wellesley. Trust me."
"…Very well. Your advice has never failed me so far. I'll close my eyes and follow it once again. And since you say I won't be standing alone, I suppose I won't be beaten to death in Parliament."
"Just deliver a brilliant speech. I'll write the content for you."
Only after reassuring him for nearly thirty minutes did Wellesley finally leave for home with a calmer expression.
If even someone who trusted me completely reacted like this, it was easy to imagine how others would respond once the Factory Act was announced.
And that meant something else as well:
A huge opportunity for profit was appearing right in front of me.
"James," I said, "I'd like to make some investments. Could you gather some information?"
"Yes, sir. What sectors should I look into?"
"Focus on machine manufacturers and companies that provide education or training. We should make a decent profit."
James simply nodded.
"I'll begin immediately."
"Good. We spent quite a bit of money during the election, so it's time to replenish it."
The gambling houses alone could easily generate that amount in a month. But the casino business that currently served as our cash cow would eventually have to be shut down around 1840.
Which meant squeezing every possible penny out of it while we still could.
Getting angry because an unfavorable law passed was something third-rate people did.
Accepting it helplessly was something second-rate people did.
But finding a way to profit from any law or system that appeared—
That was what first-rate people did.
* * *
If there was one thing truly admirable about the British Parliament of this era, it was that the public could easily discover what members had said during debates.
Journalists attended sessions, took shorthand notes, and published them in printed form.
This system was known as Hansard.
Though it had not yet been formally designated as the official parliamentary record, the name Hansard had already become synonymous with it.
Anyone could read the debates in newspapers or printed volumes. Rumors about what a particular member had said about a particular bill spread through London with remarkable speed.
Some impatient individuals didn't even wait for the printed version. They simply camped outside Parliament, bribing staff or departing attendees for immediate information.
Because of this, members of Parliament tried to speak with caution.
Charles Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington's son and a rising hope of the Tory Party, was no exception.
In fact, unlike his father and brother in the House of Lords, Charles had his sights set on the prime ministership someday. He had to be even more careful.
…Is this really the right move?
Even now, as he prepared to speak, his mouth felt painfully dry.
But it was too late to withdraw.
After the Whigs finished their speech calling for an investigative commission into child labor conditions, Wellesley rose to respond.
Both the Tories and the Whigs expected him to oppose the proposal.
Instead, he shut his eyes briefly and spoke in a resolute voice.
"I fully agree with the Whig Party's proposal to establish this commission."
"…?"
"What did he just say…?"
"Does that mean the Duke of Wellington supports this bill too?"
"Has he gone mad? That's betrayal!"
"Order! Order! The speech has not concluded!"
The chamber instantly descended into chaos. The stenographers' pens flew furiously across their pages.
With absolute certainty that tomorrow's newspapers and Hansard would feature his speech on the front page, Wellesley continued.
"This commission does not seek to strip children of employment. Rather, it seeks to ensure that even if they work, they are given appropriate rest and time for education. And in the long run, this will not harm the economy."
"Hmph! Didn't you learn at university that government intervention distorts the market?"
"One moment—let me finish. You worry about market distortion. But strictly speaking, the market is already distorted. And economic theory shows that rational behavior by individuals does not always produce the best outcome for society. Sometimes society must guide individuals toward better results."
Killian had called this concept the prisoner's dilemma.
Charles Wellesley had never heard the term before.
But once he saw the explanation laid out in equations, he understood it immediately.
It felt as though a fog had suddenly lifted from his mind.
How had Killian come up with a theory that even someone educated at Oxford and Cambridge had never encountered?
Wellesley had once suggested Killian should have become an economist, but the boy had flatly refused.
Regardless, Wellesley continued countering objections from fellow Tories and passionately defending the need for the commission.
The Whigs simply watched in confusion.
Which meant the floor had effectively become Wellesley's stage alone.
"Our British Empire leads the world," he declared. "It is the most advanced nation on Earth. Let us not look only at the present with narrow vision, but craft policies with our eyes fixed on the future. I firmly believe every honorable member here is a patriot who cares for the future of this country."
He paused before delivering the final blow.
"Are we truly in such dire circumstances that Britain must push the very children who will shape our future into factories—stripping them of health and education alike? I ask you all to consider this question carefully."
When the son of the former party leader—and a rising young politician—spoke so passionately, the Tory position suddenly became awkward.
And when Benjamin, newly joined to the party, rose to support Wellesley as well, even some Tories began reconsidering their stance.
The Whigs seized the moment.
They immediately called for a vote on the commission.
And to everyone's surprise, the decision was made that very day.
* * *
While Wellesley was delivering his fiery speech in Parliament, I had come to Westminster as well.
Partly out of curiosity about how the vote would unfold.
"Do you think the bill will pass?" I asked.
"Of course not," Robert replied. "The capitalists will foam at the mouth. Look over there."
I turned and saw a group of furious factory owners waving massive placards.
IF CHILDREN DON'T WORK, FAMILIES WILL STARVE!
OUR CHILDREN WANT TO WORK!
STOP DISCRIMINATING AGAINST CHILDREN! GIVE THEM THE FREEDOM TO WORK!
The slogans alone were enough to make my head spin.
I chuckled quietly.
"Shall we make a bet? I'll wager it passes. You wager it fails. The loser grants the winner one request—nothing unreasonable."
"Fine," Robert said. "Even if the Whigs control the Commons, the House of Lords can veto it. This won't go anywhere."
"If the Tories are divided, the veto might not hold."
"That won't happen. Stop worrying about politics and practice your cricket. At your current level, you'll embarrass yourself during the spring event."
"…Cricket?"
Robert blinked in disbelief.
"What, you really didn't know?"
"Know what?"
"You haven't been practicing, have you? Haven't you noticed how everyone at Eton is obsessed with cricket lately? I'm already excellent, so I don't need extra practice. But you do."
Now that he mentioned it, I had seen students swarming the fields earlier—throwing balls and swinging bats like maniacs.
Eton always played cricket, so I hadn't thought much about it.
But perhaps something special was scheduled.
Between the election work and the Factory Act issue, I'd barely had time to interact with other students.
"So what's the big reason everyone suddenly needs to swing a bat?"
Robert laughed.
"You really are something. How can you not know this? Well… I suppose that explains why you suggested a Westminster trip today."
"Don't keep building suspense. Is the King visiting Eton or something?"
"Close enough. Someone who might become the future Queen is coming."
The moment he said those words, my body froze.
The shouting of factory owners outside suddenly faded into silence.
"…Who?"
"Princess Victoria. The current heir presumptive. She'll be visiting with her mother, the Duchess of Kent, and her tutor, Baroness Lehzen. It's part of their Thames Valley tour. The school exploded two days ago when the announcement was made—but you always disappear right after class, so you probably missed it."
"…."
"The top students in each year might even get to speak with her briefly. And she and the Duchess will watch a cricket match between the students. That's why everyone's gone mad practicing."
Yes.
That was certainly enough to drive people mad.
If anything, someone who remained calm would be the strange one.
Just as I was about to speak—
A sudden commotion erupted near Westminster, and James came running toward our carriage.
I jumped down and ran to meet him.
"Sir! It passed! The commission has been approved! Just as you predicted! Truly, you are—"
"James, perfect timing. Go and prepare what I asked for earlier. Spend whatever it takes—just do it quickly."
"Yes, sir! The investments have already been made. Should I look into additional companies as well—"
"Find me the best cricket trainer in London."
"…Sir? A cricket company?"
James blinked in confusion.
"No. A trainer. The Factory Act investments are already set in motion. You and Wellesley can handle the rest."
"…Ah… yes… of course."
Reliable subordinates truly were priceless.
I left James behind—still baffled—and ran back toward Robert.
For now, politics and money could wait.
It was time to swing a bat.
Cricket skills still embarrassingly poor?
That didn't matter.
What mattered was that, in this moment—
a very important plan had just formed in my mind.