London, Mayfair.
Even in London—the heart of the British Empire—Mayfair stood apart. The district was packed with elegant townhouses, the preferred residence of the city's highest aristocracy.
William Lamb, Viscount Melbourne and leader of the Whigs, also kept a residence here whenever he stayed in London.
The grand Georgian townhouse reflected both his wealth and status. Inside, the rooms were decorated with the finest furniture and expensive works of art.
Nearly every day, Melbourne held strategy meetings in the drawing room of this splendid residence as the next election approached.
What was unusual was that despite these daily meetings, there was always only one person with whom Melbourne spoke at length.
Other MPs came and went, of course.
But the last person to leave was always the same.
John Russell.
The third son of the Duke of Bedford, Russell had entered the House of Commons at only twenty and was widely regarded as one of the Whigs' brightest young talents.
"I'm glad preparations are going smoothly," Melbourne said.
"Has the Conservative Party reacted in any unusual way?" Russell asked.
"No sign of suspicion," Melbourne replied. "They did ask how exactly we intend to set things in motion, but that seemed more out of concern that uninformed MPs might act recklessly. I told them just enough to satisfy them."
"You handled that well," Russell said. "If we conceal too much, they might grow suspicious. A few carefully leaked details are safer."
At first Melbourne had wondered whether going this far was necessary.
But he had already made up his mind.
Politics was about winning.
A leader who kept his hands clean but lost elections was worth nothing compared to one who stepped into the mud and emerged victorious.
"We launch everything on the day Parliament is dissolved," Melbourne said. "Once we begin, there's no turning back. Perhaps we should confirm the plan once more?"
"I will verify everything again the day before execution," Russell replied calmly. "But there's no need to worry. Every loose end has been cut. Layers of cover have been prepared."
He smiled faintly.
"And when the scandal breaks, the Conservatives will be the ones drowning in the filth."
It really was a brilliant scheme.
On the surface, it appeared aimed at the troublesome Daniel O'Connell.
But the true targets were the Conservatives—and the parliamentary seats that would become vacant in southern Ireland.
If the plan succeeded, there was at least an eighty percent chance the Whigs would win a majority in the next election.
Melbourne glanced at Russell.
It was strange.
Such a gentle-faced reformer had conceived a strategy this ruthless.
But perhaps that was precisely what made him the man destined to lead the Whigs one day.
A politician who could not win elections, no matter how noble his ideals, was nothing more than a dreamer.
"Is there anything else I should do?" Melbourne asked.
"Yes," Russell replied. "The later the Conservatives realize what's happening, the more effective this plan becomes. Keep watching them closely. If they begin to suspect anything, we must know immediately."
"That won't be difficult," Melbourne said. "The Prime Minister promised they wouldn't interfere. If they move even slightly, we'll notice."
For reform to succeed, they needed seats.
And if winning those seats required a little underhanded work—so be it.
The time for hesitation had passed.
In the coming election, the Whigs would return to power.
* * *
"So it's confirmed?"
Killian leaned back in his chair.
"I knew something about this felt wrong."
"Extracting the information cost quite a bit," James replied. "If we hadn't targeted Melbourne's townhouse from the start, gathering this much evidence might have been impossible."
"How much did we spend?"
"All of the funds the Conservatives provided as investigative fees."
Killian grinned.
"Well done. It wasn't even our money."
Indeed, the investigation had cost him nothing.
Extracting generous funding from the party had turned out to be an excellent decision.
"I'm impressed you convinced the Prime Minister," James added. "I never expected the Conservatives to hire a detective agency."
"We couldn't let them suspect anything," Killian said. "Right now fewer than five people in the Conservative Party even know what's really happening. The rest believe we're genuinely cooperating with the Whigs."
"That certainly worked in our favor. It proves our agency can handle political investigations. Frankly, this kind of job suits the British Detective Office better than the James Detective Agency."
Killian nodded.
"That's intentional."
"The James agency is publicly linked to you. It's better if anything questionable goes through the other one."
The name James was common in Britain, but a determined investigator could still trace connections back to Killian's family.
Even though he planned to sever the visible ties next year, caution remained essential.
That was exactly why he had divided his intelligence network in two.
"Still," James said, shaking his head, "the political world here is a true pit of snakes. I never imagined schemes like this were so common."
Killian chuckled.
"Isn't it wonderful? It gives us plenty of work."
He flipped through the stack of reports on his desk with visible satisfaction.
"Let's see…"
"Primary surveillance target: Melbourne. Confirmed to hold frequent meetings with Whig MPs at his townhouse. No unusual developments."
"However, John Russell consistently leaves last, so we placed additional surveillance on him."
"Since the Whigs would likely use the press to attack O'Connell, we focused on whether Russell or Melbourne had contacts with newspapers or political journals."
Killian raised an eyebrow.
"Russell's secretary met reporters from the Morning Chronicle, The Spectator, and The Examiner."
"We bribed a Spectator journalist and confirmed the outline of the plan."
Killian leaned back.
"That was easier than I expected."
"The Whigs were watching only the Conservatives," James said. "They never imagined someone else might be following them."
"According to our informant, the Whigs plan to attack Daniel O'Connell over a killing."
Killian frowned.
"A killing?"
"Yes. Twenty years ago. In a duel."
Killian rubbed his temples.
"I remember that. O'Connell killed John D'Esterre in a duel. But it was considered legitimate at the time."
"Technically dueling is illegal under British law," James replied. "So it could still be prosecuted as murder."
True.
British law officially prohibited dueling.
And since murder had no statute of limitations, the case could theoretically be revived.
But prosecuting someone for a duel decades later would provoke massive backlash.
"They're planning to reopen that case now?" Killian muttered.
"There's more," James said, pointing at the report.
Killian read aloud.
"O'Connell financially supports D'Esterre's widow."
"But intelligence suggests their relationship may be… closer than simple charity."
Killian stared at the page.
"…What is this nonsense?"
"A cheap scandal story."
"Are they serious?"
James shrugged.
"Bribery and adultery are the easiest ways to destroy a politician with a clean reputation."
"So they intend to accuse O'Connell of having an affair with the widow."
Killian leaned back.
Yes—political propaganda usually began with a grain of truth.
O'Connell had indeed killed D'Esterre in a duel.
And he had indeed supported the widow financially.
But turning that into a scandal?
"It's too clumsy," Killian muttered.
"There must be something more."
"Perhaps they've obtained stronger evidence," James suggested.
Killian shook his head.
"No. Even if it were true, this alone wouldn't destroy him in Ireland."
He thought for a moment.
"Bring me the full list of everyone Russell and Melbourne met recently."
James returned five minutes later with a thick stack of documents.
Killian read them carefully.
One name made him stop.
"William Smith O'Brien."
"A former Whig MP, now part of O'Connell's Repeal movement."
"Why would Russell's secretary meet him?"
"The Whigs have been trying to lure former Whigs back into their camp," James explained. "So far none have accepted."
Killian tapped the page.
"But this man was visited five times."
James frowned.
"That's true. But he has no connection to the newspapers or the duel scandal."
Killian leaned back.
Perhaps the journalists had been a decoy all along.
If Russell truly was the strategist behind the plan, there had to be something deeper.
"Not enough information," Killian said at last.
"I need to speak to O'Connell directly."
Victoria would dissolve Parliament after William IV's funeral.
There was still time.
Better to solve the puzzle completely before making a move.
* * *
The greatest mistake in political strategy was assuming your opponent was a fool.
If you watched them, they could watch you.
If you plotted against them, they could plot against you.
Politics was not a turn-based game.
It was real-time combat.
Killian therefore avoided visiting O'Connell openly.
Late at night he left his house through a hidden passage, disguised, and boarded a carriage waiting far from the estate.
He spent hours wandering across London before finally reaching his destination.
If someone still managed to follow him after all that, then he would simply admit defeat.
"So you came all the way from Mayfair to Lambeth just to be safe?" O'Connell said with amusement.
"Aren't you tired?"
"I slept in the carriage."
O'Connell chuckled.
"That seems excessive."
"Carelessness gets people killed," Killian replied calmly. "Besides, you may want to stay cautious yourself. Do you know what's happening beneath the surface right now?"
O'Connell nodded.
"The Whigs have been approaching my MPs, asking if they're willing to defect. None have agreed."
"That's not all," Killian said.
"They're preparing a serious attack against you."
O'Connell frowned.
"They've tried that many times before. Last time it was a ridiculous bribery accusation."
"This time they're investing much more effort."
O'Connell sighed irritably.
Years of harassment by British politicians and newspapers had clearly worn his patience thin.
"You came all this way in secret," he said.
"So it must be something significant. Go on."
Killian nodded.
"The Whigs plan to attack your romantic life."
O'Connell froze.
"…What?"
"They intend to accuse you of an affair with a married woman."
The outrage in O'Connell's face was immediate and genuine.
"Those lunatics!"
Killian nodded slowly.
Not this, then.
"Very well," he continued.
"Then let me ask about someone else."
"William Smith O'Brien."
O'Connell hesitated.
"…Why are we suddenly talking about him?"
"Just a feeling," Killian said quietly.
O'Connell's expression tightened.
That was enough.
Bingo.
The affair scandal had merely been bait.
The real target lay elsewhere.
And strangely enough—
Killian felt more excited than irritated.
For the first time in a long while, the political game had become truly interesting.
"Very well," he thought.
"Let's see which of us is the better player."
After all—
This was meant to be a fair contest.