Chapter 104
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: Civil War (2)
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About a month before the vote of no confidence against Prime Minister Robert Peel was held in Parliament.
The newspaper offices of London were living for the thrill of printing papers each day, practically screaming with joy.
“Hahahahahaha!”
“Sir, yesterday's sales have been tallied. They’ve gone up again.”
“Is that so? Good, good. Then let’s print a few more than we did yesterday.”
William Burn, the owner of the *Morning Post*, grinned from ear to ear as he lovingly caressed the freshly printed papers rolling off the press.
-The New Generation vs. the Old Guard: The Confrontation Between Charles Wellesley and Robert Peel
While a world-shaking event was always welcome, a continuous stream of minor squabbles like this was also a source of happiness for a newspaper.
After all, newspapers lived and breathed on controversy.
In that regard, the recent trend had been excellent.
The war with the Qing Dynasty had produced one unexpected turn after another, and Queen Victoria had been relentlessly vocal.
There was an abundance of elements to capture the public's interest, and even after the war ended, the material kept coming, centered around opium and other issues.
If that had been the end of it, things might have been different, but now there was talk of a potato blight, with forecasts of a great famine on the horizon.
Just as that started to quiet down, a generational conflict erupted within the Tory Party. For a newspaper, what could be more exciting?
Of course, since the *Morning Post* leaned pro-Tory, the sight of the party fighting amongst itself wasn't entirely pleasing.
Still, the owner didn't think this issue would last long.
He hadn't been observing the political scene for just a day or two; he could tell how these things would play out with a single glance.
They would squabble and fight for a bit, then the younger faction would reluctantly concede, and everything would be wrapped up as if nothing had happened.
So, now was the time to print the most sensational articles possible and sell as many papers as they could.
“Alright, alright. Let’s push a little harder. The public’s interest in politics has grown immensely these days. If we play our cards right, we might break the ten-thousand-copy barrier within a few years. When that day comes, I’ll treat you all handsomely!”
None of the employees believed the owner's words, but they did as they were told and began preparing to print and sell another day's worth of papers.
It was then.
“Is anyone here? I’m looking for Mr. William Burn, the owner of the *Morning Post*.”
“I am William Burn. Who are you?”
“I’ve come to discuss some business. Would it be possible to speak with you privately for a moment?”
“Of course. Let’s go to the next room.”
Running a newspaper, he received at least a few visitors a week looking to discuss business like this.
Most were useless propositions, but occasionally a worthwhile investment came along, so he had to hear them out.
“What is it? To be honest, I don’t have much time to talk…”
“The same goes for me. So I’ll get straight to the point. I wish to acquire the *Morning Post*.”
“…What? Acquire it?”
“Yes. If you refuse, I will go to the *Standard* or the *John Bull*. As I said, I don’t have much time either, so I can’t haggle for long. If you sign here, we can go to the bank right now, and I will withdraw the money and hand it over to you.”
William Burn’s eyes widened as he looked at the contract the man handed him.
“An acquisition price of twenty thousand pounds? R-Really?”
“Today. I can give you the full amount in cash.”
The current market value of the *Morning Post* was between 10,000 and, at most, 15,000 pounds.
An extra 5,000 pounds on top of that meant one could start another company of this size and still have over 5,000 pounds left over.
Of course, that would take some time, but for William Burn, this was a golden opportunity to make thousands of pounds without lifting a finger.
“Wait… you can really pay this amount right now? But let me hear you out first. Why do you want to acquire a newspaper?”
“It is my employer’s wish to run a sizable newspaper. The *Morning Post* meets all the criteria.”
So, starting from scratch was too much trouble, and they wanted to swallow whole all the expertise this paper had built up until now.
There weren't many magnates who wanted to run a newspaper, but the world was full of people with peculiar hobbies, so it wasn't impossible to understand.
“Let’s continue this conversation after I’ve confirmed that you can indeed provide twenty thousand pounds immediately.”
“Very well. Shall we head to the bank right now?”
Despite his words, the offer of 20,000 pounds was likely based on the prediction that newspaper sales would continue to rise.
Having run a newspaper for a long time, William Burn knew well that the rich were a tribe that never wasted money.
‘The current noisy conflict within the Tory Party will soon die down, and public interest will wane. It’s better to sell high now and start over somewhere else.’
If he sold at the highest possible price now and bought back in when the market was low, he might be able to make not just 5,000, but more than 10,000 pounds.
Upon seeing the 20,000 pounds in person, William Burn beamed with delight and immediately signed the contract.
Founded in 1772 and just a few years shy of its 70th anniversary, the traditional *Morning Post* thus fell into someone else’s hands overnight.
And the very first thing that someone prepared immediately after acquiring the newspaper was…
a massive volume of special feature articles designed to make Robert Peel’s vote of no confidence a month later all the more dramatic.
***
“—With this, I declare that the motion of no confidence in the cabinet has officially passed!”
The moment the Wellesley faction all voted in favor of the motion proposed by the Whig Party, and the Speaker formally declared it.
Robert Peel’s cabinet term ended at that very instant.
“As you are aware, Prime Minister, you must either nominate a successor or request the dissolution of Parliament from Her Majesty the Queen. The deadline is…”
The Speaker's droning words didn't register.
How on earth had things come to this?
Anger, bewilderment, anxiety. A whirlwind of emotions churned within him, but the Prime Minister did his best to maintain his composure as he left the chamber with the members of his faction.
“This is a conspiracy! A conspiracy! That bastard Charles Wellesley is colluding with the Whigs to ruin our party!”
“But now that the no-confidence motion has passed, dissolving Parliament is our only option. They will never accept a successor we nominate.”
“Prime Minister, what should we do?”
Faced with this unexpected turn of events, even the members who had weathered the political storms for decades were flustered.
But thinking calmly, now was not the time for anger or confusion.
“Honorable members, as infuriating as Wellesley is, what’s important for us now is the next election. Since the no-confidence motion has passed, I will go to Her Majesty the Queen today or tomorrow to request the dissolution of Parliament. Therefore, you must all prepare thoroughly to win the upcoming election.”
“To do that, we must first widely publicize that treacherous bastard Wellesley’s atrocities. If we can firmly implant the perception among voters that he brought discord to the party, we can significantly damage Wellesley’s support.”
“That’s right. Our party’s supporters value conservatism and authority, do they not? They will not look kindly on Wellesley for challenging the authority of his seniors and damaging conservative values.”
“Let’s mobilize all the newspapers friendly to us and have them attack Wellesley.”
As if to prove they hadn't just been warming their seats for all those years, the senior members, having regained their composure, swiftly came up with various countermeasures.
As they said, the task at hand was to begin the image campaign to brand Wellesley as a traitor to the Tory Party.
Although Charles Wellesley was the son of the Duke of Wellington, this faction was composed mostly of members from traditional families who had been in politics for decades.
The sum of their accumulated tradition, wealth, and influence was overwhelmingly greater than that of the Wellesley faction.
Therefore, in a head-to-head clash of organizations, they were bound to be the victors.
Wellesley’s latest move would be recorded in the political history of the British Empire as an all-time act of self-destruction.
“Excellent. Then I will head to Kensington Palace immediately to see Her Majesty. I ask all of you to contact your close associates in the press and influential figures in various sectors of society and expose Wellesley’s outrageous actions.”
Just moments ago, when the no-confidence motion passed, he had felt utterly suffocated, but after a few hours of discussion and reaching a conclusion, a sense of calm thankfully returned.
In fact, if he used this incident to firmly suppress the insolent youths within the party, such a mishap wouldn't be repeated for at least twenty years.
‘What was that? *When the new tide of the Thames flows, the old is pushed out*?’
When the new tide comes, all one has to do is build a dam to stop it from overflowing.
Thinking that this time he would finally see Killian's arrogant face contort, Robert Peel left the meeting room with a light step.
Tomorrow, all sorts of articles about today's events would pour out, so he had to finish his business quickly before things got any more chaotic…
“Extra! Extra!”
“Prime Minister Robert Peel Ousted!”
“Young Wellesley’s Spirit Overcomes Prime Minister’s Greed!”
Passing by in his carriage, he momentarily doubted his own ears.
How could this content, just hours after the no-confidence vote passed in Parliament, already be immortalized in an article and circulating?
Were the newspapers of the British Empire really this capable?
“Wait, stop! Bring me one of each of those papers being handed out over there!”
There was only one type of newspaper that people on the streets were frantically buying.
It was the *Morning Post*, a pro-Tory paper Robert Peel knew well.
He had seen it several times recently, as it had been running various articles on the Tory Party conflict.
But what had gotten into them all of a sudden?
No, before that, how on earth did they know to print an article with this content?
Could it be that Wellesley had co-opted the press and prepared this in advance?
[A Predestined Vote of No Confidence. Why Was the Prime Minister Abandoned by the Youth of His Own Party?]
[The Other Side of Prime Minister Robert Peel: The Price of a Lust for Power]
[A Thirst for Power Wrapped in the Word ‘Tradition.’ A Thorough Investigation of the Cases!]
His hands trembled as he read the articles.
It was certain. These were articles that could never have been written by someone who didn't know the internal situation intimately.
“Those bastards were prepared to drag me down to this extent! Is this how they repay the grace I’ve shown them, nurturing and supporting them all this time?”
He then recalled that Killian had left his seat even before the no-confidence vote was tallied.
At first, he had thought it was a mocking gesture, implying the outcome was already decided and not worth watching. But looking back now, that wasn't it.
He must have left a little earlier to execute the scheme he had prepared.
Still, it wasn't too late.
Even if the *Morning Post* put on a one-man show, their resources were limited.
What could a paper that could barely print 5,000 copies possibly achieve on its own?
If he started responding today, he could brand their publications as false propaganda and amplify his own voice.
“I’m sorry, but turn the carriage around! I must reconvene the senior members before I see Her Majesty!”
“P-Prime Minister! It’s an emergency!”
“An emergency? What could possibly be more urgent than this…”
Just as he was about to turn back immediately after arriving at Kensington Palace, a secretary came running towards him, panting for breath.
“Ch-Charles Wellesley and Killian Gore have started doing something bizarre. They’ve gathered reporters from all the press outlets and announced they’re holding a conference!”
“Gathered all the reporters for a conference? What in the world is that…”
“All the newspapers that were scooped by the *Morning Post* have sent their reporters. They say they’re going to reveal, point by point, the reasons for your vote of no confidence… It’s chaos!”
He couldn't keep up with the speed of events.
The world before Robert Peel’s eyes went dark.