Chapter 20
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: A Rising Star at Eton
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A modern person might expect a prestigious school like Eton to hold a dazzling entrance ceremony, but the reality was a bit different.
While graduation ceremonies were relatively grand, there was no official event for matriculation.
That's not to say there was nothing happening; the area in front of the main gate was teeming with crowds seeing off the new students.
“Heh heh, to think my son will be living here from now on, growing into the finest talent in the country. Still, I can't bring myself to leave you here.”
“There's no need to worry, big brother. James will visit Eton periodically to check on him, and I'll look after him whenever I have the time.”
“If you would, I'd be grateful, but…”
“Why should you be grateful? Killian is my beloved nephew; it's only natural that I look after him.”
Perhaps because we had grown close over the past six months since the family meeting, my aunt had come all the way to Eton's main gate to see me off, even though I hadn't asked her to.
“Killian, if anyone looks down on you or bullies you for being from Ireland, you must tell me, alright? I'll tell your uncle, and we'll teach them a lesson.”
“Don't worry too much. I'm a student who entered with the Duke of Wellington's endorsement. Who would dare to bother me?”
“If I had my way, I'd invite you to the palace every week… But I still have to be mindful of others, so I can't.”
“It's alright. Just visiting that one time was a very meaningful experience.”
I had hoped to befriend the Duke of Sussex before enrolling, but unfortunately, that proved to be too difficult.
Even though she lived with the Duke at Kensington Palace, Cecilia was still in a position where she had to be cautious.
If she summoned me to the palace every time she wanted to see me, she would undoubtedly draw unwanted attention. It was easier to meet outside like this.
My only interaction with the Duke of Sussex had been a brief greeting when I visited the palace, but it was clear he thought rather highly of me.
After all, who in the world would look unfavorably upon the most cherished nephew of their beloved wife?
There was plenty of time, so there was no need to rush.
I would have to slowly close the distance through my aunt.
“Father, Aunt. I'll be going now.”
“Alright. I'll write often, so reply when you have time. Make sure to eat well, and get along with the upperclassmen and your peers.”
“I told you, I will take good care of our Killian, so you can go home without any worries, big brother.”
“My goodness, it's great that you two have become close, but I have no idea when you became *this* close. Anyone would think you were his mother, not his aunt.”
“Actually, I'm sure far more people see me as his mother than see you as his father.”
As my father looked on, bewildered by my aunt's remark, she sidled up to me and whispered in a low voice.
“Oh, I've finally found a way to contact Princess Victoria. Just as you said, approaching the Duchess of Kent and Sir Conroy first was the right move.”
“That's a relief. If you do get to meet the princess, you must remember what I told you.”
“Of course. When the time comes, I'll be sure to boast all about my handsome nephew.”
With her own mother, the Duchess of Kent, guarding her like a fortress, not even the King or Queen could see Victoria often. I wondered if my aunt could succeed, but there was nothing to lose by trying.
If there was a chance to get to know, even indirectly, the future queen who would rule Britain for over sixty years, I had to try anything.
After all, the more cards you have to play, the better.
* * *
In the 1830s, Eton typically admitted around 150 new students each year, the majority of whom were so-called 'Oppidans.'
Oppidans were students who paid tuition and did not receive scholarships, and they naturally came from wealthy families.
Conversely, students known as 'Collegers' attended on scholarships, and there were only about twenty of them per year.
Since both groups attended the same school, the education they received was naturally similar.
However, while Collegers lived under strict supervision in the school's main building, College Hall, Oppidans usually resided in boarding houses in the town of Eton and commuted to classes.
The boarding houses where Oppidans stayed were run by the school's house masters or their wives, and the first place I was guided to was one such house.
“Welcome! This will be your room from now on. It's a bit cramped, but it's one of the few double rooms, so it should be more comfortable than the others. It's rare for a new boy to be assigned a double room right away. You're a lucky one.”
“Thank you for your consideration.”
“As you know, we at Eton operate on the principle of shaping character through strict discipline. Though it's a double room, your roommate will naturally be an upperclassman, and he will be responsible for supervising you.”
The custom of younger students serving older ones was called 'fagging,' wasn't it?
I'd heard it was a tradition not just at Eton but at most other public schools.
The stated purpose was to teach students to naturally submit to the authority of their superiors, but to me, it looked like a ploy to make managing the dormitories easier.
Or maybe I was just being too cynical.
“Yes. So, who is the upperclassman I'll be sharing a room with?”
“He's already here, so go and introduce yourself.”
The house master who had led me to the room quickly outlined the day's schedule before turning back to guide another student.
Opening the door, I was greeted by the scent of antique wood as the room's interior came into view.
Though it was a double room, it was unbelievably small and plain for the sons of aristocrats.
A personal bed and wardrobe for each student were set in the corners, with a shared table for studying in the center. That was all.
Judging by their quality, the candles and fireplace didn't seem to offer much in the way of lighting or heating.
Still, they said these spartan conditions were part of the experience at a prestigious old school, so I suppose it had a certain romantic charm.
I imagined this was probably what it would feel like to step into a dormitory at a certain school of witchcraft and wizardry.
“Oh, you're here. You must be Killian Gore.”
“Hello. Did the house master tell you my name beforehand?”
“No. My father pulled some strings to make sure we'd be roommates, so I was expecting you. Anyway, it's good to meet you.”
I had suspected something when I was assigned a double room right upon arrival, and it seemed someone had indeed arranged it.
But for someone to have the influence to make such arrangements before I even enrolled, they must be quite powerful. Why single me out?
“Allow me to introduce myself formally, senior. I am Killian Gore, eldest son of Arthur Gore, the Earl of Arran. And your name is…?”
“Ah, my apologies. I realize I didn't introduce myself first. Let's try that again. A pleasure. I am John Robert Manners, second son of John Henry Manners, the 5th Duke of Rutland. I'm only two years your senior, so don't worry too much about fagging or any of that.”
I was half-expecting some monumental name, but the Duke of Rutland... It was underwhelming.
A duke should be a man of considerable influence, yet I'd never heard of him.
My lukewarm reaction seemed to surprise Robert, as he asked.
“Ah, right. You haven't been in England for long, have you? Is that why you don't know?”
“My apologies. I have only lived here for two years, so my knowledge is rather limited.”
“My father is a member of the Tory Party and is close with the Duke of Wellington. He heard about you and was apparently quite curious. He wanted to know what kind of boy the Duke of Wellington intends to groom as a leash for Ireland.”
“It seems my existence is already well-known among the party leadership.”
“Of course. Do you have any idea how fast rumors spread in British high society? The day after the Duke gave you a letter of recommendation, the upper echelons of our party would have known all about it. A day later, the Whigs probably knew too.”
I was well aware that even without the internet, one shouldn't underestimate the speed of personal connections and social networks in this era.
That was why I had meticulously separated my public persona from my hidden identity. It seemed to have been an excellent decision.
“Then I suppose you know quite a bit about me?”
“More than a fair bit. I know almost everything my father knows. I know you haven't been here long and that you're close with the Duke of Wellington's second son. Does that about cover it?”
“That's impressive.”
He was puffing his chest out as if it were something remarkable, but in short, it meant he knew nothing beyond the information I had publicly revealed.
That was a relief.
“Still, it's a bit of a shock that not only I don't know, but my father doesn't either. He's the current Lord Lieutenant of Leicestershire, you know. And as the owner of an Epsom Derby winner, he's the envy of the aristocracy—everyone knows him.”
“Ah! He's the owner of a Derby winner? I know of that, of course. That's truly incredible.”
“What? Should I have just led with that from the start?”
His sudden smugness was a bit much, but regardless, being the owner of a Derby winner was an immense honor in England.
In a country like modern South Korea, horse racing is generally seen as nothing more than gambling, but England is different.
In England, horse racing was a leisure activity for the upper class to flaunt their wealth, an event boasting considerable prestige and tradition.
And the undisputed jewel in the crown of horse racing was the Epsom Derby.
Or simply, the Derby.
What makes the Derby so special is that only three-year-old colts and fillies, exactly three years from birth, are eligible to compete.
A horse can't be three years old twice, so it's a once-in-a-lifetime race for them.
Therefore, owning or having ridden a Derby winner brought immense honor to both the owner and the jockey.
It was such a big deal that Churchill once said he'd rather own a Derby winner than be Prime Minister, and even Queen Elizabeth spent her life trying to breed one.
To the British, the Epsom Derby was not just a horse race, but a festival and a social event.
Not even two World Wars could stop the Epsom Derby.
If you showed up in shabby clothes, thinking of it like a domestic racetrack, you'd be turned away at the entrance, unable to even get inside.
But at the end of the day, horse racing was still horse racing.
As long as there were races, enormous sums of money were bound to be involved, which meant my prey would be everywhere.
I had no intention of getting involved in the racing scene just yet, but I definitely needed to stay on good terms with someone like him.
He was practically a treasure trove who could bring me valuable information and connections in the future.
Most importantly, my actions and attitude in front of this person would be reported directly to the eyes and ears of the Tory leadership.
No matter how docile an act I put on, it's more exciting with an audience to watch. And here one was, delivered right to my doorstep. How fortunate.
They intended to watch me to see if I was a useful tool, but I was simply grateful.
Let them gauge and scrutinize me all they wanted.
The only conclusion they would ever reach was that I was the perfect talent, tailored exactly to their tastes.
“To be honest, I was worried about adjusting to school life, so it's a huge relief to meet such a dependable senior. I look forward to your guidance!”
“Hahaha, of course. I was just following my father's orders, but I was a bit worried myself. I'm glad you seem to be a mild-mannered student. Let's get along well.”
“Of course. I'll just trust and follow you, senior.”
“Really? In that case, I should let you join our society. You may not have heard, but besides the official clubs, Eton has quite a few unofficial societies.”
I had expected as much.
In a school teeming with the sons of aristocrats and magnates, it would be stranger if there *weren't* exclusive social circles.
This was a society that ran on connections to a degree incomparable to the modern world, so joining such a group would be advantageous in many ways.
“Is it possible for me to join that society?”
“Of course. You're the student the Duke of Wellington himself wrote a letter for and asked the headmaster to look after, aren't you? I'm sure there are plenty of students who are curious about you.”
“Thank you. Getting to share a room with you must be the best luck I've had in my school life.”
As I spouted one shameless, flattering remark after another, Robert laughed delightedly and waved his hand dismissively.
“It's nothing. In about a fortnight, we're having tea with a graduate to hear some words of wisdom. I can introduce you then. The alumnus coming this time was quite the big shot back in his day. William Gladstone.”
“...Sorry?”
“I said we're having tea with a graduate.”
No, forget the tea, who did he just say was coming?
The name that had been briefly mentioned in the conversation between John Keate and Charles Wellesley.
I never imagined I'd get the chance to meet one of the giants of British history, one of its greatest prime ministers, so soon.
I was right to come to Eton.