Chapter 9

When I appeared in the garden, every noblewoman instinctively bent her knees in a curtsy.

It was hard to believe these were the same women who had been imagining all sorts of horrifying things about me just moments ago. Their expressions and manners were flawless.

After all, the noblewomen of nineteenth-century Britain were masters of concealing their emotions.

‘What performances. Then again, I suppose that’s what makes them noble ladies.’

I approached them with a smile of my own.

The moment mask met mask, not a single person in this garden wore their true face.

“Please, everyone, be at ease. Today, I am your host.”

At my words, the ladies carefully straightened themselves, but their eyes remained full of caution and suspicion.

Being dragged to a party without laudanum was bad enough. They had no idea what this young Queen was plotting by inviting them here.

‘I can practically read every one of your thoughts.’

Their smiles were almost unnaturally gentle.

Perhaps in nineteenth-century Britain, where showing genuine emotion was treated almost like a sin, hiding one’s feelings was simply the only way to survive.

I felt a small measure of sympathy for them.

Even so, there was work to be done.

“Today, I have a special tea I’d like to share with all of you.”

The maids took the large teapot from my hands and carefully poured its contents into the teacups arranged on the serving cart.

Soon, steaming cups of tea sat before every guest.

Mrs. Ashburton lifted her cup to her nose, inhaled the aroma, and frowned slightly.

“This is… chamomile tea, isn’t it, Your Majesty?”

“That’s right. It’s especially good for clearing the mind.”

I answered as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

The ladies, however, were visibly unimpressed.

They knew chamomile tea was said to calm the body and mind.

But compared to the immediate, powerful “comfort” that laudanum provided, it was little more than child’s play.

‘You think this is enough to satisfy us? Not a chance.’

Mrs. Ashburton scoffed inwardly as she reluctantly brought the cup to her lips.

The moment she took a sip, her brow furrowed even deeper.

“It tastes… rather bitter.”

Behind chamomile’s familiar floral fragrance lingered an unfamiliar bitterness that danced across her tongue.

The other ladies reacted much the same way.

“You’re right. Today’s tea is unusually bitter.”

“Did you add some sort of medicinal herb?”

Listening to their complaints, I offered them a hollow smile.

‘You’ve finally taken the bait.’

“Really? I can’t tell. Perhaps the tea leaves turned a little more bitter because the sun was especially bright today.”

I laughed it off as though it were nothing.

Unable to complain further, the ladies forced themselves to finish the bitter tea.

After all, they couldn’t openly reject tea personally served by the Queen.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Ashburton’s head was already beginning to throb.

There was the discomfort from being deprived of laudanum, the unpleasant taste of the tea, and the strain of smiling politely before a young Queen whose intentions she couldn’t read.

To her, it was the worst afternoon tea party imaginable.

‘This ridiculous party… I’ll go home as soon as it’s over and have some laudanum.’

Resolving to do exactly that, she continued exchanging empty smiles and meaningless conversation with the other noblewomen.

She politely asked after their health, complimented plans for upcoming charity bazaars, and carried on one hollow conversation after another.

About an hour later…

The Queen rose from her seat, signaling the end of the gathering.

“Thank you all for taking the time to join me today. It has been a truly delightful afternoon.”

At those words, Mrs. Ashburton and the other ladies all seemed to sigh in relief at the same time.

They quickly stood, offered the Queen their proper farewells, and left Kensington Palace as though fleeing an approaching storm.

As Mrs. Ashburton rode back to her townhouse in her carriage, her thoughts filled with everything waiting for her.

A glass of laudanum.

Instructions for tonight’s dinner.

Calling the dressmaker.

Preparing her gown for next week’s ball.

Then, suddenly…

‘Hm…? My head… doesn’t hurt?’

Normally, by now, her temples would have been pounding.

She had spent the entire party on edge, yet she hadn’t felt even the slightest headache.

‘What is this? I didn’t even drink any laudanum… so why?’

In fact, unlike her usual foggy state, her mind now felt astonishingly clear and refreshed.

It was almost impossible to believe after enduring such a dreadful party.

Something wasn’t right.

The only thing she had consumed all day was that bitter, unpleasant chamomile tea served by the Queen.

That evening, similar stories began circulating among the other ladies who had attended the party.

“My dear, you’re looking remarkably well today.”

“Really? That’s strange. I thought I’d be completely exhausted after the party at Kensington Palace…”

“Ma’am, won’t you be having your laudanum this evening?”

“Oh my… I completely forgot about it. Come to think of it, today I don’t really feel like I need it…”

Some time later…

Those gathered at Mrs. Ashburton’s townhouse were astonished to discover that even after the party, they had experienced neither headaches nor nervous agitation.

They couldn’t even remember the last time they had gone so long without reaching for laudanum.

Several days later, another round of invitations was sent out for a tea party at Kensington Palace.

This time, far more ladies accepted than before.

Some came out of pure curiosity.

Others came, half skeptical and half hopeful.

The party unfolded exactly as it had the first time.

I wore the same smile.

I served the same bitter chamomile tea.

“This special tea is prepared using a secret method from the East. It is said to possess remarkable properties that calm the mind and clear one’s thoughts.”

The moment they heard it was a “secret method from the East,” the ladies unconsciously swallowed.

It was as though they had just been entrusted with some mysterious ancient secret.

Unlike before, they lifted their teacups with almost reverent expressions.

Before long, rumors began spreading throughout London’s high society.

The Queen’s tea possessed extraordinary effects.

At first, the ladies dismissed it as nothing more than idle gossip.

But as more and more women shared nearly identical experiences, doubt slowly began to creep in.

“Surely that’s impossible. She must have simply mixed laudanum into it!”

“No. I’ve attended twice now, and it felt completely different from taking laudanum!”

Before anyone realized it, people had stopped calling her the eccentric Queen.

The nickname “the mad Queen” disappeared as well.

Then another invitation arrived from Kensington Palace.

This time, it seemed as though every noblewoman in London had decided to attend.

The Palace was bustling with guests.

Once again, I appeared carrying a large teapot in both hands.

This time, however, the ladies no longer looked at me with quiet contempt.

Instead, their eyes were filled with eager anticipation.

“I’ve prepared tea once again today. Judging by how many more of you have come, I suppose it proved effective.”

The ladies merely responded with awkward smiles.

“Since drinking tea alone might be a bit dull today, I’ve also brought along a book for everyone to read together.”

“A book, Your Majesty?”

Mrs. Ashburton asked cautiously.

Her head was already pounding from the lack of laudanum, and now they were expected to read a dull book as well.

This truly was the worst party imaginable.

“So today’s not an afternoon tea party after all… it’s a salon.”

At another lady’s offhand remark, quiet sighs rippled through the garden.

A salon.¹

It was certainly a refined pastime.

But what the ladies needed right now wasn’t an intellectual discussion to satisfy their vanity.

They wanted another cup of that mysterious tea to ease their headaches.

I gave Baroness Lehzen a glance.

As though she had been waiting for it, she accepted the stack of books the maids brought over and began handing one copy to each of the ladies.

The expressions on the noblewomen’s faces subtly changed the moment they accepted the thick, leather-bound volumes.

“This is… Hm? Confessions of an English Laudanum Addict?”

As Mrs. Stanley read the title aloud, a heavy silence fell over the garden.

The ladies exchanged bewildered glances.

Laudanum.

It was far too vulgar—almost sacrilegious—to be spoken aloud at such an elegant gathering.

“It was published over a decade ago. If I remember correctly, it caused quite a stir.”

I spoke as though it were nothing unusual.

This autobiographical work by Thomas De Quincey had been published in 1821 and had shocked British society at the time.

Reluctantly, the ladies began turning the pages.

Before long, every face was filled with horror.

The book vividly and mercilessly described how Thomas De Quincey himself became addicted to laudanum, slowly watching both his body and mind fall apart.

…The early ecstasy disappeared, leaving behind nothing but dreadful nightmares. Every night I was haunted by nameless terrors, and every day I was overcome by hopeless melancholy and exhaustion. My memory faded, and even the smallest matters stirred uncontrollable rage within me…

As they continued reading, the hands of several ladies began to tremble.

Mrs. Ashburton swallowed nervously.

‘T-This…’

The symptoms described in the book felt disturbingly familiar.

The overwhelming anxiety whenever she went without laudanum.

The hysterical irritation that flared over the smallest things.

The strange dreams that haunted her every night.

They had always believed those sufferings were simply the burden of being sensitive women…

…the unavoidable fate of noble ladies.

But the book told a different story.

Every one of them was a symptom of laudanum addiction.

Mrs. Ashburton’s face instantly turned deathly pale.

Thomas De Quincey’s book was a mirror held up before the ladies.

Mrs. Ashburton had thought she was reading someone else’s story.

Instead, she found herself staring at her own reflection in words.

Looking around, she realized she wasn’t alone.

Several other ladies wore the very same expression.

Sweat beaded across their brows as they confronted the terrifying possibility that what they had dismissed as merely a bad habit had, in truth, become a terrible addiction.

There are two ways to change a person.

One is to reveal the truth to their mind.

The other is to make them experience the truth with their own body.

Books accomplish the former.

Experience accomplishes the latter.

And the moment those two met within a single cup of tea…

…their entire world was thrown into turmoil.

Watching their confusion unfold, I delivered the finishing blow.

“The reason I ordered every last bottle of laudanum removed from Kensington Palace… was because I read that very book.”

Every pair of eyes turned toward me.

“If one continues taking laudanum, which is made from opium, the inevitable outcome is becoming just like the author of that book. Of course, we all need medicine to ease our pain. But surely that medicine should not be such a dreadful poison.”

I paused briefly before pointing toward their teacups.

“That is why I served all of you this tea. After drinking it… didn’t your headaches disappear?”

As though rehearsed beforehand, every lady nodded.

It truly was remarkable.

Not a single one of them had complained of a headache while reading.

“This tea contains a new medicine developed through the efforts of the Royal Pharmaceutical Research Society and my Royal Physician, Sir James Clark. It is made from a compound extracted from willow bark. Unlike laudanum, it is non-addictive while still relieving pain. Unfortunately, we do not yet possess the facilities for mass production, so for the time being it can only be prepared here at Kensington Palace in limited quantities.”

In other words…

Anyone wishing to drink this special tea would have to come to Kensington Palace.

The ladies were quick to understand.

Their eyes immediately began to sparkle.

Seeing exactly what they were thinking, I smiled.

“Commoners are my subjects as well. But how could I ignore the burdens borne by those of you who labor for the good of the nation? Everything I have done is merely a small effort on my part to improve the health of everyone living in Britain. I hope you will not misunderstand my intentions.”

“Y-Your Majesty…!”

Mrs. Ashburton was the first to rise.

Filled with gratitude and admiration, she bowed deeply.

One after another, the other ladies stood and followed her example.

To them, there was no downside whatsoever.

Now that laudanum had officially been banished from the Palace, any noblewoman who continued openly using it would inevitably be seen as someone acting against the Queen’s wishes.

Conversely, receiving an invitation to Kensington Palace would become proof of enjoying the Queen’s favor.

As for me…

Having previously been misunderstood by these ladies, I would now firmly establish myself as their rightful sovereign.

And as long as I maintained these relationships, they would stand by my side.

‘Rule number one of social life: keep your enemies closer than your friends.’

The women I had once considered enemies…

…and the unhealthy habits that had taken root throughout London’s high society…

…began to be cleansed little by little over cups of tea shared within Kensington Palace.

Just as salicin eased away headaches…

…the conversations held over teacups gradually dissolved suspicion.

Removing poison takes time.

It takes repetition.

No one is ever cleansed after a single treatment.

But if each cup of tea…

…each visit…

…each conversation…

peeled away another layer of that poison…

…wouldn’t that be enough?

Thus, today’s revolution began not in the public square…

…but around a tea table where people sat together.