As news of the defeat of cholera swept across London, it was only natural that the rest of Europe soon heard of it as well.
The embassies of various nations stationed in the city were the first to learn of the astonishing development, and they immediately became frantic, attempting to verify the truth and gather accurate information.
The results were so unbelievable that an endless stream of unverified reports began pouring in.
The French Embassy in London
"What in the world are you doing? We must report to Paris immediately! If France adopts Britain's cholera measures, we might at least reduce the number of deaths!"
"Your Excellency, there are simply too many outlandish reports. Verifying them through cross-checking will take time…"
"Good heavens, how frustrating."
Although anger flared at the slow pace of the work, even Count Beaufoy—the French ambassador himself—felt that something about the situation was deeply strange.
What kind of disease was cholera?
After smallpox, it had become Europe's greatest nightmare.
Even now, the disaster in which more than one hundred thousand people had died across France was enough to send chills down his spine.
When nearly one hundred thousand cases erupted in Paris alone—a city of only six hundred and fifty thousand—France had genuinely believed the nation might collapse.
And France was hardly unique.
Russia and Britain had been equally helpless before this terrifying epidemic.
At least, that had always been the common understanding Beaufoy lived by.
Which was precisely why the reports now being gathered were pure chaos. It was impossible to tell what was true and what was false.
"Wait. Is this accurate? It says they declared they would resolve the situation within fifteen days—and then actually produced results in two? No matter how you look at it, this sounds like British exaggeration to glorify their Prince Consort."
"That was our first thought as well. But when we examined the infection trends, the data proved it was true."
"…What? That's impossible."
Was he to believe that France—great France—had suffered from a problem for years that some young man in Britain could solve in two days?
Even after more than one hundred thousand deaths?
It defied belief.
Even though the data supported it, accepting it psychologically was far more difficult.
The embassy staff gathering the reports clearly felt the same. They kept investigating again and again, convinced there must be something more.
After all, this was not merely a matter of information.
It touched on national pride.
"Your Excellency… could it be something like this? Perhaps when the Prince Consort said he would solve the cholera problem within fifteen days, he had already identified the cause beforehand."
"That would certainly be the most reasonable explanation."
"In other words, the 'two days' or 'fifteen days' is only the visible part. In reality he must have been studying the matter for a long time already. From what we can see, the research must have continued for years."
"…Yes. That must be it."
This was not the first time France had been shocked by Britain recently.
During the recent near-revolutionary crisis, the British Royal Family had provided enormous assistance.
Britain had accurately predicted the crop failure that France itself had failed to foresee, delivered food aid, and even opened diplomatic channels with Austria.
In that single incident alone, the difference in national capability between the two countries had become painfully obvious.
Though the French cabinet did not openly show it, the shock had been considerable.
When did France fall this far behind Britain?Do not overlook even the smallest detail of how Britain is developing. Report everything.
Prime Minister François Guizot—whose government had barely survived thanks to British help—seemed to believe that France must carefully observe Britain and take whatever lessons it could.
Naturally, this meant that the role of the ambassador in London had become far more important.
The embassy had already been operating its staff in ways not unlike spies.
Now they had received orders to expand those efforts.
And on top of that, the cholera crisis had erupted.
If Beaufoy failed even slightly in his duties here, there was a good chance he would be recalled in disgrace.
But what was he supposed to do?
The deeper they investigated, the more absurd the reports became.
"…At this rate, if we verify every single claim, the entire year will pass before we finish. Send everything Britain has released for now, exactly as it is. Add a note that these are British claims and may not be entirely accurate. Inform Paris that verification is ongoing and that a more detailed report will follow."
"Understood."
"When this reaches Guizot, he'll be shocked all over again. Good heavens… my workload is only going to grow."
If France had fallen behind Britain, why should the diplomats be the ones suffering for it?
Still, obedience was the fate of unfortunate civil servants.
Count Beaufoy resigned himself to another long day of collecting information about Killian to send back to Paris.
And of course, France was not the only country swept up in the commotion.
The Prussian Embassy in London
The man responsible for the Prussian mission—Karl Bunsen—was in a somewhat better position than the French.
Fortunately, he possessed an excellent card that could help determine whether the reports were true.
"So everything Britain announced here is accurate?"
"Yes, Your Excellency. I observed most of it personally. There is no reason to doubt it."
"Good heavens… We spoke about him before, but the man truly is impossible to predict. If what you say is correct, it means the Prince Consort had already suspected how cholera spreads."
"That… appears to be the case."
Could this fellow have been bribed by the British?
Bunsen glanced suspiciously at the man before him—Otto von Bismarck—trying to gauge his sincerity.
But even with decades of diplomatic experience, Bunsen could not detect any sign that Bismarck was lying.
No matter that he was a Junker, the young provincial noble did not seem capable of deceiving a seasoned ambassador.
Which meant there was only one conclusion: the reports had to be accepted as truth.
"Still, thanks to you we've obtained extremely valuable information. So, Professor John Snow and the Health Committee had a fierce dispute at the nursing college, and during that meeting the Prince Consort ordered Snow to identify the cause of cholera. But that raises a question… isn't the investigation period far too short?"
"At first, His Highness appeared quite surprised that cholera had broken out at all."
"So he was not prepared in advance."
"From what I heard, he expected cholera to appear eventually—but it occurred sooner than he anticipated."
If that were true, then Killian had identified the cause and devised a method to stop it within an incredibly short time.
Of course, most of the technical work had been done by Professor Snow.
But the ability to create an environment where such a capable man could work freely—and then act immediately upon the results—was no small achievement.
"Bismarck. Since you've observed everything closely, tell me honestly. Do you believe Britain is a suitable partner for Prussia in the long term?"
"A disease that killed nearly a million people in Russia has claimed fewer than several thousand lives here. Does that not reveal the difference in national capability clearly enough?"
"Hm… But responding well to an epidemic does not necessarily mean they excel in everything else."
"Of course not. But I believe situations like this reveal a nation's fundamental strength. And over time, such differences only grow larger."
"Still… France remains an obstacle if we consider aligning ourselves with Britain."
For Prussia, Russia was a rival that could perhaps be reconciled with.
France, however, was not.
Even if tensions were temporarily eased, conflict with France would inevitably return.
That was not merely Bunsen's personal view—it was widely shared.
"The era when France dominated Europe is already over," Bismarck replied calmly. "The strongest nation in Europe now is Britain. Rather than oppose them, we should align ourselves quickly and secure the position of second power. Russia and France can be dealt with later."
"Hm… Very well. I understand. In truth, after witnessing these events, I had already begun to form a similar conclusion."
If such a clear difference in national capability existed, there was no guarantee Russia could continue to rival the British Empire indefinitely.
Britain had already drawn France and Austria into its orbit to contain Russia.
And with the Ottoman Empire—Russia's constant rival—also involved, the encirclement of Russia was nearly complete.
If Prussia sided with Russia now, it might find itself facing France and Austria simultaneously.
The best scenario would be to allow Britain and Russia to compete while Prussia maintained a neutral position.
But if the moment ever came when Prussia had to choose between them…
"Mr. Bismarck," Bunsen said quietly. "In truth, the report to Berlin is already written. But if we want to explain what is happening in London properly, it would be better for someone who witnessed these events firsthand to deliver it. I would like you to travel to Berlin."
"Me?"
"Yes. Among Prussia's nobles, you are the only one who has formed a close relationship with the Prince Consort. At present, Berlin barely understands Britain's political situation. We do not know how much power the Crown truly holds, or how influence is divided between the cabinet, the government, and the monarchy. In truth, we are still stumbling at the very first stage of understanding."
Britain's system—constitutional monarchy combined with cabinet government—had always been difficult to interpret.
But recently it had become even more confusing.
Bunsen suspected the reason was simple.
Killian Gore—who had once served as Foreign Secretary—had now entered the Royal Family itself.
"I understand. You wish me to return to Berlin and explain the situation directly to those responsible for policy."
"Exactly. I have already prepared a detailed letter for His Majesty. He will listen carefully to what you have to say. And I trust you realize this will be a valuable opportunity for you as well."
"Of course. Thank you for granting me such an opportunity. I will do my utmost to meet your expectations."
For a provincial Junker who had once done little more than raise pigs in the countryside, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.
Without hesitation, Bismarck accepted the letter Bunsen offered him.
A week after the cholera crisis had ended,
the excitement in London had not yet faded.
Nor did the people seem eager to leave that mood behind.
As promised, Prime Minister Charles Wellesley organized a grand festival to commemorate the defeat of cholera.
Naturally, the central figures of the celebration were John Snow and myself.
"A festival means there will be a ball as well, I assume. Hmm… those occasions make me somewhat uncomfortable."
"If one of the principal figures does not attend, the event loses its meaning. The Prime Minister specifically asked that you come."
"The real hero is Your Highness, so perhaps it would suffice if you attended alone… but very well. Establishing connections among the upper classes will surely help future research."
"Good. And be sure to bring Ms. Nightingale as well. She must attend. After all, she comes from a wealthy family—she should be accustomed to such gatherings."
Of course, even for her it would be the first time attending an event filled with members of the House of Lords, leaders of both parties, and the Prime Minister himself.
Still, she was unlikely to feel as uncomfortable as Snow.
And as Snow himself admitted, building connections at such events could prove useful in the future.
Yet Snow scratched his head, looking slightly uneasy.
"I'm fine with attending… but Miss Nightingale may not wish to."
"What do you mean? Is there some problem?"
"Not exactly. A nobleman who recently received treatment at the hospital seems to have taken a liking to her. He keeps asking her to enter a formal courtship. She said she would rather avoid gatherings where many nobles are present."
Now what was this about?
Still, it was hardly surprising.
Nobles had always rushed toward any woman they found attractive.
Even so, knowing Nightingale's future legend, I could only feel a little sorry for whichever unfortunate nobleman was wasting his efforts.
"If he is bothering her excessively, I could deal with it personally. Who is he?"
"Oh, it's not that serious, she says. The real problem is that he's almost ten years younger than her. I believe he's the son of some marquess… I can't recall which."
"Tell her to attend the ball. I'll take responsibility for resolving the matter."
After all, I was curious to see what sort of young lord had fallen hopelessly in love with a white-clad zealot.
Surely it wouldn't be someone I recognized… would it?