The Palace of Westminster smelled faintly of ink, dust, and candle wax. Sunlight slanted through tall windows, casting long golden stripes across the chamber. The benches were filled once more, MPs returning from their midday meal. Some looked weary, others animated, their wigs slightly askew from hurried conversation over wine and meat.
At the far end of the chamber sat the Speaker, his gavel resting before him. Beside him, clerks stacked ledgers, quills scratching busily.
Phillip Wellington stood at the side of the chamber, his father at his right hand. The Duke of Wellington's presence alone commanded silence—his gaze a reminder that these were not idle theatrics.
The Speaker rapped the gavel once. "Gentlemen, we are reconvened. This morning we were presented with a proposal most extraordinary: a railway system to bind this kingdom by steel and steam. We adjourned to give space for consideration. Now, let us deliberate in full."
A murmur rolled through the hall.
Phillip clasped his hands behind his back, every muscle taut. He had rehearsed for weeks, yet now his part was over. The machine had spoken louder than words—today, it was the Members who would decide.
The first to rise was Sir William Hawthorne, an older MP with a lined face and heavy jowls. "Mr. Speaker, I will speak plainly. This scheme is madness. A million pounds, perhaps more! Rails across half the kingdom? England is not some toy board where lines may be drawn at whim. We have canals, we have wagons. Are we now to gamble the treasury on smoke and fire?"
Several members nodded vigorously.
Before the echoes died, another stood—a younger man in a neat blue coat, voice ringing with enthusiasm. "And yet, Sir William, I sat upon that contraption. I felt it move beneath me. No horse pulled it, no water turned its wheels. Only steam. In one hundred yards, it did more than canals or roads can promise in a hundred miles! Gentlemen, this is no gamble—it is opportunity!"
The chamber stirred, voices rising.
An older merchant-MP from Liverpool pushed himself up next. "Mr. Speaker, my constituents depend upon cotton and cloth. Canals clog with traffic, roads sink into mud. If this railway can move goods from Manchester to Liverpool in a day rather than a week, then I say we would be fools not to consider it."
"Are there even any potential failures from that contraption? What if it exploded or anything?"
"If I may interject," Phillip chimed in. "I have designed every piece of equipment that goes through the steam locomotives and made sure that it won't fail while performing its function. The only way a boiler would explode is if the operator doesn't know what they are doing."
He let his words settle. Some MPs leaned forward, interested. Others shook their heads, muttering among themselves.
Sir William Hawthorne scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. "So now we are to entrust Britain's trade and safety not to the steady hoof of a horse, but to common laborers shoveling coal? What happens when one of your stokers nods off, Mr. Wellington? Will London burn for it?"
A few chuckles rose from the benches. Phillip's jaw tightened, but he kept his tone even.
"Sir William, if you will forgive the comparison: canals flood, wagons overturn, horses collapse in the street. No mode of transport is without risk. But tell me—have you ever heard of a canal moving troops a hundred miles in a single day? Or a wagon carrying fifty men at once without exhausting a dozen horses? Steam does not tire. Steam does not eat. Steam does not sleep."
That drew a ripple of applause from the younger members.
The Speaker rapped the gavel. "Order!"
From the far benches, another man rose. Lord Pembroke, a tall, thin aristocrat with a hawk-like gaze. His family owned stretches of land along canal routes. "Mr. Speaker, we cannot ignore the disruption this project would bring. A million pounds in rails! Land torn from farmers' fields! What of the canal companies, the carriage makers, the horse breeders? Shall we bankrupt half the kingdom to enrich one company?"
A murmur of agreement rolled through the chamber.
Phillip inclined his head respectfully. "My lord, I understand your concern. But this is not the death of canals or wagons. This is their complement. Rails will bear the great weight, the long journeys. Canals will still serve where water runs. Wagons will still carry where rails do not reach. But consider: when the canal is frozen in winter, when the road is a mire of mud, the rails will still run."
He unrolled a parchment with bold, straight lines crossing England. "And to ease the burden of land, we shall follow existing rights-of-way where possible—along canals, across crown land, beside turnpikes. Compensation shall be paid to landowners. No man will lose without gain."
A stout MP from Manchester stood, his broad accent carrying across the hall. "Mr. Speaker, my mills choke for cotton when the canals freeze. My men sit idle, my looms silent. If this railway does what he says, then I say let the rails come. I'll not see Manchester's fortunes bound by mud and ice any longer."
"That's right!" another cried from Liverpool. "If we can haul cloth to port in a day, our exports will double. The Americas, the Indies—they'll flood with British goods. Gentlemen, this is not just transport. This is empire!"
The word empire struck like a spark.
For every man who feared loss, another now smelled gain.
But Sir William rose again, red-faced. "Empire? Ha! More like folly! What of the treasury? A million pounds! Do you all sit so lightly upon the people's taxes that you would spend it on a child's fancy?"
Phillip's father stirred at that.
"Gentlemen, I do not ask Parliament to shoulder the burden alone. Imperial Dynamics will provide the engines, the rails, the steel. We will invest heavily, for we believe in this vision. What I ask of Parliament is partnership. Charter rights, land grants, and a contract to secure initial funding. Half borne by Imperial Dynamics, half by the Crown. Profits returned not only to us, but to the treasury through tolls and fares."
He pointed to the columns. "London to Manchester: £300,000. London to Birmingham: £330,000. Manchester to Liverpool: £150,000. Total near a million. But within five years, tolls alone will return £100,000 annually. Within ten, the system pays for itself. After that, it's pure profit."
A long pause followed.
The Speaker at last leaned forward. "Gentlemen, you have heard the case. You have seen the machine. You have weighed the figures. The matter must be put to a vote this very afternoon. For or against."
A murmur rose—anxious, excited, fearful.
The Duke placed a firm hand on Phillip's shoulder, murmuring, "Stand tall. Whatever happens, you have already carved your mark into history."
Phillip straightened. His heart hammered, but his voice, when he spoke, was steady.
"Gentlemen, the world does not wait. Fonseine, Granzreich, Moscova, and even Austria—they all watch us. If Britain leads, the world will follow. If Britain hesitates, the world will overtake us. Let us be the first to lay steel across the land. Let us be the first to run upon steam. I offer you not a gamble, but a future. The question is simple: will you walk… or will you ride?"
The Speaker raised the gavel. "The division will be called."