CHAPTER 268: BARON ANTHONY HAYWARD CHAPMAN

While Eleanor was busy with her training at the academy, the Kingdom was alive with the frenzy of the upcoming election.

The cavernous interior of Bishopsgate Goods Yard pulsed with energy... half anticipation, half excitement. Once a Victorian rail depot, its vast iron skeleton now glittered beneath rows of suspended lighting rigs that cast a cool, blue-tinged glow across a sea of thousands. The air was thick with a peculiar blend... the chill of a night draft mingling with the heat of gathered bodies, the sharp tang of perfume, and the faint, nostalgic scent of pipe smoke.

This was the first major rally of Baron Anthony Hayward Chapman, newly announced as a candidate for Prime Minister. The crowd itself mirrored the dual nature of the man they had come to see... both polished and grounded. Party officials from neighbouring constituencies stood shoulder to shoulder, their seasoned faces lined with experience, while supporters from far-flung regions added a vibrant tapestry of colours and accents that already signalled the rally’s success.

Backstage, behind a corridor of black drapes, Anthony stood motionless. The roar of the crowd reached him as a muted rumble, a heartbeat of distant thunder. He closed his eyes, fingertips brushing the worn surface of the wooden chair he was sitting.

"Two minutes, sir," came the calm voice of his new secretary and bodyguard, Kevin Blanc.

Anthony nodded once.

Kevin continued, brisk and professional. "The feed’s live on all major networks. The bio-package is running. One reminder... land the Skills Fund line with purpose, but save the vocal punch for the third ’Kingdom First’. We’ll need that clip for the ten o’clock news."

Anthony’s eyes flickered open. Beyond the curtain, he could hear the warm-up speaker reaching the height of his introduction. The voice... a little rough, unmistakably East London... was that of his old friend Jim Broadbent. Anthony allowed himself a fleeting, genuine smile.

On the other side of the drapes, Jim was working the crowd with easy mastery. "I see some of you wondering what a commoner like me is doing introducing your Baron!" he called, earning a ripple of laughter. "Well, let me tell you about the Baron of Bethnal Green. When we were kids playing football down Brick Lane, he wasn’t the biggest. Wasn’t the fastest. But he was always the one who led us. He’d see the whole pitch... see things the rest of us couldn’t. He’d organise us, get us working together."

"Many of our schoolmates didn’t even know his father was the Minister of State. That’s the sort of man he’s always been. And that’s why this ’Kingdom First’ isn’t just some slogan dreamed up in a fancy office... it’s in his bones! He’s never forgotten where he came from, never forgotten his old friends no matter how different our families might’ve been. And I believe he won’t let this country forget where it can go!"

Jim paused, letting the moment breathe, then thundered, "It is my honour to present to you... your Prime Minister... Anthony Hayward Chapman, the Baron of Bethnal Green!"

The applause struck like a wave... roaring, physical, almost making the floor vibrate.

Anthony opened his eyes. The smile was gone, replaced by an expression of cool, steady resolve. He stepped forward through the curtain, each stride measured and sure.

On the giant screens behind the stage, the biographical video began to play... grainy footage of a young, dark-haired man in a hard hat... Anthony’s father, poring over architectural plans; a quick, evocative shot of the old East End markets; then Anthony himself, younger, speaking passionately in the Commons. A glimpse of his class at the London School of Economics, then scenes of his work in Parliament as an MP.

The video ended on a freeze-frame of him waving to a cheering crowd during his last campaign... caught mid-motion, confident, smiling.

The noise was deafening as Anthony stepped onto the stage. He moved into the light, waving slowly, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, seeming to meet a thousand pairs of eyes at once. Spotting Jim at the side of the stage, he crossed to him and pulled him into a firm, back-slapping embrace that lingered just long enough to prove its sincerity. Cameras flashed, capturing the perfect tableau... the noble and the common man, bound by friendship and history.

Reaching the podium, Anthony bypassed it entirely, taking up a handheld microphone instead... choosing exposure, choosing connection. The crowd gradually quieted, the roar fading into an expectant hum.

"Jim Broadbent," he began, his voice warm and amplified to fill the hall, "is my childhood friend. We went to the same school, played on the same pitch. After four years of friendship, one day my father came to a school event and Jim discovered that I was the son of a Minister of State. From that day, he began to distance himself from me."

A ripple of laughter ran through the audience as Anthony gave a soft chuckle.

"I was just a boy then. I thought I must’ve hurt his feelings somehow, though I couldn’t think how. I tried to guess what I’d done wrong, and when I couldn’t find an answer, I decided I’d apologise anyway. After three months, I finally did. And that’s when I learned why... he’d been told that I was a noble, the heir to my father’s title, and that I shouldn’t mix with commoners like him. I was torn. That was the first time I truly understood what social division meant. My family had never taught me that."

He paused, letting the weight of the story settle.

"So I went to my mother," he continued, his tone softening. "I asked her why I shouldn’t spend time with commoners. She told me, ’As long as a person is good at heart and obeys the laws of the Kingdom, you may befriend anyone.’ The rules of the Kingdom... I knew those from books. But what she said next puzzled me. I asked her, ’How can I tell who is good?’ And she said, ’Look at their servants and their friends. Those whose servants stay with them for years, and whose friends stand by them through time, are good people.’"

A gentle smile crossed his face.

"The next day, I asked Jim how long his family’s servants had been working for them. He laughed and said they didn’t have any servants. So I said, ’All right, then we’ll use the second test. We’ve been friends for years, haven’t we? That means I can be friends with you.’ And when he heard that my mother... the Baroness herself had said he counted as a friend I could keep, he took it like a royal decree."

The crowd chuckled as Anthony turned towards Jim again. "Don’t think I’ve forgotten, Jim! You became friends with me under orders from a Baroness, not by choice!" he teased, ending with a laugh that rippled through the hall.

He let the laughter fade, then looked out across the sea of faces, his expression firming into resolve.

"This," he said, voice resonant and steady, "is who I am. The lessons I learned on the streets of this Kingdom... from my neighbours, my teachers, my co-workers... are the same lessons that guide the people of this country."

He let a brief silence hang before continuing, quieter but sharper. "And when I look out at you tonight, I don’t just see supporters. I see the Kingdom itself. I see the nurses, the builders, the teachers, the entrepreneurs... the people who make this country work while the government in Westminster presides over its slow decline."

The warmth drained from his tone, replaced by steel. "They have put themselves first. Their party first. Their petty squabbles first. For years, they’ve managed our decline... and they have the audacity to call it stability!"

The last word rang like a blade. A cry of "Shame!" rose from the East End bloc, swelling and spreading through the hall.

Anthony waited a beat, then drove forward, his voice rising with force. "Well, I am here to tell you tonight that decline is a choice! And we choose a different path!"

The crowd erupted, roaring to its feet, thunder in human form. He let the energy crest, raising one arm high before striking the line that would lead every broadcast that night... clear, deliberate, triumphant.

"I choose my Kingdom First! We choose to put our Kingdom First!"

The chant thundered back at him, rhythmic and unrelenting... "Kingdom First! Kingdom First!"

He rode the wave, his voice rising above the thunderous chant. "A country that puts itself first invests in its own people! It believes in its own potential!" His tone was commanding now, cutting cleanly through the roar. "That is why I am announcing tonight that our first act in government will be to establish the National Skills Renewal Fund!"

The words appeared in bold, crisp type across the giant screens behind him. The applause sharpened... no longer general excitement, but focused, deliberate enthusiasm. This was the policy moment, the heart of the speech.

"This will not be another Whitehall scheme lost in a filing cabinet!" he declared, voice charged with conviction. "This will be billions of pounds... new money... targeted at the towns, the communities, the very streets that have been left behind not by global forces, but by political neglect!"

He was pointing now, jabbing a finger for emphasis, each gesture striking like punctuation. "We will train the next generation of builders, coders, engineers, and carers... right here! And we will provide jobs for them in this Kingdom!"

The crowd roared again, and Anthony pressed on, his tone shifting from fire to gravity.

"I have heard the voices of the past for too long," he said. "The voices of division. The voices that want to label us, to put us into boxes, to set us against one another." He shook his head slowly, almost sadly. "But that is the old politics. The politics of failure. We are here tonight to speak of the future... a future where what you can do matters more than who your father was."

A ripple of laughter and applause spread through the hall, the irony of his own title not lost on anyone. He paused just long enough for it to breathe, then went on, his voice deepening with conviction.

"A future where we are not defined by the class we come from, but by the contribution we make. That," he said, raising his hand in a decisive sweep, "is what putting the Kingdom First truly means!"

He took a breath and straightened, voice ringing now with oratory force.

"So I ask you tonight... not just to vote for me. Join me. Carry this message to your streets, to your families, to your friends. Tell them that hope is returning. That unity is possible. That we are ready... ready to lead, ready to serve, ready to build a future where we put our Kingdom First!"

The final words came as a shout, and the crowd’s response was overwhelming... a roar of joy and triumph that shook the rafters. Senior party figures surged onto the stage, faces alight with beaming smiles, waving to the sea of people as the anthem began to play.

The giant screens flashed KINGDOM FIRST! in bold white letters against the deep blue backdrop, while cameras zoomed in on Baron Anthony Hayward Chapman... centre stage, hand raised, the picture of confident humility.