After brutally sweeping up fortunes on the London Stock Exchange and overflowing the Queen's private coffers, Arthur Lionheart did not allow himself to grow drunk on the thrill of such easy victories.
He knew very well: market manipulation was merely a trick.
What truly changed the world—and secured the Empire's dominance—was technology.
So he poured nearly every shilling earned from that financial ambush, along with the first major fund raised through the Royal Promotion Association, into a project he believed even more revolutionary than railways:
the telegraph.
Faraday's laboratory at the Royal Academy of Sciences no longer resembled the cramped, cluttered room of an underfunded genius.
Thanks to Arthur's endless investments, it had become the most advanced electromagnetic research center in Europe.
Precision galvanometers from Prussia.
99.9% pure copper wire produced under Arthur's direction.
Strange experimental devices hand-built according to Faraday's bold sketches.
Faraday and his young assistants worked like men possessed.
They were enraptured by Arthur's audacious idea:
"What if electricity could carry words?"
Arthur's instinct for engineering let him guide them, gently but decisively, toward breakthrough after breakthrough.
Stable, powerful direct current?
He pushed them to refine the Daniell cell.
Long-distance signal loss?
He inspired the first crude relay, able to renew a weakening pulse midway through its journey.
A symbolic system for electric taps?
Arthur suggested a simple rhythm of short and long impulses, an elegant language that felt almost obvious once spoken aloud—even though no one had ever conceived it before.
Piece by piece, the impossible became reality.
One early-spring afternoon in 1838, when the brass-and-wood transmitter finally sent its electric pulse through the copper wire, and the tiny hammer on the distant receiver clicked perfectly in time—di… da… di… da…—
the entire laboratory exploded into applause.
Faraday, normally solemn, threw his arms around Arthur, tears of joy streaming down his face.
"Your Highness! Look! We've made thought run like lightning!"
Arthur felt a rare surge of exhilaration.
That modest-looking machine would push the world ahead by decades.
But he wasn't finished.
He wanted a debut so spectacular it would shake the Empire itself.
A week later, the Royal Promotion Association hosted a special exhibition at the Future Industrial Park.
Everyone came: Prime Minister Melbourne, the Duke of Wellington, half the House of Lords, bankers, barons, industrialists.
Arthur presented a modest machine that resembled a half-built typewriter.
"Today," he told them, "I present not a weapon nor a machine of profit, but a new way of speaking across distance."
He showed them a map of London.
"Here is where we stand. And here—five miles away—is Her Majesty at Buckingham Palace."
"How long would a message take to reach her?"
"A rider, half an hour at least," someone replied.
Arthur smiled.
"Too slow."
"I will show you how to do it in seconds."
The operator tapped the transmitter.
Everyone held their breath.
Ten seconds of silence.
A few doubtful murmurs.
Then—
KACHA—DA—DA—DA
The machine sprang alive.
The receiver hammered out symbols on a fresh strip of paper.
The operator read aloud:
'HELLO LONDON — FROM FARADAY'
The hall erupted.
"He did it!"
"By God, he truly spoke to us from miles away!"
"A miracle—an actual miracle!"
The Duke of Wellington nearly choked with excitement.
But Arthur wasn't done.
He leaned to the operator and whispered a short phrase.
The taps went out.
Moments later—
DA—DA—DI—DA—DA
A new message appeared:
'MY DEAREST ARTHUR — I MISS YOU. — V'
Silence fell.
Every minister, duke, banker and baron stared at Arthur with a mix of envy, shock and helpless amusement.
Melbourne covered his face with a handkerchief, shoulders trembling.
He had not come to see a scientific miracle.
He had come, unwillingly, to watch the young royal couple flirt across five miles of copper wire.
Arthur simply lifted his hands, smiling with a mix of innocence and pride.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said softly,
"this is the telegraph."
"A device capable of transmitting information—
and, when necessary… affection."