“‘Execute justice himself!’” Fanny exclaimed.
“Yes. So of course Bow-Street took the letter to the officers at Parliament, but they dismissed it as just another meaningless threat from an eccentric. There are, after all, a great many people disgusted with the government nowadays—the weavers, the merchants, the slave-traders, the Catholics, everyone who is sick of the war. If they arrested all the people who hate the authorities, why, at least half of the country would be locked up.”
“But are we three still persuaded that he may be capable of a violent act?” Gibson asked, looking at John and Fanny in turn.
“I am,” answered John shortly.
“And so am I,” added Fanny. “And he will act very soon, I believe. Mr. Bellingham talks as though he has no time to lose. He wished an alteration done to his coat, for example, and wanted the work done in a day.”
“What manner of alteration?”
Fanny indicated with her hands. “In the skirt of his coat. He wanted a pocket sewn on the inside.”
“A pocket he would access with his right hand?”
“Yes, he said he intended it to store papers.”
“Most men keep papers in their waistcoat, not down in the skirts of their coats.” Gibson mimed the action of reaching across his chest and reaching down to pull something out of his coat. “What would he be using the pocket for? A flask? Sandwiches? Or—Miss Price, what size of pocket?”
“Oh, I should say about nine inches deep and not quite as wide.”
“Deep enough to hold a pistol?” John asked.
Fanny and William looked at each other in alarm.
“And are we reasonably certain the Ambassador is his target?” asked Mr. Gibson.
“Oh—that’s right,” John recollected. “In his letter to Bow Street, he also said, ‘Soon I shall play a court card.’”
“So, you suspect he might be referring to the royal family?”
“King, Queen, or Jack. Or George. And still, the authorities ignored him.”
“We have good reason to suspect he is on the verge of doing something desperate, something violent, involving some politicians or public men,” Mr. Gibson said. “If the authorities cannot be persuaded to act, then we must have a word with the fellow. If we were to confront him, then surely he would abandon his schemes, knowing himself to be under suspicion.”
John nodded his assent, and Fanny did likewise.
“Miss Price, did you ever learn where Mr. Bellingham lives in town?”
“Yes, I did hear of it because he was two months in arrears on his rent and Mrs. Bellingham had to ask her uncle for monies to send to the landlady. I saw the receipt. He lives at the corner of Ormond and New Millman Street.”
“Not far from here!” cried John. “Gibson, let’s put a stop to him today. Shall you and I pay a visit to Mr. Bellingham?”
“We would need to escort your sister back to Stoke Newington first.”
“Why?” asked Fanny. “You would only incur needless delay and expense. Mr. McIntosh will pick me up here with Mrs. Butters’ carriage at five o’clock. We have time to visit Mr. Bellingham’s lodgings before then.”
And to Fanny’s surprise, her brother added: “I think we should bring Fanny along with us, Gibson. He knows her.”
“But we know he carries pistols, and is steeling himself to commit murder—I won’t have your sister exposed to such danger.”
“I think John is right, Mr. Gibson. Mr. Bellingham has been very civil to me, and furthermore, his wife told me he always makes a point of being courteous to the ladies.”
Mr. Gibson still looked doubtful, and Fanny had a sudden thought, and her countenance lit up in pride and pleasure: “Think of what this could mean for you, John. If you were to prevent a terrible crime from occurring, if Mr. Bellingham was to confess his plot to you and Mr. Gibson, what a good thing it would be!”
John looked at Fanny as though seeing her for the first time. “Indeed, Fanny, if we apprehended Mr. Bellingham, and saved Leveson-Gower’s life, well, it would be such a triumph for me! Catching pickpockets in the taverns is nothing to it!”
“And,” he added, aware that he was guilty of thinking only of himself, “it is good for you to stay busy, as well, Fan, so as to keep your mind off the fact you were dismissed from your employment in disgrace.”
Mr. Gibson scowled.
“What? Did I say something amiss?”
“Tis no matter, John,” Fanny laughed. “Now, what shall we do?”
“Confront Mr. Bellingham at his lodgings—right now—if he is there.”
“What shall you say when you knock on the door, Miss Price?” asked Mr. Gibson. “On what business do you wish to speak to him? What will you tell his landlady?”
“Here,” said Fanny. “John, I have your mended shirt with me in my carpetbag. I shall say, ‘here is a shirt for Mr. Bellingham, from his wife.’”
“Very well, but if your masquerade is successful, what becomes of my shirt?”
“I shall make you a new one, I promise! And if Mr. Bellingham isn’t at home, I shall offer to take his mending up to his room myself. And if I spy the case of pistols, I shall put them in my carpetbag.”
“Miss Price, you can’t be serious.”
“Gibson’s right, Fan. The plan is an excellent one, and does you credit, but there is one small objection which you may wish to take into account first. If someone catches you stealing pistols, you could hang by the neck for theft.”
“Oh! Gracious, yes, I do not think I am hardened enough to risk that. But I can still enquire
