“And if the man is at home, Miss Price, please be very cautious and let your brother and me engage with him.”
John hailed a cab to Ormond Street and instructed the driver to stop a short distance away from the lodging-house. Fanny stepped down from the cab with her small carpetbag in her hand. Mr. Gibson and her brother watched as Fanny plied the knocker.
Mr. Bellingham was not at home, the maid who answered informed her; he had walked out, along with her mistress, to look at the paintings at the European Museum.
“Did he indeed? What a kind gentleman!” offered Fanny, who, now that she was actually putting her plan into action, felt very self-conscious and foolish, and even began to wonder if she and her companions had let their imaginations run away with them, as she had at Christmas-time, with her fright over the Ratcliffe Highway killer.
Oh yes, the maid affirmed, Mr. Bellingham was a most courteous gentleman, and Mrs. Robarts thought very highly of him.
“As he is not here at present, I shall deliver his shirt. Pray, which is his room?”
But the maid would not permit Mr. Bellingham’s room to be trespassed upon, and with no further ado, the carpet bag was pulled out of Fanny’s hands, the door was closed in her face and she had lost her opportunity and her brother’s shirt. Thus ended Fanny’s first attempt at spycraft.
She hurried back to the cab for a hasty conference.
“This is actually quite fortunate,” Mr. Gibson suggested. “If Mr. Bellingham is escorting a lady, it seems impossible that he should be intending to commit any desperate action today. No one is in danger, at least not immediately. Well done, Miss Price.”
“Going to gawp at a bunch of paintings is a desperate act enough,” said John. “Only a woman could have proposed it to him.”
“Do not you think it would be most unlikely for Mr. Bellingham to have taken his pistols with him on such an outing,” said Mr. Gibson, lowering his voice so that the cabby might not overhear them. “Therefore this may be the ideal time to confront him with some measure of safety—and in a public place, where, if he has any care for his reputation, he will not create a commotion.”
“But what should we say to him?” asked Fanny.
“I think we should give the impression that we have more information than we do,” offered John. “We will tell him we know what he is about, which may be enough to bring about a confession.”
“And even if he denies any hostile intentions, I think we can, with good conscience, go on and warn Leveson-Gower, at the very least,” Gibson added.
John enjoined the cabdriver to hurry to King Street, but no driver could make the Piccadilly Road traffic disappear for the convenience of his passengers, and Fanny and her companions did not arrive at the doors of the museum until quarter past four. The trio stood, uncertainly, in front of the entrance.
“I shan’t want to pay a shilling for each of us to go in, only to discover he is not in there,” complained John.
Fanny read the sign posted at the door. “It seems we are too late to buy a ticket, at any rate. The museum closes soon, and everyone will come away.”
“Why don’t we just wait out here, then?” suggested Mr. Gibson.
“Except—Donald McIntosh will be waiting for me with the carriage on Broad Street at quarter to five. What should we do?”
“There is plenty of time for one of us to walk back to Broad Street and ask him to come here,” said John. “Gibson, why don’t you go?”
“On the other hand,” Mr. Gibson said, “I know Mr. Bellingham very well by sight. You have only met him the once, and might lose him in a crowd.”
“But Fanny knows him very well, too. She will spot him, certainly!”
Mr. Gibson gave John a significant look, with a quick side glance at Fanny.
“What?” said John.
“John,” said Fanny, “you are the youngest. Won’t you oblige us and go find Mr. McIntosh?”
“Very well, it will be me, then. The only one with police office experience. I’ll go and leave you two amateurs here.”
They watched the slim figure of John as he trotted back towards Piccadilly, retracing on foot what he had just travelled by cab, then Fanny gestured to St James’s Square, down the street. “I fear that if we went to sit on a bench in the Square, we might miss seeing Mr. Bellingham when he comes out. I think we had better stay here at the entrance.”
“You will not be too tired, I hope, Miss Price?”
“No, we will not have to wait long, I am sure.”
“Well, if you will permit me—may I take advantage of the moment to enquire, Miss Price, have you confirmed any plans, as to the future? You are quite determined—you will not return to the academy? No? They do not deserve you, at any rate. How much longer will you reside with our friend Mrs. Butters?”
Fanny shook her head regretfully. “I am exceedingly fond of dear Mrs. Butters. If it were not for the animosity of her daughter-in-law, I should be very content to stay with her. But, I will not become another bone of contention between Mrs. Butters and her family. If Cecilia Butters is convinced I am a fallen woman, she will never visit, nor allow Mrs. Butters to see her granddaughters again. I must go, and soon.”
Mr. Gibson was silent for a moment, waiting for her to say more. “Then... where will you go, may I ask?”
Fanny sighed. “I can visit with my family in Portsmouth. I should like to see my aunt and uncle Bertram, although it would be... excessively
