Indeed, thought Mr. Gibson. To return to the place where you pretended to be the wife of Henry Crawford! To encounter the same villagers, the clergyman, the winking servants! To hope for a welcome from the cousin, who loved and lost him! And, what about your cousin Edmund?
“No doubt you would be pleased to visit Northamptonshire again, as well. You have often praised its beauties.”
“Yes...” said Fanny, and Gibson heard the reluctance in her voice, but could not be certain what that reluctance meant.
“Miss Price, may I express the hope that you would return frequently to London, to see your friends here?”
He glanced at her, thought that he saw the tears threaten, and carefully looked away, as she replied.
“I have been very happy, Mr. Gibson. Very happy indeed. It was so delightful to observe the success of your book. And—I think I have done some good as well, at the academy.”
“Of course you have, Miss Price. And... Fanny...”
“Oh, look! Mr. Gibson! There he is!” Fanny grabbed Gibson’s arm and pointed to the door. In the midst of a throng of persons departing the museum, there was Mr. Bellingham, cheerfully escorting a middle-aged lady in widow’s garb, and a little boy.
“Oh dear, I did not know Mrs. Robarts had brought a child with her. The maid said nothing about a child. Indeed, Mr. Gibson, I suddenly feel quite abashed. I should not wish to speak of pistols and murder in front of the landlady and her son, now that I see them. How in the world does one introduce such a topic!”
“Yes, I understand your feelings, Miss Price. Why don’t we follow them—what do you think?”
“Yes, let us follow and see whether they are heading back to Ormond Street. I fancy that they are. If John and Mr. McIntosh overtake us, the two of you could still confront him.”
Mr. Bellingham and his companions walked along King Street and turned in the direction of Piccadilly. Fanny and William Gibson followed half a block behind, trying to conceal themselves behind other pedestrians. Mr. Bellingham and Mrs. Robarts were chatting genially, but Fanny observed that the lady was leaning rather heavily on his arm. At length, they all turned into a small lace and ribbon shop just off the main thoroughfare.
“Mr. Gibson, I have a suggestion,” said Fanny. “I think the landlady is growing weary—and if I should enter that shop, as though I were going shopping myself, and see and greet Mr. Bellingham, he would naturally introduce her to me. And I could offer her a carriage ride home. There would be enough room in Mrs. Butters’ carriage for myself, the lady, and her son. I would leave Mr. Bellingham behind. And then you and John could confront him, take him to Bow Street or Bedlam or whatever you think best.”
“You make it all appear very plausible, Miss Price,” Mr. Gibson answered reluctantly. “But the carriage—I fear I may have to leave you, and go back to St. James’s Square to find your brother and Mr. McIntosh.
“I think I can say to Mr. Bellingham, quite naturally, that the driver let me down at the shop so I could buy some lace, and he that is returning for me soon. I shall be perfectly safe, Mr. Gibson—we know he can’t have his pistols with him today, whereas, if we let him go, he may carry out his purpose the next time he goes abroad.”
“Very well, Miss Price. I do think the plan is a sound one and you shall be safely in the carriage with Mr. McIntosh before John and I attempt to apprehend him. I shall turn back then. Good luck to you, and we shall meet again in a quarter of an hour.”
Fanny walked to the shop, and discovered that Mr. Bellingham and his companions were the only other customers in the small, over-heated premises. Mr. Bellingham instantly recognized “Miss Price,” and Fanny was introduced to Mrs. Robarts and her young son—the latter, after looking at paintings for an eternity, was clearly dismayed to find himself in a place which held even less interest to a young boy.
Fanny, looking about, uncovered a chair hidden under a rumpled pile of velvet cloth and said, “Pray, Mrs. Robarts, won’t you take this seat?”
“Oh, I surely will—thank you, Miss Price. What a prodigious amount of walking we have had today! Mr. Bellingham and I walked all the way from Ormond Street, then dawdled about looking at paintings for two hours, and now here. I must have a little rest before we walk home again.”
“Ormond Street, madam? Why, that is on my way home, and the carriage is coming to fetch me shortly. I should be delighted to convey any friend of Mr. Bellingham.”
Everyone’s face brightened, including Mr. Bellingham’s.
Her plan was unfolding so smoothly that Fanny briefly thought back to the day at Mansfield when her cousin Tom asked her to take a part in some amateur theatricals. Fanny had refused, out of shyness and disapproval of the play, and had brought the wrath of her Aunt Norris down on her head. If Aunt Norris could see me now, she thought to herself. Acting! Acting a part quite voluntarily. I almost feel I owe my cousins an apology!
“I would be very much obliged to you, Miss Price,” said the lady. “I trust we would not be inconveniencing anyone? You have sufficient room?
“Oh yes, I came alone. There will be plenty of room for you and your son.”
“That would be capital, Miss Price,” said Mr. Bellingham. “How very good of you. You just came out to town to do some shopping?”
“Yes—the coachman let me down here briefly, because I had heard this shop had an excellent selection of fine lace.”
“They do indeed,” affirmed Mrs. Robarts. “But that clerk is taking his own time in the back,
