And on and on the good lady spoke, and one might have thought that she was better acquainted with Mr. Meriwether than Julia was, when in fact she had never laid eyes on the gentleman. But she enumerated his good qualities with confidence and enthusiasm—'generous, liberal-minded, clever’ —while Julia was silent.
“Only think, my dear Julia! Two more Sundays and there will be nothing more to wait for!”
* * * * * * *
The public rejoicing amongst the lower orders over the assassination of the Prime Minister was greatly alarming to the authorities, who feared a general insurrection. The terrors of the guillotine in Paris were very much in the minds of the England’s leaders. The militia and the Foot and Horse guards came out to patrol the streets, until the government was satisfied that an English Revolution was not about to follow the French one.
The three friends—William Gibson, John Price and Fanny—all lamented, severally and individually, the failure of their efforts to forestall the catastrophe. Fanny blamed her female weakness for obstructing and delaying Mr. Gibson—had he not been so concerned for her well-being, he might have apprehended the killer before he struck. John wondered if he would ever again be given so fair an opportunity to prove his worth to his superiors, and Mr. Gibson had the additional, private, reproach, that although he had known Mr. Bellingham to be a dangerous lunatic, and he was determined on all accounts to keep Fanny safely away from him, he had permitted the swift unfolding of events to overpower his caution, and the woman whom he most particularly wanted to protect and cherish was brought into mortal peril.
Some justifiable reproach would always attend their recollections, but the man who had struck down Spencer Perceval must ultimately bear the blame. The inquest, trial and execution of Mr. Bellingham swiftly followed, one upon the other. Fanny used her enforced leisure and nervous energy to sew while Mrs. Butters read aloud from the newspaper accounts, and she dispatched a new shirt and some cravats to her brother before the week was out.
If Eliza Bellingham had continued her employment at the academy for many years, perhaps she would have overcome the guilty conscience which she bore, for conspiring with Cecilia Butters to have Fanny Price dismissed. But her triumph was short-lived—she held her new position for only two days, when the shocking news that her husband had murdered the prime minister burst upon her. She fled back to Liverpool to be with her children. She was greatly afraid of being despised and persecuted, but she was in fact much pitied and a public subscription was taken up for her support.
“To which our Fanny anonymously gave five pounds!” exclaimed Mrs. Butters to Mr. Gibson, a week after the dreadful event. The generous widow had done the same and more, but she shook her head fondly at the thought of a girl who could never harbour resentment against anyone. “Although, when she returns from her walk, I would suggest you not mention it to her. You know how she is disconcerted by praise.”
“Fanny no doubt excused the lady on the grounds that she was driven by necessity,” returned Mr. Gibson. “Eliza Bellingham had three children to support, and a worthless husband. Poor woman. I still think the jury ought to have found him insane.”
“But he refused to admit that he was mad,” Mrs. Butters said as she re-filled Mr. Gibson’s tea cup. “I have read all the newspaper accounts. And he worked against his own lawyers, who tried to make out the case for insanity. I have no pity for the man.”
“And there was no need to hold the trial so swiftly,” continued Mr. Gibson.
“I expect the authorities felt it was for the best, to clear the matter up quickly. There was, after all, no question but that he shot the prime minister. Why waste your compassion on him, Mr. Gibson? Think on poor Mrs. Perceval, left with twelve children. Heaven support her!”
“Yes ma’am. I do not mourn for Mr. Bellingham. I mourn for British justice.”
“Yes, of course you do, dear. Will you have another sponge-cake?”
“Thank you, yes. May I dip it in my tea? You will not object to the sailor’s habits I acquired whilst on board the Solebay? Yes, to return to John Bellingham’s widow, I do admire Fanny’s capacity to forgive.”
“‘Fanny?’” Mrs. Butters raised an eyebrow and smiled. “No longer ‘Miss Price,’ but ‘Fanny,’ I perceive.”
“She has long been ‘Fanny’ to me, you know very well, ma’am. And as we are sitting together so comfortably, there is something I want to consult you about. This business has created something of a dilemma for me.”
“I am all attention, Mr. Gibson!”
“It was my purpose, Mrs. Butters, so soon as I had acquired sufficient capital, to declare myself to Fanny. I need not ask,” he laughed, “if my plan meets with your approbation—unless your feelings on this point have changed very materially!”
“Unchanged as the North Star, my dear Mr. Gibson! I wish you joy!”
“And now Fanny must remove herself from under your roof, is that not so?”
“Unfortunately, my daughter-in-law has... it is an awkward situation, Mr. Gibson. But nothing has been resolved upon yet. I urged Fanny to make no hasty decisions. The dreadful shock to her system—first her disgraceful treatment at the academy, and then, being in London on the very day that Mr. Perceval was killed! When she came home, I could see that she was terribly affected—pale as a ghost and very distressed.”
“Indeed, ma’am.”
“And they hung Mr. Bellingham this morning! She had met the man, even conversed with him! However one might try to drive the disagreeable picture from one’s mind, we can’t help thinking of him, dangling from a rope at Newgate and then given to the medical students! Anyone’s constitution might give way under the strain of such
