But fortunately, Benjamin Walker, perhaps shocked by the bloody outcome at St. Peter’s field that day, never came forward to entrap anyone with false testimony, and in fact was never heard of again.
* * * * * * *
A good night’s sleep found Fanny anxious to return to Huntingdon, to take the tragic news to her mother, and return Charles to his indentures. She and Mr. Gibson met in the common room for an early breakfast, still feeling exceedingly downcast. But Fanny drew inestimable comfort just from having Mr. Gibson sitting opposite to her at their little table, feeling his closeness. She dreaded the moment of their parting, and was for a moment very sorely tempted when Mr. Gibson again urged that he ought to accompany her.
“I am sorry to think of you having to bear the news alone, Fanny,” he said, reaching out to cover her little hand with his large one. “Will you not permit me to help you share this burden?”
“You are very kind,” said Fanny, “but it is my office and my duty, while your duty must take you elsewhere—for now.”
“For now?” asked Mr. Gibson, looking at her intently. “Will you permit me to call upon you and your mother so soon as I am able?”
“I wish you would, Mr. Gibson,” was the answer, given in a fervent tone.
It was enough—his eyes, his countenance told of his deep satisfaction, while Fanny’s blushes and downcast eyes signalled that he must wait until they were not in the middle of a crowded inn, to hear her confide to him that she loved him.
Unaware of what was passing between his sister and Mr. Gibson, Charles abruptly joined them, collapsing into his chair with a sigh of misery. The loss of a brother he admired cut him grievously and more than that, his prospects for the future were miserable indeed—four more years yoked to a profession he disliked, with a master he detested. “If it were not for losing Sam,” he grumbled, “I should not go back to Huntingdon, but I do not want to make matter worse for our mother.”
“Charles,” said Mr. Gibson, “I shall send you and Fanny home by post-chaise, if it can be arranged. Will you please go speak to the inn-keeper about it?”
With another sigh, Charles slowly rose and trailed off to speak to Mr. Lomax.
“Fanny, must Charles return to his indentures?” asked Mr. Gibson, once they were alone again.
“Poor fellow! I hope he can be reasoned into a better frame of mind,” Fanny answered, “for what else can we do?
“I can promise nothing, but won’t you allow me to look about in town for something else for him—let us not be precipitate, perhaps there is another answer.”
Fanny was still inclined to object, but she decided to trust his judgement. And at any rate, she was exceedingly distracted by the feel of his leg brushing up against hers under the table, and the warmth of his hand holding hers.
“I missed you,” she whispered. “I missed you very much.”
“My dear,” he responded, very low. “When you return to Huntingdon, I believe you will find a letter from me. I sent it to you yesterday. I asked to be allowed to come and see you. I wrote—"
“Mr. Gibson! Sir!” exclaimed a voice behind them, and Fanny jumped, startled. There was Mr. Lomax the inn-keeper, bearing down on them in an excited manner.
“The lad just informed who you were—why, I had no notion that you are THE Mr. Gibson, the famous writer. This is an honour sir, and we’d be happy to arrange for post-riders for you and your lady!”
Mr. Gibson tilted his head at Fanny and smiled. The fates conspired to separate him from her. By heaven, he wanted to take her into his arms and not let her go. Yet thanks to the eagerness of Mr. Lomax, it appeared that their time together this morning would be foreshortened. And she had to go to her mother.
Within an hour, Mr. Lomax announced that the coach and postillions were ready. Mr. Gibson helped Fanny up, he kissed her hand, he shook hands with Charles, he stood back as the carriage rolled away, and Fanny looked back after him until tears dimmed her sight.
Chapter 25: Conclusion
The sorrowful homecoming of Fanny and her brother Charles need not be long dwelt upon. Mrs. Price was briefly much afflicted, but Fanny, Charles and Betsey paid her every considerate attention.
The full account of Sam’s gallantry, given to the Prices through a letter from Annabel Wheeler, brought comfort to the family. They could speak of their late brother with smiles of pride mingled with their tears. He was buried in Manchester, and very often, flowers were laid upon his grave by an unobserved hand.
Even in the midst of the duties and cares which she assumed on behalf of her family, Fanny was swift to inform Edmund by letter that her affections were engaged elsewhere. She might have suffered more than she did in the apprehension of causing additional pain to a heart that was already wounded, had she not been tolerably certain he would find consolation near at hand.
It was Edmund’s part to wish her happy and to do it handsomely, and so he did. His letter was one which Fanny always treasured—though she might not choose to show it to Mr. Gibson. It was tied up with ribbon and kept in her travelling-trunk along with other precious relics of her past—a past which, though it had its associations and pleasures, she would not care to revert to.
