But then came the shocking intelligence of William Gibson’s arrest, followed by a mournful letter from Fanny. Mrs. Butters’ knowledge of Fanny’s character, principles and temperament enabled her to pity Fanny more than censure her.
“The poor girl is clearly miserable, and exceedingly cut up,” sighed Mrs. Butters, folding up Fanny’s letter. “Were I in her position, I should have defied all the uncles in the world—but sometimes a decision is only right or wrong as the event proves.”
She was addressing herself as much as her lady’s maid, who was completing the widow’s simple morning toilette.
“Poor Mr. Gibson!” Madame Orly responded. “Like you, madam, I would have stood by my lover, no matter what befell, and I would have visited him in the prison, and taken care of him.”
“Few can say that with such perfect truth as you, I think,” answered Mrs. Butters, referring to Madame Orly’s unhappy girlhood in France at the time of the Terror. “For your fiancé was imprisoned, as well as your parents.”
“Of course. But I could not visit them in prison—and they sent me word, ordering me to flee to England,” said Madame Orly, turning away to fuss with the bottles and brushes on Mrs. Butter’s grooming table. “I had to leave them to their fates.”
“Are you angry with Fanny, then, for abandoning Mr. Gibson?”
Madame Orly paused and considered. “As she says in her letter, her uncle was very severe on the matter. She might have been cast out of her family.”
“Do you blame Mr. Gibson, then? For being rash and getting himself arrested?”
Madame Orly shrugged. “I blame no-one, madam. I blame the times we live in. Your government, they want to prevent what happened in my country, from happening in your country. You may say, all men should be free to criticise their leaders. And I say, heaven and all the saints preserve England from the horrors that came to France! Are we not both correct?”
“Oh dear, such melancholy thoughts oppress us today!” Mrs. Butters sighed.
“I know what will cheer you, Madame,” came the answer. “Let us prepare a package of good things to send to Mr. Gibson. You know how much he loves Mrs. McIntosh’s baking. Let us see what we can do for him.”
“Yes, I had much rather be doing than fretting,” Mrs. Butters said, resuming her usual air of firm decision.
* * * * * * *
March, 1813
Mr. Gibson came to trial to defend himself on charges of raising “discontent and disaffection in the minds of the people to hatred and contempt of the government.” In fact, only a few dozen people, Mr. Meriwether included, had even seen his pamphlet before the authorities confiscated them all. But the accounts of his trial, widely reprinted in newspapers across the country, informed many persons who were hitherto unaware, of the government’s policy of sending spies amongst the ordinary people. Lord Sidmouth’s prosecution of Mr. Gibson, therefore, tended rather to increase public indignation toward the government. Mr. Gibson enjoyed firm support throughout the kingdom—except in York, and except in the opinion of the judge who sentenced him to two and a half years in prison.
Guilty under the law, but justified in his own conscience, Mr. Gibson resolved to serve his sentence with as much philosophic composure as he could muster. In this respect, his own sturdy spirit and the hardships of his early life had well-prepared him for the privations of prison.
And although he was imprisoned in York, very soon all of London was speaking of him. His last action before his arrest had been to approve the galleys of his first novel, Steam & Sagacity. His publisher brought the work out directly after his conviction. The notoriety surrounding his name brought him many curious readers, who pronounced the book to be excellent. Even critics who picked up the work, intending to condemn and insult the writer, found much to praise in his fantastical tale of a future era when steam machines relieved humanity of tedious and dangerous toil, when people could travel swiftly around the globe with locomotives and steam ships, and better commerce and intercourse between the nations of the world eradicated the cruel excesses of despotic powers.
Steam & Sagacity was a great success everywhere with persons of all walks of life, male and female, young and old. It was avidly requested at every lending library. Fanny never left her home without seeing copies for sale in the booksellers’ windows, she could not open a newspaper without reading articles praising the imagination and the vivid prose of the writer, “to whose future productions we look forward with the keenest anticipation.”
Her own copy, inscribed “with affectionate respect,” came to her in the post, and, being Fanny, she wept over it. Sorrow was also mingled with relief, for his sake. Mr. Gibson had accomplished all and more that he set out to do. He was famous, his talents were properly esteemed, and one day he would be free. With the fashionable world at his feet, he would harbour no regrets for an old attachment, an obligation, formed when he was poor and obscure. It would be folly for Fanny to cherish hopes of any lingering regard for her.
However, Fanny was without the power of teaching herself to be indifferent. Mrs. Butters kindly kept her informed of the latest news from London; the book was being got up into a play—artists were selling prints illustrating scenes from it, etc. Mrs. Butters added:
“What a very great pity it is that Mr. Gibson is not able to witness all of this for himself! However, he tells me he has his next novel well in hand, and when he is finally released, he will reap the deserved rewards of his genius. Also, my friend Lady Delingpole—you will
