A Seditious Affair(71)
“Well, we didn’t strike then, so that scotched them!” Thistlewood’s eyes were fever bright. “And the plan now—”
The door burst open. Everyone lunged for weaponry, then relaxed again as they saw who it was: George Edwards, out of breath and flapping his arms for attention. “Brothers!” he yelped, then, “Mason! Damn, it’s good to see you here, and just in time. Listen, brothers, I have news, the greatest news. Tomorrow, there is to be a cabinet dinner at the Earl of Harrowby’s house in Grosvenor Square.” He looked around the blank faces. “Don’t you see? They’ll all be there. All the king’s ministers. Liverpool, Castlereagh, Sidmouth, Eldon, every bloody murderer of Peterloo. We can do every one of them in at once!”
An excited babble rose up. “It’s in the New Times!” Edwards shouted, and a man fled to purchase a copy. He returned in a moment, and Thistlewood and Davidson, who could both read well, pored over the pages.
“You see?” Edwards demanded of the room at large. “A cabinet dinner tomorrow. We can scotch the whole nest of vipers at once.”
“I’ll be damned if I don’t believe there’s a God now,” Brunt growled. “I’ve prayed that those thieves might be collected all together so that we might destroy them, and God has answered my prayer!”
“I call the meeting to order,” Thistlewood shouted over the ruckus that caused in this company of atheists. “Adams, take the chair. This is what we shall do. A man must go to the door with a note for the Earl of Harrowby. When the door is open, our men will rush in directly, seize the servants, and threaten them with death for the least noise or resistance. Then—”
“Wait,” Adams said over him. “Wait. I am the chair, blast it. Gentlemen, after what I just told you, I hope you have given due consideration—”
There was an explosion of fury. Nobody wanted to be calmed; nobody wanted to be warned. A man named Harrison damned Adams’s eyes for cowardice and announced he would run any naysayer through rather than let the ardent spirits of the revolutionaries be cooled. “Out of the chair!” Thistlewood cried, and the meeting proceeded under Richard Tidd’s more belligerent chairmanship.
Silas took up the discarded newspaper. It was today’s New Times, and it did indeed give news of the dinner.
The whole cabinet would be in one place. The conspirators could launch a single, focused attack on the men who had plundered the nation and kept their feet on the people’s neck for so long. The murderers Sidmouth and Castlereagh could face vengeance for the dead of Peterloo. A strike and then…what?
“The first party must take command of the stairs, and the servants, with the threat of force,” Thistlewood was saying. “The object must be the securing of the house. Then the men who are to go in for the assassination will rush in directly after.”
“I’ll have a brace of pistols, a cutlass, and a knife!” Ings, the bankrupted butcher, was as wild-eyed as Thistlewood. “And when we’ve dispatched them all, I’ll cut off every head in the room, and I’ll bring Lord Sidmouth’s head, and Lord Castlereagh’s too, away in a bag. Two bags. I shall provide two bags for the purpose.” He gave a little nod, that point resolved.
And then nothing, Silas thought. Nothing, because of course it wouldn’t work. They were all mad, mad with desperate, self-blinding hope in the way only the hopeless could be. Silas remembered that feeling from when he’d helped Euphemia Gordon start a riot. He’d had to believe they could fight and win, refusing to face the obvious truth they couldn’t, because the alternative had been giving in to a despair so all-consuming that it would leave him empty forever. So he’d fought, and been gaoled and flogged for it.
The consequences of this would be much, much worse.
The planning went on. They would keep a watch on Harrowby’s house, in case Adams’s alarmism was justified and they were suspected. All agreed that this was merely a precaution. How could anyone know of a plan made this day to be carried out tomorrow? They would gather in a stable on Cato Street, close by the target, bringing the arms there throughout the afternoon. The attack was to commence around nine in the evening, when the cabinet ministers would be at their dinner.
“We will all be there,” Thistlewood announced.
“No,” Silas said. Heads turned. Eyes narrowed in anger and accusation. The hell with it. “No,” he repeated. “This is a damned foolish plan. Sidmouth’s office and Bow Street are expecting you to act. You’ve already been warned.” He gestured at Adams. “You won’t be ruling London on Thursday. If you’re lucky, you’ll be waiting the drop for murder. More like, you won’t get near them.”