Chapter 13 #2
Joining the hordes of protestors as they walked towards the gardens, he was grateful that he’d chosen to wear a brown waistcoat over a worn, white shirt and boots that had holes along the top, allowing him to blend in.
He approached the iron gates of the pleasure gardens and saw that patrons were pushing through the ticket gate, ignoring the pleas of the workers to pay the two shillings and sixpence entrance fee.
A fee that would be too great for most of these patrons.
Simeon filed through the gates and was stunned to find the garden was already filled to capacity.
Based upon the appearances of the protestors, it was clear that they came from all walks of life.
Some were sharply dressed in riding jackets, whereas others were dressed in dirtied shirts with rolled-up sleeves.
But they were all here with one purpose in mind, to voice their disapproval of the Corn Laws.
Simeon’s eyes scanned over the gardens, briefly admiring the Rocco style.
They featured a Chinese Pavilion, as well as several walks and a lake.
A tethered, red-striped, oval balloon, with an attached wicker basket, was being showcased near the front of the north lawn.
It was roughly seventy feet high and forty feet in diameter.
The balloon’s wicker basket hovered barely over the lawn.
It was a spectacular sight to behold, and people were lined up to admire it.
As he waded through the hordes of people, he heard his name being shouted over the din. “Martin!”
Turning, Simeon saw Pembrooke pushing through the crowd to meet up with him. He waited until Pembrooke came closer before saying, “Any signs of sabotage?”
Pembrooke shook his head. “None. I have searched the surrounding area and didn’t find anything Lord Revett might use to dissuade the protestors.”
Simeon’s eyes scanned the overcrowded lawn. Many of the protestors were forced inside of the Chinese Pavilion because the pathways were filled.
“Where are the constables?” he asked.
“I have no doubt that they’re here, but they have yet to make themselves known.”
Speaking loudly to be heard over the crowd, Simeon asked, “There are thousands of people here to protest the Corn Laws, so why hasn’t the militia been called out?”
“Indeed. Why do you suppose that is?”
“We’re missing a piece of the puzzle here.” Simeon frowned. “Spread out. Analyze everything.”
For the next short while, Simeon looked under every hedge bush, in every grove, and he even entered the Chinese Pavilion.
However, nothing seemed out of place or suspicious.
Could Lord Revett truly be allowing these protestors to meet uncontested to voice their displeasure of the Corn Laws? His instinct told him no.
He made his way back towards the north lawn and looked over at the tethered balloon.
It was floating in the sky because it was filled with hydrogen gas.
A terrible realization occurred to him. Hydrogen is flammable.
Could that be Revett’s plan? No, not even the cruelest person would turn a balloon into a bomb.
Pushing his way through the crowds, he finally reached the front of the lawn where people were shielding their eyes as they looked up to admire the balloon.
Simeon’s eyes scanned it, but nothing appeared out of place, until he stepped closer to the wicker basket and saw four barrels, tied with rope.
His heart dropped. Barrels with rope were used to store gunpowder. This balloon was a bomb!
“Everyone move back!” he shouted at the crowd. “It’s a bomb!”
A few of the women gasped, but a bulky man quickly stepped forward and corrected him. “It isn’t a bomb. It’s a balloon held up by hydrogen.”
Simeon placed his hand on the side of the basket. “There are barrels of gunpowder in the basket. One spark will ignite this balloon into a bomb of epic proportions.”
The bulky man shook his head. “The barrels are used to store equipment, nothing more.”
He didn’t have time for this. If a spark hit that gunpowder, it would kill everyone in the immediate area. Thousands would be killed.
Straightening himself to his full height, he declared, “I assure you that I know what I am speaking of. I am a Bow Street Runner.”
The man stepped closer to him, and his eyes were filled with disdain. “Why should we take the word of a Bow Street Runner? You are against our cause. For all we know, this could be a trick to break up our protest.”
“No, I assure you that I support your cause,” he replied as all eyes landed on him. “Will you take the word of a viscount?”
“It depends,” the man said cautiously.
“My name is Lord Wentworth, and I plan to fight for your rights in Parliament. The Corn Laws punish the poor and defenseless.”
“If what you are saying is true, then why did you allow it to pass?” the man exclaimed, earning cheers from people behind him.
“I am just one man against hundreds in Parliament. But I vow to take a more active role in the House of Lords,” he proclaimed. “However, now is not the time to debate it. We must evacuate Grange Gardens… now!”
The bulky man bobbed his head. “I’m going to hold you to your word, Lord Wentworth.” He turned to the protestors and shouted, “We found a bomb! Get out!”
Panic set in on the group as people started running towards the entrance gate. As the area around the balloon started to dissipate, Simeon could see Constable Stone in the cover of the trees about thirty yards off with a flaming arrow.
If Stone caused the gunpowder to go off, it would still kill hundreds of people still waiting to evacuate. He pulled out his pistol but realized if he tried to shoot him this close to the gunpowder, it might ignite it as well.
He watched helplessly as Stone released the flaming arrow, but to his relief, it sailed past the balloon’s basket.
He broke into a run, hoping to stop Stone from releasing another arrow.
Unfortunately, by the time he reached the man, another arrow was nocked in the string, and he had it pulled back.
Simeon brought up his pistol and pointed it at him. “Put down the arrow,” he ordered.
Stone laughed cruelly. “You won’t shoot me.”
“I daresay you are underestimating me.”
“Not as long as I have this arrow nocked,” he stated. “My next arrow will hit the basket and all these pitiful protestors will be killed. The Anti-Corn Law rebels will be no more.”
Keeping his pistol trained on Stone’s cold heart, Simeon attempted to reason with him again. “You’re wrong. The voice of the people will be made known. You cannot silence them with an act of violence.”
“You’re such a disappointment as a Bow Street Runner,” Stone growled. “You’re supposed to uphold the law, not argue against it.”
His lips parted in disbelief at the hypocrisy of that statement. “Are you mad? You intend to blow up innocent men and women because they are protesting a law that’s causing them to starve?”
“I’m doing what I’m ordered to do,” Stone exclaimed. “I am squashing this rebellion.”
Simeon shook his head. “It’s not a rebellion. It’s the start of something great.”
“You’re deceiving yourself, Runner,” Stone scoffed.
Putting his hands up, Simeon shouted, “There is no reason to release that arrow! The rally is over! The people are fleeing as we speak.”
Stone’s eyes shifted towards the exit where hundreds were still anxiously attempting to exit the iron gates.
“Who ordered you to do this?” Simeon demanded.
In response, Stone gave him a sadistic smile as he released the arrow.
Turning his head, Simeon saw the flaming arrow hit the wicker basket. “What have you done?” he exclaimed. “You will kill hundreds, if not thousands!”
Stone’s voice was hard, unyielding. “Now it’s your turn.”
Simeon turned around to see that Stone was now holding a pistol in his hand, and it was aimed at his chest.