Dangerous minds

There was no reason for Edward Drummond to believe this January day was going to be different to any other Whitehall working day. Having completed his civil service chores and visited the bank, he set off back to Downing Street where, as the prime minister’s private secretary, he had an apartment. He was passing a Charing Cross coffee shop when, without any warning, he felt a searing blow to his back and, according to a witness, his jacket burst into flames.

The bang drew the attention of a quick-witted police officer, who dashed across the road as a man prepared to shoot at Mr Drummond again. But even with the assistance of passers-by, the officer struggled to disarm the shooter. He violently resisted and discharged a second shot, though this time without causing injury to anyone. Eventually overpowered, the shooter — a man named Daniel McNaughton — was arrested and detained in police custody.

Drummond’s initial prognosis seemed hopeful. But then his condition worsened and within five days of the shooting, he was dead. McNaughton’s crime had become a capital offence.

Despite his resistance to police at the scene, McNaughton was surprisingly co-operative under questioning. But it wasn’t only his willingness to admit to the shooting that surprised the police. It became apparent that his intended target had been the prime minister, Sir Robert Peel.

McNaughton was a Scottish craftsman who, following a brief acting career, set up his own woodturning workshop in Glasgow in 1835. An industrious and frugal man, McNaughton ran his workshop for five years and was able to save a considerable sum of money, teaching himself French and attending lectures on anatomy in his spare time.

Under police questioning, he appeared unconstrained in sharing the extent to which he felt he had been terrorised by the ruling elite. The shooting, it emerged, was the denouement of a conspiratorial tale that on first hearing appeared fantastical.