Carola Dunn by My Dearest Valentine Read Free Book Online

sovereigns into Rosabelle’s hand.
     Rosabelle smiled and curtsied.
     At last her mother came down and Rosabelle was free to go. She had to return to Braithwaite’s a length of mismatched rose sarsnet delivered in error, and obtain a replacement, and there was a haberdashery order for Lowe’s in Gracechurch Street.
     “And then I may go to the Frost Fair, maman?”
     “ Oui, chérie. They talk of nothing else upstairs. I hope you find some amusement there, as well as giving pleasure to les demoiselles? ”
     “Oh yes, maman,” said Rosabelle, willing herself not to blush, “it is very amusing, and I don’t believe I’ve seen half of it yet.”
     “Enjoy yourself then, ma petite .” Madame reached up to pat her tall daughter’s cheek.
     On her way up to the workroom, Rosabelle looked in on her father. “I’m off to the fair, Papa.”
     He groaned and reached for his cashbox.
     She laughed. “It’s all right, I don’t need any money. I have a little left from yesterday, and a customer tipped me this morning. I’ll bring you a fairing.”
     “Don’t you go spending your bawbees on fiddle-faddling rubbish, lass!”
     “Papa, you don’t want a broadside ballad rhyming ‘ice’ with ‘nice’ and ‘hot pies,’ and printed right there on the Thames?”
     “I do not!” he said emphatically.
     “What about a portrait of your loving daughter? There is an artist taking likenesses.”
     “Aye, that I’d like fine, if it looks like you. And if it doesna, ye’ll no pay the fellow.”
     “No, Papa.” Rosabelle would see what the artist produced for Mr Rufus before deciding whether to buy a second portrait for her father. She did hope it would be a likeness worth treasuring. “I daresay he draws a flattering picture, to please his customers,” she said.
     “No need to flatter you, lass, and that’s enough o’ fishing for compliments!”
     She pouted at him, kissed his forehead, and went on to fetch her companions of the day from the workroom. While Eliza and Jenny put on their outdoor clothes, Rosabelle went back down to her chamber to don her cloak. It was the same ruby velvet she had worn yesterday and the day before, the only one she had. “All verra weel being elegant,” as Papa said, “but more than one at a time is pure extravagance.”
     Rosabelle didn’t mind. Supposing Mr Rufus forgot her face—not yet having a portrait to remember her by—he would recognize her by her cloak.
     The carriage took them to Braithwaite’s, but then it had to return to Bond Street to carry one of the show-room assistants to a customer’s house for a fitting. Eliza and Jenny were in a fever of impatience to get to the fair. Rosabelle relented and took a hackney to Gracechurch Street though she would rather have walked.
     Not that she was any less impatient, but the way from Cheapside led up Cornhill. She had hoped to take a look at the establishment where Mr Rufus usually passed his days. The windows of the hackney were too grimy to see anything without peering, which the girls would have thought very odd.
     By the time Rosabelle had transacted her business at Lowe’s, the afternoon was well advanced. The three girls walked at a brisk pace down Gracechurch Street and Fish Street Hill towards London Bridge.
     Mr Lowe had directed them to Old Swan Stairs as the nearest access to the river. Rosabelle paid their tolls and they descended to the ice.
     The bridge loomed to their left. Ahead lay the beginning of the Grand Mall, with half its length to go before the intersection with Freezeland Street. Jenny and Eliza dawdled along, ooh ing and aah ing over everything, unable to decide what particular treat they wanted. Rosabelle began to despair of reaching Dibden’s stall in time for more than a brief exchange of words with Mr Rufus.
     They paused outside a tent advertising a Grand Chinese Masque. From within came the delicate sound of plucked strings.
     “Show about to start!” cried