Read Online Carola Dunn by My Dearest Valentine - Free Book Online
Authors: My Dearest Valentine
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errand from her—
“Miss Rosabelle?”
At the sound of that beloved voice, she swung around. Mr Rufus strode towards her, the worried creases smoothing from his brow as he saw her face. He held out both hands.
“It is you! I was not sure.”
Today, instead of the ruby cloak, she wore a fitted pelisse of gros de Naples in a rich green shade, and a bonnet with a curling green ostrich plume. Yet he had recognized her from behind.
She put her hands in his, speechless with relief.
“Thank heaven I’ve caught you in time!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been walking up and down the wharves, just in case you came today. It’s not safe on the river.”
“This ‘im, miss?” queried one of the boys, disappointed. “No crown for us then.”
“I’ll give you a crown to stay away from the fair, off the ice. You heard Mr Rufus. It’s not safe.”
They consulted each other with a glance. “Done, miss. We was there yes’day anyways. Ta, miss.”
“What was all that about?” Mr Rufus asked as the pair ran off, each with a half-crown clutched in his grubby hand.
Rosabelle explained. “I hoped to persuade you not to go back,” she added. “You won’t now, will you?”
“We went out there first thing this morning to dismantle the stall and haul everything ashore. Dibden’s wouldn’t imperil its people for the sake of profit.”
“Your notion turned out profitable?”
“Extremely, for an enterprise of that size and duration,” he told her with a complacent smile. Then the smile faded and he turned to look out over the Thames. “A few cautious ones have already left, but with money to be made there’s a general air of bravado. One or two of the printing presses are turning out ballads proclaiming their defiance of ‘Madame Tabitha Thaw’.”
“Do you think the ice will melt soon?” Rosabelle asked.
“I fear it is already melting from below. The chief danger, though, is not sinking through as it melts but that it will break up. I’ve talked to people coming off who speak of creaks and groans underfoot. It isn’t only that the air is too warm. Today is a spring tide, with high tide a little while ago. In winter the sea is always warmer than rivers, and salt water freezes at a lower temperature than fresh.”
“So the ice is being undermined? I wondered about the effect of warmer rainwater flowing in from the west.”
His glance was admiring. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He turned to gaze westward. Dark banks of clouds were building beneath the haze which had spread across the sky during the morning. “A good point. But the main factor, I believe, is that as the tide continues to ebb, the ice is left unsupported. When it fails, it may collapse very suddenly.”
“Any moment now?” asked Fanny, who had been listening with a bemused expression. “Eh, Miss Ros, I’m that glad we didn’t go to the fair. Can we leave now? I don’t want to see all those people drownded!”
As one, Rosabelle and Mr Rufus turned to stare with dread out across the river.
“What can we do?” cried Rosabelle.
“Nothing, now. I’ve tried to explain my reasoning to everyone I’ve spoken to. Some listened. Some didn’t.”
Rosabelle listened, trying to hear the creaks and groans of the overburdened ice. All that came to her ears was the merry notes of barrel-organs, fiddles, pipes and drums, the shouts of barkers, the hum of the crowd’s myriad voices.
“I can’t—”
With a crack like a thousand coachmen’s whips snapping in unison, the ice split. The music ended in a horrid jangle and screams rent the air. The watchers on the wharf saw jagged channels open, dark, toothed mouths gaping for their prey.
The prey fled, those who could, swarming across the remaining ice towards the banks, leaping the widening gaps. Some made it.
Some did not.
Rosabelle closed her eyes in horror. When she opened them, Mr Rufus was gone, as were the boatmen. In less
“Miss Rosabelle?”
At the sound of that beloved voice, she swung around. Mr Rufus strode towards her, the worried creases smoothing from his brow as he saw her face. He held out both hands.
“It is you! I was not sure.”
Today, instead of the ruby cloak, she wore a fitted pelisse of gros de Naples in a rich green shade, and a bonnet with a curling green ostrich plume. Yet he had recognized her from behind.
She put her hands in his, speechless with relief.
“Thank heaven I’ve caught you in time!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been walking up and down the wharves, just in case you came today. It’s not safe on the river.”
“This ‘im, miss?” queried one of the boys, disappointed. “No crown for us then.”
“I’ll give you a crown to stay away from the fair, off the ice. You heard Mr Rufus. It’s not safe.”
They consulted each other with a glance. “Done, miss. We was there yes’day anyways. Ta, miss.”
“What was all that about?” Mr Rufus asked as the pair ran off, each with a half-crown clutched in his grubby hand.
Rosabelle explained. “I hoped to persuade you not to go back,” she added. “You won’t now, will you?”
“We went out there first thing this morning to dismantle the stall and haul everything ashore. Dibden’s wouldn’t imperil its people for the sake of profit.”
“Your notion turned out profitable?”
“Extremely, for an enterprise of that size and duration,” he told her with a complacent smile. Then the smile faded and he turned to look out over the Thames. “A few cautious ones have already left, but with money to be made there’s a general air of bravado. One or two of the printing presses are turning out ballads proclaiming their defiance of ‘Madame Tabitha Thaw’.”
“Do you think the ice will melt soon?” Rosabelle asked.
“I fear it is already melting from below. The chief danger, though, is not sinking through as it melts but that it will break up. I’ve talked to people coming off who speak of creaks and groans underfoot. It isn’t only that the air is too warm. Today is a spring tide, with high tide a little while ago. In winter the sea is always warmer than rivers, and salt water freezes at a lower temperature than fresh.”
“So the ice is being undermined? I wondered about the effect of warmer rainwater flowing in from the west.”
His glance was admiring. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He turned to gaze westward. Dark banks of clouds were building beneath the haze which had spread across the sky during the morning. “A good point. But the main factor, I believe, is that as the tide continues to ebb, the ice is left unsupported. When it fails, it may collapse very suddenly.”
“Any moment now?” asked Fanny, who had been listening with a bemused expression. “Eh, Miss Ros, I’m that glad we didn’t go to the fair. Can we leave now? I don’t want to see all those people drownded!”
As one, Rosabelle and Mr Rufus turned to stare with dread out across the river.
“What can we do?” cried Rosabelle.
“Nothing, now. I’ve tried to explain my reasoning to everyone I’ve spoken to. Some listened. Some didn’t.”
Rosabelle listened, trying to hear the creaks and groans of the overburdened ice. All that came to her ears was the merry notes of barrel-organs, fiddles, pipes and drums, the shouts of barkers, the hum of the crowd’s myriad voices.
“I can’t—”
With a crack like a thousand coachmen’s whips snapping in unison, the ice split. The music ended in a horrid jangle and screams rent the air. The watchers on the wharf saw jagged channels open, dark, toothed mouths gaping for their prey.
The prey fled, those who could, swarming across the remaining ice towards the banks, leaping the widening gaps. Some made it.
Some did not.
Rosabelle closed her eyes in horror. When she opened them, Mr Rufus was gone, as were the boatmen. In less
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