Hayden drove most of the way, Dauntry supervising him carefully, guiding him through the differences between driving the small one-horse sleigh they’d had out the day before and the larger two-horse sleigh they were in today.
As they approached the outskirts of town, Dauntry took the reins back and carefully steered them to the White Hart. They passed under the archway that led to the yard and the ostlers came running. One went to the horses’ heads and Dauntry leapt down from the box, boots landing with the distinct sound of wet snow underfoot. George jumped down before he could come to her assistance, and turned to help the children. She herded them inside while the earl dealt with the ostlers.
A note sent over the previous day had reserved a private parlour, and they all hurried in to warm up. The children huddled close to the fire, cheeks pink with cold.
The landlord appeared with chocolate and the children fell upon him as if they were starving. When the cups were drained George walked them out to the street, gave them each a five-pound note, and sent them out to shop.
Hayden and Simone took off like wild animals, pelting down the street towards the familiar shops. Julius, with his youngest brother in tow, headed off behind them, followed closely by the Tilehurst girls.
As the children disappeared down the street, Ivo turned an apprehensive eye towards George. ‘Isn’t this rather like turning the Goths loose in Rome?’
‘Much. Though they won’t have a year to sack the city, only a few hours, so we’ll have to hope for the best.’ She pulled out her list, snapped it open in a business-like way, and studied it for a moment. ‘Mr Brittle’s shop first,’ she announced with decision.
Ivo trailed along beside her, not quite brave enough to offer her his arm. She’d radiated her displeasure the entire drive. Even now she was stiff with annoyance.
For the moment, it was enough to just to be able to watch her. To be near her.
She had on her favourite Russian fur hat, with a deep pumpkin redingote with matching fur reveres and cuffs. One arm was thrust all the way through an enormous bearskin muff, the hand that protruded clutched her long list.
She strode purposefully down the street, stopping here and there to greet fellow shoppers. Most of the townspeople seemed to recognize her, to have a friendly greeting for her, or a message for her in-laws.
He followed her into a small shop filled with boxes, bins, and jars of various candies. The scent of sugar and peppermint overwhelmed everything else.
The proprietor greeted her like an old friend. He bustled forward, wiping his hands on his apron. ‘Mrs Exley, we were wondering when we’d see you.’
The old man chatted with George, took the list she had prepared, and promised to have it all boxed up and sent over to the White Hart. That done, George sallied forth to her next destination, her demeanour frosty at best. She placed what seemed like enormous orders to Ivo at the butcher, the grocer, and the cheese-monger.
She dragged him into an apothecary shop to purchase vast quantities of Denmark Lotion, Dr Johnson’s Restorative Pig Jelly, headache powder, and a dozen other things Ivo had never heard of. She double-checked the earl’s earlier order with a toy merchant and added a few things of her own, mostly brightly coloured tops and jackstraws. The jolly little shop owner packed the dangerous implements in with the other toys while Ivo repressed a shudder. He could clearly imagine the terror the boys could inspire armed thusly.
At the mercers’, she picked out lengths of cloth, checking off names on a long list. She bought spools of silk ribbon and thread, dozens of small ribbon rosettes in assorted colours, cards and cards of pins and needles, and several pairs of scissors.
Ivo leaned over her shoulder and peered down at her list.
‘Exactly what is all this for?’
He was unable to picture any need George, or the other ladies at the Court, could possibly have for large amounts of serviceable stuff and linsey-woolsey. George certainly didn’t sew her own clothes, and a more insipid decoration than the rosettes she’d pounced on with such glee he couldn’t even begin to imagine.
‘Some of it is for the servants. Some for the tenants. Everyone gets a present, something frivolous. Hair ribbons, books, pipe tobacco. All of the tenants also get a crate of foodstuffs. Treats they couldn’t normally afford as well as more practical gifts: a good pan, cloth to make up new clothes, new shoes, knitting needles and yarn. Glendower’s practically feudal about his people, keeps an account book concerning them like any other responsibility. The gifts for the tenants and servants elsewhere were sent off weeks ago. This is just a little last-minute stocking up.’
George checked her list again and took off down the street, leaving Ivo staring dumbly after her. She disappeared into a large bookshop and lending library. By the time he caught up, she already had a stack forming on the counter and the shop assistant hustling about helping her collect things.
Ivo stood silently at the counter, studying the growing pile of plain paper-bound books. George continued to add to the stack until it threatened to spill onto the floor.
‘If you have a few copies of any of the fashion magazines I’ll take those as well.’
The owner tied up all the books and magazines in brown paper and sent his assistant staggering off to the inn, arms loaded down with packages.
George turned to him, surveying her list with a critical eye. ‘Not much left. I have to pick up a few items the countess ordered from Madame Dupree’s, stop by Greely’s and pick
