Carola Dunn Read Free Page B

carried by any of the uncouth boatmen.
     As soon as the last newcomer set foot on the ice, Mr Rufus ran up the stair. Rosabelle could not hear what he said, but she watched closely to see whether money changed hands. She could not repay him now, but it would give her an excuse....That is, when she came tomorrow she would bring funds enough.
     No payment appeared to take place, however. The men all laughed, and one slapped Mr Rufus on the back in an amicable gesture which visibly rocked him. He came back down the stair, a waterman lumbering after him.
     “All settled,” he announced.
     His burly companion picked up Betsy as if she weighed no more than a meat-pie. He slung her squealing over his shoulder, in a flurry of flannel petticoats, and set off upward. Anxiously, Rosabelle hurried after, not wanting to leave Betsy alone at the top at the ruffians’ mercy a moment longer than necessary.
     “Take care.” Mr Rufus was close behind her, his hand at her elbow to steady her. The warmth of his touch seeped through the barriers of leather and cloth to envelop her in a glow from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.
     Trying to explain away the flustering phenomenon, Rosabelle assured herself it was just because he was heated from the baking and his exertions with the handcart.
     They reached the top to find Betsy perched on a barrel, pink-faced but none the worse for her unorthodox ascent. The watermen were by now noisily engaged in fending off a band of nine or ten urchins without the means to pay the toll. The men had the size and strength, the boys the numbers and agility. Foul language appeared to be shared equally between them.
     Mr Rufus seemed scarcely to raise his voice, but it cut through the babble: “I’ll pay the fee for whichever boy is first to bring a hackney carriage for these ladies.”
     The urchins raced off, now calling insults to each other.
     “I only hope they don’t bring back half a dozen hackneys!” said Mr Rufus, laughing.
     “If they do,” Rosabelle retorted, “I shall leave you to deal with the squabbling jarveys. What is the toll for a child?”
     “A penny, I believe.” He held out his hand to stop her as she felt in her purse. She looked up. His face was serious, with a half-smiling question in his eyes. “You may repay me tomorrow,” he said softly.
     Rosabelle nodded, and busied herself with tightening the strings of her reticule.
     The ragamuffins returned in short order. Half of them clung to various parts of the hackney they brought with them, the rest cavorted around it. All of them came, and as the carriage stopped on the wharf, they clustered together. In silence they regarded Mr Rufus with doubtful hope.
     “Sixpence the lot,” he said to the watermen.
     “A tanner it is, gov’nor.”
     Whooping, the boys scampered towards the stair.
     While Mr Rufus paid their toll, lifted Betsy down from the barrel and helped her to hop to the hackney, Rosabelle spoke to the driver.
     “New Bond Street, Number 36.”
     “Yes’m.” He saluted with his whip.
     She climbed in, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell. Suppressing a twinge of jealousy at the sight of Mr Rufus’s hands clasping Betsy’s waist, she caught the girl as he lifted her in, and settled her on the shabby seat. He closed the door.
     Rosabelle lowered the window. “Thank you,” she said. It seemed inadequate, but what more could she say? The jarvey was already whipping up his sorry nag.
     “It was my pleasure,” said Mr Rufus emphatically, and he bowed as the hackney moved off, rattling over the cobbles.
     “How is your ankle now, Betsy?” Rosabelle asked.
     “It aches a bit, Miss Ros, but it only hurts really bad if I put my weight on it.”
     “That’s good. Maman will know whether we need to send for an apothecary.” She hesitated. “Betsy, we’ll tell maman a kind man helped us, of course, but I see no need to mention what a...a personable young man he