Jack, Knave and Fool Read Free Page B

“Right you are to correct me. I know I speak like a slut more often than not. I must learn better. I will learn better.”
    Having halted even so briefly, we had fallen somewhat behind Sir John and Lady Fielding. They now stood at the entrance to the tavern. They waited, I supposed on us, yet our lady seemed to be staring ever so intently at a coach which four matched horses had just drawn up to the walk.
    It was indeed a remarkable coach. It rode upon carved, gilt wheels, and as we drew nigh I saw that it had upon its door panels scenes of the countryside in winter and spring most beautifully painted, clearly the work of an artist of great skill. Somehow, without running round to make sure of it, I knew that the two panels on the far side of the coach would display similar scenes depicting summer and autumn. When the footman jumped down to open the coach door and assist the occupants to the walk, I saw that he (as well as the driver) was dressed in a remarkable silver livery which glittered and shone even in the dim light of the streetlamp.
    Lady Fielding was whispering a description of this garish vehicle to Sir John as Annie and I came up to them. I could tell from the amused expression upon his face that he recognized it from the likeness she sketched with her words.
    “That coach,” said he, full-voiced, “can only belong to one man. Let US linger here a moment and greet him.”
    I should not have been surprised had the Prince of Wales himself emerged from the coach with a party of his royal siblings. Yet one man only descended from the interior of the coach; and though richly dressed, he did not appear to me a prince—though perhaps a duke. Nevertheless, he was well acquainted with the Magistrate of the Bow Street Court.
    “Sir John!” cried he. “You’re looking well, I must say.”
    “Though I can’t, alas, say the same to you due to this fault of my eyes, I will say your voice, Sir Joshua, has never sounded heartier.”
    “Well said, well said, and you may take that as an outward sign of my inward health.”
    The two shook hands warmly, and Sir John presented us to Sir Joshua Reynolds, the great painter of portraits. Annie and me he introduced as “members of his household.” A few pleasantries passed between them as we moved toward the door of the Crown and Anchor. Once inside, we proceeded at a good pace, yet Lady Fielding kept a good, tight hold on her husband’s arm, guiding him gently through the uneven row of empty tables toward the inner doorway which led to the site of the evening’s festivities. Annie and I kept very close so as not to miss any titbit of interest that might pass between them. We were not left unrewarded.
    “When, pray tell,” asked Sir Joshua Reynolds, “will you allow me to paint your portrait, Sir John?”
    At that Sir John let forth a booming laugh. “Never, I fear. The modest budget I am given by the Lord Mayor’s office includes no allowance for personal vanity.”
    “Nothing of the kind, sir. Vanity’s got little to do with it. A good likeness is a gift to posterity.”
    “He’s right, Jack,” put in Lady Fielding.
    “I doubt posterity will have reason to remember me,” said Sir John.
    “Not so, sir. And putting all that aside, you’ve a face whose strength I should like to capture. It appeals to me as an artist.”
    “Be willing to put aside your fee, would you?” Sir John said it in a teasing manner.
    “Jack!” scolded his lady.
    “Ah, now there you have me. I am an artist, true, but I am also a man of business. Yet an adjustment of some sort would not be out of the question.”
    The three stood at the entrance to the ballroom. Before them was a great multitude seated at tables and milling about.
    “Ah, but here we are,” said Sir Joshua. “My table is at the far side with some of my colleagues of the Royal Academy, and so I shall leave you here. Delighted to meet you, Lady Fielding, and you two young people, as well. Always a pleasure to see