When Isabel asked George the next day if he would take her to the fair, he looked perturbed. “But, my dear, this type of fair is – not for ladies. I have heard reports of great revelry on the river.”
Isabel eyed him speculatively, but said nothing. However, when Simmonds told her the next day that Watkins had heard an account of an elephant being led over the ice below Blackfriars Bridge, Isabel set out again to persuade her stepfather.
“Surely with your escort, George, I need not worry about any undesirable persons who may be at the fair?”
He looked doubtful. “I heard a report this afternoon that the ice cracked above London Bridge, and that a man and two boys were carried away on a large piece through one of the arches.”
Isabel gasped. “Did they survive?”
“They did. They lay down flat on the ice and were rescued by some Billingsgate fishermen.”
“Well, no harm was done then,” she said, with a dismissive shrug. “Beside,” she continued flippantly, “if an elephant can cross the Thames alongside Blackfriars Bridge without mishap, I am sure the river can bear our weight.”
When he didn’t reply, she said, “Please George, I need something to take my mind off – off everything.”
He smiled sympathetically. “Very well, my dear. I would also like to see this fair on the Thames. But only if your mother agrees.”
When Isabel approached her, her mama’s brow furrowed. “You will stay close to George at all times, Belle? It isn’t the place for a lady, so I’ve heard.” Then she shrugged her shoulders. “However, if it will cheer you up, you must go. I know Mr Bateman told you he was going out of town for a while, but the length of his absence is very worrying. Perhaps we have misread his intentions, although I could have sworn he cared for you.”
Isabel nodded, and turned away. She didn’t want to speak about his absence. It hurt too much.
* * *
Isabel and George bundled up in layers of warm clothing, and climbed inside the coach, which set off at a brisk pace towards Blackfriars Bridge.
Isabel stared out the carriage window. The streets were piled high with snow, but it was no longer snowing, only drizzling. As they approached the frozen river, it looked dirty and lumpy. However, it must be frozen solid, as throngs of people were walking on it.
They alighted from the carriage and Isabel looked around in fascination. It was indeed an amazing spectacle. The fair had its own main street on the river, which was sign-posted ‘The City Road’, and as they approached, a Thames waterman called out, “Threepence to enter the Frost Fair!”
George handed him a couple of coins to cover the entrance fee, and then they carefully made their way down the slipway onto the river.
Vendors sold trinkets and memorabilia, children’s swings had been set up, and there were bookstalls, dancing-booths and merry-go-rounds.
A group of men played skittles on the ice, and a number of printing presses had been erected. Isabel walked over to one of the printers who chanted, “Print a poem, print a poem, take it home, take it home, as a souvenir of the great frost.” She halted before him.
“Would you like me to buy one for you?” George asked, and at Isabel’s nod, he asked the vendor to print her a poem.
She scanned it quickly:
Behold the Liquid Thames frozen o’re,
That lately Ships of mighty Burthen bore
The Watermen for want of Rowing Boats
Make use of Booths to get their Pence & Groats
Here you may see beef roasted on the spit
And for your money you may taste a bit
There you may print your name, tho cannot write
Cause num'd with cold: tis done with great delight
And lay it by that ages yet to come
May see what things upon the ice were done
“Thank you.” She smiled at her stepfather and placed the poem in the small basket she had brought with her.
A fiddler struck up a tune in one of the dance-booths, which was decorated with streamers and flags, and a couple linked arms and began to dance. Isabel and George watched them for a few minutes before walking on.
Oxen roasted on spits above a blazing fire, and Isabel sniffed the roasting meat appreciatively. Revellers were eating gingerbread and a woman walked past with a basket on her head, covered by a cloth, crying: “Hot apples, hot apples for sale.”
George bought a couple of the apples, and he and Isabel were enjoying the sweet treats when a young man staggered in front of them. George took Isabel’s arm and drew her close to his side, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. A strong smell of liquor emanated from the man. Glancing around uneasily, she realised that strong liquor was readily available from any number of stalls.
And not only the stalls. A vendor ambled past, calling out that he had cups of gin for sale. And when they reached the centre of the river, Isabel saw rough booths made of sail cloths, blankets and oars, with signs on them advertising Purl and Mum. There was also tea, coffee and chocolate on sale.
She turned a puzzled frown on George. “What are Purl and Mum?”
“It is strong liquor, my dear. I believe we should leave now that you have seen a bit of the fair. There are far too many inebriated persons around. Come now.”
It began to rain more heavily, and Isabel wiped raindrops from her eyes. Suddenly, she heard someone shout her name and turned to see Mr Bateman striding towards her.
“Cherny! Isabel! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come off the ice!”
Instinct took over and, dropping her basket, Isabel ran. She couldn’t face him. Not now. She had to get away.
But she had forgotten how slippery and treacherous the surface of the frozen river could be, and she fell.
The rain was harder now, and it muffled the noise of the revelry around her, but it wasn’t loud enough to stifle a loud, cracking sound which made the ice suddenly reverberate. Isabel screamed as the booths and the printing presses in front of her began to capsize into the river.
People yelled, running in every direction from the cracking ice. Isabel scrambled to her feet to head to safety, but a large man crashed into her, and sent her flying. And then she was in the freezing water.
She gasped and tried to scream, but the icy water shocked her into terrified silence. Her arms flailed, and then strong arms gripped under her armpits, and Mr Bateman pulled her from the icy water.
Without a care for her dignity, he flung her over his shoulder and moved swiftly across the ice, with Isabel bouncing against his hard shoulder. She spotted George hurrying along beside them, as the ground rose and fell beneath her eyes. They were jostled by other people also desperately trying to escape the cracking ice. Finally, they were off the river and back on solid ground, and Mr Bateman set her gently on her feet.
Stripping off his greatcoat, he wrapped it around her, while searching urgently up and down the street. “Where is your carriage, Cherny?”
George pointed down the street, and Mr Bateman picked her up once again, and carried her towards the coach. Isabel wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder as she started to shiver.
The coachman opened the carriage door, and Mr Bateman placed Isabel on the seat, and then he and George climbed in beside her. She shivered uncontrollably now, and her breathing was shallow and rapid.
“I – I’m so cold,” she muttered through chattering teeth.
“We’ll be home shortly.” Mr Bateman wrapped his arms about her, and she gave in to temptation and rested her head on his shoulder again. Her eyelids drifted closed.
“Stay awake, Isabel. Don’t go to sleep,” he said urgently.
She blinked, and stared up at him. He was so beautiful.
The coach moved along at a brisk pace now, picking up speed the further they moved away from the crowds of the fair, and Isabel wriggled uncomfortably. Her wet clothes clung to her body, weighting her down. So much weight. She really did need a nap.
Mr Bateman would not allow her to drop off, though. Every time her eyelids fluttered closed, he patted her cheeks, or shook her shoulders, until she grew quite irritated with him. “Just let me go to sleep!”
“I cannot do that, my love.” He smoothed the wet hair off her forehead.
And then they were home, and George was carrying her upstairs to her bedchamber. She was aware of her mother’s agitated voice, and Simmonds issuing instructions in the background, and then her maid stripped the wet clothes off her. Simmonds wrapped her in a multitude of blankets, and then her mother was back at her side, applying a warm compress alternatively to her neck, chest and stomach.
“What is that, Mama?” Isabel whispered. “Where is Mr Bateman?”
“A hot brick, my love, wrapped in a cloth. Now hush, dear, and drink some tea. Mr Bateman is downstairs with George.” She set the hot brick down and brought a cup of steaming tea to the bed where Isabel lay.
Propped up against her cushions, Isabel sipped the hot, sweet beverage. The heat suffused her, radiating outward to warm her from the inside out. She stopped shivering, and although she still felt light-headed, she was no longer as disorientated as she had been.
“Come and sit in front of the fire, my love.” Her mother and Simmonds helped her off the bed and to an armchair pulled up before the hearth. “When you’ve warmed up sufficiently, we must get you into the bathtub.”
Isabel sat in front of the blazing fire, and then moved to lie down on the chaise-longue in her dressing room, while the footmen carried a tub into her bedchamber. She heard the bustling activity next door as the servants prepared her bath, and then her mother came to fetch her. The tub had been placed in front of the hearth, and a housemaid was arranging a screen around it.
Once the room emptied of people, and only Simmonds and her mother remained to watch over her, Isabel slipped into the bath. Though she felt almost her usual self again, the water that enveloped her body didn’t feel warm at first. It felt burningly cold and her skin tingled alarmingly. She grimaced in pain, but after a while the prickles eased and she was able to lie back against the edge of the bathtub in comfort. Her mother had mixed rose-water into the warm water, and Isabel breathed in the delicate scent and allowed her aching body to relax.
Her mother rounded the screen to stand beside the bath.
“Is – is Mr Bateman still downstairs, Mama?”
Her mother’s brow creased. “He is, poor man. He looks as white as a sheet. So does George, for that matter. They are both drinking brandy. I should never have consented for you to go to the Frost Fair. But with reports of so many people on the ice, I believed it to be safe…”
“It was my fault, Mama. I shouldn’t have begged George to go.”
“You’ve been looking so woebegone, my love, that we didn’t want to disappoint you. You must rest now. I will inform Mr Bateman that you are recovered, but that you are unable to see him today. He arrived shortly after you and George had left the house. He told me he has been out of town for the last month, and he was desperate to see you, so when I told him you’d gone to the Frost Fair he set out straight away to look for you.” Her mother bit her lip, consternation furrowing her brow. “He suspected that a thaw was about to set in, and he was right.”
Her mother helped her out the bath then, and Isabel ate the light meal which had been brought up for her on a tray, before she got into bed and lay back against her pillows. She was exhausted, and could barely keep her eyes open.
But before she fell asleep, her thoughts flew to Marcus. He had called her his love… he had called her his love.