AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Her confidence grew with every passing minute. Soon they were bowling along the turnpike at quite a clip. Up ahead she saw that the road curved and she drew back on the reins to slow down the horses. The full-bloodied bays were into their stride and she wondered wildly if she had enough strength to curb them.
Savage casually handed her a pair of leather driving gloves. “Try these.”
Tony quickly pulled them on and gripped the reins fiercely, bracing her booted feet and pulling back with her whole body. They slowed only slightly. The carriage leaned precariously. Inside the driving gloves Tony’s hands were sweating indelicately. The horses rounded the curve and picked up speed. She was surprised he didn’t snatch the reins from her and hurl a curse at her head. She cast him a wary glance and was astonished to see his eyes closed and his head leaned back in repose. She thought him a fool. She could have had them dead in a ditch!
Finally, she began to relax and when she did so, she noticed the bays were far easier to handle. She felt an urge to destroy his composure. It would be almost worth confessing her gender to wipe away his air of complacency.
Then her thoughts took another tack. She wondered if perhaps Adam Savage was man enough to teach a female the things he would teach a male. What an extraordinary thought. What was it about this man that made her think him unique? He was fashioned from a different mold. He was a law unto himself and he absolutely and totally fascinated her. As a matter of fact, she feared she was becoming infatuated. Pray God she find the cure!
Tony didn’t see much of Savage the first two days they were in London. He was out attending to business and she spent one full day adding to her male wardrobe. She bought a cane with a curiously clouded amber head and she purchased some high-heeled shoes with tongue and buckle. Though most men’s fashions were becoming extremely bright and flamboyant, Tony shunned them, thinking them far too effeminate. She bought half a dozen black silk Steinkirk cravats and asked the haberdasher to show her how to achieve some of the intricate knots.
Tony bought a new tiewig and a supply of powder as well as a tricorn hat. She also bought a coat with brass buttons cut in a military style. Because of all her purchases she took a chair back to Curzon Street, where Fenton helped her unpack and hang them in Anthony’s wardrobe.
A lump came into Tony’s throat as she saw her brother’s London clothes. She touched the satin knee breeches and brocade tailcoats with a loving hand, knowing she felt very close to him whenever she put on his clothes. She asked Fenton to bring her a tray and she finally fell asleep reading Mr. Fielding’s scandalous adventures of Tom Jones.
The next day Adam Savage wanted Tony to accompany him into the city. He was visiting a couple of cabinetmakers’ shops to select some furniture for Edenwood. The first stop was a house in St. Martin’s Lane owned by Thomas Chippendale. There were many pieces displayed in the Chinese design, but Savage’s taste did not run along these lines, nor did he care much for the heavily ornamented Rococo style. As well as actual sample pieces there were dozens of design books to choose from.
Savage asked Tony if he preferred “ribbon-backed” or “ladder-backed” chairs for the dining room at Edenwood.
She bit her lip in indecision. The ladder-back was plainer, more masculine, but finally she told the truth. “My preference is ribbon-back. The style is French and exceedingly elegant. The interlocking ribbons are so beautifully curved, I don’t think you’ll find craftmanship anywhere in the world to compare with this.”
Savage took her advice. The dining room would be done by Chippendale. He ordered twenty-four chairs and an oval twenty-foot dining table with matching sideboards and half-round serving tables. Since the dining room itself had curved walls to make the room a unique oval shape, the Chippendale table and ribbon-backed chairs would look like a match made in heaven.
It didn’t take long because Savage was a decisive man who knew what he thought beautiful and what he thought hideous. Tony found her taste ran along very similar lines to his. He wanted no elaborately designed commodes or Gothic torcheres. He wanted nothing decorated with intricate swags and urns. He passed up all the beds on display and exchanged a grimace with Tony over a pagoda-shaped, lacquered bedstead. Before they departed the shop, Savage bought mirrors, hall console tables, a pair of velvet-covered settees, and a small supper table with a couple of comfortable padded supper chairs.
When they left St. Martin’s Lane, Savage asked Tony if he’d like to visit the tea spitters in Mincing Lane, which was in the same area as the East India Company’s headquarters. When they got to Eastcheap, however, they had to push through the crowds that were following a cart on its way to Tyburn.
They gaped along with their fellow Londoners at the Yorkshire highwayman who was bandying words with the crowd on his way to be hanged. He stood in the cart beside his coffin, wearing a nosegay and bowing to the crowd of courtiers who offered him a flask of Dutch courage.
Tony stared at the well-dressed ladies and their escorts who were on their way to Tyburn for a bit of excitement. She shuddered.
“How can he make jokes when he is on his way to die?”
Savage shrugged and replied, “He must show game before the crowd.” His ice-blue eyes surveyed the pretty court ladies with contempt. “The English are every bit as uncivilized as the so-called primitive cultures.” He turned away. “We’ll never get to Mincing Lane in this crush. Let’s go and have something to eat.”
Tony nodded agreement and Adam led the way. They cut down Hanging Sword Alley and stopped at a place called Jack Ketch’s Kitchen. Tony viewed the tripe and trotters on display with alarm. Briefly she wondered if this place was on his list for“making a man”of his ward. Savage ordered them both pig’s feet and as Tony watched him liberally sprinkle them with salt and malt vinegar, she realized that he was enjoying himself.
Savage grinned at the pleasurable surge of nostalgia he experienced. “I used to eat here when I was a stripling. Couldn’t seem to fill my belly in those days.”
“Where did you live?”
Adam pointed, “Across the river. Come on, we can walk and eat.” As they sauntered down Lower Thames Street, Tony gathered her courage and began to nibble on the white, jellied trotter she held. It wasn’t nearly as repulsive as she had imagined, and after a few bites she began to chew without fear her stomach would reject it.
At Billingsgate Fish Market, Adam bought them paper cones filled with winkles. The stall supplied them each with a pin and Adam showed Tony how to pick the little blighters from their shells. By the river there was a pirate hanging in chains and a man in the pillory for publishing insulting pamphlets about the mad King.
Savage eyed the youth who strolled beside him. “Is this the first time you’ve been in this part of London?”
Tony nodded her head. Then she grinned. “It won’t be the last.” They bought something from every hawker they passed, meat pasties, black peas, roasted chestnuts, and hot cross buns. They were jostled by watermen, horse officers, foreign sailors, and drabs willing to hike their skirts for a penny. The whores would try to wheedle them; then, when they saw the men weren’t pigeons to be plucked, they shouted coarse cant after them. “La de dah, sorry wer not good enough fer yer bleedin’ Lordships!”
One cheeky-faced slut took hold of Tony’s arm. “Come wiv me, luv. I’ll suck yer duck till it quacks!”
Savage couldn’t help grinning at Tony’s discomfort. As another female approached, Tony tried to ward her off with his amber-topped cane.
“Polish yer nob, sir?” She winked.
Finally Tony burst out laughing at their outrageous suggestions.
“That’s better,” Savage approved, “there’s no call to look down your aristocratic nose at the whores of the docks.” Savage had an afterthought. “But never fuck one of them. Syphilis is rampant down here.”
