The Viscount's Revenge (The Royal Ambition Series Book 4) by M. C. Beaton Page A
Book: The Viscount's Revenge (The Royal Ambition Series Book 4) by M. C. Beaton
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Authors: M. C. Beaton
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tossing and turning during the night as her ears were assaulted with the sounds of sleepless London.
The watchman, whose business was not merely to guard the streets and take charge of the public security, informed Berkeley Square every half-hour of the weather and the time. For the first three hours, Amanda was informed it was a moonlight night and all was well, at half-past three that it was a cloudy morning, and so on until six, when the stentorian voice of the watchman informed her that the sun was up. The rumble of the night coaches had scarcely ceased before the rattle of the morning carts began. Then came the dustman with his bell and his chant of “Dust-ho!”; then came the watchman again; then the porterhouse boy clattering pewter pots; then the milkman, and, among other cries, a shrill piercing voice selling fresh green peas.
Amanda was further annoyed to find that Susan had every intention of sitting bodkin between herself and Lord Hawksborough.
“Where are we going?” demanded Susan.
“All around the town,” replied his lordship cheerfully with a flourish of his whip.
The light curricle moved off. Amanda tried to steal a look at Lord Hawksborough but found her view obstructed by Susan’s enormous poke bonnet, which hung like a penthouse over her sulky face.
She decided to enjoy the view and pretend that Susan did not exist.
The morning’s brief sun had disappeared and the winter’s day was dark.
Amanda was bewildered by the amount of goods displayed in the shops and by the roar of the town.
The lower floors of the shops seemed to be made entirely of glass, with many thousands of candles lighting up silverware, engravings, books, clocks, glass, pewter, paintings, gold, precious stones, steelwork, and women’s finery. There were endless coffee rooms and lottery shops. The apothecaries’ windows glowed with giant bottles shining with purple, yellow, verdigris-green, or amber light. The confectioners’ dazzled the eye with their candelabra shining over hanging festoons of Spanish grapes. Pretty shop girls in silk caps and little silk trains moved about among pyramids of cakes and oranges, tarts and pineapples.
The traffic was immense, the streets crowded with chaises, carriages, and drays. Above the hubbub of thousands of voices sounded chimes from the church towers, postmen’s bells, organs, fiddles, hurdy-gurdies, tambourines, and the cries of the vendors selling hot and cold food at the street corners.
The very noise made conversation impossible, a fact Amanda would have regretted had not the taciturn Susan been present.
The viscount then threaded his way around and down to the shabby little ancient streets of Westminster, where they alighted and walked around the Abbey, looking at the sooty walls and crumbling monuments. From there they went to the Tower to see the King’s jewels and the menagerie of wild animals; then to the British Museum beside Bloomsbury Fields to view the Parthenon marbles, recently brought from Athens. Back to the City, and the Royal Exchange with its piazza where foreigners in strange and wonderful costumes haggled with top-hatted Englishmen; and so to the Bank of England, where a private company of financiers was raising a handsome building behind high walls.
Lord Hawksborough seemed to know everyone everywhere he went. Amanda felt her head would burst trying to retain all the information she heard.
The only thing to mar the outing was the fact that everyone seemed to treat herself and Susan as schoolgirls his lordship was being gracious enough to entertain.
Lord Hawksborough treated them both to ices at Gunter’s and then drove them back to Berkeley Square. Susan had hardly said a word during the whole tour.
When his lordship left the girls in the hall, Amanda followed Susan upstairs.
“Well, thank goodness that’s over,” said Susan, untying the strings of her poke bonnet.
“I
The watchman, whose business was not merely to guard the streets and take charge of the public security, informed Berkeley Square every half-hour of the weather and the time. For the first three hours, Amanda was informed it was a moonlight night and all was well, at half-past three that it was a cloudy morning, and so on until six, when the stentorian voice of the watchman informed her that the sun was up. The rumble of the night coaches had scarcely ceased before the rattle of the morning carts began. Then came the dustman with his bell and his chant of “Dust-ho!”; then came the watchman again; then the porterhouse boy clattering pewter pots; then the milkman, and, among other cries, a shrill piercing voice selling fresh green peas.
Amanda was further annoyed to find that Susan had every intention of sitting bodkin between herself and Lord Hawksborough.
“Where are we going?” demanded Susan.
“All around the town,” replied his lordship cheerfully with a flourish of his whip.
The light curricle moved off. Amanda tried to steal a look at Lord Hawksborough but found her view obstructed by Susan’s enormous poke bonnet, which hung like a penthouse over her sulky face.
She decided to enjoy the view and pretend that Susan did not exist.
The morning’s brief sun had disappeared and the winter’s day was dark.
Amanda was bewildered by the amount of goods displayed in the shops and by the roar of the town.
The lower floors of the shops seemed to be made entirely of glass, with many thousands of candles lighting up silverware, engravings, books, clocks, glass, pewter, paintings, gold, precious stones, steelwork, and women’s finery. There were endless coffee rooms and lottery shops. The apothecaries’ windows glowed with giant bottles shining with purple, yellow, verdigris-green, or amber light. The confectioners’ dazzled the eye with their candelabra shining over hanging festoons of Spanish grapes. Pretty shop girls in silk caps and little silk trains moved about among pyramids of cakes and oranges, tarts and pineapples.
The traffic was immense, the streets crowded with chaises, carriages, and drays. Above the hubbub of thousands of voices sounded chimes from the church towers, postmen’s bells, organs, fiddles, hurdy-gurdies, tambourines, and the cries of the vendors selling hot and cold food at the street corners.
The very noise made conversation impossible, a fact Amanda would have regretted had not the taciturn Susan been present.
The viscount then threaded his way around and down to the shabby little ancient streets of Westminster, where they alighted and walked around the Abbey, looking at the sooty walls and crumbling monuments. From there they went to the Tower to see the King’s jewels and the menagerie of wild animals; then to the British Museum beside Bloomsbury Fields to view the Parthenon marbles, recently brought from Athens. Back to the City, and the Royal Exchange with its piazza where foreigners in strange and wonderful costumes haggled with top-hatted Englishmen; and so to the Bank of England, where a private company of financiers was raising a handsome building behind high walls.
Lord Hawksborough seemed to know everyone everywhere he went. Amanda felt her head would burst trying to retain all the information she heard.
The only thing to mar the outing was the fact that everyone seemed to treat herself and Susan as schoolgirls his lordship was being gracious enough to entertain.
Lord Hawksborough treated them both to ices at Gunter’s and then drove them back to Berkeley Square. Susan had hardly said a word during the whole tour.
When his lordship left the girls in the hall, Amanda followed Susan upstairs.
“Well, thank goodness that’s over,” said Susan, untying the strings of her poke bonnet.
“I
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