He held him around the middle and jerked his knee so Freddie bounced around, giggling, his little hands waving in the air.
I took my heart out of my mouth. Only three more days to go. Travelling with a 1-year-old toddler in a cramped carriage, especially one as lively as Freddie, was stretching my nerves to capacity. Luckily, he tended to wear himself out by the afternoon. So we had a few hours of peace and quiet while he napped before he was scrambling all over the carriage again with boundless energy.
‘Where are we going, Freddie?’ Max asked, jiggling his knee harder and making him squawk.
‘Londwon.’
‘And who are we going to see?’
‘Dorwian!’
Staring out the window at the ‘moo cows’, I pressed my lips together tightly. Now there was a name I never thought I’d hear my son say. Max and his blasted portrait bargain—but we couldn’t get out of it.
Dorian hadn’t forgotten his ‘gentlemanly conversation’ with Max either. He wrote to him at the beginning of February, saying he had scheduled us in for the second week of March for the sitting. Max had spent the last month conveying to Freddie how we were going to have our picture painted in London by a ‘nice man called Dorian’ and it was going to be a lot of fun (he told me he hoped that Freddie didn’t recognise him as the man who kidnapped him and start screaming his head off!).
On the whole, Max actually seemed rather excited about having us immortalised in oil. I wanted to get it over and done with.
And there were other things in London I was looking forward to that didn’t involve having my portrait painted: like staying with Lucy and Harry in Holborn.
***
How much things could change in a year! It was hard to believe that I had stood in this street last February, commenting to Harry how it must look lovely in the spring. Freddie wasn’t even born yet. Now here I was in exactly the same spot with his little hand clutched in mine, witnessing the trees in all their green leafy glory. London was waking from its winter slumber, and a freshish breeze was blowing in off the river and rustling through the trees. The city would never smell clean to me, not like it did in the country. But at least we were not going anywhere near Smithfield Market on this trip!
No, we were going somewhere much more pleasant today, and I had eaten a small breakfast in anticipation of the event.
Harry, Freddie, and I were waiting outside by the gate for Lucinda because we were about to walk to a cake shop on the high street to try some samples and buy the ones we liked best. Max had politely declined, saying he needed to write a letter, but that he would gladly partake in the eating of the cake when we returned. He did make one request with a wink at me: ‘Could you purchase a cream-and-jam sponge, if they have one?’
I looked over at Harry, who was inspecting the side ofhis house, frowning. He mentioned last night that it had been ‘an extremely damp winter’ and that some of the plasterwork might need repairing.
‘Do you remember asking me if Lucinda would like living here, Harry?’
His eyes crinkled. ‘Yes, I do. And you said that she would like it very much indeed.’
‘And was I right in saying that?’
‘I have not asked her outright. But from what I can deduce from her general demeanour and her comments about certain aspects, she likes it well enough,’ said Harry carefully. ‘Yet it is a moot point as we may not be here for much longer ... But I will let her tell you herself.’
I was intrigued by this speech but did not press for more information. Were they going on a trip somewhere?
When Lucinda came running out, apologising for keeping us waiting as she had not been able to find her favourite shawl, I urged Harry to walk ahead with Freddie perched on his shoulders.
‘Do you have any travel plans in the coming months, dearest?’ I asked her.
Lucinda looked askance at me. ‘Has Harry said something to make you think so?’
‘He piqued my curiosity just now but gave no details,which is why I am asking you.’
She combed the fringe on the edge of her peach silk shawl with her fingertips. ‘Well, actually, we do have travel plans. We are going to Godmersham in April to visit the Austens. We will stay with them for about a month.’
I raised my eyebrows at that. ‘Gracious. I know she invited you, but after everything that occurred there ... are you sure you want to go?’
‘We are staying in the main house, so it will not be like last time. I will get to experience what life is like’—she spoke behind her glove in a hushed whisper—‘as a respectable married woman.’
‘Well, if you think it will not bring back bad memories,’ I said. ‘Just keep away from that Mrs Busby woman. She was a nightmare with her vague predictions. Honestly, nothing ever came true from what she said to me ... well, apart from Max planting red roses.’
Lucinda laughed. ‘But perhaps if I let her read my future, she might see a baby this time?’
‘I doubt it!’ I scoffed. Then I saw that she had placed a hand over her stomach in that protective way expectant women do. My hand flew to my mouth.
