Page 58 of Lady for a Season
She felt a sudden rush of warmth to her neck and cheeks that had nothing to do with how warm his hands were. It was so intimate, Edward standing so close to her, his skin touching hers, somehow different from the night-times when she would lay her hand against his skin, to calm him from his bad dreams. “Y-yes,” she managed.
He took his hands away again, the rush of cold air replacing his warmth immediately. “Tell me when you need me again,” he said. “Take my arm. We don’t want to slip and fall on this icy street.”
She took his arm, enjoying the warmth of his body next to hers.
“There,” said Edward as they came to the river’s edge, large railings marking the end of the pavement, set well above the water’s edge.
Maggie stared down. The Thames, usually so fast flowing and a dark murky colour, was now entirely still and covered with snow, turning it from a moving river into a sparkling winter wonderland. Already there were gaily coloured tents set up at various points and people hurrying about setting up more, walking where before they would have drowned.
“What are they all doing?”
“Setting up the Frost Fair. Shall we go? They will have all sorts of merriments for us to enjoy.”
She was still amazed by the sight below them. How could it be possible to walk on the ice without fear? “How thick is it?”
“I’m not sure. They say thick enough for hundreds, perhaps thousands of people to go out on it, all together. I even heard there’s to be an elephant.”
“An elephant? On the ice?”
He nodded, grinning. “Shall we go to see it tomorrow?”
“What if the ice breaks and the poor creature drowns?”
“They wouldn’t take it out unless they were certain it was safe.”
The next day they ventured out to explore the Frost Fair, Maggie holding tight to Edward’s arm, the ground beneath them so slippery it was hard to stay upright.
“Penny for the plank, sir.”
Edward paid a boy two pennies so that they could descend from the shore down onto the ice on wooden boards, laid there to make the descent safer and cleaner.
“He’ll want two more to let us off the ice again,” said Maggie. She knew the pennies the boy would earn today would be food in his belly, perhaps a little money for his family.
“He will,” said Edward jovially. “I don’t begrudge him it,” he added. “He’s a smart boy to have thought of it, and after all, otherwise we’d have been trying to climb down and landed poorly, you know it.”
“Like the time I knocked you over with a snowball?”
“You dare bring that up again? Are you not afraid I will seek my revenge?”
Maggie giggled. “Are you not afraid I will only win again?”
Edward held out his hand to help her down the last part of the plank and onto the ice. She stepped out tentatively, afraid, still, that it would break beneath her even though it was obvious from the sight ahead of them that it was unlikely. If the ice could hold carriages with horses, tents, and several hundred people already enjoying the novelty, it should be safe for two more.
The first tents and stalls had created a shopping avenue of sorts, while latecomers had pitched more sporadically about the giant field of ice.
Walking along the avenue, Maggie was surprised by the variety of food and drink. There were stalls for tea, coffee or hot chocolate, the latter heavily spiced and sugared, as well as every kind of gin and ale, from Wormwood Purl to Brunswick Mum. Thick sandwiches of roast beef or mutton were wrapped in raw cabbage leaves to keep customers’ hands clean while they ate. There were baked apples and gingerbread, shaped as hearts or snowflakes, stands with toys, books or pieces of jewellery shaped from cut steel.
There were drinking and dancing tents, from which lively fiddle music leaked out and into which various men disappeared, often walking less steadily when they emerged or with a woman on their arm who had not accompanied them there. Further out on the ice two large structures had been built out of wooden poles. They held up swings ridden by giggling girls, pushed by their admiring beaus, often soldiers, dashing intheir red cloaks. Nearby there were skittles, with eager groups of men and women playing. Sledges topped with miniature sails as though they were ships were available for the children, who climbed onboard and were dragged about the ice by older boys, charging a penny a ride.
“What are they?” asked Maggie, seeing a dozen or so stalls that were handing out paper leaflets.
“Printing presses,” said Edward, heading towards one.
The printing presses were producing commemorative poems. They read a few before Edward bought them both printed slips, which declared:
Amidst the Arts which on the Thames appear,
To tell the wonders of this icy year,
