Yesterday, Ella had looked through every book at Hatchard’s. Today, she went further afield, to Ackermann’s Repository of Arts on the Strand. The carriage set her and a footman down on the flagway and departed, wheels splashing, with instructions to return two hours later.
In the middle of the season, Ackermann’s was thronged with people; on a rainy afternoon in mid-December, only a few customers were present. The shop was aglow with lamplight, the better to see the framed pictures hanging on the walls, the prints displayed on stands and in racks, the busts and the miniatures, the decorative borders and the frames, the shelves of illustrated books. Two ladies perused the miniatures, their voices a low murmur, and a shop assistant attended to an elderly couple at the counter.
A shopman ap
