The Adventures of Clarissa Hardy

by Chloe Gillis

  Clarissa’s wits seemed to have deserted her, as well as her ability to move. Clarissa wanted to run from the room, to keep on running. For the first time in nearly a year, she wanted to be home with her mother and father. However, the courage that had brought her grandfather across the Atlantic to build a better life in America and the courage that saw her mother’s family through near starvation to earn doctorates from America’s best universities and prosper in the new land had not been diluted. It coursed through the blood of the young woman, even as she stood facing an incomprehensible situation.

  Clarissa said clearly, “I am nobody’s entertainment. I am Clarissa Hardy. You are not even in the employ of this newspaper. If you do not leave immediately, I shall ring Scotland Yard and have you escorted out and arrested. I will file charges myself.”

  Amelia Southerton grinned nastily. “Do not put yourself out. I see how Adam must have found you amusing indeed. I shall leave. Adam will return tomorrow night and I will meet him at his home.”

  She stalked past Clarissa. Clarissa did not move until she heard the outer door slam. Then, panic seized her. It was a complete and consuming panic. She saw her dreams pop like so many soap bubbles. She saw no past, no future. The pain in her stomach was unbearable. She had to get out. She had to leave now. Blindly, she turned and ran out the door, stopping only to grab her purse.

  Arriving at the townhouse, she fled upstairs, only to collapse on her bed. The hurt was too acute for tears. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing. What was she to do? She called for Mrs. Dutton, who appeared seconds later, it seemed.

  “Clarissa, are you not well?”

  Clarissa gave a little, pained laugh. “No, Mrs. Dutton, I am not well, but not in the medical sense. Would you bring me a whiskey, please?”

  Mrs. Dutton made no reply, but returned in a flash with an old fashioned glass half full of whiskey. It wasn’t even on a tray. She handed it to Clarissa. “Do you need me to stay?”

  Clarissa took the whiskey and sipped it. “Not at the moment, Mrs. Dutton. I need to think things through.”

  “I understand.” She melted out of the room.

  Clarissa gazed into the whiskey glass as though into a crystal ball. Still, the tears would not come. They were jammed in her throat, aching, hurting her. She reviewed her options. She could accept Annabelle’s invitation. The holidays would be jolly there. Andrew might even be there. No, that would not do. That is where she first met Adam. She could stay where she was. No, that would not do. If she ever saw Adam and Amelia together, she could not be responsible for her own actions. She could catch a liner back to the States, back home. Return to Mommy and Daddy and Michael. No, that would not do, either. She would be surrounded by Bonnie, happily married, Mommy and Daddy, still in love after twenty-five years, Eddie, probably married by now, and Roger, after her for a good fuck, and nothing else. What to do? What to do?

  Then, the epiphany. Of course! Clarissa, even in her pain, had to give a little smile, and thank the Powers That Be. Eleanora. Dear, dear Eleanora, with her outlandish behavior, her honest pursuit of life, her true friendship. Clarissa made up her mind. She would book the next itinerary available to the South Seas and join Eleanora in paradise. She could nurse her wounds there. Eleanora would see to it. Clarissa rang for Mrs. Dutton.

  “Yes, dear?” Mrs. Dutton’s brow was furrowed with worry.

  “Mrs. Dutton, I am ringing the agent and booking passage to the South Seas. I…I need to work on a particularly absorbing column about…about the geographical cure, as it were.”

  “I understand.”

  “I need you to pack my trunk and to ask Mr. Dutton to withdraw considerable cash from my account. I may be able to leave on the morrow, so these things must be accomplished today.”

  “I must ask you…” said Mrs. Dutton.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you sure? Is your mind made up?”

  “I appreciate your concern and your help, as always, Mrs. Dutton. You have been my mainstay! Yes, my mind is made up.”

  Impulsively, Mrs. Dutton swooped in and hugged Clarissa to her ample bosom. “I shall see to it immediately.”

  When she had left the room, Clarissa took pen and paper in hand.

  Dear Adam,

  I am leaving for the South Seas. I have a dear friend on a remote island there. There is no need for me to seek explanation from you. Miss Southerton was quite clear with her own explanation and the very fact that this situation has come up is reason enough for us to part. I have nothing I wish to say or to hear from you. Please extend my apologies to your family. If you have the courage, you may tell them what a cad you are. If you do not, you may tell them I was called away to the States due to a family emergency.

  As always, Clarissa

  The next morning, the household was awakened before the sun had fully risen by a loud pounding at the front door. Clarissa leaped out of bed, wrapped herself in her peignoir and rushed to the top of the stairs. Dutton, unbelievably dressed in his customary livery, was opening the front door.

  “Dutton! I say, Dutton,” yelled a familiar voice from outside. “Let me in! I must see Miss Hardy on a matter of the greatest importance!”

  Dutton opened the door, and Adam MacLaren practically fell into the foyer.

  “Miss Hardy is indisposed,” said Dutton coldly. “She is still in her bedroom.”

  “Then get her out! I must,” Adam gasped for air, his voice shaking, “I must see her!”

  “I’m sorry,” Dutton continued, but Clarissa interrupted him, standing at the head of the stairs. In her hand, she held the note she had written the night before.

  “It’s fine, Dutton, thank you,” she said calmly. “I will talk to Mr. MacLaren.”

  Dutton looked up and saw Clarissa. He said, without a glance at Adam, “I will be in the kitchen if you need me.”

  Adam stood at the bottom of the stairs dressed in a rumpled white shirt and dark trousers. He looked as though he had slept in his clothing.

  “Clarissa, I—” He started to climb the stairwell toward her.

  Clarissa spoke low, through her teeth. “Stop where you are. If you take one more step toward me, I will lock myself in my bedroom and Dutton will throw you out.”

  Adam stopped. “Please,” he begged, “hear me out. Be fair, Clarissa.”

  “Fair? Fair!” Clarissa had to control the timbre of her voice, lest she sound like a shrew. Even in extenuating circumstances, one must keep one’s dignity. “Was it fair that I found out about Amelia Southerton on my own? Why didn’t you tell me? You knew she was coming. You let me walk into that-that bloody arena uninformed. Misinformed, actually! There she was, all high and mighty, spewing innuendos about the two of you and attempting to dismiss me as entertainment! Is that how you treat a person you said you loved? My heavens, Adam! You are a cad and a liar and a schemer!”

  Her hand on the banister was beginning to shake. Her knees were weakening.

  “I did not know she was coming. And I thought it was over between us! The last I knew of her, she was in Paris. I went there especially to tell her that I had fallen in love with you. She wasn’t there, and unbeknownst to me, she had started back for London. She seemed determined that we should start up again.”

  “Well, maybe she’ll get her chance. You told me you didn’t want a woman who was cavorting around the Continent!”

  “Clarissa, please—”

  “I have nothing more to say. I want you to go. I don’t know where the truth lies. I don’t know who you are. Straight shooter? Bah! Please leave.”

  “All right, I’ll leave, but promise me you will not do anything rash. Promise me you will think things through and give me a chance. That woman is nothing to me. Please, promise me.”

  “Oh, I will not do anything I am not completely sure of,” said Clarissa. “I will give my every move extreme consideration and do what is best for Clarissa Hardy.” She held the envelope in her hand and, impulsively, threw it down the s
tairs. “You may read my note after you leave. Good-bye.”

  Clarissa’s resolve was dissolving. Mustering all her remaining courage, she turned and walked back to her room. It was only after she heard the front door shut that she collapsed in uncontrollable sobs.

  Part Eight

  Clarissa Hardy in the South Seas

  DUTTON HIMSELF DROVE CLARISSA to the steamer. The boat was a trifle seedy, but it had been the most direct route, sailing to Egypt where Clarissa would pick up a freighter bound for eventual harbor in Australia, but carrying several passengers to be dropped off through Indonesia and the islands of the southern seas.

  Once on board, Clarissa wrote letters. She wrote to Mommy, explaining her new assignment. She wrote to Bonnie and told her the truth. She wrote to Eleanora, in hopes that it would reach her before she herself did. The swift little boats that zipped in and out of the island nations often delivered the mail, along with daily supplies, and even contraband.

  Clarissa also wrote in her journal, documenting her journey and her life aboard the deadly boring steamer. It was therapeutic and, despite her shattered soul, Clarissa once more began to see beauty in the sunsets and the undulating sea.

  One afternoon, Clarissa climbed to the uppermost deck to stroll, trying to amuse herself watching the seabirds that followed the ship. She felt trapped on the ship. It was small, as freighters go, and there were no activities. Clarissa’s naturally social tendencies needed an outlet. The other passengers aboard were exceedingly dull: a couple of academics and a team of three marine scientists who spent their days testing samples of the seawater for new species of krill.

  Clarissa’s stroll became a walk, and the walk, a pace. She was like a caged animal. She must find some outlet to relieve the tedium.

  “Passengers are not allowed on this deck,” said a deep voice from behind her.

  Clarissa jumped, startled, and turned around to see the captain of the vessel standing in the open doorway of the bridge. Clarissa had seen him when she boarded in Egypt. He was a tall, lean man, with sandy colored hair and pale blue eyes. Not at all unattractive, Clarissa noticed.

  “Oh, Captain,” she said, “you startled me.”

  “You must return to the lower decks,” he said, ignoring her remark. “This is the domain of captain and crew only.”

  “I was seeking a wider vista,” said Clarissa in a friendly manner.

  “Plenty of vista exists on the decks below,” said the captain. “I must insist you leave immediately.”

  “Please forgive me, Captain—I am sorry, but I don’t know your name,” said Clarissa stubbornly. She approached him, extending her hand. “I am Clarissa Hardy.”

  Begrudgingly, the captain took her outstretched hand. “I am Captain Erik Larsson.”

  “I am glad to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” said Captain Larsson abruptly. “Now I must ask you again to return to the lower decks.”

  “At once,” said Clarissa. She was not going to spar with this taciturn man any longer. A thought had occurred to her.

  Clarissa skipped down to her cabin. How do you replace a man you’ve lost? she thought. Why, you simply replace him with another!

  It was nearly dinner time. Most days, the captain ate at seven o’clock, about an hour later than the rest of the crew and passengers. Tonight, Clarissa would be late as well. She prepared well, picking a sporty little number with a short skirt and a low, boat neck top to wear.

  At seven o’clock, she appeared at the door of the galley. She called in to the cook.

  “I say, I am so sorry, but I missed dinner at the usual time. Is it too late to get something to eat? I am quite famished!”

  The cook grunted and motioned with his ladle. “Take a seat. No skin off my nose. Plenty of food.”

  The dining room was actually part of the hallway off the galley. It was furnished with two long tables, perpetually set for the next meal. As soon as one shift finished eating, Spud, the cook’s helper, would whisk the dishes away and reset the place.

  Clarissa sat primly at one of the tables. Spud, a lanky young man with pimples, brought her a bottle of beer.

  “Captain’s dining late tonight, too,” he offered eagerly as he set the beer in front of her.

  “Why thank you for the beer, Spud,” said Clarissa sweetly. “Perhaps the captain would enjoy some company with his meal. Where does he usually sit?”

  “Captain don’t enjoy much, miss, but you’re welcome to try. He sits over here, his back to the galley.”

  “Why, then, I will sit opposite him. Thank you, Spud.”

  Clarissa took her beer and resettled herself next to the captain’s seat. A moment later, Captain Erik Larsson entered the room. He glared at her. Clarissa pretended not to notice.

  “Please, sit with me, Captain,” she said, patting the table next to her. “I must say, I am glad to see you. I hate to eat alone. You are late this evening.”

  Clarissa had always been a willing accomplice, but never a full on aggressor. This was quite a fun challenge.

  “I usually eat alone,” he grumbled, taking his usual seat nonetheless. “It gives me private time to think.”

  “Well, you have plenty of private time in that stuffy little bridge of yours,” said Clarissa, daintily sipping her beer. “I should say this would be a welcome change for you.”

  “Humph,” grunted the captain.

  Spud came in carrying two plates of chipped beef and gravy on toast points.

  “How did you come to captain this vessel?” asked Clarissa.

  “I was born in Norway,” he said. “I captained on the Great Lakes in America, and I grew sick of the cold and ice and snow. I worked all the time until I could buy this boat and I set off for warmer waters. I have been sailing the South Seas ever since. That is my story.”

  Clarissa laughed charmingly. “Imagine! A Viking in the South Seas!”

  Spud came out, this time with a tray, bearing hot tea and pound cake topped with canned peaches.

  The captain sipped on his third beer, which must have been softening him up, for he offered, “I enjoy the warm seas. It is lonely at times, but this boat is my home, wherever I want to be.”

  “And you don’t miss female companionship?” Clarissa asked winsomely.

  “There are plenty of females in every port.”

  “Ah, a true sailor! Now, to change the subject, I wonder if you could take me to the top deck? You see, I am a reporter and I would very much like to chronicle your life aboard this vessel.”

  “I am not in the habit of entertaining the passengers.”

  “Please, Captain. I assure you it is not entertainment. Besides, I see no reason why you should be so rude. Who do you take me for, I ask you? Do I frighten you in some way?”

  Captain Larsson snorted. “Do not flatter yourself. I am not afraid of anything.”

  “I am happy to hear that, Captain. It’s a good quality in a man with your responsibilities. Now take me to the bridge.”

  The captain met her eyes. Clarissa waited. She knew she looked cute. She watched his jaw work. Obviously, he was wrestling with himself about something. Then he blinked. “Follow me,” he said shortly and exited the room, Clarissa close behind him.

  “As long as you are so eager to see how things work, we will take the captain’s way to the bridge,” announced Captain Larsson over his shoulder. He strode to the end of the hallway and opened a thick metal door. Inside was a narrow, spiral staircase. “This staircase gives me access to every deck and below decks as well. Can you climb?”

  “Of course,” said Clarissa. “However, will you let me go first? In that way, if I misstep, you will be there to catch me.”

  “Go ahead then.” Captain Larsson stood aside, and Clarissa entered the silo staircase. It was damp and musty. The only light was from dim sconces at every deck level. Clarissa looked down and saw the staircase spiral into the black depths below. She shivered and decided to concentrate on upward motion. Grasping the railing, she b
egan to climb the stairs. She heard the door slam and looked down. Captain Larsson was a few steps below her, looking up.

  Clarissa wondered whether he had noticed yet that she was not wearing underwear.

  Up and up they went, finally reaching the top. Clarissa yanked and pulled at the door handle, but it refused to budge.

  “It is difficult,” said Captain Larsson, coming up behind her. “Allow me, please.”

  In order to be able to reach the door handle, the captain had to come closely up behind Clarissa until he was wedged in the tight space, his body squashing hers against the recalcitrant door. She gave a slight wiggle.

  “Please excuse my close proximity,” muttered the captain as he reached over her shoulder to force the door open.

  The door flew open with a bang, and Clarissa was catapulted through the opening by the weight of the captain behind her. She stumbled into a small room and fell full length on the floor. Her skirt billowed up in the process, exposing her firm buttocks. Feigning demureness, she pulled the renegade clothing back into place, regained her feet, and turned to face the captain.

  The look on his face betrayed the fact that he had seen the territory heretofore hidden beneath her skirt.

  “Oh, I am so clumsy!” exclaimed Clarissa dramatically. “Please forgive me!”

  “Are you quite all right?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I have only scraped my thigh a bit. Let us continue with our tour.”

  “Ah, well, yes,” stammered the captain. “As you can see, it is not a big place. There is the wheel, and the navigational instruments—”

  Clarissa had hiked her skirt up and was trying to examine the backside of her upper thigh. She heard Captain Larsson cough.

  “Oh, my!” she laughed. “I am so sorry, but my scrape is stinging a bit. I can’t seem to see it and I would hate to get blood on my dress. Would you mind assessing the damage?”