She breathed in, savoured the cold air, took one step forward, then another…
“This way. The car is over here.”
Car? Clarissa allowed herself to be steered in the direction of a sleek vehicle which stood a few yards away from the entrance to the prison. The front driver’s door opened, and another familiar figure emerged.
William. Her friend from childhood.
“Miss! Oh God, Miss Clarissa, what have they done to you?”
James’ arm tightened around her. “It’s okay, William. She’s had a hard time, but she’s safe now. We need to get her home.”
“Yes. Right, sir.”
William opened the back door of the vehicle, and James helped her to clamber inside. He followed her in, and so did the other man. She remembered him now. Mr Roundhill. He had dealt with her inheritance when she’d come of age the year before last. A solicitor, then…
“Here. I always keep a couple of blankets in the boot, in case of breakdowns.” William leaned into the car and thrust an armful of fleecy blankets at James. “You can wrap her in these.”
“Thank you.” James busied himself tucking the warm woollen blankets around her legs, though he still did not take back his jacket.
Clarissa was glad.
“Where to, my lord? Home?” William hopped into the driver’s seat. The vehicle purred as the engine started up.
“Yes, but detour to Chelsea first to drop Roger off. Then back to Smallwood Manor.”
Her childhood home had barely changed at all. It had been two years since she’d been here, but even in the dark, crisp December night Clarissa could pick out every oak and sycamore which flanked the curving drive. She should. She had climbed most of them by the time she was ten, she and William daring each other on.
He had been the son of the old viscount’s head groom, just a few months older than her. As the only children who actually lived at Smallwood, the pair often sought out each other’s company. They’d grown apart by the time they’d reached their teens but remained friends. He’d joined his father working in the stables while she had been packed off to France to complete her education. She was pleased he still worked at the estate.
She needed her friends.
The car purred to a halt in front of the large house, and William jumped out to open the door for his passengers.
“Do you need me to help, my lord…?”
“I can manage. But could you get the front door, please.” James slid across the seat and got out of the car, then leaned back inside to lift her into his arms.
“James, put me down. I can walk.” The first words she had uttered since being dragged along the prison corridor by the guards
“Barely,” he countered, striding up the steps.
The door was open by the time they got there. William and the elderly butler stood aside to let James march inside. Clarissa was relieved that he headed straight for the main stairs.
“Miss Bellamy’s room is ready for her, my lord. I was not sure what time you would be arriving, but I took the liberty of having Trudy prepare a bath.”
“Thank you, Mr Thompson,” James called back over his shoulder. “And if you could please ask Trudy to come upstairs and attend to Miss Bellamy…”
“At once, my lord.”
Clarissa clung to James even after he’d shouldered open the door to her room and attempted to set her down on her bed. It all looked so familiar, so…ordinary. Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed. She had changed. She was different, harder, more brittle, more vulnerable. She thought she might just shatter into a thousand pieces.
“James…?” she began. “I don’t understand. How did you…?”
“I don’t exactly know. Roger Roundhill managed everything. It doesn’t matter anyway. All that matters is that you’re here, safe home with us, where you belong.”
“But they’ll come for me. The police…”
“No, they won’t. It’s over. Roger saw to that. Now you just need to rest, recover from your ordeal. Look, your bath is all ready for you.”
Sure enough, the door to the small ante-room where her bath and toilet were located stood open, and the aroma of her favourite lavender bathing salts teased her nostrils. She realised she was still wearing the awful prison uniform, a shapeless, coarse dress and pinafore, grimy and odorous from her ordeal at the hands of the prison regime. She could not wait to get it off and started to unbutton it.
“I’ll leave you to it.” James got to his feet just as the knock sounded at the door. “That’ll be Trudy, one of the maids, come to help you.”
“I can manage. I haven’t been used to having a lady’s maid for the last couple of years.”
“Then humour me and let someone help you,” he muttered, striding for the door.
He opened it, and the maid entered, her arms full of towels. Clarissa did not recognise the girl.
James stepped aside to allow the smiling servant to pass him, and Mr Thompson appeared. He had been behind the maid. He tried to keep his voice low, but Clarissa’s hearing had always been sharp enough.
The butler cleared his throat, then, “My lord, I took the liberty of using your telephone to summon Doctor Silverly. I thought that—”
“No!” Panic bubbled in Clarissa’s gut. “No doctors. I won’t see a doctor.”
James was back by her side in a moment. “Hey, easy. You remember Doctor Silverly. He treated you when you had the chickenpox. And he set William’s broken arm. He’s a good man and he just wants to help you. We all just want to take care of you.”
“I don’t—”
“I know, but Doctor Silverly is nothing like the doctors at Holloway. Please, let him examine you, just to make sure you’re not injured.”
She clutched at his sleeve. “Will you be here? The whole time?”
“Yes, if you want me to be. No one is going to hurt you.”
She quieted, reassured. She did remember the kindly old family doctor, though she had not had occasion to consult him in years. Her confidence in the medical profession was probably irreparably damaged following her ordeal in prison. Sadists, the lot of them.
“Miss, the bath is just right. If you could allow me to…” Trudy bustled out of the bathroom, no longer carrying her bundle of towels.
“Right, I’ll be downstairs if you need me. I’ll come up with Doctor Silverly when he arrives.” James stood again, slanted her a tight smile, and left to join the butler out in the hallway. He closed the door softly behind him.
For the next hour, Clarissa allowed herself to be undressed then helped into the fragrant water. It covered her right up to her neck and felt heavenly. Clarissa leaned back in the tub and let her thoughts drift as Trudy gently washed her hair then combed the tangles out of it. The girl worked quietly, only speaking when necessary and then in a soft, hushed tone. It was just the respite Clarissa needed after the harsh, strident din of Holloway. She soaked in the aromatic heat, breathing in the sweet scent of lavender with, she fancied, a hint of roses.
The water began to cool. Really, she should get out.
Miss, would you like me to run more hot water? There’s plenty…”
“No. I mean, yes, perhaps…” Clarissa blessed the modern plumbing which the previous viscount had seen fit to install, inspired by the domestic arrangements favoured by the old queen. Victoria had prided herself on encouraging technological and engineering advances so enjoyed the most modern facilities available. Viscount Smallwood had not seen fit to argue with his monarch and followed suit. It saved the army of servants who used to haul buckets of water up the staircase when Clarissa was little. These days, the heated water splashed and gurgled from the bath taps and obligingly disappeared down the plughole when the proceedings were over.
Three times Trudy rewarmed the cooling water, until eventually Clarissa felt ready to emerge. She stood, and Trudy wrapped her in a huge towel, then aided her in stepping from the tub.
“You just go and sit on the bed
, Miss. The fire’s nice and banked up. I’ll just see to things in here then I’ll be through in a moment to help you into a nightgown.”
“Thank you.” Clarissa hugged the towel to her and padded back into her bedroom.
“So, you are back then?” Cousin Victorine’s waspish tone could have cut glass. She advanced on Clarissa from the centre of the room, her features near crimson with rage. “I told him, told James I would not have it. Yet here you are, using my hot water, my linens. Have you no shame, girl, after the disgrace you’ve brought to this house?”
“I don’t… I mean, James—” Caught off guard, Clarissa could only stammer her response.
“I’ll deal with James later. Right now, it’s you I’m talking to. If you think you can just waltz back in here as though nothing’s happened, then you are quite wrong. You are nothing better than a common criminal. I can still smell it on you, the stench of that prison. You are not fit to be among decent people.”
Clarissa fought to gather her wits. She and Victorine had crossed swords often enough in the past, and although the older woman’s constant harping had been a major factor in convincing Clarissa to make her home elsewhere, she was accustomed to responding in like manner.
“How nice to see you, too, Victorine. I trust you are keeping well?” Clarissa injected a note of sarcasm into her words and made her way to the chair closest to the roaring fire. She settled down in it and smiled brightly at her unwanted visitor. “I was just about to get ready for bed, though, so maybe we could save this little reunion for another time?”
“Do not speak to me. And you!” Victorine turned her attention to Trudy, just emerging from the bathroom. “You can get out. There’ll be no pampering for this one. She’s made her choice. She can go back to those women and see if they’ll look after her because there’ll be none of it here.”
“Miss Victorine, I was just about to—”
“Out! Out, now.”
Trudy dropped a quick curtsey and fled for the door.
Her thin lips flattened in satisfaction, Victorine levelled her attention once more upon Clarissa. “You’re not staying at Smallwood, so do not be getting comfortable. This is a decent house, not for the likes of you.”
“James brought me here,” Clarissa replied. “It is up to him to determine if I may stay.”
“James is too soft, too soft by far and apt to have his head turned by a pretty face. You’ll be gone first thing in the morning, do you hear me? Or I’ll have the constable come and take you back where you belong.”
“You can’t do that. I was released; Mr Roundhill has the documents. I can stay here as long as I like, or as long as James permits it.”
“Over my dead body! You will—”
“I am certain that could be arranged, but do not tempt me, Victorine.”
Clarissa and Victorine both swung around at the sound of James’ measured tone. He did not raise his voice. He did not have to. His words were cold, his expression arctic as he shot his half-sister a withering glare. He entered the room, Trudy beside him, clearly agitated. He turned to the servant. “Thank you, Trudy. You were quite right to fetch me. Now, perhaps you would leave us for a few minutes?”
“Yes, my lord. Of course. I’ll be right outside if Miss Clarissa needs me.” She bobbed another curtsey and scurried out again.
James ignored Victorine for the moment and crouched in front of Clarissa. “How was your bath?”
“Lovely, thank you.”
“Excellent. The doctor is downstairs. He’ll come up as soon as you are ready.”
“Doctor? So, we’re wasting good money on doctors now, are we?” Victorine bristled, her hands clasped in front of her chest. “If you ask me—”
“But that’s just it, is it not? No one is asking you. This has nothing at all to do with you, Victorine.”
“I beg to differ. This is my house, my home. I will not—”
“Smallwood is my house. I allow you to make your home here, too, but be under no illusion, Victorine, that could alter in a heartbeat. I have welcomed Clarissa back into my house, and unless you can bring yourself to tolerate that decision and act accordingly, there will not be a place for you here. Do I make myself clear?”
“Do not be ridiculous, James. That little tramp is not about to come back here upsetting the neighbourhood and heaping more shame, more embarrassment down upon us. Someone needs to look out for the family name, and if not you then I shall. We are respected hereabouts, and—”
“I warn you, Victorine. Do not say any more. You will regret it if you do.”
His voice was deceptively quiet, but Victorine seemed unable to heed the warning.
“The girl can stay the night, if she must, but I have told her to be gone first thing and I expect my instructions to be carried out. You will see that I am right.”
Clarissa sat in silence. James, too, said nothing for several moments. He appeared to be collecting his thoughts, perhaps controlling his temper. A muscle ticked in his cheek, betraying the depth of his anger.
Victorine, apparently, did not notice the warning sign. “There. Now we have that settled, I shall—”
“Trudy!” James called for the maid who bobbed back though the door at once.
Clarissa had not the slightest doubt she had been listening intently on the other side.
“Yes, my lord?”
“I need you to find a travel bag and pack some clothes and other belongings. Enough for a journey of perhaps a week.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Are you going somewhere?” Victorine enquired tartly.
“I am not. But you are. Your mother’s cousin is still living in Brighton, I understand. You can go to stay with her until you determine where you are to live on a more permanent basis. I will arrange to have the rest of your things sent on to you.”
“I beg your pardon?” Victorine’s expression was one of utter incredulity.
Clarissa believed she could not have looked more confused had her brother spoken to her in Cantonese.
“You heard. You were warned, Victorine, but you just won’t listen. You never listen, and you never learn. Well, we won’t be putting up with it at Smallwood any longer. You can make other arrangements.”
“But this is my home. I am lady of this house.”
For the first time since the woman had entered her bedroom, Clarissa saw signs of distress as the awful reality of her predicament started to sink in. Victorine’s lower lip quivered. Tears appeared in her gimlet-hard eyes.
“You are my half-sister, nothing more.” James glared at her. “The lady of this house will be my wife, when I choose to marry.”
“You cannot make me leave. I will not…”
“For once, Victorine, you will do as you are told. I refuse to continue in this manner with you carping about my every decision, upsetting the servants and causing deep offense to Clarissa. I asked you to stop. You would not, so I am making it stop. You will leave in the morning, and we can all have some peace. There’s an end to it.”
“But, I…please, you cannot…”
Clarissa got to her feet and laid a gentle hand on James’ arm. “It’s all right, James. She hasn’t offended me, not really. I can just ignore her, as I always have done. Let her stay. This is a big enough house; we can stay out of each other’s way, I’m sure.”
“You should not have to endure her constant harassment. I know what she was like when you lived here before and I’m not about to subject you—or me—to any more of it.”
“It’s only words, James. Cruel and hurtful if we let them be, but I know firsthand that there are much worse things that can happen to me. Your sister is petty and spiteful, jealous and resentful, but those are her problems, not ours. She doesn’t bother me. Let her stay. She’s too old to start afresh anywhere else.”
He hesitated, and Clarissa saw her advantage. “Please. For me. I… I don’t want anyone to lose their home because of me.”
James shook his head in exasperatio
n before glowering at his half-sister again. “Victorine, you just came this close to being out of here.” He brandished his hand, index finger and thumb almost touching, before her face. “You owe it to Clarissa that you are not. But be warned and believe me when I tell you this—any more from you, and I will not be talked around again. Consider this your very last chance.”
“Th-thank you.”
“It’s Clarissa you should be thanking.” He paused for a moment. “No? Then get out. And stay out. You will not enter this room again unless invited to do so by Clarissa.”
Clarissa had never seen her cousin look quite so stunned, quite so bewildered. Victorine slunk from the room without another word to either of them. The door closed behind her.
For long moments, no one spoke. It was Clarissa who broke the silence.
“Thank you for letting her stay.”
He arched a brow at her. “It was your doing. I’d be glad to see the back of the old harridan.”
“I know. Deep down, I think she knows that you are right. She has always known, and that’s what’s at the root of her meanness.”
“Right about what?”
“She only runs this house temporarily, until you marry. But Smallwood is her whole life, she has always lived here and she knows nothing else. It’s all she has, and she’s terrified of losing everything.”
“Then she needs to make it her business to get on well with my future wife.”
“I’m sure she realises that.”
He let out a derisory snort. “Hardly. She has made no attempt so far.”
“What do you mean? Do you have a lady in mind? Do I know her?”
He quirked his lip, and Clarissa’s stomach gave a little jolt. He really was impossibly handsome when he lowered his brows and turned that dark gaze upon her just like that.
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