“Know her? You are her. I’ve been waiting half my life for you, Clarissa. You will be the next Viscountess Smallwood.”
Chapter 3
What on earth possessed me to blurt it out like that?
James stood at the foot of Clarissa’s bed, arms folded, his features arranged in as calm a manner as he could achieve. Doctor Silverly was seated on a chair which he had pulled up close to the side of the bed, and Clarissa sat propped up by pillows. She was wearing the soft cotton nightdress which the maid, Trudy, had found somewhere, and her hair was neatly combed over her shoulders. Almost dry now, it fell in soft, brown waves the colour of acorns, almost to her waist. She looked more like the Clarissa he remembered, though they had a way to go yet.
Her hazel eyes regarded the doctor with a lingering suspicion, and her knees were drawn up against her chest, but she was much calmer than when the elderly medic had first entered.
“You say you have no pain anywhere, is that right?”
“Yes,” Clarissa muttered.
“Yet your cousin tells me that your mouth had been bleeding when first he saw you.”
“It was nothing. I bit my lip.”
“May I see?”
“It’s nothing, I told you.”
“I have not personally witnessed force-feeding, and I pray I never do. But I have read about it and I cannot start to imagine how terrifying the ordeal must be. Please be assured, I would never do such a thing. I will not touch you at all if you do not give your permission, but you really should let me see if your mouth is injured.”
Clarissa shook her head.
“Please. I swear I will not hurt you.”
“Clarissa, you asked me to be here, and I am. Trudy, too. We will not allow any harm to come to you, but it would make all of us feel better if the doctor could examine you. It will be over very quickly…” James added his attempts at persuasion.
“Yes, miss. And I could hold your hand if you like.” Trudy offered a reassuring smile. “If you so much as squeak, he’ll stop. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”
“Er, yes. Yes, that’s right,” the doctor obligingly agreed.
Clarissa looked from one to the other of them. “Just looking, nothing else.”
“Just looking.” Doctor Silverly turned to James. “Could you hold that lamp closer, please? I need some light…”
James picked up a small oil lamp and positioned it to cast its beam across Clarissa’s face.
She slowly opened her mouth.
“Miss Bellamy, if you could just pull your lip down, on the right side, please?” The doctor peered into her mouth, frowning. “Ah, yes. Thank you. Now the other side… Can you open a little wider? And stick out your tongue?”
Clarissa obeyed.
The doctor nodded and sat back. “Thank you. That’s fine. I can see that you have a laceration on your gum and a broken tooth towards the back. I assume that was not the case prior to your incarceration?”
“No, it wasn’t,” Clarissa confirmed.
“I suspect the injury to have been caused by the forcible insertion of the feeding tube. I can see nothing more ominous, but of course, the possibility of internal injuries is not to be discounted. However, you report no other discomfort, and your colour is good, which suggests you are not bleeding internally. Would you permit me to listen to your breathing and your heartbeat?”
James was relieved when Clarissa inclined her head. She was clearly reassured by the doctor’s gentle manner.
Doctor Silverly completed his examination swiftly, managing to take Clarissa’s pulse as well.
“The last instance of force-feeding was yesterday, you say?”
“Yes.”
“I would have expected to see signs by now had more damage been done. I fear you may lose that tooth, but the gum will heal. The experience has been traumatic, so the emotional scars may be harder to recover from. Time and the comfort of your family will be your greatest allies there. I recommend rest and soft foods for the next few days. I can leave some medicine to help you to sleep if you need it.”
“I don’t think—”
“Thank you, Doctor.” James bowed his head to the older man. “Thank you for coming so quickly, and for being so understanding. Please leave the medication with Mr Thompson, who will see to your bill also.”
“Feel free to call me again if there is any change or you are concerned. For now, I shall wish you a good night, Miss Bellamy. And remember what I said—plenty of rest.”
She managed a wan smile as the old doctor collected his things and bustled from the room.
Trudy plumped the pillows. “Is there anything you want, miss? You haven’t eaten since…well, since you know what.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Perhaps a tray of tea and some soup,” James suggested. “Trudy, could you go to the kitchens and see what you can find?”
“Yes, my lord. I’m sure Mrs Crabbe will have something suitable.”
James rather thought so, too. His longtime cook and housekeeper would be well aware of Clarissa’s return and had probably prepared the tray already. The maid hurried off in search of refreshments for his guest.
As soon as they were alone, Clarissa fixed him with her level, hazel gaze.
“What did you mean by that? What you said earlier.”
James made no pretence of not understanding. The elephant in the room was positively trumpeting. “I meant what I said. I mean to marry you. I think I have always meant to marry you, but recent events have brought matters to a head.”
“Why? And more to the point, why have you never said anything before now?”
“Why? Because you are perfect. I have always thought so. And I never spoke of it because you were too young. I was waiting for you to grow up.”
“I have been grown up for years.”
“Hardly. You are barely twenty-one.”
“I will be twenty-three next June.”
He shrugged. “Really? How time does get away from us. And I was always busy, first with my military career, and more recently with business.”
“You never took any notice of me, not when I was a small child growing up here, or later.”
“I was nineteen years old when you arrived, an orphan aged five, to be my father’s ward after the death of your parents. Naturally I took no notice of you. And in any case, I was away serving with my regiment most of the time. I always brought you a present, though, when I came home. That doll, from France, and a trinket box from Italy.”
“I loved your presents, but I never thought… I mean, you never said anything.”
“Of course I did not. You were a child. Then things became more awkward when my father died, and I inherited the title along with you, his ward. You were still only fifteen, and I was your guardian, responsible for you.”
“I thought you found me a nuisance.”
“I did not. I took my responsibilities very seriously, even seeing off that bastard Rigby when he came sniffing about.”
She shuddered. “I was so grateful to you for that.”
“My motives were not entirely unselfish. I was relieved that you had no liking for him, though. My big regret now is that I ever gave permission for you to go as companion to Mrs Marchmont. I was aware that you and Victorine did not get on and not surprised that you wanted to reside elsewhere, but I should not have let you leave Smallwood. I assumed it would be temporary, just until I was back and in permanent residence.”
“I thought you had no interest in me.”
“Hardly. You went to live in Mrs Marchmont’s London town house, and I believed you to be safe. I did not know of Mrs Marchmont’s sympathies with the cause of women’s suffrage. I assume it was she who introduced you to Mrs Pankhurst.”
Clarissa nodded. “I would accompany her to the meetings and soon became committed to the cause myself. When Marion—Mrs Marchmont—was imprisoned for throwing paint at Mr Asquith outside the House of Commons, I moved into an apartment with another supporter
of the Women’s Social and Political Union.”
“She threw paint at the prime minister? Good God!”
“He deserved it. They will not listen unless we do enough to force them to. Deeds, not words, Mrs Pankhurst says.”
“I knew nothing of this, any of it, though I gather Victorine did. She did not see fit to enlighten me regarding the company you were keeping, or your changed circumstances. I understand that you had been in prison before.”
“Yes, just for a week. It was last year, and I did not go on hunger strike that time.”
He offered up thanks for the smallest of mercies.
“I was remiss. I should have kept a closer eye on you. I should have taken care of you.”
“Why, when I was no longer your ward? I came of age and was no longer your responsibility. I do not need anyone to take care of me.”
James swore under his breath. “Clearly you do, and it had nothing to do with responsibility or duty or how old you were. It was my intention to marry you, and there you were, throwing petrol bombs and brawling with policemen, and I knew nothing of it. I can’t believe I let matters get so out of hand. Had Victorine, in her spite, not informed me of your more recent incarceration, you would have still been in Holloway enduring God only knows what torture. I shall never forgive myself…”
He paced the room, agonising over what might have been. What had so very nearly been.
Clarissa tilted up her chin. He recognised that stubborn glint in her eyes, had seen it often enough over the years.
“I made my choices. I was entitled to do so. Even if you had known, you could not have stopped me. I believe passionately in the cause of women’s suffrage and I shall continue to fight for it. Mrs Pankhurst says that—”
“You will not!” He turned on her, advancing towards the bed. “I have heard enough of what Mrs Pankhurst has to say. It is over. Ended.”
“What are you talking about? What is over?”
“Your involvement in this movement. You might have been killed, if not in prison then in the course of your activities. Arson is a dangerous business.”
“You have no right—”
“I have every right. I love you.”
“You…what?”
“I love you, and I cannot stand by and watch you put yourself in danger. Nor can I let others hurt you, though at this moment it would not take much provocation to have me turn you over my knee.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” She knelt up in the bed, glaring at him as though he were some lower form of life she had discovered beneath her shoe. “First you announce, out of the blue, that you intend to marry me. You don’t ask what I want, you just tell me what you mean to do. Then you presume to start ordering my life for me, and now you threaten to spank me.”
“Clarissa, I know I’ve not handled this especially well, but—”
“I want you to leave.”
“What?”
“This is my room. I want you to go. I’m tired.”
“You haven’t eaten yet.”
“I don’t care. Just go. I want to sleep now.”
James drew in a long, ragged breath. He was calmer now, ready to be more rational. “Very well. I’ll let you get some sleep, but this is not over. We will talk again, in the morning.”
“You can talk all you like, James Smallwood. But know this. I would not marry you if you were the last man on earth.”
The next morning saw James breakfasting alone. Victorine was clearly giving him a wide berth, for which he was grateful, and Clarissa, he was informed by Trudy, was still asleep.
“Have the kitchen send up a tray, if you would, please. And let me know when she does awaken.” He picked up his rapidly cooling cup of coffee and stalked off to his office.
By eleven o’clock, there was still no word from Clarissa. James decided to seek her out. He had allowed his sentiments to get the better of him yesterday and had said more than he should have. He had bridges to rebuild.
He hesitated at the door to her room.
Maybe she needs a bit longer. Another hour or two would not hurt…
The sound of low voices from within spurred him to set aside his prevarications. He knocked on the door and waited impatiently to be called to enter.
The door opened, and Trudy peered out. “Oh, my lord, it’s you. Miss Bellamy is not yet dressed.”
“I see. Is she decent?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“In that case I will come in.”
“My lord, if you could just give us a few minutes…?”
“I will speak to Miss Bellamy now. Alone.” He had waited long enough in the hallway of his own bloody house. James tipped a curt bow to the maid and stepped around her. “Please leave us. I will summon you when Miss Bellamy has need of your services again.”
His tone left no room for argument, and Trudy knew who paid her wages. The servant bobbed smartly and scampered off.
Clarissa was seated at the dressing table, still in her nightgown but managing to tuck in to a bowl of porridge. It pleased James to see that her appetite was back, though the flash of temper in her eyes was less welcome.
“What do you want?” she demanded without preamble.
“To talk, that is all.”
She retorted with a sound he could best describe as a snort, though she somehow contrived to inject a considerable amount of venom into it.
“I want to apologise,” he began. “If I seemed a little overbearing yesterday…”
“A little? You did indeed seem overbearing. You haven’t yet mentioned that you were also insufferably arrogant. And a bully.”
“Arrogance is one of my faults, I can accept that. I had no intention of bullying you, though, and if it seemed that I did—”
She rounded on him, her porridge forgotten. “How dare you presume to tell me what I may and may not do? And on top of that, you ridicule my friends, people who I deeply respect, and make light of a cause very close to my heart. Were it not for the danger of affording Victorine a level of satisfaction she does not deserve, I would have already left your house. Certainly, I shall not stay to be treated in this manner.”
His heart sank. James knew he had made a mess of everything but hadn’t realised it was this bad.
“You cannot leave. You are not nearly well enough. The doctor said—”
“I have other friends. I shall send word and make arrangements to stay with one of them. If I could have the use of your car and William for the journey back to London, I would be grateful, but if not, I shall manage.”
He raked his hands through his hair. “Of course you can use the bloody car. Anytime. But please, don’t go back.”
“I’ve made up my mind. I am a member of the Women’s Social and Political Union, and we have a battle to fight. I shall not let my sisters down, whatever you may think of our struggle or our methods.”
“I understand that. Truly, I do. I spent the best part of fifteen years in the military so I understand about loyalty and about seeing a campaign through to the end. If you’d bothered to ask me, I would tell you that I actually support your cause. I think you are right. I may not condone violence and criminal damage, but I do believe that women are entitled to vote. But whatever you might think, sacrificing yourself will not get you what you want. Martyrs do not win wars. Strategists win wars, and they do so by playing to their strengths.”
She glared at him, eyes narrowed. “Whatever are you talking about, James?”
At last, he had her attention. and for once she was not yelling at him.
“What did you most enjoy doing when you were younger?”
“Excuse me?”
He continued as though she had not spoken. “Every time I saw you, as I recall, you would have your nose in a book. You were always reading, or more often writing. You wrote letters to anyone and everyone and sent off articles to various publications. Your piece on the merits of literacy among girls of the working classes was especially well-received.”
“I did. I know also that you had a keen interest in politics and used to write to Mr Wigglesworth almost weekly suggesting some change or other to the law.”
“He was a singularly poor Member of Parliament. He hardly ever replied, and my ideas were good.”
“I don’t doubt it. As well as setting fire to property and picking fights with the constabulary, have you written much about women’s suffrage? Had anything published, even?”
“Not recently. I did do a couple of short articles which were published in Votes for Women.”
“The suffragettes’ own newspaper. Is that not preaching to the choir somewhat? How much more effective would it be to be able to put articles in mainstream publications? National newspapers? Magazines which are read by the middle classes, businessmen, influential people who might be persuaded over to your cause by the power of your arguments rather than the threat of violence?”
“Both are needed if we are to succeed.”
Despite his horror at the antics she had become embroiled in, and his innate abhorrence of violent disorder, privately James had to agree. If the establishment was taking notice, it was because the women’s movement had grabbed their attention through their unlawful exploits. But that did not detract from his point, that there was room for another approach alongside.
“Listen to me, Clarissa. There is much public sympathy for your cause, among women, certainly, but a great many men also. But law-abiding people are confused by your tactics, they don’t understand why you break the law as you do. You can help to explain, to make them understand and rally to support you. Asquith and his ilk must eventually bow to public opinion. We could start by exposing the full horror and degradation of force-feeding in our jails. Few right-minded people would support that, so the more who know it’s happening, the faster it will be stopped.”
She regarded him with a mix of interest and suspicion. “What do you mean, we? Who is this we?”
“You and me. You can write the articles, from your own experiences or those of others you know, and I will ensure they reach a wide audience. You can be sure of space in The Citizen, but I also have influence with other publishers. We could reach the national newspapers, but not with sensational stories of vandalism and public disorder which vilify the Women’s Union and denigrate the cause. We could make sure the truth is told and the iniquity of our current system laid bare. Then the politicians will have to take notice.”
Once Upon a Christmas Wedding Page 217