In a fresh gown, Clara settled before the dressing table, allowing Radcliff to pin up what hair remained on her head, tucking the rest into a simple cloth cap. She had taken the scissors to it in a fit of pique not long after they arrived, when Honora had once again berated her for her unkempt appearance. She now let it loose when riding, but the shorter length made it easier to keep covered in the house.
One of the few decisions in the last three months she had not regretted.
Honora waited on a settee in one of the smaller sitting rooms, a cozy abode warmed by a fire in the grate. A tea tray sat on a low table in front of her. She laid aside her book and gestured for Clara to sit opposite. She began to make the tea, barely glancing at Clara.
The weeks had not been kind to Honora. She had lost weight, and her skin sagged under her chin. Her complexion was sallow and gray, and her eyes were perpetually swollen. Clara knew she had resorted to laudanum again in order to sleep. The whole household had become aware of her nightmares, and her voice retained a hoarseness Clara had never heard before.
But she dared not ask about Honora’s health.
“You wanted to see me.”
Honora nodded and added milk to one cup, which she handed to Clara. “I have made inquiries.”
Clara paused before sipping. “Oh?”
Honora leaned back, wrapping both hands around her cup, as if clinging to its warmth. “I have a cousin. In Glasgow. He owns several businesses. I have not seen him or his wife in years, but they seem quite respectable.”
“I see.”
“I wrote to ask if he could find you a position.”
“In Scotland.”
“It is somewhat better than Newgate Prison.”
“Indeed. And?”
“He has replied yes. He owns a bookshop that is in need of a new clerk. There are rooms over the shop that have been used for storage, but he could make them available to you for living quarters. Your brother has agreed to give you one hundred pounds in order to travel and get everything set up.”
“Very generous.”
Honora slammed the cup down on the tray so hard the saucer shattered. Tea splashed over the tray as she screamed, “It is generous, you ungrateful cow!”
Clara stared at her mother, horrified. “I know it is! I was serious!”
Honora pressed both hands over her face. “I know. I know!” She twisted, shoving her face against the back of the settee as sobs racked her shoulders. Her wail was heartbreaking. “I have lost Jerome. I have lost you! My own son hates me! I do not know how we got here!”
Clara set down her cup and went to her mother, in a way she never had. She pulled Honora to her, just as Michael had done for her when she wept. She pressed Honora’s head against her shoulder and held her, rocking gently. “I miss Papa, too,” she whispered. “Every day. He was our anchor. Our captain.”
Honora nodded, and Clara held her until the sobs eased. As Honora slipped from her arms, Clara pulled a serviette off the tea tray and handed it to her mother. Honora looked at it, then at Clara. “This is not a handkerchief.”
Clara shrugged. “Any port in a storm.”
Honora looked at the serviette again, then snagged it, wiped her eyes, and blew her nose, as quiet and polite a sound Clara had ever heard.
“You sound ladylike even blowing your nose.”
Honora straightened her shoulders. “There is never a need to be impolite.” Then she giggled.
Clara’s eyes shot wide. “I have never in my life heard you giggle.”
“You have never hugged me either. Not like that.”
Clara reached for her tea. “Perhaps I should do so more often.”
“Perhaps. Will you go to Glasgow?”
Clara nodded. “First, let us get you moved into the dowager house. Then I will go to Glasgow.”
