Mum placed a finger over Clara’s lips. “What-ifs are not acquainted with what-is, and they spread horrid falsehoods about what-will-be, so why bother entertaining them? I’d sooner invite hope into my home—for even when her predictions miss the mark, she makes for pleasant company and eats far less food.”
Hope might be pleasant company, but she didn’t protect against vandals. Clara knelt before Papa. “Make her seereason. We hardly know this person. Traveling with him ... it’s not safe.”
A smile quirked Papa’s whiskers as he cupped a warm hand to her face. “Oh, Clara Marie. The Lord never promised that life would be safe. But Hedidpromise to be with us always. Whatever the harrowing journey of life may bring, rest assured, you shall never be left to face it alone.”
She sank to her haunches. Traveling with the Lord was one thing, but with her Mum and Mr. Arthur? This would be no merry adventure as Grand wished.
This would be a disaster.
CHAPTER
7
“Are ermine prone to seasickness, do you think?” Mum’s question rattled about the dilapidated hackney carriage conveying them to the docks.
Clara massaged her temple and heaved her longest sigh of the day. Quite a feat, that, considering this had no doubt been the longest day in the whole of her three and twenty years.
A spring poking through the seat cushion jabbed her posterior with every jostle. If only Grand hadn’t decided to fly off on a Thursday, they might be riding comfortably in their own carriage right now. Alas, it was the horses’ day off, and Mum flatly refused to harness their beloved team of four. Clara had reasoned that the girls would understand, given the extenuating circumstances, but Mum held firm. If God saw fit to give man a day of rest, then Apple, Cherry, and the other blossoms should enjoy their customary back massages and hoof polishing undisturbed.
“Perhaps I should moderate Fred’s diet our first few daysat sea until his stomach has grown accustomed to the ocean’s undulation. What do you think, ducky?”
This ducky’s opinion doesn’t carry much weight anymore.Swallowing the thought, Clara responded with a very mature shrug of her shoulders, knowing well that Mum couldn’t see her in the night’s darkness. She was too peeved to care about Fred’s diet at present. How could she not be after having been ignored and pish-poshed all evening?
During their rushed travel preparations, Mum had been fixated on giving Mudgett and Mrs. Collins detailed instructions for the care of her menagerie, whilst Papa arranged their passage on one of his mercantile ships scheduled to depart that evening. Both parents had refused to hear—let alone heed—her continued protestations against Mr. Arthur serving as their escort.
Clara bored a glare through the carriage wall that separated them from Mr. Arthur, now seated beside the hackney driver. While her wary nerves wished to convince Mum to maroon him once they set sail, such an attempt would be a futile expenditure of breath. Mum liked the scamp too much. At this point, her energy would be better spent by focusing on what mattered most—keeping Mum safe and bringing Grand home without discovery.
With a bounce, a screech, and a lurch, the hackney gasped to a halt. Clara gripped the wall and seat to keep herself upright. Sailing would feel like a languid stroll through Hyde Park after riding in this cursed contraption. She pressed her fingers to her stomach, trying to convince her body the carriage had in fact ceased moving, but the noxious odor of the Thames seeping through every board did little to aid her efforts.
The door opposite her flew open, revealing a masculine silhouette against a backdrop of moonlight. “Right-oh, Mrs. Stanton.” Mr. Arthur extended a hand. “The SSHeidiawaits her lovely namesake.”
Fred raised his head from his place on Mum’s shoulder with an eager squeak.
Chuckling merrily, Mum took Mr. Arthur’s proffered hand. “I do believe Freddy has taken a fancy to you, Arthur.”
Of course he had, the adorable little traitor. Was Clara the only creature on God’s green earth immune to his charms?
Mum alighted from the carriage with a hop. The displacement of weight set the rickety conveyance to rocking and Clara to falling against her seat’s loose spring. “Ow!”
“Hurry along, ducky. We don’t want to take up this gentleman’s evening. I’m sure he has more fares to transport before the night is through.”
May God have mercy on their souls if they hired this overstuffed pincushion. With a groan, Clara righted herself and staggered out of the carriage, shutting the door none too gently. She paid the driver, begrudgingly, then stood for a moment on the dock and arched her aching back. Just ahead, Mum and Mr. Arthur walked arm in arm toward the ship, following a dockhand carrying their luggage. She drew a steadying breath and grimaced at the less-than-fresh air. If she prayed for patience, would that make this evening better or worse?
Definitely worse.
Much safer to pray for strength to bear her load. She shut her eyes, reveling in the quiet solitude of night and the sensation of steady ground beneath her feet.Whatever the journey ahead brings, keep a stiff upper lip, Clara Marie. For Mum’s and Grand’s sakes. You cannot afford to let them down thistime. The stakes are too high. The danger too great.
“Good evening, darling.”
Clara’s eyes flashed open. A yellow waistcoat, blindingly garish even in the darkness, turned her stomach to stone. How did Mr. Forrester know to find her here? Was he still “watching out for her,” as he put it? She clenched her jaw. Itdidn’t matter. She refused to be frightened or intimidated. Steeling herself from head to toe, she marched toward the SSHeidi.
Mr. Forrester darted into her path. “Clara, please. I know our last encounter was less than pleasant, but are you not even going to bid me farewell?” With a glance over his shoulder, he removed his bowler hat, clutching the brim in his hands as he faced her again. The moonlight revealed a black eye and split lip.
Clara winced. “Who did that to you?”
A change came over Mr. Forrester’s countenance. An expression—half fear, half agony—that displaced his tailored mantle of suave self-assurance and revealed tattered remnants of the young boy she oncethoughtshe knew. Thought she loved. “I told you, my dear, creditors have no patience or scruples.” As quick as it came, the look was gone.
He donned his hat, obscuring his eyes in shadow. “That doesn’t matter now. All that matters is I’ve caught you in time.”
