Page 12 of Bella Darcy is on the Run

"What the devil are you doing, you harpy?!"

"Something I learnt in Bristol," Clara said pleasantly, releasing him. "Works better if they've been drinkin' and in that case I am most obliged to you." She gave a mocking curtsey as the man clutched his hand to his chest.

Despite the unpleasant pounding of her heart, Bella almost laughed. She had no difficulty imagining Clara perfecting the manoeuvre during her years at the singular establishment she had described in the coach.

The commotion had finally attracted the attention of Mr Clegg, who appeared in the doorway from the bar, wiping his hands on his now even more filthy apron. He surveyed the scene, taking in Bella standing beside the table, Clara looking pleased with herself and the gentleman nursing his hand with an expression of injured outrage.

"For God's sake, Hargreaves," he said wearily. "Up to your old tricks again?"

"I was doing nothing of the sort. This little demon attacked me."

"You had hold of my mistress," Clara said indignantly. "And I ain’t no demon. You sound like Father McGonagal and he always was prone to over-eggin’ the puddin’."

Mr Clegg looked at the gentleman, who did not answer, then at Bella. His expression suggested that this was all a great inconvenience to him. "Hargreaves, leave the ladies be. You've been warned before."

Bella expected that to be the end of it, but Mr Clegg turned his attention to her and frowned. "And you, miss, if you're determined to wander about the country without father, husband or proper escort, you'd do well to show a little more caution about who you fall into conversation with. Not every gentleman who smiles at you means well."

Bella could scarcely believe her ears. "I did not invite him to my table. I repeatedly asked him to leave, and he took hold of me when I attempted to do so myself."

"Aye, well, I'm only saying you need to take care."

"And I am only saying that perhaps you ought to direct your advice towards the man who has apparently been warned about his reprehensible behaviour before rather than the woman he saw fit to accost."

For a moment Mr Clegg simply stared at her. From somewhere near the fire came a poorly concealed snort of laughter, and Bella had the satisfaction of seeing his meaty face deepen several shades towards purple.

"Come, Clara," she said, gathering what remained of her dignity along with her reticule. "I find I have quite lost my appetite."

"Shame," Clara muttered as she followed. "Puddin' looked decent."

✽✽✽

Bella followed Clara up the dark staircase mindless of her surroundings, her thoughts overwhelmed by how close she had come to harm. This was her first night away from Pemberley and she had already come close to injury or abduction. How could she expect to continue on safely? What if she was not putting only herself but also Clara in danger? She could send an express and be home within twenty-four hours. But the thought of failing in her trip when she had only just begun felt almost as worrisome as the dangers she faced.

Once inside their chamber, Clara locked the door and immediately began dragging the single wooden chair across the floor. It was old and heavy and made an ear-splitting screeching sound as she pulled it over the uneven floorboards.

"What are you doing?"

"Makin’ sure we are undisturbed."

Bella looked at the chair, then towards the door. "You surely do not think he will follow us upstairs."

"No, miss. Probably not." Clara shoved the chair firmly beneath the handle before straightening. "But no sense finding out."

Bella sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her wrist again. She thought back over the conversation in the dining room and felt a fresh wave of annoyance, this time directed at herself. Was she such a green girl? The princess who had come down from the tower and could not do anything unaided. "I thought he was being helpful."

Clara began pulling pins from her hair. "He were askin' too many questions."

"People ask questions all the time. How am I to know who has nefarious intentions and who does not?"

"But he weren't much interested in where you were going. He wanted to know who was waitin' for you. Wanted to know if there was a man somewhere who'd come lookin' if you didn't turn up."

For several moments she sat quietly, listening to the muffled sounds of the inn below. At Pemberley there was always someone who knew where she was. A maid, a groom, her sisters or one of her parents. She had spent years chafing against that attention and imagining how wonderful it would feel to go somewhere nobody knew who she was. Nobody in Birmingham knew who she was. Nobody knew where she ought to be, or who would worry if she did not arrive at her destination. The freedom she had imagined so many times felt less attractive from the edge of a thin mattress in a dirty room with a chair wedged beneath the door.

Clara stood beside her as Bella sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over to remove the pins from her hair. Bella had dressed it herself that morning in a far simpler style than Marie would ever have permitted, and after a full day in the coach most of the curls had already begun to loosen. There was no dressing table, only the chipped washstand beneath the window, so Clara worked carefully where Bella sat, easing free the remaining pins one by one. Bella felt another uncomfortable twist of guilt. It was one thing to place herself in danger through foolishness or lack of experience. It was quite another to drag Clara into it when the girl did not even know the truth of their situation.

"Clara," she said slowly, "I have not been entirely honest with you."

Clara's hands stilled briefly in her hair, though she did not look a bit surprised. "I thought as much, miss," she said in a level tone as she began to run a brush through Bella’s long tresses.