Chapter 1 #2
When they’d first met, she’d been a starry-eyed dreamer of twelve, and he’d been a furrow-browed planner of fifteen.
Spending their time tucked away in the library with a stack of travel guides, an open map, and voracious wanderlust. Growing, planning, and dreaming together.
Little Atlas and Buccaneer Bill off to tour the world .
. . until they weren’t. Until she’d discovered his duplicitous reasons for matrimony.
Until she had given up the ring and any desire for adventure.
Pollutants in London’s atmosphere triggered a fine, stinging mist in Clara’s eyes. “If I attend a ballet with Papa’s escort, may we call a truce?”
“Very well.” Mum gave Clara’s arm a tender pat. “I probably ought to return home in any case. In my haste this morning, I neglected to give Cook instructions regarding tonight’s dinner party.”
Clara’s heart tilted on its axis. Society had been turned against them—spies had been sent amongst them—and Mum wished to host a dinner party? “W-with humans?” Please let the guests consist of feathered friends.
“Only a few of your father’s business associates. And some neighbors. And a couple ladies from my whist consortium. And a couple more from the Charitable Ladies League. I invited Emily and Bridgette, but they’ve yet to send a response, so I don’t know whether to expect them.”
Of course, her would-have-been bridesmaids hadn’t bothered to reply.
Like the rest of her friends, they’d severed all ties once the rumors began and the scandal broke, lest they become tainted by association.
Just last week, on her way to Grand’s shop, Emily and Bridgette had spotted her and promptly crossed to the other side of the street in a choreographed cut, as if they’d never known her and didn’t wish to suffer the misfortune.
Only kindhearted Mum would take such a slight to be accidental and invite them to dinner in good faith.
“If the girls don’t pop by, we should only have sixteen guests, all told.”
A vein in Clara’s temple twitched. Sixteen people in the house, and any number of them might well be informants for Mr. Forrester. Lured by his coin. Armed by his spite. Dispatched by his command to scour their home for the leverage he sought to validate his claims and cement his revenge.
“How can you welcome outsiders into the house after all that transpired? After what happened just yesterday? Your room is still in shambles.” Drawers overturned.
Chair cushions sliced. At least this latest spy, a chimney sweep who’d charmed Mum into giving him work, had been decent enough to look shamefaced when caught and confess by whom he’d been paid—a dapper bloke by the name of Forrester.
A revelation that confirmed her mounting suspicions and worst fears.
Mum gave Clara’s cheek a gentle pat meant to reassure. “Things can be replaced, and the room can be set to rights soon enough. No real harm was done.”
But the potential for harm was all too real. She shuddered to think how differently things might have ended yesterday. “What if that man had taken his knife to you or Papa instead of the furnishings?”
“The man was a dishonest and destructive thief, I admit, but I can’t believe he’d have gone so far as to hurt anyone. People with dimples are rarely given to violence.”
Oh, Mum. How could she still be so na?ve? “Call off the dinner party, please. Inviting people into the house poses too great a risk. As long as Mr. Forrester persists in his search, we should operate under the assumption that all outsiders are spies and we can trust no one.”
“Fiddle-faddle and twaddle. What did your Granny always say? ‘Don’t let the bite of one grass snake . . .’”
“‘. . . prevent you from enjoying the garden.’”
“That’s right, and my mama was the smartest woman to grace God’s good earth.”
Blinking away a sudden blur of tears, Clara nodded, conceding that irrefutable point. If only the serpent who’d bitten them had been a harmless grass snake rather than a venomous adder.
“There now, that’s settled. We shall have our party, and a marvelous time shall be had by all.
Dinner, laughter, good conversation. Perhaps an impromptu dance or two.
It will be splendid, won’t it, Fred?” Mum leaned an ear to the ermine’s snout and nodded.
“Fred concurs. Now let’s be off before those horrible French fashions change my mind. ”
Clara hastened to match Mum’s gait, twitching temple now a pounding migraine in the making.
Somehow, she must prevent this dinner party from ending in disaster.
Somehow, she must corral Mum’s menagerie of rescued animals, make the house appear as normal as possible, and keep a wary eye on their sixteen guests.
If she spotted any evidence of a wolf in sheep’s clothing—so much as one wolf hair on a guest’s woolen coat—out the door they’d go!
She refused to lower her guard and let her family be put in greater peril because of her misplaced trust.
She set her jaw. By might and main, this day would not end with the remaining pieces of her heart being carted off to a madhouse and locked away forever. She’d already lost two people she loved to the horrors of an asylum.
She’d not lose another.
Years ago, she’d been too young and powerless to save her family from that pain. Now she had the advantage of years and wisdom. She was a strong, independent woman, after all. She could take care of her own. On her own.
Clara pulled back her knotted shoulders. Of course she could. For she would not let down her family and her God a second time.
Now. Wherever was she to hide the infernal talking parrot?