Chapter 17 - Claire #2
“Oh, Richard’s so busy. Richard’s doing his best.” Beatrice affected an idiotic voice while opening and closing her hand like it was talking in time with her words. “I’m sure he’d be here if he could. What rubbish.”
She frowned. “I said those things for the sake of our younger sisters—”
“Precisely,” Beatrice hissed, leaning over and jabbing her finger sharply into Claire’s shoulder.
“Ouch.” Claire rubbed at the spot and scowled.
“I’m not one of our younger sisters. I could have been trusted with the truth.”
“As the eldest—” Claire began.
“Does your conceit know no bounds?” Beatrice looked heavenward, flailing her fingers. “Oh, if I don’t take care of things, nothing will get done. And all my sisters are too stupid to help. Is that it?”
“Was that supposed to be me?” Claire drew her chin back, aghast. She didn’t sound like that—did she?
“And furthermore,” Beatrice said, ignoring the question, “you expected me to believe that Lily went off to stay with Great Aunt Lucinda? And when we received a letter halfway through Lily’s absence that Great Aunt Lucinda had died, you expected me to believe that Lily was packing up her house for the next three months like a common laborer? As if that old bat didn’t have maids.”
Claire didn’t have a good answer for that, so she pressed her lips together.
“Well?” Beatrice slapped the letter against her skirts, her eyebrows raised. She was breathing hard, as if venting her anger had been a great exertion.
“Well what?”
Claire frankly didn’t know which one of Beatrice’s accusations to deal with first. Her mind was ringing with them—it hardly helped that her sister had delivered them all one after another, at volume.
Beatrice huffed, her eyes wide. “Are you finally going to tell me the truth of where she actually was?”
“It’s not my secret to tell. You should ask Lily.” On that point, Claire wouldn’t budge. That rather shocking saga was Lily’s, and Lily’s alone. Claire had given her word—both to Lily and William—that she’d never repeat the particulars again.
Beatrice exhaled forcefully through her nostrils; Claire was surprised no smoke came out.
“Like I said in the letter, I’m not angry with you,” Claire said quickly, trying to remedy the situation. “Not anymore. I understand why you forgave Richard.”
“Is that what you think?” Beatrice reared back. “I wouldn’t acknowledge that blackguard if I met him on the street this very day. Why on earth would you think I forgave him?”
“Because it seemed… Back then, you mentioned him coming home, several times.”
“Of course I did. It might have saved the money he was spending on rent, for one thing. But mostly, I didn’t want you to have to deal with his mess alone.”
“What?” Claire’s nose scrunched.
“If he’d been home, it would have been he who had to send the staff away, he who had to deal with the collectors.” Beatrice scowled, searching Claire’s face. “I didn’t want him there for any reason past that.”
Claire shook her head. “I thought—”
“You thought wrong. Which is an excellent lesson for you. I daresay you hardly ever think you’ve been wrong about anything,” she huffed.
“Perhaps that’s true.”
It was certainly hard to imagine how Claire had gotten this issue so backwards. At the time—well, until Beatrice had busted into her bedroom, bellowing—Claire had thought her beliefs about Beatrice to be completely true.
What else have you gotten wrong? a small voice within her whispered.
“Besides, I can forgive you for lying for Lily, but to lie for Richard?” Beatrice shrieked the last word, startling both of them for a moment. Beatrice blinked and continued in a more normal tone, “It felt as if you cared more for protecting him than you did for me.”
“You said he must have stayed away because he was frightened—”
“As well he should have been,” Beatrice snapped, her eyes flashing. “I would have torn what little hair he had left out by the roots for what he did. I still maintain he stayed away because he was frightened. Frightened of us. Of the judgement we would have heaped upon him.”
“I thought you were excusing him,” Claire said in a voice that sounded small even to her own ears.
“You never spoke to me.” Beatrice gestured lamely with the letter; Claire was grateful it seemed her explosive anger seemed to be burning itself out. “You left me out, treated me like one of our younger sisters. I didn’t need your protection.”
“Perhaps I was mistaken in that, but I was doing my best,” Claire finally said, still blinking away the shock of the ferocity of her sister’s outburst.
“I could have helped you. I understand not asking Lily and even Margaret, and certainly not the rest. But me? I could have helped. I did help. Who do you think secured all of Mother’s jewelry? Who do you think took the silver service down to the pawnbroker’s and got a fair price for it?”
Claire reared back. “You stole the silver?”
“I wouldn’t call it stealing.” Beatrice looked vaguely insulted. “It was as much mine as anybody’s at that point.”
“I thought the servants took it!”
Beatrice gave a little puff of disgust and flopped onto the sofa next to Claire. “I got to it well before they left.”
“What did you do with the funds?”
Claire was more than a little relieved to see that the worst of her sister’s wrath had passed.
She was also exceedingly curious to hear of her sister’s exploits.
It had never occurred to her that she might have asked one of the others for help with such distasteful things—it was a surprise to realize that Beatrice had secrets of her own.
“I paid off that dreadful Mr. Jensen. I didn’t want him coming around the house anymore. I didn’t like the way he looked at Lily or Charlotte.”
“You didn’t.” Claire’s mouth gaped as she leaned forward.
“You needn’t look so shocked.” Beatrice frowned. “You see? You’re still astonished anyone but you could accomplish something.”
“It’s not that.” Claire shook her head. “It’s only that I paid him, too.”
“That bastard,” Beatrice hissed.
Claire was too distracted by her own fury to correct her sister’s language. It had been no small sum, and to think that the blackguard let them pay the debt twice, when they were in dire straits and needed the money…
“Well,” Claire finally said, jutting her chin. “We are no longer without protection. I think our brother might need to go have a word with Mr. Jensen.”
Beatrice chewed her bottom lip, her eyes narrowed. “Do you think he’d let us come along and watch?”