Chapter 20 Hide and Seek #2
Throat stinging at the memory, Clara allowed John to lead her onto the dance floor. As they got into position, a pompous voice crowed, “John Wagner? The John Wagner? C’mere, you ol’ son of a gun!”
A tall, heavy-set man with a periwig emerged from the throng of partygoers, clearly well in his cups if his ruddy cheeks—not to mention, incredibly loud voice—were any indicator.
A thin, tiny woman with powdered hair, powdered breasts, and a flouncy, elegant gown was practically glued to his side.
Clara appraised them with distaste but was grateful for the interruption.
She’d nearly had to dance with the clotpole.
“…I tell you, those rebels are far more formidable than they let on!”
The petite woman huffed, waving her fan beneath her pointed chin. “Oh, honestly, Isaac, must you always speak of war? We already know the King’s Men shall succeed.”
Isaac’s eyes were glittering with passion. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Lenora,” he snidely said. Turning to Clara, he exclaimed, “You, there! Surely, you can speak some sense into my nubby-headed wife?”
Clara jerked, not expecting the attention. “Oh, I don’t presume to know anything about war,” she said. In her experience, men preferred being humored rather than engaged in debate. “But you’re right, sir…we must stay alert, what with these vile Continentals being absolutely everywhere!”
“Well, this is the United States of North America,” John pointed out. “It’s only natural that it’ll be overrun by Continentals.”
Clara didn’t appreciate his tone but maintained her na?ve expression. “Why, of course, Doctor,” she agreed, “but how can we determine who is friend or foe?”
“Precisely!” Isaac exclaimed, jabbing a finger in her direction. “There, you see, Lenora? While you prattle on about gowns and teacakes, this woman actually sees what’s underneath our very noses!”
Lenora huffed, turning said nose into the air. “Well, I hardly think—”
“Yes, my dear, and that’s precisely your problem! Were you to realize Our Majesty’s forces don’t have nearly as good a handle on things as they’d like us to believe, then perhaps you wouldn’t be so quick to roll your eyes. As Miss, uh…” Isaac pointed to Clara again. “What is your name, dear?”
“Clara Boyd,” John supplied, much to her annoyance.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Isaac said, waving a hand.
“As Miss Boyd said, these rebellious Continentals are everywhere! Fortunately, my nephew is aiding the cause. He reports to the British head of intelligence, himself! But, alas, this whole town’s crawling with those traitorous cowards.
Why, just last week, they pillaged and ransacked Harold Stubbs’s manor, and then drove him out into the street before giving him a sound beating.
We can no longer trust even our neighbors! ”
Clara gasped, her pity genuine. “Oh, the poor man!” she exclaimed. “And you say your nephew reports to the British head of intelligence?”
Brimming with pride, Isaac nodded. “Indeed! Peter’s a useless cur, but he counts where it matters. I daresay it’s his uselessness that makes him such a fine informant, because nobody gives the blithering fool a second glance.”
Clara moved to reply, but Lenora snapped her fan shut with an air of finality. “All this talk of war is putting me in poor spirits,” she complained. Eyes cutting toward John, she asked, “Would you care to dance, Doctor? Someone needs to lead the festivities, so it might as well be us.”
John hesitated. “As honored as I am, Mrs. Richardson, I am afraid I’ve already promised my first dance t—”
“Oh, please don’t refrain on my account!” Clara exclaimed. “We can dance later, Doctor.”
A bit put out, he ultimately bowed in acquiescence, then turned to Lenora. “I would be honored, Mrs. Richardson.”
Accepting his hand, Lenora’s expression grew snide as she told Clara, “Dear Isaac seems most charmed by you, Miss Boyd. Why don’t the two of you share a dance?”
Clara frowned. Lenora’s intentions weren’t entirely clear, but they also weren’t obscure either.
She wanted John alone. She wanted to punish her husband, too, and by God, Clara wished she could thank this woman for the opportunity to get away from Dr. Wagner for a while.
“I’d love to,” she said, feigning joviality.
As Clara took Isaac’s hand, she cursed her thoughts for drifting back to Benjamin with his tired eyes and world-weary smile…
By the time Clara returned to the Hoskin residence, it was well into the late hours of the evening. She was greeted by Josiah, who flashed a pleasant grin while reading by the fire.
“Oh! Good evening, Reverend…” She curtsied. “I wasn’t expecting you to still be awake.”
Josiah chuckled and set aside his book. “You didn’t think I’d retire until I knew you had made it in safely, did you?”
Clara balked at that, startled. Her own parents didn’t concern themselves with her whereabouts, so long as it didn’t ruin their precious reputation, so his kindness was wholly inconceivable to her. “I appreciate your concern…thank you.”
He inclined his head. “How was your evening?”
“Uneventful, truth be told. I found myself eager to return here.” It bothered Clara that this wasn’t a lie. Chewing her lip, she added, “And how is Benjamin? He seemed…distraught, for lack of a better word, and I cannot help but feel partly responsible.”
Josiah sighed. “I got him to eat, if that’s what you’re worried about, but not much else. He kept feigning sleep.”
Clara arched a brow. “But suppose he was asleep?”
“No, he assuredly was not. A father knows these things.” He gestured to the back quarters. “I trust he’s still awake. I doubt he’s hungry, but perhaps he is in need of assistance?”
A sinking feeling formed in the pit of Clara’s stomach, yet she curtsied and turned to oblige.
Heading to Benjamin’s bedroom, she waited a beat, then knocked on his door. “Captain Hoskin? Ben, may I come in?”
Nothing but silence greeted her, so with a pinch of alarm in her chest, Clara twisted the knob and pushed through the entryway.
There, in the far corner was Benjamin, still sitting in his bath chair, but this time with his face freshly soaped while he gathered his shaving utensils from a table.
His broken washbowl and pitcher had recently been replaced.
All at once, their eyes met, and he scoffed.
Nettled by his scorn, Clara frowned and closed the door behind her. She couldn’t believe she’d actually missed him. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked. “Other than your pity party, of course.”
Expression sharp, Benjamin’s gaze raked across her frame with clear contempt. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” he said. “Given your eagerness to leave, I assumed John would’ve taken you to bed by now.”
The room fell deathly silent, hurt and resentment simmering hotly beneath the surface.
“How dare you?” Clara snarled. “Just because I enjoy the company of men, you think you can address me as if I am some cheap, common harlot? Whatever happened to the man who said I wasn’t a trollop?
Who supposedly respected me?” Her chin quivered.
“I don’t care that you’re an invalid; if you ever speak to me that way again, I’ll knock your headrails right down your throat! ”
She didn’t need this kind of abuse. Not from him, too.
Benjamin was quick to lose his sourness, and a look of genuine remorse flooded his face.
“I’m so sorry,” he choked. “I-I didn’t mean…
” Swallowing, he lowered his gaze and nodded to the shaving utensils in his lap.
“I am just upset. I can’t see into the looking glass on the wall, and I am not yet capable of fetching the one from my valise.
” He indicated the bag under his bed. “I know it’s no excuse, but…
I am sorry. I’ve been a total arsehole.”
“Yes,” Clara agreed, “you most certainly have.” Her expression softened.
“However, I’d rather not add to your distress by reciprocating.
” She approached his chair. “I may not know much about shaving, but perhaps I could help?” Catching the leeriness in his expression, she laughed. “What? How hard could it be?”
“Well, you could cut me,” Benjamin pointed out, “and given my comportment, I’m expecting plenty of nicks.”
“Nonsense.” Taking note of the straight razor in his hand, she asked, “Your soap’s already been applied, so what comes next?”
He laughed incredulously. “Though I appreciate the offer, it takes years of practice,” Benjamin said. “If you could just fetch my looking glass, that’s all I’ll need.”
“Hmph, suit yourself,” Clara said. “I wasn’t too keen on shaving you anyway.
” Trying not to smile—why did she feel affection for this noddy?
—she moved over and grabbed his valise. After rummaging through the small bag, she plucked the mirror free and straightened. “Would you like me to hold it for you?”
When she glanced back at him, she noted the way Benjamin’s features warmed, and a painful shyness flooded across his gaze.
“I don’t need you to do that,” he assured her, “but…I would enjoy the company…if you wouldn’t mind?”
Clara smiled. “Truth be told, I think that’s the first thing you’ve said today that I haven’t minded at all.” After grabbing a small cloth, she returned to his side and pulled up a chair, sitting alongside him and lifting the looking glass.
“I’ve never watched a man shave before,” she said. “It seems…intimate, for lack of a better word.”
Benjamin caught her gaze, flushed, and then promptly looked away again. “I’ve never been watched, if it makes you feel any better.”