***
With the address clutched in her hand, Clarissa thanked the matron and hurried from the orphanage. “Call a hackney, Reverend Frank. My shout. I want to get to his lodgings quickly.”
The journey took too long for Clarissa’s peace of mind. She jiggled her legs impatiently, tapping the floor with her booted foot as they drove through a middling sort of neighborhood where the houses were cared for and the streets cleaned, but without any signs of great wealth. Finally, they arrived in front of a row of brown brick terrace houses.
Without waiting for the step to be put down, Clarissa jumped to the pavement from the carriage. Francis paid off the hackney and followed her to the front door of the boarding house. She rapped the knocker loudly.
A short, round woman opened it and greeted her.
This was her chance. “Hello, we’re looking for Captain Richard Harding—a naval man. Does he still reside here?”
The woman folded her arms over her ample bosom and her forehead creased. “I remember him. He did live here a few years ago, but he went to sea again. I haven’t seen him since then.”
Clarissa’s stomach sank. “Would he have returned here when he came home again?”
The woman shook her head. “Not necessarily. He wasn’t a regular. He stayed for a few months only, then went back to Portsmouth to his ship.” She jerked her head to indicate that place to the south.
“How would I find out where he is now?”
“I wouldn’t really know, dearie. Ask the navy nobs. Now, I must get on. Bedmaking to finish before the gents get home.” She stepped back and closed the door.
Disappointment weighed heavily in Clarissa. She turned to Francis. “What do we do now?”
“We can enquire at the naval headquarters at Whitehall. The navy will at least be able to tell us the name of his ship and perhaps an expected return date.” He sent her a reassuring smile.
Francis’s willing assistance cheered her. She still held hope that she would find out more about her father.
The visit to the Admiralty building at Whitehall was not very encouraging. They were asked to wait, while enquiries were made. As she sat on the hard bench trying to still her fidgeting body, her mind filled with questions.
Did he find Aunt Dora and she told him that I was put into an orphanage, but she didn’t know which one? Or did she say that I had died? Or did Dora tell him about the Duke Street Orphanage?
It didn’t matter which scenario was correct, the reality was that Dora had withheld the information about her father fromherand stopped them meeting.The degree of betrayal by the woman she had trusted was enormous. She seethed at Dora’s duplicity.
After waiting for an hour, a naval clerk advised them that Captain Richard Harding indeed served in His Majesty’s Navy, but was presently at sea on board his ship,Siren’s Call.
Excitement bubbled in Clarissa’s veins. “When will he return to England?”
“The ship could dock any time in the next few months or years,” was his unsatisfactory answer.
“Can you not predict a due date any more closely?” she pleaded.
“The sea and duty are the masters of time, not man,” the clerk informed her in a lofty tone.
Clarissa’s heart sank at his blithe answer. She must curb her disappointment. At least she had a name and his ship—more information than she had dreamed of previously.
She smiled over at Francis, the man who had made this revelation possible. Warmth filled her heart. He had proven himself to be a man of his word and completely trustworthy.
That was something to be treasured in this deceitful world, where her aunt had kept information about her father from her. She could only despise the woman now. Never would she trust her or have anything to do with her again.
Although any meeting with her father could be months or even years away, Clarissa hugged the information about him to her chest and smiled at Francis. “Let’s go home, Frank.”
Chapter Nine
Christmas for Francis came and went in a flurry of services and sermons. He didn’t need to worry about Clarissa. For her, Christmas and Boxing Day brought a few days without performances, allowing her to remain safe at home while he was out of doors and busy.
He was thankful for that busyness—it kept him away from the temptation of Clarissa Bartlett. The urge to take her in his arms and kiss her grew with each day.
In the evenings, Francis struggled against his attraction to her as they spent time together. Sitting in front of a roaring fire, snug in his cozy rooms, away from the cold and threatening dark outside world. he helped her memorize her part for her upcoming performance in a new burletta. They laughed over her fluffed lines and about his staid delivery of even the most comic lines.
