Page 55

“Did the solicitor not contact you?”

She shook her head. “I do not know why, but I assume the papers became lost somehow. At any rate, after I turned twenty-one, we both decided that our only chance for a better life would be for me to find the solicitor—in spite of Algernon’s commands. Unfortunately, we had very little money, so I took what I had and left, sending off as many letters as I could afford.”

“Were you not concerned they would send them back to your stepbrother, alerting him of your presence?”

“That is why it is imperative for me to remain near Applebury. I am restricted to finding work near the market town, as the post-office is where I’ve requested each solicitor to return his letters. I have not given my mother any idea as to where I am, though, as surely Algernon would attempt to find me.”

“So you have not been working at Bellthorne for long, then?” Mr. Cole asked next.

“No. My first day was when you saw me washing up in the river.”

“What did you do before then if you’ve been gone from your mother since October?”

Clara winced, recounting her time as a companion, a governess, then a lower house maid. “I was dismissed from all of them within a matter of days.”

“Why?”

“Is it not obvious after you discovered the coal marking upon your bed that first day? I am a terrible servant.”

His lips raised. “You’re not terrible.”

“How does your cravat fare?”

He chuckled. “Ah, but that had been intentional.”

“Precisely why I’m terrible. I cannot humble myself to save my life.” She shook her head. “I’ve simply brushed aside all of my failings, but I’m afraid I cannot now. I’ve received two letters from solicitors, my top choices for them knowing Father, but neither of them had even heard of a Mr. Michael Hatfield. I have the funds to continue sending letters for now, but there will come a time when I have nothing left. That time may come swiftly when I leave Bellthorne at the end of the party and no one gives me further work because Mrs. Wintle despises me.”

“Surely she’s seen your efforts, though. Is there any chance she’d keep you on until you’ve found something else? Or...or perhaps you could explain your predicament to her.”

Clara instantly shook her head. “I’m afraid that is not an option. I cannot risk word getting out that I was once genteel. Society would surely shun Mother for raising such a daughter, and I cannot have her suffer even more than she already has. Furthermore, I already have difficulty finding work due to my status. No one of the upper class wishes for a servant who is too fine she prefers not to empty slops.”

Mr. Cole nodded, his head low. “Might you allow me to help? I can task my own solicitor to look for your father’s.”

Clara shook her head. “Sir, I thank you, but I did not tell you this for your pity.”

“Is it pity for one friend to help another?”

“When the one friend is entirely destitute, I believe it is.”

“Could you not think of it as charity instead?” he pressed.

But Clara was adamant. “Truly, I am grateful for the offer, but I could not live with myself should your solicitor do the work for free—or if you paid him. Now, if you told me what it would cost to cover such efforts so I might pay for them myself...” Mr. Cole winced, and she nodded. “You see? It would be far too costly.”

“But what other options do you have?” he asked gently.

She shrugged. “The workhouse.”

“Surely not.”

“If that is what it comes to, I will gladly pay the price for Mother and me to live out our days in peace—no longer beholden to anyone.”

For that was the real reason she did not wish to accept Mr. Cole’s generous offers. She would feel obligated to return his goodness when she had no way to repay him—and no desire to be in anyone’s debt.

Bellthorne appeared in the distance, and Clara slowed her steps, Mr. Cole doing the same. “At any rate, you now possess the full story. I thank you for listening, but I must be getting back to my duties now.”

“Do you not have the day off? It is boxing day after all.”

She gave a humorous smile. “And who is to light the fires so poorly and change the bedding to write secret messages in coal?”