The next morning Clarissa rises early and dresses to say a sorrowful farewell to Catherine and Victor. The Lenoir family, including Celeste and her boys, all gather outside the house to wave goodbye. The footmen are taking all the luggage from the house and storing and securing it on the top of the carriage that is about to take Victor and Catherine to Dover. The sun peaks through the light cloud in the early morning and birds twitter to themselves in the nearby trees. Clarissa's pocket watch hangs around her neck, tucked into the neckline of her cream and lavender patterned dress, the face shows that it is ten to 8.
Catherine hugs her mother and Celeste, the women make grieved promises to write and to stay safe. Victor says an awkward goodbye to Silas, who barely gives him a nod but they do shake hands, reluctantly it must be said. Victor then turns to Clarissa, who smiles wistfully, and opens her arms.
"I'll write when I arrive." He embraces her, "Think about the contract."
She flinches at the mention of Lord Wellesley but chooses to ignore his last comment. She grips the back of his coat tightly.
"I will miss you, I hope to see you soon." She murmers. They break apart, he knocks her chin cheekily before climbing into the carriage. Marie and Celeste go over to the carriage and talk to him through the door, leaving Catherine and Clarissa a bit of space to say goodbye. The two sisters look at each other and smile.
"I will miss you the most," Catherine whispers as they hug.
"And I, you," Clarissa replies, beginning to get choked up, "Stay safe, and write to me."
The sisters break apart.
"Every week," Catherine promises, wiping away the tear that threatens to roll down Clarissa's cheek, "You must write to me too, update me on everything I miss,"
Clarissa half laughs, "It is you who will be having the adventures to tell, nothing happens here." She sniffs and brushes away the tears.
"Stay strong little sister," Catherine touches her cheek affectionately, her sister nods. Although it is tough to see her go, she knows that Catherine will never be happy here, not with the big wide and open world begging to be seen.
"Goodbye ma mere, papa!" Catherine cries as she climbs into the carriage. The driver shuts the door and she leans out of the window. She waves at Charlie who bounces up on down on the spot, waving his little fist frantically.
"Stay safe ma fille!" Marie says, "Listen to Victor."
The driver climbs onto his seat and clicks the horses onwards when Silas nods. The carriage begins to trundle away from Queen Anne's Gate, Charlie starts to run after it but Celeste quickly calls him back. He walks back with his little shoulders slumped. Clarissa waves and waves to her sister and cousin until they are out of sight. Soon they are left standing in an empty street.
"Well that's that." Silas says finally, "Shall we have breakfast?"
Marie lets out a stifled sob at his words, Celeste puts an arm around her and takes her son's hand with the other.
"Let's get you inside for a nice cup of hot tea."
Marie, Celeste, her husband and children all walk back into the house leaving Clarissa on the pavement, staring into the dust of where her sister once was. Silas approaches her and places a hand on her shoulder, she looks up into his face.
"She will be fine, more than fine and you know it." He says with conviction. "This is what she has wanted all her life since she could read."
"I know, I know." Clarissa nods, she takes a steadying breath and smiles weakly. "She will visit us soon enough anyway."
"Shall we go inside for breakfast?" He offers her his arm. As she takes it she notices a figure hiding in shadow across the street, watching them intently. Her heart immediately skips up and a cold shiver runs up her back. Pretending not to notice the person she heads into the house with her father. The door shuts on the street and they walk towards the staircase to go up to the breakfast room where everyone else is waiting.
They reach the bottom step and she pulls away from her father.
"I am not hungry, I think I am going to go for a walk," She says, "Fresh air will do me good." She looks at him for permission.
"Of course, have a nice time, I shall inform your mother where you have gone," Silas says, "I'll get the cook to save you a pain au chocolate for when you get back."
Clarissa smiles her thanks. She waits for him to disappear up the staircase and to the next floor before she darts to the cupboard by the front door. She pulls on a long black coat with silver buttons and a high collar. She pats the inside of the lining, to check that her knives are still stashed there, before donning it. Satisfied, she straightens her collar and smooths the front of her hair that has been twisted into a plait. She quickly checks her appearance in the mirror before she opens the front door and steps out. She closes the door behind her, searching for the mysterious figure. The shadows now hold no stranger watching the house. She frowns, pivoting on the step.
She spies the figure leaning against the fence that runs along the side of her house, there is a cigar in their hand, and they seem quite at ease even with their back to her. Her apprehension turns to annoyance as she recognises the curly hair and tall stature. She walks over to him and coughs politely. The man turns to face her, a lazy expression on his face.
"You shouldn't be here." She says warningly, keeping her eyes lowered. The man smirks at her. He has a handsome face with high cheekbones and deep chestnut eyes. His lips are slightly lopsided but they only add to his charm.
"Good morning Miss Clary." His velvety welsh accent plays with her, and she can't help but look up as he takes a puff on his cigar; he makes this simple action a captivating experience. Her eyes fall on his lips and she stares for a moment, imagining what it would be like to press hers to his. She shakes her head when she realises she hasn't said anything and should be peeved, not happy to see him.
"This is my home, Wyn!" She hisses, taking his arm and dragging him away from her front door. and around the corner, " Where my family live! You can't be here."
"I know, I know, but with you haven't been in contact, and with your line of work I was concerned." He says, sending an inviable jolt through her heart. "I didn't know how else to check up on you."
"You know my grandfather's died, I've been in mourning, that's why I haven't been around." She says hurriedly. She glances up at her house to see if anyone is looking out of the windows. She bites her lip, thinking.
"If my family see..." She murmers to herself, unsure how to handle his appearance.
Wyn drops the butt of his cigar into the ground and crushes it under his shiny brown shoe. Takes her hand and pulls her away from her house to the wall of the house opposite. He traps her between the brick and his body, his hands on the wall, either side of her head.
"There," He whispers, "Now no one can see you."
Clarissa is too shocked at his quick actions and the little space between them to retort. She swallows and tries to keep a lid on the emotions that start to rise.
"What are you doing here?" She croaks.
"Take a walk with me." He proposes, holding out his right hand. She stares at it as someone would stare at a viper. She pushes to the left and manages to break away from the hold he had her in. She briskly walks away from him and the house, he has to skip to catch up.
He throws an arm over her shoulder and pulls her nearer. At his side, he can't see the alarmed look on her face or the bright blush that is spreading across her cheeks.
"I missed you, you fool." He says, steering them down a side street that cuts to Downing Street, a quicker but more public street to The Strand.
"Wyn Erwood is capable of missing me? I am honoured." She responds dryly, her initial startle at his appearance has worn off and her guard is standing firm. He laughs.
"You are a good friend to me Clary," He says, "I thought of you often these past months."
"Really? I hardly thought of you at all." She replies off-hand, trying to conceal the effect his admission has on her. Of course, she had thought of him; in fact, during the first month of mourning, it was impossible to get him off her mind.
She had met Wyn, sixth months previous at a monarchical protest that Florence had dragged her to. After the rally, the protesters gathered in a pub down Northumberland Avenue, and she ended up sitting at a table with a group of Irish and Welsh people, including Mr Wyn Erwood.
They spoke avidly for hours and Clarissa found herself quite taken with the young ambitious man from Anglesey who spoke of great change in the world. He is older than her, and just as stubborn, making him the perfect combination of arrogant and compelling. For three months they met several times a week and spoke about all kinds of thing. Clarissa couldn't stop herself from falling for him. The stimulating and passionate conversations they had gave her much joy, but she could tell that he would never think of her in the way she desired so she tried to forget the deep connection she had with him. Her time in mourning has helped to heal the tear in her heart where Wyn was concerned, but seeing him again still made her heart flutter.
"How are you?" He asks.
"I am fine." Clarissa scans Wyn's clothes as they walk; a vibrant blue embosses waistcoat with a matching overcoat and light breeches. "Parliament suits you, you were born to be a politician."
His laugh sounds lyrical and his smile lights up his entire face. "Thank you, Pitt is teaching me many things, I feel as though my mind has been expanded, all the lessons..." He sighs, "They are all going to be vital in my plans. I have many ideas to improve the quality of life for those without money, jobs and housing. I am confident that I start within a year." He stops talking and looks guilty, "I apologise, you don't want to be hearing about my work. Jenny says I talk too much politics..."
"No, it is refreshing to hear such driven words. Jennifer is wrong to discourage, though I imagine she hears a great deal more than I. How is she?" Clarissa asks, her insides curling at the name of Wyn's best friend and confident.
"She's doing very well, she has secured a teaching assistant job at Westminster school." He says proudly. "She will hopefully one day be able to teach."
"Westminster School? How fancy, she must be excited."
"She is, she asked after you recently, she said that she'd like to have tea soon." His face turns giddy for a moment.
"I'd be delighted," Clarissa says. They have walked away from the area of Westminster towards Trafalgar Square and she notices a few of her people as they get closer to her territory. Her anxiety rises, she doesn't want to run into any person that might be inclined to start asking questions or spreading rumours.
She takes his arm and stops him. "I hate to be blunt but why are you here? The real reason."
Wyn runs a hand down his face and chuckles, "So direct."
She doesn't smile. He sighs and pulls a letter out of his pocket. "You need this."
Clarissa takes it from him, "What is it?"
"Just read it, Clarissa. It will all make sense." He looks at the clock on the Church next to them. " I should go, I can't be late for work."
"Of course." She replies, trying not to sound as deflated as she feels.
"Don't be a stranger." He picks up her hand and kisses her knuckles. He smiles and walks back down the street they came.
"And if it doesn't make sense?" She calls, taking a step to follow him. He turns around and half shrugs, half waves. She watches him disappear around the corner and a sense of disappointment washes over her. She clutches the letter to her chest, taking a moment to think of all the things she should have said or asked. A passably bumps into her and she stumble off the pavement.
"Pardon," She says automatically, her eyes still fixed on the corner Wyn rounded. She looks around her for a good place to read what he has given her. She spies an empty bench in the church's garden. She quickly enters the grounds and sits on the moulding wood. She slides her finger under the governmental seal and unfolds the paper.
Dear Miss Lenoir,
Further to the passing of your grandfather I enclose a few valuable documents as a gift to show my loyalty to your family business, and more importantly to you as the new head. I think you will find these papers hold vital information and I trust your discretion now that they are in your possession. If you are ever in need of my services please do not hesitate to contact me.
Your servant,
Sir John Mitford
Clarissa folds the letter and examines the remaining three documents. Her heart sinks as she reads them. John Mitford might be loyal to her family, but this slimy member of parliament has a way of delivering bad news as proof of his allegiance. She folds the documents and letter up and tucks them into her coat. She fishes her watch out from her dress, the time is 08:50. She leaves the church grounds, pushing through the people that have started to leave their homes for work, food and entertainments. She doesn't stop walking until she is on Savoy Street and storming into The One-Eyed Duke.