Clarissa busts through the door, her heart racing. The pub is empty except for Chuck who is wiping down tables. He looks up as she shuts the door behind her. She points towards the office with a questioning expression.
"He arrived ten minutes ago." He informs her, swirling his rag around the wood. She inclines her head to him and marches over to the closed office door. She throws it open. Peter sits behind the desk, a book, open in front of him, a pen in his hand. Iwan turns around in the hardwood chair opposite the desk, he grins when he sees her but she doesn't glance his way.
"Where's the map?" She demands, striding over to the side of the desk and leaning on it.
"What's going on?" Peter asks, peeved at being interrupted.
"The map." She repeats, "Please,"
Peter looks like he wants to question her more but he reaches into one of the drawers and holds out a folded sheet. She snatches it from him and smooths out the map of London on the desk. There is a bright blue line running across the paper that marks the boundaries of her territory. The rest of the map is marked out with yellow, red, green, white and black lines. She runs her finger from the yellow section, through the black until it stops on the red. Whitechapel.
She looks up at Peter, her expression sombre.
"I had a letter from our favourite corrupt MP." She says, pulling out the parchment and tossing it towards him. "He encloses deeds signed by The Cavendish family for the ownership of all the ports in Cuthbert's territory, as well as every business and profitable building. Cavendish has taken Whitechapel."
Peter picks the papers up and scans them. "Dammit." He growls, slamming his fist on the table. "And they already have The City."
"Wha...what...?" She stutters, blinking rapidly. "I thought they were a new family." She looks down at the white section of the map. "How have they taken The City so fast?"
"They are and they aren't," Peter says cryptically, sitting back in his chair.
"I don't...?" She waits for him to expand.
"Before London was divided, the Cavendish family controlled almost everything. Through money, power and status they built an empire. The war of the Spanish succession changed that. The French..." He winces and looks away from her. "The influx of the French, German, Italians meant that the city was overrun, the war divided the family and allowed those who were smart enough and had the power and money to chip away at their hold, including..."
"My great grandfather..." Clarissa finishes his sentence, events clicking into place.
"Exactly, and for the last 79 years, they have been fighting in the shadows to get it back. Your grandfather had been keeping his ear to the ground in the last five years, waiting for this to happen. We thought that they were still too weak to threaten us but if they have taken The City and Whitechapel...." He trails off, shaking his head.
"How did they get The City?" She asks.
"Iwan go help Chuck," Peter orders suddenly. The boy looks sulkily at the adults but he does as he is told and leaves the room. Clarissa takes the seat he left and crosses her ankles.
"Tell me about The City." She instructs, "What happened to Alderbridge?"
"He's alive. He's a puppet for Cavendish, he's an imaginary figurehead." Peter explains, "The Cavendish family are smart, they aren't going spill blood and create chaos when there are people who can be bought, people like Henry Alderbridge "
"So all those deaths, Cuthbert's people, that was Cavendish attacking Whitechapel?" She says.
"Yes, as well as a message to outsiders, to us, a threat of what happens to those who don't cooperate," Peter says, he gestures to the deeds, "And now he's sold away his life, he has no choice."
"They can't buy me," Clarissa says fiercely. "I will never be another man's puppet no matter how much money he puts before me."
"You won't be given the choice." He says. "They know we can't be bought, if they want us then it is force they will use."
Clarissa sits back in the chair, she absently rubs her forefinger and thumb together as she thinks. She wasn't expecting such a problem to arise so soon, suddenly she feels like a child trying to fill the boots of a king. She glances down at the map on the desk. She leans forward and picks up Peter's discarded pen. She puts a large cross through The City and then moves the nib to cross out Whitechapel. It traces the outline of her land, her eyes scan every inch of the place she calls home until the pen moves to the right, right over the black section.
"I want Westminster." She murmurs, her eyes fixed on Westminster Abbey.
"What?" Peter says in disbelief. She looks up at him, determination alive in her eyes.
"I want Westminster." She repeats with conviction, circling the territory.
"Impossible." He says automatically.
"Not impossible." She rises from her seat, "Nearly impossible, there's a difference."
Peter considers her carefully, "Cavendish may not come for us. We can't afford to act rashly."
"If they keep expanding, we are going to be at the top of their target list," Clarissa says, "We need to match their strength, Westminster is the ultimate "don't screw with us", it could scare them."
Peter purses his lips, his reluctance is evident but as is his agreement.
Clarissa sighs, knowing she needs to be careful, " I will keep a hold on my plan for Westminster for now." She hands the pen back to Peter.
"Before you run off, I have something you must see." He says, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a folded piece of material. He slides it across the table.
"What's this?" Clarissa asks, picking up and unfolding the thick canvas.
"Cavendish's family tree," Peter grunts. "That's the snake whose head you need to cut off."
She glares at the crest at the head of the tree, a lion sits proudly on a throne of swords. She follows the names, dates and marriages to the name at the bottom; Daniel Cavendish, Duke of Richmond, 1774 - Present.
"Where did you get this?" She asks, studying the many people that make up the Cavendish family.
"I went to the Library to see if the family had any public records, we know his name, but that is it," Peter explains.
"I know him." She reveals, deciding to speak. "He was at the ball I attended. I didn't recognise him but Lord Mathew told me who he was."
"Did you speak to him?" Peter has risen out of his chair and is looking intently at her.
"We spoke about nothing important, I don't think he knows that I am who I am." She says quickly, "He didn't react at all, it was like I was invisible."
Peter visibly relaxes, "It highly possible he has no clue it's you, they know your name and your family but not your faces. This gives us an advantage."
"It's not an advantage we should use, all it takes is for someone to say one thing and then he knows who I am." She replies.
"You are right, but it does help that we know his face," Peter says, rubbing his chin.
"Can I keep this?" She asks, holding the canvas.
"Sure," Peter says, settling back into his chair. She folds it up and tucks it under her arm.
"I will see you later." She says, he acknowledges her farewell as she leaves, closing the door behind her.
Iwan jumps off the barstool and rushes over to her immediately.
"What's happening?" He asks, his wide eyes begging for information.
"Never you mind." She replies, roughing up his hair. He pouts and returns back to his stool.
"No one ever tells me anything." He grumbles, she watches him, amused. She checks the pocket watch hanging around her neck. The face shows that the time is almost 9:30. Her stomach grumbles, she didn't eat before seeing off her sister and now her empty tummy is yelling at her. Time to walk home and steal some brunch from the kitchens.
"I'll see you later." She calls to Chuck and Iwan as she walks over to the front door and steps out into the street. Savoy street is bustling and busy with trade and activity. A few locals spot her outside the pub and they wave, she waves back and then yelp in alarm as an excited Florence seizes her arm. Her free arm drops down to her thigh pocket, ready to fight for her life. The canvas falls to the ground.
"Florence! Don't surprise me like that." She breathes, her heart racing, her body relaxes and her friend slips her arm into hers.
"You've seen Wyn," Florence says, almost vibrating on the spot, her eyes bright. Last nights make up is still smudged around her eyes and lips, her dress is wrinkled but it is a pretty green colour that compliments her hair, a think shawl is thrown around her shoulders.
Clarissa eyes her suspiciously, "Yes, he was delivering a letter."
"How was it?" Flo demands, her face eager.
"How do you know I've seen him?" Clarissa asks, pulling away and crouching down to pick up the canvas.
"Mary and Anne saw you with him." Flo explains quickly, "By St Martin-in-the-Fields church. So how was it?"
Clarissa sighs, "As it always is. I lose my head when I am around him and then instantly hate myself for feeling the way I do when he's gone. It's been three months since I've seen him and yet I feel as though nothing has changed. He sees me as a friend and nothing more."
"Just a friend, doesn't personally deliver a letter that could be sent via any servant," Flo says knowingly.
"He was delivering on behalf of a mutual friend, information like this couldn't have been trusted with a servant," Clarissa challenges.
"Then he could have just posted it through your door, he didn't actually need to see you," Flo says. "And yet he saw you face to face."
Clarissa sighs, "He did say he wanted to check up on me." She admits.
"Yes, because he cares about you," Flo says with triumph, she suddenly looks sad, "Jack only cares about me when I am under him."
"Because he's a good friend." Clarissa corrects, she tries to look comforting as she speaks, "That's because Jack is a scoundrel and not a good friend."
"Forget about Jack! We are talking about you and I have to wonder what type of good friend takes you on secret nighttime walks to his favourite spot in the city?" Flo objects, "There's a connection there, that all I am saying."
Clarissa grumbles but doesn't deny it.
"You know if you said something..." Flo begins with a mischievous smile.
"I can't!" Clarissa cries, her heart pounding at the suggestion, "I don't deny I like him, I may even love...well whatever, it's irrelevant. We are never going to happen, he knows it and so do I. We don't work. We are not right for each other despite whatever underlying feelings there are. I cannot fool myself into hoping that he will ever be mine. He has Jenny and all his friends, I am just a little flirty amusement for him." She draws breath sharply, "So please, let's not discuss him."
Flo touches her friend's arm, "I am sorry, I don't mean to upset you."
Clarissa takes her arm with comfort, "I know, it just hurts. 6 months of playing with my head and I cannot cope."
"Neither should you have to, he's a fool to not want you." Flo reassures, "And you deserve a hell of a lot more than to be someone's flirty amusement because you aren't just anything."
"I appreciate it," Clarissa says, touching her friend's hand. "Do you want to walk me home?"
"Alright, but I need to stop at the market and get some fruit for the girls," Flo says, pulling a few coins out of her cleavage.
"How are they?" Clarissa asks as they start to stroll down Savoy Street. "Scared?"
"Not really, we know our line of work isn't the safest, most of them are more scared of getting pregnant than being murdered." Flo admits, "We are staying away from the other areas, it limits our work but we are getting by."
"I am not going to lie to you and say this is going to be easy, it's not. We are facing a threat that I am struggling to comprehend. Daniel Cavendish....he's not what I thought."
"You've met him then?" Flo questions, "You know who he is?"
"I met him last night, I didn't know who he was at first." Clarissa uses her spare hand to brush her hair away from her eyes. "He's a duke, he mixes with the same society as I do."
"So he knows your friends and things?"
"What friends?" Clarissa says wryly.
"Be serious, how has he escaped your notice? I thought you rich people made it your business to know everyone in your exclusive circle." Florence wrinkles her nose.
"I was in mourning for three months!" Clarissa says defensively, "He popped up while I was indisposed, plus Mathew said that he hasn't been around for many years, his family are quite the recluse."
"Isn't it strange that somebody who's high born, independently wealthy, spends their time meddling with us?" Florence voices her thoughts out loud.
Clarissa gives her a confused look, "What do you mean? What about me?"
"It's different with you, your great grandfather and grandfather dragged your family from the nameless middle class to one of the most powerful families in London. Cavendish has a dukedom, he doesn't need the money or respect because he automatically has it."
"You don't think I do what I do for status do you?"
They turn down a deserted alley that is a short cut to Queen Anne's Gate. Only rats chased by strays can hear their words.
Florence looks guilty, "No, of course not, but it is a part of you. You've been brought up expecting a certain lifestyle, a lifestyle that is supported by The Strand, by us."
"My family is rich enough now, that we could break away from The Strand, we don't need you to survive." Clarissa bites out. "But you are nothing without my family, you need the protection and freedom that my money affords."
Florence stops in the street in shock. Clarissa instantly regrets her harsh words when she sees her friend's crestfallen expression.
"That's not...I..." She begins but Florence cuts her off.
"You know," Flo places a finger on her chin in mock thought, "I wonder if Roderick hadn't brought you up here, then you'd have turned out just like your mother." The last word is dripping with venom.
"I beg your pardon?" Clarissa glares at her friend, "What are you trying to say?"
"You were brought up with us, with this life, it's who you are." Florence shrugs, "Don't you wonder who you would have been without it?"
"This is my life, I wouldn't change it for anything, just because I could break away doesn't mean I want to," Clarissa vows, her eyes flashing dangerously.
"I know, I know," Florence says quickly, recognising the danger, "And we wouldn't have it any other way."
"Really? Because it sounds like maybe you want someone who's more your class to run things the way you want!" Clarissa's head begins to throb, she is tired of being pushed today.
"Don't be so defensive! All I am trying to say is that if things go bad, you'll be able to walk away without a scratch, the same can't be said for everyone else. We suffer the consequences of your actions, this isn't a fun second life for us, this is our only one!" Florence yells, panting slightly.
"I have to go," Clarissa says, frowning, her voice unusually calm. She doesn't look back as she walks away from Florence.