Clarissa tucks her messy brown hair into the collar of her wax coat and straightens the borrowed flat cap in Florence's small mirror. The hat casts a shadow over her soft face, hiding her feminine features. She winces at the dark circles under her eyes, they look haunted and broken. She has discarded her clothes from last night and now wears a wide pair of trousers and a comfy wool jumper under her coat. Florence offered to lend her one of her dresses but Clarissa knows she can't risk being caught dressed as whore, so Florence has given her some of Jack's forgotten wardrobe. Last night Flo put screwed up old newspaper in her drenched boots and therefore this morning they are damp but dry enough for Clarissa to wear them.
"Will I see you later?" Florence asks from the sofa, her feet tucked under her and a steaming mug clutched in her hands.
"Maybe. I am going to give everyone today to mourn and recover, but I will probably have to speak to Peter this afternoon," Clarissa says, rotating her stiff neck. The few hours on the old sofa have taken effect on her muscles. A hot bath is very much in order.
There's a frantic knock on the door and the two girls stiffen. Clarissa slowly retrieves the pistol from her coat pocket. She doesn't know whether it's dried and functional, but it's better than nothing. She edges closer to the door, and Flo ducks against the back of the sofa, ready to dive on the floor if necessary. They hold their breath, listening and waiting.
"Florence????" Peter's urgent voice comes from the other side of the door. Clarissa immediately unlocks the door and opens it. Peter's face instantly fills with relief when he sees her, but then he grows angry.
"Where the fuck have you been?" He demands. He marches into the front room, followed by a silent Jack. Both look tired and irritated. Florence lights up when she sees The S Guard, but when he doesn't return her smile, her face falls and she pouts slightly.
"Please come in," Clarissa says sarcastically, closing the door. Peter shakes his head at her, his rage rolling off him in thick waves. He points a finger at her threateningly.
"No one knew where you were and the last person who saw you said you were sitting by the river and I thought...I thought..."
"Fine, I am sorry," Clarissa says quickly, "I spent the night here, I was going to come to see you this afternoon after I've washed this stink off me." Despite the change of clothes the burnt smell is still stuck on her. Peter glowers at her, she tries to read his face but all she can see is frustration.
"Do you know who it was?" Florence asks Peter, distracting him from glaring at his goddaughter. Clarissa freezes, her limbs taught. He looks at her bitter face.
"If I say it was Cavendish will you kill him?"
She rolls her eyes, tension leaving her body, "So it wasn't him then? How disappointing."
"Baines and Lestrade played a good game with us." He admits, a hint of respect in his tone, "There was no reason to suspect that they would do this."
Clarissa purses her lips, "Do you think they planned this before last night or....?" She trails off.
"The foundation for the fires were too well constructed to be a spur of the moment plan," Jack informs them, rubbing his chin, "And we found a rat."
Clarissa whips her head to stare at him, her eyes wide and breathing heightened, "Who.....?"
Jack looks to Peter for support and the older man nods, "She needs to know,"
"It was a guard called Rupert Topson, he's currently locked in one of the rooms in the Prince Hotel." Jack tells her, "We have him under around the clock watch until you want to deal with him."
"Very good," Clarissa says thoughtfully, "Has he said anything yet?"
"Nothing of significance, but we will soon make him squeal," Jack promises, something dark dancing in his eyes.
"How did you catch him?" Florence asks, not looking at her part-time lover, but addressing the wall behind his head.
"He was one of Anne's regulars," Peter says, "I think the guilt got to her. She gave us him on a silver platter, all the letter and plans."
"Where is she?" Clarissa asks, "I want her locked up too."
"Anne?" Jack says, looking hesitant, "She wasn't involved in the fires, and she told us all she knew."
She tilts her head, "She still lied, I won't her have on the streets until I am sure she can be trusted. You can lock her in The Red Dragon."
Jack looks uncertainly at Peter who gives him a "just do as she says" look. Clarissa doesn't miss their silent exchange and her nails dig into her palms in annoyance.
Jack bows his head, "At once miss," He sends a concerned look to Florence who blankly ignores him as he leaves. Clarissa glares at the back of his head as she holds the door open for him. She keeps the door open even after he has vanished down the street. The bright morning drifts into the front room and casts dancing strips of light across the floor.
"I should go, I need to clean myself up and compartmentalize everything...." Clarissa says, her head spinning as she tries to process the events of the last 24 hours.
"Yes that is a good idea," Peter says, looking her up and down, "You do look terrible."
She looks down at her borrowed clothes and damp boots, unsure how to respond. Florence giggles slightly and nods her head in agreement. Too drained to snap something clever back, Clarissa shrugs and pulls the hat further down, tucking a few flyaways into the rim.
"I'll be back this afternoon and I call by." She tells Flo, who smiles, sipping her tea.
"I'll be here,"
"I'll walk you to the pub," Peter says gruffly, walking to the door and pushing Clarissa outside.
She has enough time to quickly wave goodbye to Florence before he shuts the door and steers her towards the bridge. She takes her time, enjoying the fresh day and the sound of the birds in trees but her slower pace doesn't match Peter's purposeful stride so he soon puts distance between them. Not wanting to be left alone she jogs to his side. The air still carries a whiff of burning and the sight of the charred wood of the ports has her stomach curling unpleasantly.
"There's none of the structure left with either port so we will need to scrap the remains and build from scratch," Peter says as they walk past the wreck that was once Strada Port, "We will talk to Bertie about where to get the funds from, I'd like to avoid raising rents, god knows these people have been through enough." He looks around at the sorrowful faces of a few locals who are gathered around the blackened remains.
A few of them wave sadly to him, but Clarissa keeps her head lowered, pretending to be an insignificant boy. Despite the traumatic events of the early morning, it is business as usual as they walk pasts the shops and factories. By choice, the people are returning to their normal jobs and duties, their lowered gazes and dower expressions are the only indication that something is amiss. A little girl clutching a dirty teddy bear runs past them, towards the port. Clarissa twists to see the child takes the hand of a young boy already standing there and they both glare at the burnt wood.
"I know where we can get the money," She states quietly, turning away. Peter looks at her, narrowing his eyes.
"Where?"
She doesn't answer straight away. She knows what she has to do but the thought is resting heavily on her heart.
"Where?!" Peter demands, not unkindly.
"Lord Wellesely," Clarissa reveals, intently watching his face for a reaction. It is as she expected, his eyebrows draw together at the name and his lips purse, but he doesn't argue. He is silent as he searches to find the right thing to say.
"He...uh...he has made you an offer?" Peter questions.
She kicks at the ground as they cross over the bridge to the other side of the Thames. It pains her that she is going to take his disgusting offer, but the welfare of her people outweighs her personal morals.
"I am going to ask for a 10% advance on the first profit, that will be more than enough to rebuild the ports and compensate the bereaved families." She states, feeling nauseous at the thought of asking a slimy toad, like Wellesely, for money.
Peter is apprehensive, "Are you sure about this? We could just use some of the savings, I know they aren't to be used for this type of thing but it wouldn't affect us that dramatically,"
He is right, over the years The Strand's savings have built up to a sizable amount but that money has rules. It is their way out in case catastrophe hits. It's enough to buy every member in The Strand a new life. Aside from the savings are the profits but they are constantly being reinvested and disrupting that cash flow is risky. She could use her family's riches but that would mean involving her father and his team of lawyers, and that is a fight if she ever saw one.
She inclines her head, "I am sure, I might be selling my soul for profit, but that profit is going to ensure that no one, and I mean no one, fucks with us again. Including Daniel Cavendish," The venom in Clarissa's voice surprises even her but she is drained and past the point of caring.
"Fine," Is all Peter says.
They walk to the One-Eyed Duke in silence, neither wanting to force pleasantries in such a time. When they reach the pub, they stop and Peter regards her bitter face and glinting eyes with caution.
"If you do this then there's no going back," He warns, "This is a line you cross and can never come back from."
"Oh I have no intention of coming back," She says, danger laced in her tone. If one deal has the power to corrupt her so dramatically then she is going to use that to her advantage and not just use the money to fix. She is going to destroy too.
"Can you set up a meeting with Lord Wellesely, his letter said he would be in London for the season."
"I'll go once I have sorted out...." Peter trails off, regret consuming his eyes.
Clarissa's heart falls, he is talking about the people they've lost. It is customary to compensate the families who have lost people in service to The Strand. A personal visit, a sign of gratitude and an envelope of money isn't enough to replace a life, but it is something,
"Of course, do what you need to." She says, looking around Savoy Street, at this time in the morning it would usually be bustling and jovial but the street is cold and emotionless as the people go through the motions of their day. Clarissa says a brittle goodbye to Peter and starts the walk back to her house.
Her feet hit the cobbles and she listens to the lap of the water as she moves through the streets. She is so consumed in her own mind that she doesn't even register the path she takes home. Her male clothes and lowered head means that the occupants of the streets don't spare her a glance. Their eyes avoid the hunched ragged boy that reeks of despair. Tears begin to form in her eyes as she lets herself truly feel the thoughts that she has repressed since she arrived at the fires so many hours ago. Anguish and distress latch onto her heart and squeeze until she feels like she can't breathe. It's not as though she hasn't dealt with distressing events before, but in those times she had her grandfather to take the brunt of her pain. Her agony is making her feel alone, alone and weak. She keeps her head down, just wanting to get home.
"Clarissa! CLARISSA!" A voice yells to her from across the street. Clarissa looks up to see Wyn running over the road, she hurriedly wipes her tears away and sniffs. How did he recognise her dressed like this? He pulls her into a tight embrace before she can protest.
"I heard about your ports," He whispers into her hat, "I am so sorry."
She lets him hold her for a few moments, at last, he pulls away from her. His hands hold her shoulders as he peers into her face. She deliberately turns, concentrating on the space behind him.
"Yes, it is most unfortunate that this has happened," She says, her voice holding steady "But I have every confidence that The Strand will regain its strength quickly and return the favour."
"Who was it?" Wyn asks in hushed tones, "There are rumours that Daniel Cavendish..."
"How do you know Cavendish?" She snaps to face him, glaring. He looks taken aback but still answers her.
"I worked for their family business in some legal cases when I first started training. They are good friends of Pitt's..."
"Of course they are!" Clarissa throws her hands up in the air, breaking away from his grip, "Of course they are best friends with your boss, who else?"
"Are you feeling well?" He asks her, reaching to touch her forehead, "And why are you dressed like a boy?"
"I am fine." She replies bitterly, knocking his hand away. She looks into his handsome face and her resolve threatens to snap at the heartbreakingly concerned expression he wears. "Is there a reason you stopped me? I don't mean to be rude but I've had a long night and all I want is to sleep."
"Actually yes, I have some news that will brighten your day," Wyn announces beaming, his face then drops, "Well it hopefully will, I admit the timing is unfortunate but..." He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a card. "Here."
He passes it to her. Clarissa takes it and turns it over in her hands.
"It's not another letter from John Mitford is it?" She asks, apprehensive. He laughs.
"No, it's an invitation," He says, giddy, "To mine and Jenny's wedding."
Clarissa feels her heart stop beating, her blood freezes and her breath catches in her throat. It's as though time slows and all she can hear is a loud ringing in her ears.
"Your wedding? You're getting married?" She finally chokes out. He nods eagerly like a jovial schoolboy.
"I asked her on her birthday, I thought it was about time." He explains, "I know she isn't wanting a family right now but I thought I should make her mine soon or she might never be mine. So I asked her and she said yes."
"I didn't know...." Clarissa stares at him with shock in her eyes.
Why didn't he tell her about this? How could she have not known? When he introduced them he had called her his best friend, a good loyal friend, not his potential wife. When he spoke about her it was a friendship he described not one with romantic intentions. Clarissa met Jenny a few times and it appeared that their friendship was a strong one, it was a genuine friendship, but how wrong was she?
Luckily she finds her voice, and it is strong "Of course she said yes, why would she not? You are perfect together, so so perfect." She says, smiling as wide as she is able, "Congratulations."
"You look very pale." Wyn comments, "Do you need a doctor? A glass of water perhaps?"
"No, no." Clarissa takes a step back, "I am simply drained from the night's events. We must celebrate this, oh and Peter will be delighted for you. I am extremely thrilled for you Wyn, I wish you and Jenny all the luck in the world." She rambles, backing away, needing to put distance between them, "I should rest but I will see you soon and give my best to Jenny,"
Not waiting for his reply, she turns and hurries down the street.
"Will you come to the wedding?" Wyn yells after her but she doesn't even glance back. Clarissa breaks into a run when she is out of his sight and she doesn't stop until she is far away from him and his special news.