The next few days are a haze of suffering and silence for those that live and work in Lygon Place. Clarissa is left alone in the house, with George immediately returning to his own home without as much as a goodbye. She visits him throughout the week and the youngest Cavendish welcomes her company, relying on her to get him through the suffering. She accepts this role willingly and is pleased to see his cheeky smile returning with ease as time wears on. They sit and talk, adjusting to life without Grace and finding a sense of belonging with each other. The other Cavendish brother proves to be far more difficult to deal with, locking himself away, mentally and physically, leaving all matters to be dealt with by his wife. She tries to tempt Daniel out of his room with the promise of business but he simply rolls over in bed, muttering about being tired. She leaves him alone after her third failed attempt to get him out from under the covers, choosing to let his decision to hide, slide
To her credit, Clarissa handles her staff with care and consideration, while maintaining authority, as she tells them the same story that everyone else is hearing; Grace Cavendish was depressed and couldn't stand living in a world without her husband, it was the years of heartbreak that killed her. The aftermath of Grace's death brings a heavyweight down upon the people around her and Clarissa seeks out comfort in familiarity, bringing George to visit The Strand with her. Her people pass on their sympathies and condolences but apology after apology does nothing to ease the pain, and every word increases the strain on her shoulders.
Despite Daniel being out of action, Clarissa continues to monitor Baines and Lestrade, the last phases of their plan sliding into place. George proves to be helpful in collecting the right information from the many reports that have been constructed over the last month and together they are creating the final stage. They argue about Daniel, George unwilling to include him in his current state but Clarissa insists and eventually, the younger Cavendish concedes. Time creeps on and their deadline is coming closer, with Daniel showing no sign of improving or abandoning his hibernation.
This morning, Clarissa is sitting at her desk, her plans and maps spread out in front of her, a pencil in her hand. The clock on the mantlepiece shows that it is a little after 11 and the late morning sun is bathing the room in warm light. She is double-checking the figures and recalculating the projectery when Alice walks through the archway, a tray of tea in her hands.
"He denied breakfast again," Alice informs her, setting the tray down on the nearest table and bringing over a cup of tea.
"Really?" Clarissa groans, looking up from her work. Alice smiles sympathetically at her.
"Is there anything else I can get you, your grace?" She asks, stepping back and folding her hands, "Would you like me to try again?"
"No, no, thank you, Alice," Clarissa waves her hand. Her maid curtsies and leaves. The sound of the door echos through the duchess's quarters and Clarissa lowers her head onto the desk, her forehead resting on the papers. This is the fifth day that Daniel has refused to eat breakfast. While meals and snacks are delivered to his room, he is turning them away, only accepting water, bread and broth. She groans and sits up, reaching for her tea.
She takes a sip, looking down at the timeline in front of her. She has been waiting for Daniel to get his act together before they set in motion the final act, but the duke is obstinate in his inclusiveness. George's words play on her mind, they cannot delay much longer, it needs to be done with or without Daniel. Clarissa knows that he needs to grieve, they all do, but the longer they wait, the more likely it is that Baines and Lestrade will strike, and she isn't sure they can handle another blow. She needs to do something. She slams her cup down and gets to her feet.
"I cannot believe this," She grumbles, gathering her papers and sliding them into a folder. She leaves it on the table and heads across the room to the door that leads into the corridor. She slips out of it and goes to the right, stopping in front of the door that leads into Daniel's room. The double doors that connect this room and her study have been kept firmly locked since the morning of Grace's death and she has respected that. However, the time to be nice is over.
Clarissa twists the handle and walks into the bedroom. Daniel sits in bed, his shirtless torso on display, a paper in his hand. Grace's name is splashed across the front page as it has been since the incident. Each paper reports a slightly different twist from the last, but none of them are close to the truth.
The duke looks surprised to see her, and he lowers the paper, watching her as she crosses over to the foot of the bed and perches by his feet. She looks around, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell that hangs in the air. The room is a mess, with clothes and empty bottles of whisky and bourbon strewn everywhere. Daniel, himself, looks haggard and ill. His skin is paler than usual, his hair is a mess, and there are dark circles under his eyes.
"I thought you'd be gone already," He says, his voice croaky, "I heard you've been running my empire,"
"Someone has to," She replies, picking at a piece of lint on the bedclothes.
"And you are that someone?"
She shrugs, "I am a someone,"
He chuckles but it lacks emotion. He moves the paper to one side and gives her his full attention, settling back into his pillows, "And what's on today's agenda? A tenancy issue in Covent Gardens?"
She looks at him, her expression hard, "You,"
"Me?" A smirk tugs at his lips and he folds his arms.
"Yes," She says, "You,"
"And how are you going to deal with me?" His eyebrows raise, "That bottle of hemlock has probably gathered dust by now,"
Her hand halts by his ankle and she is unable to hide the surprise in her eyes, "You knew?"
"I knew from the day you arrived," He says with a hint of smugness.
She exhales sharply, "So it was you that left my drawer open?"
"But of course, you were getting far too complacent in this house. I needed to shake you up a little,"
She laughs mirthlessly, "Like you are right now, you mean?"
Daniel narrows his eyes at her, his lips thinning. His sharp eyes follow her every move as she places a hand on either side of his calves, leaning forward and fixing him with a glower.
"You have been hiding in this room, in this giant house for the past week and I will not allow it to continue. You need to get your head out of your bum, and your bum out of this bed and do something that actually matters, because right now, you are acting like a scared little boy, and I have no use for children,"
She lets her words sink in before going to move away but he snaps up and traps her left wrist, preventing her from falling back. He glares at her, his eyes boring deep into hers, a fiery mess of silvery chaos, but she refuses to back down. This is what she needs.
"You are treading on dangerous waters angel," He warns. She can feel the tingling running up her left arm, a promise of violence and passion but she ignores it and leans closer, her lips parted.
"Am I?" She tilts her head in mock thought, "Or is someone having a tantrum because their mummy died?"
In a flash, one of his hands is at her throat, pushing her into the mattress as he straddles her. With his other hand, he forces both her hands above her head, securing them as he snarls at her. She stares defiantly back, immobilised and completely defenceless in this hold, but he is playing right into her hands and he doesn't even know it.
"You are a scared, weak child who is shutting himself away because he can't handle the loss of his mother," She spits, not even attempting to dislodge him.
His grip on her throat tightens as his fingers dig into her neck, "Don't goad me, Clarissa, I am not a nice man,"
"Could have fooled me," She hisses back. He bares his teeth at her and she smirks.
"Do you want me to kill you?" He growls, squeezing tighter and cutting off her oxygen supply. He lets her struggle for a minute, unable to breathe before his grip slackens.
"Am I under your skin yet?" She gasps, her expression taunting him.
He freezes, the obvious anger flashing in his eyes and running through his blood. There is a beat where they are frozen in this position, both holding their breath as they wait. Finally, Daniel releases her throat and wrists, sitting back, still straddling her. She props herself up on one elbow and lifts her other hand to his cheek. He tenses at the contact and his eyes follow her hand as it travels down his shoulder and stops above his heart.
"There we are," She whispers, "Let's use that anger for something worthwhile."
His face is a mixture of murderous and confused but then it clears and his expression promises something sinful. He leans forward, placing a hand beside her head to support his body as he closes the gap between them, his torso hovering centimetres above hers.
"There is something else that could my anger," He suggests darkly, playing with a strand of her hair. She sucks in a breath, his spicy scent drowning her senses. This wasn't what she planned.
"Hmm?" His fingers move from her curl to the curve of her collarbone, following the delicate line as it dips towards her chest. He gently lowers his head as his fingers run lower until his lips are almost touching hers. She closes her eyes, tilting her head up but then she feels his fingers vanish and her eyes snap open. He flashes her a triumphant grin as he climbs off her and drops down next to her.
"Are you quite finished?" She asks, using the question to cover up how flustered she is. She sits up, crossing her ankles and busying herself with smoothing out her skirts. They are both silent, not sure how to say what they are both feeling.
"We have to finish this," She says at last, "I want you to grieve for your mother, you deserve to and you need to, but you can't do this to me right now. You cannot leave me to do this on my own. We need to finish what we have started,"
"I know," He says, looking into his hands, "But I wonder whether we should have even started it?"
Clarissa is quiet, she often asks herself a similar question. It the question of self-doubt, when your world is crumbling down and you begin to question every choice, every action and every mistake. It can be the last stop before self-resurrection, or self-destruction.
"Do you think that I am a bad person?" His question comes out of the blue and surprises her, her mouth moving soundlessly, unsure what to say.
Instead of replying she gets off the bed and leaves the room. She returns a few moments later, a small black book in her hand. Daniel hasn't moved from the bed but he frowns when she re-enters and throws the book at his head. His natural reflexes act and he catches the leather-bound book before it can smack him in the face.
"In there is the name of every person I've killed," Clarissa says, standing firmly in front of him.
There is a pause.
"How many?" He asks, not moving to open it.
She shakes her head, "I don't know, I don't want to know,"
He takes her hand and thrusts the book into it, "Why show me this?"
"Because good people aren't good," She says, looking down at her book, "And bad people aren't bad. We cannot define our lives, our choices as either good or bad. It is so much more complicated than that." She flips through the pages, names flashing in front of her, "I've hurt a lot of people, and I keep this book to remind myself that I need to hold myself accountable, as no one else will." She drops onto the mattress next to him, her head hanging low, "But I've also saved a lot of people, helped people because of the people I've hurt and that makes me glad, but it doesn't make me good." She grimaces, the memories flashing in her mind, "The first time I killed someone, my grandfather was so ridiculously proud, it was sickening. I grew up thinking that he was a good person but I had confused morals with emotions. He taught me to kill because it was what he needed me to be able to do, he was, in a way, protecting me, but he did not care what it did to me,"
"He cared for you, everyone knew that," Daniel says softly.
She scoffs, "He moulded me into this...leader, this killer, because it was his duty to create somebody to lead after him. He did it for everyone else, he never did it for me. He never gave me that choice, and when he died and I had the choice, I couldn't make it because I know nothing else. All I know is what he taught, what he made me. So you are neither a good person nor a bad one,"
"I killed my father," Daniel confesses, a hint of disgust on his face, "I think I can call myself a bad person for that,"
Clarissa opens her mouth but has no words. She doesn't know how to react, but part of her is in disbelief that he has told her.
"I didn't want to," He says, "You know, he chose love when he married my mother. He had a choice that we did not, but as he continued to lose to your grandfather, he started to resent her, he thought she made him weak. He tried to destroy the love he had for her by sleeping with other women, throwing himself into work and taking risks, but seeing him destruct like that only made my mother love him more. He couldn't take it, he took it out on her and all I could do was watch," He says, sorrow catching in his throat, "Mother forbade me and George from interfering, she didn't want him to hate us too, but one night he hit her and she fell onto the floor. Her head started to bleed but he continued to hit her and I couldn't do nothing anymore. So I hit him, and I kept hitting him until he couldn't hit back. So you see I am more of a monster than you thought,"
Clarissa places her hands over his and squeezes. The raw pain is etched across his face and his eyes are pools of misery and self-loathing. She can feel the utter despair and helplessness radiating from him.
"No you aren't, you saved her," She whispers, "You saved your mother that night,"
"And now? Have I saved her now?" His voice cracks and he tries to turn away but she doesn't let him. She captures his face and forces him to look at her.
"She is safe now. No one will ever hurt her again," She insists, "But we aren't. Until Baines and Lestrade are dead, none of us will be safe," Tears escape the corner of her eyes, and they roll down her cheeks, "They have done something unforgivable to a person you love, and they need pay for that."
His hands cover hers and he stares at her, "I want them gone, but George..."
"George loves you!" Clarissa cries, pulling her hands away, "And he will love no matter what. He wants justice, we all do, but we cannot do it without you."
Daniel looks to the floor, his tousled hair falling across his face. His slumped posture and dull eyes do little to inspire hope. He turns away, curling into himself and closes her eyes in disappointment. The quiet and hopelessness smothers around her until she can no longer stand it.
She gets to her feet, the little book in her hand, "Fine, I'll do it without you," She crosses over to the door, her hand resting on the knob, "And just so you know, I don't think you are a bad person for killing your father, I would have done the same." She turns the knob but Daniel's voice stops her from stepping into the corridor.
"You mean it?"
"Every word,"
He sighs heavily, "Then what do we need to do?"
She spins around as he stands, determination in his step. His eyes are lit with the steady burn of revenge and he looks ready to fight. Clarissa barely hides her smile, her heart already feeling lighter.
"You need to have a wash and put a fresh set of clothes," She instructs, opening the door, "Then meet me outside at 12'clock,"
"Why?"
A mischievous glint appears in her eye, "Because I have a plan,"