Chapter Four

Clarissa returned to her lodgings to find her aunt still abed with a raging headache. Her absence from their sitting room gave Clarissa time alone to consider her conversation with the Reverend Brody. In hindsight, she appreciated his kind gesture, but couldn't imagine herself ever needing or accepting his help.

He was a good man. She could see that now. He didn't show any condescension to her as an actress, which many of his calling had done previously. His severe black outfit and simply tied cravat did not diminish his good looks and powerful frame.

Her gaze had roamed his face as he spoke…and she had wondered what it would be like to be kissed by those perfect lips. She'd had to keep pulling her thoughts back to their conversation. Better he never guessed where her thoughts had strayed.

She sighed. She didn't expect to encounter him again. After all, he had said he visited all the theatres in the parish regularly, not just The Regent Theatre.

Clarissa changed her clothes for dry ones and lay out her damp outfit over a chair in front of the fire. Soon dinner would be served in the boarding house dining room below. And then she must leave for the theatre for tonight's performance.

She doubted her aunt would be well enough to accompany her. Good, because she needed time alone to consider the recent and unexpected change in her aunt's behavior. And Dora's absence would excuse her from another unwanted dinner invitation from Travener, should he appear at her dressing room door.

But not for long.

***

The following evening, Aunt Dora proposed that Clarissa attend another supper with her and her new beau, Lord Marchmere, with Lord Travener accompanying them.

"I'm tired of our staid ways. They were fine while we were struggling to make you a success, but now you have reached that pinnacle, it's time we enjoyed our rewards. I want a secure future for myself. And I think you need to do the same," Aunt Dora proclaimed.

Clarissa's stomach clenched at the idea. Aunt Dora had never spoken of such a goal before. "And how do you intend to fulfil this wish, Aunt?" she asked as she fiddled with the buttons on one of her gloves, which was already done up.

"I intend to find a protector to support me, before I'm too old."

"And you've settled on Lord Marchmere?" Clarissa didn't succeed in keeping the incredulity out of her voice.

"Yes," her aunt answered decisively. "He'll do me. At my age, I'm lucky to have any wealthy man interested in me."

"You're not old, Aunt!"

"Old enough! I'm in my fifth decade."

Aunt Dora was still an attractive woman and dressed well.

"And it's time you found a wealthy patron, Clarissa," her aunt added.

What! "Oh no, Aunt. I'm not interested in a patron or a protector. I won't fall into same trap as my mother."

"Your mother foolishly fell in love with her protector. Which you won't be silly enough to do."

"No, I won't, because I won't be taking one. And I won't be taking a husband until I'm ready to retire!" I need to make my name on the stage first .

Aunt Dora smiled, and a calculating look flashed in her eyes. "We'll see," she murmured. "Travener would be a generous patron for you."

"I'm not interested in snagging a patron, aunt." She fiddled with her glove in impatience.

"Every woman needs a protector at some time."

Clarissa forced down her annoyance with this conversation. She fixed a bonnet onto her head. "Ready."

Her aunt gave a decisive tip of her chin, perhaps pleased she had had the last word. "Good. Let's go find the gentlemen and go to supper."

Clarissa groaned. Not again. But she owed her career to her aunt, so she gritted her teeth like an obedient niece and followed Aunt Dora out the dressing room door. Francis's words of caution about these men echoed in her mind.

They went to Rules Restaurant again and this time chose oysters for their meal. The meal was long and boozy. Again, her aunt drank so much she tittered at every inane utterance from Lord Marchmere.

Lord Travener was slurring his words well before the end of the meal. So quickly that Clarissa suspected he had consumed a good deal ahead of their rendezvous.

During the meal, Clarissa became adept at keeping his hands at bay. But still he leaned towards her, crowding her until she felt as though she sat perched on the edge of her chair. One more touch of his hand on her arm and she swore she would leap to her feet and slap him.

Finally, the others finished their meals and readied to leave, saving her that ignominy. Clarissa sighed at the thought of steering her tipsy aunt home and into bed afterwards. Again.

But it was far worse than that. Lord Marchmere insisted on driving them home and her aunt was in the carriage before Clarissa could decline.

Inside Lord Marchmere's carriage, the darkened space felt like a closet, filled with the strong smell of new leather. Nausea threatened her. Clarissa was seated beside Aunt Dora on the forward-facing seat. For all of two minutes. Until her aunt took it into her mind to clamber across the space between the bench seats and onto Lord Marchmere's lap.

That gentleman welcomed her with a hearty kiss.

Clarissa cringed. "Aunt Dora, please sit beside me."

Instead, Lord Travener inserted himself into the space beside her, blocking her aunt's return, even if she had wished to comply. "Let me keep you company instead, Miss Bartlett," he whispered in her ear. The clip clop of the horses' hooves, the creak of carriage timbers, and the grind of wheels on cobblestones didn't mask his heavy breathing beside her.

Holding her breath in fright, Clarissa shrank away from him.

Travener's right hand landed on her thigh, hot and heavy, as he turned towards her. By the flare of a streetlight, Clarissa caught sight of his glittering, intent eyes as she shoved his hand from her leg and slid across the smooth seat towards the door.

Travener followed her, crowding her against the side of the carriage. His hands were everywhere. One squeezed at her breast, while the other made quick work of pulling up her skirt and sliding beneath and up her leg. Cold air swirled over her bare flesh.

His mouth descended into hers with a bump of teeth and morphed into a rough kiss.

Clarissa pushed at him with the arm closest to him while her left hand groped for the door handle. "Get off me!" Her left hand found the handle and she hung on to it for dear life.

"Come now, Miss Bartlett, do not be shy," he slurred. "Half of London has seen your skin on that stage. Let me show you how much I admire you." He pulled at her bodice. "Let me see your apple dumplins." His breath, a sour mix of claret and oysters, assailed her nose.

Clarissa elbowed Travener in the chest and slapped his hand away. "Aunt, help me!" Her heart pounded wildly.

Her efforts did little to deter Travener. He turned further towards her and maneuvered a knee over her thighs. "There's nothing for you to worry about. I'll fill your cock alley before you know it. You'll like it, I guarantee."

Her blood froze. He was deadly serious in his intent to have her here and now. She was out of her depth, almost overpowered by Travener's strength and weight. This was her last chance to fight him off. She balled her hand and pounded her fist into his groin, connecting with his erect cock.

The howl of pain and outrage Travener emitted as he fell back from her onto the carriage seat was more satisfying than a dozen curtain calls by a packed theatre audience. The carriage slowed to turn a corner and Clarissa wrenched the door open. She leaped from the vehicle.

Clarissa hit the pavement with a thud and pain seared across her hip. She scrambled to her feet, fearing Travener would follow her, and ran up the front staircase of a three-story row house and into the deep shadow of its portico. Her heartbeat at a wild gallop as she gulped in the cool night air.

Clarissa's legs turned to jelly. She leaned against the house wall and slid to the ground. She slumped there, her hand clutching her chest, trying to calm herself but instead reliving the scene in all its horror.

Finally, she pulled herself together and peered into the lit street. Where have I ended up?

This looked like a respectable neighborhood. And Travener had seemed like a respectable gentleman . She hurried down the steps to the street corner to read its sign. Garrick Street.

They hadn't been heading for her lodgings at all. Where had they been destined? Some love nest set up by the men, to which they took their intended conquests? She shuddered at the thought of what would have happened after they arrived. If not before.

She wasn't far from The Regent Theatre. If she returned there, the porter-caretaker would call a hackney for her. But if she went home, they might come looking for her there.

What to do? Her heart hadn't stopped pounding. She couldn't stay here. They might come back looking for her, or some other shady character might find her.

Clarissa hurried in the direction of the theatre, heart in mouth, hoping she wouldn't be accosted and taken for a woman of the night.

A quarter hour later, she had easily gained admission to the theatre and breathlessly asked Old Thomas, the porter, to hail a hackney for her. She gave the address and hurried inside the vehicle. Slumped against the squabs, impatient to arrive at the place she hoped would provide sanctuary, she twisted her fingers in the crumpled skirt of her silk dress.

She paid off the driver at Harley Street and hurried up the shallow flight of steps to the front door. A nearby gas streetlight cast a flickering beam her way.

The door knocker was removed from the bright blue door. The school was closed! Surely a caretaker staff remained? She rapped on the door with her knuckles.

Eventually, she heard footsteps from within. The door creaked open to reveal a middle-aged man with wiry grey hair cropped close to his head. He appeared to have dressed hastily in his black outfit. He held up a lit candlestick. "What 'cher want at this time of night, Miss?"

"The Miss Brodys, if they're home. Reverend Francis sent me here."

"Sorry, Miss, they're all in 'ampshire for Christmas."

"Oh! Reverend Brody too?"

"Not 'im, he's in Lunnun still."

Clarissa pulled out the last card Francis had given her. "I have his address. Atcherley Chambers. "

"Yes, but you can't go there, it's gentlemen only, Miss."

"I must. I've nowhere else to go. He gave me his card in case of such an emergency."

The man sighed loudly and beckoned her inside. "Wait in 'ere. I'll let Mrs. Creevy know I need to go out."