Mr. Edwards glanced at the two little girls huddled on the bed. “Let her stay. When the master returns, he can decide. I won’t be responsible for tossing a child out into the night.”
“No, no, of course not,” Nanny murmured. “But what should I do?”
“Leave them be for the moment,” Mr. Edwards said. “There’s been enough upset tonight. We’ll make the necessary arrangements in the morning.”
“No arrangements. She’s my sister and I’m keeping her!” Clarissa said again.
Mr. Edwards smiled. “Nobody’s taking her anywhere, child. She can stay here until your father comes back. He will decide what to do.”
Clarissa could hardly believe it. Papa didn’t visit very often. “Promise?”
“I promise. Now go to sleep,” Mr. Edwards said. “Both of you.”
***
Six months later Sir Bartleby returned to Studley Park Manor for one of his infrequent and irregular visits—what was the point, he often said, when he had an estate manager to run things, and no son to interest him.
Even so, since Mr. Edwards was away at the time and none of the servants could rouse sufficient courage to broach the matter, it was almost a week before he realized his bastard daughter was living in his house.
He’d been riding back from paying a call on a neighbor, a juicy widow, when he noticed two small girls, one dark, one fair, playing on the side lawn. He frowned. His daughter was not permitted to play with peasants.
He returned to the house and sent for the nanny. And discovered who the dark-haired child was. In a rage, heordered the wretched brat brought to him. But though the servants searched high and low, there was no sign of her.
He then sent for Clarissa and demanded she tell him where the other girl was. Pale and trembling, Clarissa answered in a small, firm voice. “No, Papa.”
He could hardly believe his ears. He frowned, but moderated his voice. “Now be sensible, Clarissa. That girl is nothing to do with us. She’s an orphan. She belongs with her own kind.”
His daughter regarded him solemnly. “Izzy’s mama is dead, but so is my mama. Does that mean I am an orphan, too?”
He could barely repress his impatience. “Of course you’re not an orphan, you stupid child. I am your father.”
“But if you are Izzy’s father, she cannot be an orphan, can she?”
Big as a bull and just as angry, Sir Bartleby shouted, “I am not that—thatcreature’sfather! And I won’t have her in my house. Now, where is she?” He slammed his fist on the desk before him.
Clarissa flinched, but with a white, set face she stared him down. “Izzyismy sister, Papa. She looks just like you. And I won’t give her up.”
“How dare you defy me, you miserable child!” He rose from behind his desk, stalked around it and loomed over her with a raised fist. “Tell me at once where she is or else...”
Clarissa braced herself.
The door flew open, and a small dark-haired whirlwind burst in. “Leave my sister alone, you big fat bully!” Izzy flew at him and butted him hard in the stomach. Then while he was still wheezing, trying to get his breath back, she grabbed Clarissa’s hand and the two little girls fled.
They were not seen for the rest of the day.
Sir Bartleby shouted and stormed and ranted. He offeredthe servants bribes, and when that didn’t work, he made threats. But nobody could—or possibly would—produce either girl.
The estate manager, when he returned, tried to reason with him, pointing out that apart from her irregular birth, the child was essentially harmless, and that she was company for Miss Clarissa. Who had been very lonely with only servants for company, and mostly elderly ones at that.
Sir Bartleby snapped at him to mind his own damned business.
Night fell but the girls did not appear. When morning came, still with no sign of them, Sir Bartleby gave up in disgust. “Let her keep the brat then, if she must,” he growled. “But she’s not to set a foot outside the estate boundary—not to attend church or go into the village. She’s not to mix with local people at all—especially not the gentry.” He glowered at his servants, adding, “And if I ever lay eyes on the misbegotten little bitch, I’ll make her sorry she was ever born.”
He called for his carriage and returned to London in a filthy temper. The first thing he did on his arrival in the capital was to send for his lawyer.
It was another year before he made another visit to Studley Park Manor, and for the whole of his time there he did not acknowledge either daughter. He did not send for Clarissa. He did not speak to her or even look at her; in fact, he gave orders to the servants that the girls were to be kept out of his sight.
No problem there—the girls had as little desire to see him as he to see them, though it did grieve Clarissa that her father was even more set against her than ever. But she had a sister now, and that more than made up for it.
