An Earnest Favour

XVI

"Snowflakes are one of nature's most fragile things, but just look what they can do when they stick together." Vesta M. Kelly

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XVI.

Claire awoke with a start when she heard a loud bang, one that made the walls, and the picture frames that hung on them, shake. The small crystal chandelier that hung above the sitting area of the duke's bedroom began to move, with the pieces making a light twinkling sound.

Were marauders in the house? Claire leapt off of the sofa, seizing hold of the candelabra from above the mantle as a weapon.

Only a moment later did the bedroom door open and a dark, stumbling figure practically fell over the threshold. He was being supported by another imposing figure.

"There you are, sir," mumbled a deep, almost frustrated voice.

No sooner had she heard the voice did Claire's nostrils fill with the stink of ale. Wherever Jack had been, and whomever he had been with, had been filled with hours on nonsensical drinking.

"I shank you muchly!" cried Jack, giggling at his slurs.

Claire abandoned the candelabra and seized the oil lamp that she had left on the side table, turning up the dimmed flame so that there was light in the room. Jack was in a total state on the floor, and the man accompanying him Claire did not recognise.

She was in her bedroom, in a nightgown, with her only means of protection inebriated beyond recognition. She dared not approach. Oh, God, why had she tossed away the candelabra? Claire felt her heart hammer in her chest and she filled her lungs with air ready to scream.

But the man, who wore a plain black coat, the coat of a tradesman, spoke first. He looked up at the hesitating Claire and asked, "He yours, miss?"

Claire nodded silently.

"White's, the club on St James's Street, had shut him out on the street. I only picked him up because he said he could pay me. I helped him inside because I didn't want him being sick in me hackney, miss. Pardon the intrusion." He politely tipped his hat, and Claire relaxed a little, feeling slightly guilty for judging the man so harshly.

Claire had never heard of White's before, but she hated to think what went on inside. Money. That was what she needed now. Money, money, where would Jack keep his money? Claire spied several of the drawers around the bedroom, but seeing as it was not Jack's usual bedroom, she doubted many of his things were inside. Instead, she stepped forward and knelt down beside her drunken husband and opened his coat to check his pockets.

"Claire!" he giggled.

Claire winced as she caught some of his breath, before she found his leather purse. She stowed the lamp on a table near the door and looked up at the hackney driver. "How much does he owe you, sir?"

"Five pennies, miss," replied the driver.

Claire nodded, before opening Jack's purse. However, she soon realised that he did not carry such small change. The smallest denomination she found was a shilling, and she handed the coin over to the driver. "Thank you for bringing him home," Claire said gratefully.

The driver's eyes widened at the coin before he clasped his fist around it. "Much obliged, miss." He tipped his hat to Claire. "I can see myself out. You enjoy that now," he said, nodding to Jack on the floor before he turned on his heel and headed back towards the stairs.

Claire shut the bedroom door when she heard the driver leave through the front door. She turned to look at Jack who had managed to sit up, though his head hung between his knees. She had never seen a man this way. She had never seen anyone this way. What on earth had happened to make him drink to such an excess?