Page 56 of The Trouble with Tweed

Beatrice exhaled forcefully through her nostrils; Claire was surprised no smoke came out.

“Like I said in the letter, I’m not angry with you,” Claire said quickly, trying to remedy the situation. “Not anymore. I understand why you forgave Richard.”

“Is that what you think?” Beatrice reared back. “I wouldn’t acknowledge that blackguard if I met him on the street this very day. Why on earth would you think I forgave him?”

“Because it seemed… Back then, you mentioned him coming home, several times.”

“Of course I did. It might have saved the money he was spending on rent, for one thing. But mostly, I didn’t want you to have to deal with his mess alone.”

“What?” Claire’s nose scrunched.

“If he’d been home, it would have been he who had to send the staff away, he who had to deal with the collectors.” Beatrice scowled, searching Claire’s face. “I didn’t want him there for any reason past that.”

Claire shook her head. “I thought⁠—”

“You thought wrong. Which is an excellent lesson for you. I daresay you hardly ever think you’ve been wrong about anything,” she huffed.

“Perhaps that’s true.”

It was certainly hard to imagine how Claire had gotten this issue so backwards. At the time—well, until Beatrice had busted into her bedroom, bellowing—Claire had thought her beliefs about Beatrice to be completely true.

What else have you gotten wrong? a small voice within her whispered.

“Besides, I can forgive you for lying for Lily, but to lie for Richard?” Beatrice shrieked the last word, startling both of them for a moment. Beatrice blinked and continued in a more normal tone, “It felt as if you cared more for protecting him than you did for me.”

“You said he must have stayed away because he was frightened⁠—”

“As well he should have been,” Beatrice snapped, her eyes flashing. “I would have torn what little hair he had left out by the roots for what he did. I still maintain he stayed away because he was frightened. Frightened of us. Of the judgement we would have heaped upon him.”

“I thought you were excusing him,” Claire said in a voice that sounded small even to her own ears.

“You never spoke to me.” Beatrice gestured lamely with the letter; Claire was grateful it seemed her explosive anger seemed to be burning itself out. “You left me out, treated me like one of our younger sisters. I didn’t need your protection.”

“Perhaps I was mistaken in that, but I was doing my best,” Claire finally said, still blinking away the shock of the ferocity of her sister’s outburst.

“I could have helped you. I understand not asking Lily and even Margaret, and certainly not the rest. But me? I could have helped. I did help. Who do you think secured all of Mother’s jewelry? Who do you think took the silver service down to the pawnbroker’s and got a fair price for it?”

Claire reared back. “You stole the silver?”

“I wouldn’t call it stealing.” Beatrice looked vaguely insulted. “It was as much mine as anybody’s at that point.”

“I thought the servants took it!”

Beatrice gave a little puff of disgust and flopped onto the sofa next to Claire. “I got to it well before they left.”

“What did you do with the funds?”

Claire was more than a little relieved to see that the worst of her sister’s wrath had passed. She was also exceedingly curious to hear of her sister’s exploits. It had never occurred to her that she might have asked one of the others for help with such distasteful things—it was a surprise to realize that Beatrice had secrets of her own.

“I paid off that dreadful Mr. Jensen. I didn’t want him coming around the house anymore. I didn’t like the way he looked at Lily or Charlotte.”

“You didn’t.” Claire’s mouth gaped as she leaned forward.

“You needn’t look so shocked.” Beatrice frowned. “You see? You’re still astonished anyone but you could accomplish something.”

“It’s not that.” Claire shook her head. “It’s only that I paid him, too.”

“That bastard,” Beatrice hissed.