Clara is Smarter than You are

Chapter LXI

                There we sat, both in a state unacceptable my societal standards, in an embrace of the entirely unacceptable kind. And there we stayed, in a daze as if we believed it would all fall apart the minute we let go.

Of course, it didn't. Clara was and still is an angel from heaven, playing the role of happy housewife when others were around. She had quite the career of her own. Free of her household duties such as being at Herbert's side every minute (a challenging task), she took up the penname of Carol and industriously took her pen to paper every day.

But that is another tale.

Herbert and I remained in our embrace for god knows how long. By the time we broke apart, we were both stiff in the joints from our lack of movement.

"She hasn't gone mad, Handel. If anyone's gone mad, it's us," Herbert said quietly.

"We could be killed," I warned.

Herbert grinned the sly grin he always got when he was about to get into trouble, "Therein lies the fun."

"You can't be serious," I said as I took his hand in mine – a move detrimental to my argument but very beneficial to my future.

"Oh, but I am."

I do not care to relate the details of what happened next, but know that the majority of it consisted of exactly the same material as mentioned above, for six more hours.

When we had finally made ourselves decent enough to be presentable to Clara, we ventured out into the open first floor of the house – Herbert had realized enough capital to have such a house – where the smell of brilliantly cooked food reminded us of the fact that we had not eaten that day.

We rushed to the kitchen to find that Clara was making herself a midday meal, still in her extravagant dress.

When she saw us clamber into the room she let out the softest laugh and kept on with her work, "You two must have had fun. I never knew Herbert as one who would skip meals."

"We have done nothing, Clara. What are you making?"

"Eggs and toast," she replied to Herbert's protest.

"That's breakfast food," I interjected.

Clara turned from the stove and looked at me, "I am cooking in a ball gown. You two are courting each other. I am allowed any food I want."

With that she went back to cooking.

Herbert, in a meek and shy manner, crept to her other side.

"My dear Clara, you wouldn't happen to know of any food we might have?"

Clara smirked, her usual air of deference and demureness entirely gone, "If you behave I might make some eggs and toast for you as well."

"Thank you, Clara," Herbert smiled and returned to my side.

"Think nothing of it," Clara turned and got more eggs and toast to cook.

Herbert led me into the sitting room, and we sat down on the small couch they owned.

"Where did Clara get that dress?" I asked him quietly, able to do so because we were sitting much closer than propriety demanded.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Herbert whispered back, "Although she has been out of the house a lot more as of late."

It was true. While Herbert was off at his work, Clara would sometimes take a midday walk. Recently, however, these excursions became more frequent and lasted much longer. The two of us blamed it on the warming spring weather – spring was a pleasant season where we lived – and the recent attention she'd been paying to her complexion.

Clara appeared by our side with delicious smelling food before we could further discuss the issue. She then left the room for her own plate and disappeared to take her lunch in another part of the house.

"She might be a sorceress," I suggested.

Herbert burst into laughter, "Goodness me, no."

We both sat there, laughing softly, for a solid fifteen minutes.

"But it is certainly strange. We were talking for a bit about this, but I had not mentioned anything on this scale," Herbert looked into the warm blaze in the fireplace.

"Perhaps she has a... consort?" I offered.

Herbert looked ready to laugh until his face fell and he looked at me with a look of one who has just had a grave realization.

"Handel... I believe that is the case."

"Oh?"

"She has been writing several letters as of late, and not telling me where she intends to send them. She won't even let me look at them. Think about it, Handel, it must be the case."

I contemplated this reality, "You might be right."

We both gazed at the fire. Herbert shifted himself closer to me.