Clementine and Her Stalker Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 

Clementine heard the brisk taps on her bedroom door before it swung open and her mother thrust herself into the room, her lengthy stride taking her past Clementine’s desk to her bedside. The countess thrust her hands on hips, eyes the colour of her daughter’s blazing. “You foolish girl. You never learn, do you? You were fortunate your cousin had the presence of mind to notice your distress and pull you out of the river.”

Clementine fingered her blonde locks, frowned, and shook her head. “No – no, he didn’t.”

The countess let out a gasp of indignation. “What do you mean, he didn’t? He told your father himself. So we have it straight out of the horse’s mouth, so to speak.”

“Then this particular horse is lying – it wasn’t Guy who pulled me out. I can remember now.”

“Don’t you dare speak of your cousin like that.” The countess’s mouth took on the ugly shape that Clementine so disliked, and her veins stood prominent in her neck. “Degrading his character.” The countess paused, crooked her head sideways, narrowed her fine blonde brows. “What is it? What are you trying to say?”

“They told me my memory would return, and now it has. Mother, it was Stalker who pulled me out.”

“What?” The countess leaned closer, thin lines creasing her forehead. “Stalker – Stalker?” she repeated. “Have you completely taken leave of your senses? That awful boy was responsible for your demise – though I must say you hardly need any encouragement at the best of times – but how can you lay there and say such things that you know not to be true?”

“You weren’t there, Mother.” Clementine rolled her eyes. “All you have is third-hand knowledge. What Guy told Father because he obviously panicked and fled the scene – and then what Father told you. What’s happened to your powers of reasoning, Mother? Oh, I forgot, you lost those a long time ago.”

“You dare speak to me like that, child!” The countess’s blue eyes darkened with intensity. “The older you get, the more undisciplined you become. In any case, in the light of your escapades, basic reasoning is all that is needed. I can see your time in Stamford hasn’t improved your behaviour in the slightest.”

Clementine sighed, turned her head towards the floor to ceiling window. “I’m sick of lying here.” She hauled herself up. “And listening to you drone on.”

“You stay where you are, and mind your tongue,” the countess commanded, her tone deepening. “You’re obviously in no fit state to be going anywhere.”

“I’m eighteen next month,” Clementine snapped back, “and I’ll do what I please.”

“Eighteen being the operative word, my lady …” the countess spat the words out, bitterness in her tone. “And you’ll stay where you are until your father deems otherwise. He is, after all, most concerned about your welfare.”

“Huh!” Clementine gave a derisive laugh, swung her head, and met her mother’s stare. “Great, I’m a welfare case, now.”

Clementine watched her mother storm out, slamming the door, the vibrations rattling the frame.

***

 

The countess took the sweeping central staircase down to the ground floor and hurried to the earl’s study in the west wing. She flung the door open, prompting a glare from the already unsettled earl. “Your daughter is beyond all control.” The countess thrust herself down on the plush Chesterfield sofa as the earl sighed and turned to face her. “I don’t know why you sent her to Stamford. It’s had no effect whatsoever, except to induce further deterioration in her behaviour, something that beforehand I would have deemed impossible. And would you believe, she now claims to have recovered her memory and claims it was this wretched Stalker man who retrieved her from the Thames.” The countess raked a hand through her hair, sprung up, made for the drinks cabinet, snatched a glass and poured an ample measure of Scotch. The earl eyed her with disdain. “Resorting to that at this time of the day is hardly going to help.”

“Which is why you have a drinks cabinet in your study, is it?”

The earl expended a heavy breath. “I take it you adopted your usual, heavy-handed approach?”

“Oh really.” The countess glanced upwards with exasperation, took a swig of whisky, placed her glass down and leaned forward, hands clasped tightly together. “Have you fully anticipated the implications of this? Have you really? What about the press? What about that? I can see it now. ‘The wild child aristocrat, plucked out of the Thames,’ they’re really going to lap this one up.”

The earl sprung to his feet, his ruddy features darkening. “Is that all you care about?” He shook his head. “First, we need to establish exactly what happened here, and indeed, who extracted Clementine from the river. If it wasn’t Guy, then our nephew has been lying to us, and if indeed it was this –  this Stalker fellow, then we need to examine our attitude towards him.”

Before the countess could summon a reply, the earl stormed out of his study.

 

***

“What now!” Clementine sighed at the knock on her door and prepared herself for another intrusion. Her father entered, closing the door behind him. “How are you feeling, my dear?”

“As well as can be expected in the circumstances.” Clementine turned her gaze towards the window.

“Hmmm. Circumstances that you appear to have orchestrated yourself.” The earl pulled a chair to Clementine’s bedside, and she switched her blue eyes back to him. “At least you don’t appear to be blaming poor Stalker.”

“Ignoring Clementine’s remark, the earl said, “Your mother tells me your memory has returned. I have to say that she doesn’t sound convinced. I suspect she feels like you’re trying to protect him.”

“No – that’s Mother for you.” Clementine shook her head, placed thumb and forefinger to her forehead. “I recall now, struggling to stay afloat but slipping beneath the surface, but just before I did, I saw Stalker leap into the water, fully clothed. I didn’t see Guy anywhere.”

The earl placed his elbow on his knee, cupped his chin with the palm of his right hand, and studied Clementine intently. “You realise that I’ll do all that I can to check the validity of what you say.”

“Feel free, Father.” Clementine let out a heavy breath. “I realise that I might not be the model daughter, Father, but I do not tell lies, unlike, it would appear, my cousin.”

The earl left his seat, paced towards the window, stared out towards the lush, green grounds of his estate, and then swung back towards his daughter.

“Clementine, were this to be true, what exactly is your relationship with this – er – Stalker fellow? You see, the way that you speak of him, the tag you appear to have given him – it suggests a relationship shall we say beyond friendship level. Stalker is not …”

“No, Father, allow me to interrupt you, but I can see where you’re going with this. Stalker is not his name, it is simply a nickname, but that doesn’t imply anything other than friendship.”

A nerve twitched in the earl’s cheek. “I sense otherwise – and were that to be the case, I would strongly advise that you reconsider this ‘friendship’ forthwith.”

Clementine drew a hand across her forehead, stared up at the ceiling before angling her head at the earl. “Father, to all intents and purposes, it is already terminated. I’ve no doubt that what little of my schooling remains at Stamford will be curtailed, and therefore there is no longer any connection between …”

“That is correct,” the earl interrupted, “and bearing in mind your impromptu and foolhardy escapades in London with this chap, you are effectively grounded as of now until your eighteenth birthday. You will not leave this estate, do you hear?”

“I can’t very well not hear, Father.” And on the earl’s glare, Clementine added, “I mean, am I to be restricted to the confines of this room for the entire …”

“Of course not,” the earl snapped. “But you will remain here until Dr Gilbert has examined you this afternoon.” The earl headed for the door but turned back with his hand on the brass handle. “And remember my advice with regards to – er …”

“Stalker … yes, Father.” Clementine glanced away, rolling her eyes.

 

***

The earl paced his study, phone to his right ear. “Administration? Yes – yes, this is the Earl of Hamborough speaking. My daughter, Lady Clementine St Lodes was admitted on Saturday evening after having slipped and fallen into the River Thames. Forgive me, I should have enquired earlier as to the exact circumstances regarding her admission during my visit yesterday. Unfortunately, I neglected to do so. The shock, you understand. Are you able to provide me with an account of her admission? I mean by that, any details reported by your staff in attendance at the scene itself.

The earl stopped his pacing, waited as the woman came back after a short delay. Just one moment, Earl, I’ll connect you to the Health Care Executive.” A few seconds later, the executive came on line. “Good morning, Earl. I apologise for the brief delay; however, I can advise you that Lady Clementine was accompanied by a local GP, Dr Raymond Knowles, who treated her at the scene and travelled to the hospital along with the ambulance crew. I can supply you with his contact details should you so desire it.”

“Yes, yes, please do. I would like to thank the fellow profusely, and no doubt he will provide me with further details of the incident.”

“Well, I do believe he was present when the incident occurred, Earl.”

“Excellent. Many thanks.” The earl took down the details and bid the man goodbye.

 

***

The phone rang in the earl’s study. Reaching across the desk, he picked it up to be met by the voice of Evans, his long-serving butler. “Dr Knowles on the line, Earl. I believe you were expecting a call from him. I’ll put it through.”

“Thank you, Evans." The earl had phoned Knowles earlier, but the GP had been out on his calls.

“Dr Knowles, good day to you. Thank you for returning my call. Doctor, I gather you were present at the time of my daughter’s unfortunate slip into the Thames?”

“Yes, that’s correct, Earl. Your daughter was in some distress after the unfortunate incident, but her boyfriend was on hand to help. I checked her condition before accompanying the ambulance to the hospital.”

Colouring considerably, the earl asked, “I’m not so sure Lady Clementine has a male suitor, but would you mind describing the fellow briefly?”

“Of course. I’m afraid I merely assumed that to be the case – let me see, dark haired, of slim build, a little above average height, I suppose. – poor fellow was so concerned, and he leapt into the river fully clothed. I provided accommodation for him for the night and a change of clothes, courtesy of my son, who was with me. Oh, and I believe his name was Tony …”

“Stalker … er, Williams, the earl finished, tapping his fingers on the desk and cupping his chin with his other hand. “That answers my question comprehensively. Please accept my thanks for your prompt attention, and if there is anything I can do by way of remuneration …”

“No, no, Earl. I won’t hear of it. Your thanks are enough.”

“Then goodbye, dear fellow.”

 The earl put the phone down, scratched his brow. There was obviously more to this young fellow than met the eye. Thanking him would indeed be necessary. But more problematic was the prospect of a developing relationship between Stalker and his daughter. This could not be allowed to happen. Celia’s suspicions were already heightened, and given her penchant for social esteem and pretentiousness, any association would cause an uproar that could travel beyond the confines of Hamborough Hall. A word in Stalker’s ear, while thanking him, the earl mused, should put an end to the problem, and the less Clementine knew of it, the better.

 

***

 

“You have a face like thunder. More fool you for doubting your nephew’s word.” Celia looked up from her seat at the dining table and scoffed. “You’ve had a conversation with the doctor, no doubt, and …”

“And he confirms that our dear nephew has been lying through his teeth,” the earl interrupted, bitterness in his tone. As the countess’s eyes narrowed, and her complexion paled, he added, “His description also confirms that it was indeed this Stalker fellow who intervened and retrieved Clementine from the river …”

“But … but there must be some mistake, James – this doctor has got his facts wrong, that is all. I shall phone Guy at once and get him to correct this ridiculous …”

“Leave it,” the earl boomed, his deep voice resonating around the spacious dining room. “There is no mistake. His description matches the young man to a tee. I will deal with Guy later, that is not the main issue here. The fact is that I … we … owe this Stalker – er – Williams, I believe, our thanks.

“After which, Celia,” the earl took his seat at the other end of the twelve-seater dining table, “I shall ensure that no further contact exists between the young man and Clementine.” The earl sighed. “I can read you like a book, Celia.”

The countess waited until the maid had placed bowls of game soup at each end of the table and departed, and asked, “And how do you propose to do that?”

The earl picked up a spoon, raised it towards his mouth. “I have my ways.”

“Just as long as any connection is well and truly truncated,” the countess said, swirling her spoon around her soup. “I’ll never live this down if this becomes common knowledge. As if her antics until now haven’t been troublesome enough. Clementine, the daughter of an earl and countess dating a commoner – and with a name like Stalker, of all things. Really …”

The earl padded his lips with a serviette. I’ve already told you, it’s not his actual name but one that …”

“That our daughter has bestowed upon him. Imagine the ignominy of it.” The countess swept her free arm wide, “Introducing Mr Stalker.”

The earl rolled his eyes, placed his spoon down and clutched his forehead. “But I’ve already told you, Celia, this will not be allowed to happen.”

The countess sniffed, pushed her soup bowl aside. “So tell me please, how do you propose to thank this man and then warn him off?”

“By inviting him here,” the earl said, leaning back as the maid came in for their soup bowls.

The countess frowned. “Oh, please, James, have you gone mad. Right under Clementine’s nose? There is obviously a growing attachment and we are surely seeking to prevent it, not encourage it.”

“I have thought about it carefully. I do not wish to go into detail at this stage, but rest assured, it will set the matter straight.”

“It had better,” the duchess said acerbically. Or I will never live it down.”

“Me neither,” the earl uttered beneath his breath as he hurriedly left the room.

 

***

Clementine sat in bed aimlessly flicking through her TV channels. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

She wondered what Stalker was doing now that he’d returned to Stamford. She was furious that Guy had claimed responsibility for recovering her from the Thames, which had been an outright lie. It was also a stupid action because when Father discovered the truth of what happened, and there was every likelihood that he would, somehow, what then? Oh, that she should accuse anyone of stupid actions, she of all people! But there it was – this was worse than stupid – it was downright deceitful.

Anyhow, when Father found out, Guy would be discredited, rightly so, and Clementine dearly hoped that Stalker would get the credit he deserved.

But what of Stalker now? She found her mind travelling continuously in his direction, even if physically, she could not. Confined to Hamborough Hall until her eighteenth birthday with no prospect of seeing him again.

No doubt her parents suspected something; in any event, their suspicions had leaked out in their questioning. And no doubt also, there was something afoot downstairs. The doctor had been to visit her two hours back and had been happy enough with her recovery, and yet her parents had insisted she remain in bed for the rest of the day as a safety measure.

Meaning she got to receive her evening meal via Evans, the butler, while they were no doubt free to discuss her at length downstairs.

Huh! One way or another, she was going to get to Stalker – if they thought that two weeks’ detention would solve matters, they were very much mistaken.

In truth, Clementine herself didn’t understand what was going on between them – just that there was something developing – something there. Something that was not going to be nipped in the bud if she had her way, and she believed he felt the same way too. Except that she was aristocracy and Stalker was not – tosh in her eyes. In two weeks that would account for nothing. Problem was, she didn’t even have a mobile now to contact him – it had expired in the Thames, and the chances of acquiring another were presently nil. Mother and Father would see to that.

Clementine huffed, leaned back against the headrest, and began flicking aimlessly through the channels once more.