Chapter Five

I'll Take Care of Things

When Clara arrived at John's flat the next morning, toting along a large carpet bag, she was both the happiest and the most nervous person in London. Her heart was beating so loud she could hear it in her skull, and as she raised her hand to knock, she noticed a tremor running through her fingers.

"Stop being so stupid," she muttered to herself. "This isn't your first time as a governess."

The door opened suddenly and Clara stiffened, a plastered on smile hiding her secret anxieties.

"Hello John," she said to the harried man in front of her. Both his collar and his hair were standing up in places.

"Clara, hello, come in." He hurried into the room, buttoning his collar closed as he dashed off to look for something.

"I apologize for my appearance," he said from across the room. "Running a bit late today, I'm afraid."

"Please, don't let me get in the way. I'll go to the nursery, yes?"

He smiled gratefully and pointed her down the hallway.

"Bill's room is at the end."

"Thank you. Oh, John?" She turned back around. "Are there any rooms you don't want me in, or specific rules to follow? Only, we didn't get to discuss the details last night.

His eyebrows furrowed at her question.

"Should there be rules? Er, I mean, no; make yourself at home."

He threw her another quick smile and then sat to put his shoes on. Clara watched him for a moment, as if transfixed. He really was the strangest man she'd ever worked for. Her prior employers had all been the same; controlling, angry, strict, focused on making their children 'respectable'.

John was...different.

Different in the best way possible.

She started toward the nursery before he could catch her staring.

Bill was awake, but still in her nightgown and in the afterglow of a dream.

"Good morning," Clara said, setting her bag on the floor. "I trust you slept well?"

Bill smiled.

"I had a dream last night."

Clara sat beside her on the bed.

"Oh? What was it about?"

"I was on a ship," Bill said. "A ship that could go anywhere I wanted to go."

Clara widened her eyes.

"Anywhere in the world?"

Bill nodded. Clara tickled her under the arm, getting a giggle in response.

"The Doctor tells me you've already been all over the world."

"Well, some of it," Bill conceded. "I like London best though."

"What's the best part about London?"

Bill thought for a moment.

"The toy shops. And the hospital."

"You like the hospital?" Clara questioned.

"When the Doctor is there. And sometimes the ladies give me sweets," Bill added in a not-so-quiet whisper.

"What's that about sweets?" John said, entering the room. Bill giggled again.

He was fully dressed now, wearing his coat and carrying his medical bag. He dropped the latter as he knelt in front of his adopted daughter.

"I've got to get to the hospital. Do you promise you'll be on your very best behavior for Miss Clara?"

"Very, very best," Bill assured.

John gave her a smile and a hug before standing with his bag again.

"Are you set for the day? I'll probably be back around five this evening."

Clara nodded, getting to her feet.

"I think we'll be alright."

She followed him to the door, suddenly feeling a little daunted. In the past, she'd usually had specific instructions; what to do, what not to do, where to go, where not to go. Now she had the freedom to choose what to do, it was a little scary.

"Have a good day, Clara," John said, disappearing down the staircase. Clara waved, and then came back inside and shut the door.

"Miss Clara?" Bill called from the other side of the flat.

Clara took a deep breath.

"Here we go."

. . . . . .

By the time John returned home, Clara had enjoyed the best workday of her life. She and Bill had started out the day with some arithmetic and reading, then made a messy but delicious lunch of cucumber sandwiches. During tea, a cup had broken and Bill had cried while Clara properly worried that she'd get the sack, but since then the day had been good.

Now a slightly dry, but still edible, chicken sat on the dining table, watched eagerly by Bill and Clara. When they heard the door open, they hurried into the front lounge.

"Doctor!" Bill shouted, running toward John.

He set his bag down and braced himself just before she barrelled into him. Clara noted the dark circles forming beneath his eyes.

"Hello darling. How was your day?"

She leaned back, leaving her arms around his neck.

"We made cucumber sandwiches. And Miss Clara made the best tea!"

"The best? The best in the world?"

Bill nodded with a giggle. Clara shook her head.

"I don't know about that." She clasped her hands together. "I best be heading off. Don't let me get in the way of your supper."

John let go of Bill abruptly.

"Please; don't leave on our account."

Clara smiled politely.

"Thank you, but I really should be getting home. It'll be dark soon."

John nodded.

"Thank you, Clara. For everything you've done for us. You have no idea how helpful you've been."

She noticed that exhaustion in his features again. It was a side effect of being a doctor, she supposed. It must've been difficult to separate himself from his work, with how compassionate he was.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then, John. Bill."

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

. . . . .

Clara walked home in a blissful daze. The air was crisp, just the way she liked it, and there was a kettle waiting to be boiled sitting at home. Hugging her shawl around her, she had the odd feeling she was forgetting something, but cast the thought from her mind. Nothing would disturb her tonight.

She'd had a good day. No, a great day. A wonderful day, with a wonderful little girl and her brilliant and kind caregiver. She had a steady job and a house to come home to at the end of the day. All was well.

Within eyesight of her house, Clara froze. A figure's silhouette leaned against her door; a large man with workman's boots. She hesitantly forced herself forward, self suddenly conscious. Rising nerves frazzled through her system. She was afraid.

"Clara, Clara, Clara," the man said. Her landlord appeared from the shadows, the light above making his sneer even more foreboding.

"I hope you have your rent money for me."

She swallowed, her blood turning as cold as the evening air.

"I've just been hired as a governess to one of the doctor's at St. Bartholomew's," she said.

"Let's not dawdle around the subject. Do you have the money or not?"

She backed up unconsciously. Her face was red, feet literally shaking in her boots.

"No, sir," she whispered with her head cast down. "I promise I will next week, whenever I get paid. I have almost the whole amount right now."

"Almost isn't good enough this time, I'm afraid," the man said with a frown. "Look, Clara, I've been taking it too easy on you. But I can't any more. If you can't pay your rent on time, yet again, then I have no choice."

"I promise; please," she cried, wishing she didn't sound so desperate. But she was. She was very desperate.

He came forward.

"Now, Clara, I ain't going to fight you on this. Either pay me my due, or get your things off of my property."

Another set of feet suddenly came charging toward them across the cobblestones.

"What seems to be the problem here?" John's voice came from beside Clara, making her jump as much as it warmed her heart and calmed her nerves.

The landlord backed up a pace, touching his hat in some mock greeting.

"Just business, sir," he said with an angry scowl. "Nothin' to see."

John set Clara's carpet bag down on the ground beside her.

"You forgot this in Bill's room," he explained. "We hurried after you, but you'd already gone."

He shifted to reveal Bill, standing next to him with her mittened hand in his. Clara smiled gratefully at them both.

"Now, sir," John said to the landlord. "I think we can solve this issue with more civility."

"This doesn't concern you. This is between me and my former tenant."

The word 'former' dropped a weight into Clara's stomach.

John held up a hand.

"Hold on."

"No," the landlord said darkly, taking a step toward John. He was almost half a foot taller even than the doctor.

"I've been waiting long enough. Now take yourself and the girl away."

John stood his ground, making Clara nervous.

"I can't do that. I'm not going to let you throw her out into the street because of some money. Unlike you, I actually have some care for other people."

The landlord came at him with a glare, and shoved him so hard he tripped back a few feet.

"Doctor!" Bill shouted, as his hand was ripped from her own.

Clara came in between the two men.

"Please! Don't hurt him on my account."

John recovered himself and looked sternly into the other man's eyes.

"What amount is her debt?"

"20 pounds."

Clara knew it to be more like 15, perhaps even ten, but stayed silent.

John reached into his pocket and pulled out the requested amount, handing it over with a small smile.

"Please, take it. She's under my employment and I failed to pay her wages this week. Clara is blameless in this."

The landlord took the money and, still in a right huff, walked off counting and recounting it.

John took hold of Clara's shoulders.

"Are you alright?" He asked in earnest.

"I will never repay you," she said, shaking her head.

"Don't worry about it. Will you be alright on your own for the night?"

She nodded her head and took her carpet bag.

"Thank you, John. You have no idea how much this means."

"I couldn't see you put on the street tonight."

"I thank you all the same." She waited until he welcomed her thanks before disappearing into her home.

With the door closed and locked, she set her bag down and made a cup of tea. It had started as a good day, that was certain. Facing down the landlord was quite a different story. And to be rescued by this mysterious John was...Clara couldn't decide if she was more happy or more embarrassed.

Overall, she was simply grateful to be in her home again, in front of the fire.

Tomorrow's challenges could wait until tomorrow.