The Pearl Savage by Tamara Rose Blodgett

blame
somewhere convenient. No matter, Clara would deal with the
consequence.
    Clara stood straighter, squaring her
shoulders, “In all truth, I cannot control the oysters. It is
inexplicable why there be a color wash,” she said and shrugged.
There was no more she could do.
    They pulled up on opposite sides of
the pier where the Pier Keepers took their lines, tethering them to
the brass cleats on the deck, worn smooth from a million tethers,
like golden cream laid solid.
    Otis, a lean specimen of a man who
was lead Pier Keeper, helped Clara out of the pungy and she turned,
waiting for a brother to hand off her lunch pail. Russel did with a
wink and a grin, “I do adore tangerines, Princess.”
    Clara smiled, turning back to
Charles, already on deck, “Let us walk together.” She gave a
small wave to Sydney, who looked forlorn at her departure with
Charles.
    He turned to Alex, “You have the
pungy and,” Charles dug around in the pocket of his breeches,
finding his time piece on its copper chain, “one hour until supper,
do not be late, or mother will have your hide!”
    Alex ducked his head and Clara
realized that the admonition must be warranted.
    Charles confirmed this, whispering,
“He does tend to dawdle about.”
    She understood completely as she
could be a champion dawdler when so disposed.
    He, of course, knew that about her
and gave a look between she and Alex, which caused a bubble of
laughter to escape.
    Charles frowned, “Dear Clara, do
not encourage him.”
    “Yes, I mustn’t encourage his
dawdling.”
    Alex giggled behind them as Charles
swept her down the pier and away from the bad example she was
apparently setting. The evening was shaping up nicely. Sarah would
come calling at seven or so this evening and she had managed to put a
peeve upon Charles, marvelous .
    They walked quietly together for a
time, looking at the houses, some with candles lighting as the supper
hour drew closer.
    “She will be angry, our Queen,”
Charles said.
    “I know. That, I cannot help, as
well you know.”
    “Let me accompany you as you
explain the yield, the pink pearls.”
    Clara thought about this. She
mustn’t give him opportunity to avenge her in a fit of emotion. No,
she would hope something else would assist her this evening.
    “I think… she may be deep in her
cup. As will be the case each day that King Otto and Prince Frederic dawdle here.”
    A huge grin broke free across
Charles’ face, “Yes, they may dawdle about but I do not care for
their dawdling half so much as yours and my dear brother.”
    Clara had made a joke at the
neighboring monarchs’ expense and it was a small blight erased from
her worry. She had only her mother’s love of grapes made wine to
possibly give her grace. With Frederic here, she was not sure how
things would come to pass.
    They had passed Sarah’s school and
this was the fork where Charles must split from her to venture to his
own dwelling, “I do not require safeguarding this night, Charles.”
    They stood underneath the street
lamp which came on as dusk approached, its soft hissing giving away
its operation.
    Charles reached out a hand and
pressed his palm to her face, the warm, dry hand that had helped
shape games when they were young, guidance as they grew older, and
tenderness when there was no one else, “You seek to protect me from
myself, Your Highness.”
    Clara lowered her eyes. Was she as
transparent as all that? Could she not contain her expression better?
    “Do not self-recriminate, Clara.
It is who you are to think of
others first. But think on this ;
what friend would I be to you if I allowed you to go to the Royal
Manse unescorted, to face certain persecution for things that are not
of your making?”
    Clara did not have a fair rebuttal.
She knew if their positions were reversed she would not leave his
side.
    “Alright, you may come with me.
But, I implore you, say nothing. Do nothing. Promise
me .” Her aqua eyes focused on his dark ones, hooded by