22
Fort Daniels, 27 February 1871
Claire didn’t know what to think, and she smarted from O’Connell having mentioned her father’s work. After the general’s pronouncement and warning, he and Longchamp had ushered them out of the office, but at least she had managed to secure a few sheets of paper and a pen and ink. She’d folded the paper and stuffed it with the other things in her reticule.
Radcliffe’s hand didn’t leave her waist until they were outside and she stepped away from him. She rounded on O’Connell, not caring who heard her.
“How dare you?” she snapped. “You know I can’t remember any of my work with my father.”
“Can’t or won’t?” O’Connell asked. He took a defensive stance.
Radcliffe stepped even with the two of them, but O’Connell motioned him back. Claire looked imploringly
