The Button Box

‘You’re crazy.’ Betsy flounced into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Clara faced Luke with a defiant lift of her chin. ‘I want to speak to Patches, woman to woman.’

‘What?’ He stared at her as if she had spoken in a foreign tongue.

‘You heard me, Luke. I want to meet this woman and reason with her. I’ll offer to pay back what Pa owes bit by bit.’

‘She’ll slit your throat as soon as look at you, or she’ll set her roughs on you. Either way, you won’t come out of there with your pretty face as it is now. I won’t allow it.’

‘You can’t stop me. If you don’t tell me where to find her I’ll walk the length and breadth of Seven Dials until I come across someone who will.’

‘You’re out of your mind, girl. Be sensible, Clara. You don’t know what Patches is like.’

‘Maybe not, but she’s a woman like me. I’ll appeal to her better nature.’

‘Patches Bragg isn’t a woman – she’s a creature from hell and you are a simpleton. Don’t blame me if she cuts your throat – or worse.’

‘Then you’ll take me to her?’

He took a deep breath. ‘In the morning, but tonight I want you to take your sisters to the shop and spend the night there.’

‘No. Not good enough. By morning Pa might be lying in a pool of blood and I’ll have that on my conscience for the rest of my life. I’m going now, Luke – with or without you.’

It had stopped snowing, but the temperature had plummeted and the filthy streets were buried beneath a blanket of crisp white snow. The moon had emerged from behind the clouds and the world around them sparkled with frosty light, but Clara was oblivious to everything other than the need to find the woman who quite literally held Alfred Carter’s life in her blood-stained hands. Luke strode along with fierce intent, and she had to struggle through the deep snow in order to keep up with him, but she did not protest. If she hesitated she might lose courage.

He came to a halt in front of the narrow alleyway that led into Angel Court. ‘This is where I have to leave you. But you can still change your mind and come home with me.’

She shook her head. ‘No, I can’t. I’ve come this far and I must do what I set out to do or I’d never forgive myself.’

‘You are a stubborn woman, and I was a fool to bring you here.’ Luke glanced up and down the street, but few people had braved the freezing temperatures, and an eerie silence made their surroundings seem dreamlike and unreal. ‘There’s time to change your mind. I doubt if they’ll come for Carter tonight.’

‘That’s not what you said earlier.’

‘It wasn’t as cold as this then. Everyone has gone to ground, and that’s where we ought to be. Come on, girl. Be sensible, or do I have to throw you over my shoulder and carry you home?’

‘I’m not giving up so easily.’ She turned on her heel and before he had a chance to carry out his threat she entered the gaping maw of the alley. The snow had not penetrated this far and her eyes took a while to grow accustomed to the darkness. The air was thick with the smell of rotting vegetables and night soil, and the buildings that towered above her were shuttered and silent. All her instincts told her to run away and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end like the hackles on an angry dog, but she kept walking. The alley opened out into a small court surrounded by equally tall buildings with only a scrap of midnight-blue sky visible and a single, solitary star twinkled at her as if it were wishing her well.

A faint glimmer of candlelight flickered in a basement window, and Clara was about to knock on the door of what might once have been the home of a respectable family, when it opened suddenly and a hand shot out. She was dragged unceremoniously into the building.

‘What d’you want? You ain’t one of the usual girls.’

A lantern held close to her face dazzled her so that she could not see her assailant, but his voice was gruff and his breath smelled strongly of stale beer and rotten teeth.

‘I don’t know who you think I am, but you’re mistaken.’ Clara was nauseated and terrified, but she was not going to give up now. She stood her ground. ‘I want to see Patches Bragg.’

‘Does you indeed? Well, you got a nerve, I’ll say that for you. You must be one of them salvationists, come to rescue our souls. Patches eats girls like you for breakfast.’

‘I’m here on a private matter,’ Clara said hastily. ‘I’d like to speak to her and then I’ll leave.’

‘That’ll be up to her.’ He leaned closer. ‘Take a tip from Old Tom. Go home now and forget you ever heard of Patches Bragg.’

‘Thank you, but it’s really urgent. Please take me to her.’

Old Tom held the lantern higher and for the first time she could see him clearly. His snuff-stained whiskers and wispy white beard contrasted oddly with his shiny bald pate. He shook his head. ‘You might live to regret this, but if you insist you’d best follow me.’ He ambled off along a narrow corridor and came to a halt at the far end where he tapped out a pattern of knocks on the door. It opened, and a wave of sound and the smell of raw alcohol, tobacco smoke and other unpleasant odours enveloped Clara in a noxious cloud.

‘Come this way.’ Old Tom walked past the man at the door, who leered at Clara, giving her a gap-toothed grin. ‘Keep yer hands to yerself, Bones. This one wants words with the boss.’

The sound of Bones’ cackling laughter followed them down the steep flight of stairs to the basement, which opened out into a large room, hazy with smoke. It was heated by an enormous range, which took up most of one wall. The fug was sickening, although it did not seem to worry the male occupants and the gaudily dressed women, most of whom were the worse for drink. They lolled against the men, who seemed to be more intent on their cards than the charms of their female companions. Piles of coins lay in front of the players and no one took the slightest notice of Clara.

Old Tom led her to the bar, where a large woman perched on a stool with a glass of gin in her hand. Her low-cut gown exposed a vast expanse of bosom with the odd patch dotted here and there, and when she turned her head to look at Clara it was easy to see why she had earned her nickname. At a quick glance Clara guessed that Patches Bragg must be fifty years old or thereabouts. Her grey hair and sagging jowls might give her the appearance of a respectable matron, but her heavy-lidded grey eyes were sharp and shrewd. Her thin lips seemed to disappear beneath folds from her plump cheeks, which were heavily rouged and with patches carefully applied to conceal disfiguring scars. It was a fashion that Patches’ grandmother might have adopted many years ago, and it was one that made her instantly recognisable.

As the pale eyes raked over her, Clara felt a shiver of fear run down her spine, but she held her head high.

‘Who have we here, Old Tom?’ Patches demanded in a gruff voice with just a hint of a French accent.

‘She’s come wanting to see you, boss. I never asked her name.’

‘She don’t look like one of them salvationists.’ Patches beckoned to Clara. ‘Come closer so I can get a better look at you. What’s your name and what d’you want with me?’

‘My name is Clara Carter. I think you know my pa.’

Patches raised the glass to her lips and drained the contents. She thumped it down on the counter where the barman was quick to add a generous tot of gin. ‘I know many men. What’s so special about your pa?’

‘His name is Alfred Carter and I know he comes here. I think he owes you money and I want to come to an arrangement.’

Patches threw her head back and laughed. ‘Well, here’s a novelty. Are you saying he ain’t good for what he owes?’

‘I don’t know how much it is, but I’ll make sure you’re paid every last penny. I just need time.’

‘Don’t that beat everything you’ve ever heard?’ Patches downed another mouthful of her drink, but her eyes narrowed to slits in her pudgy face and the black stars and moons moved closer together. ‘Suppose I don’t like that arrangement? What will you do then?’

‘My pa is a good man at heart, but he hasn’t been the same since Ma died and my youngest sister was crippled by the same disease.’

‘Stop, you’re breaking my heart.’ Patches leaned closer, fixing Clara with a hard stare. ‘Your old man is a gambler and you’d be better off with him out of the way, which is what will happen if I don’t get my money in full.’

‘How much does he owe you?’ The words came out in a single breath – a whisper of desperation. Clara was scared, but determined to see this through, whatever the cost.

Patches straightened up and turned to the barman. ‘Alf Carter, Wych Street, Bob. How much is on the slate?’

He reached beneath the counter, produced a dog-eared notebook and flipped through the pages. ‘Eight guineas, boss.’

‘Eight guineas it is then, and to show you that I’m a fair woman I won’t add any interest, but I want my money.’

‘That’s a huge sum.’ Clara stifled a gasp of horror. Eight guineas was more than she earned in a whole year. A wave of anger washed over her. How could Pa have been so profligate with the money they needed to survive?

‘But I ain’t such a bad woman,’ Patches continued cheerfully. ‘I’ll give you three days to find the cash.’

Clara licked her dry lips, forcing herself to remain calm. ‘And if I can’t raise that much?’

‘Put it this way, my duck, your pa has two good legs at the moment. He might find it difficult to walk again if I don’t get my money on time. My boys are experts when it comes to maiming and crippling them as get on the wrong side of Patches Bragg. Do you understand, sweetheart?’

Lost for words, Clara nodded.

‘Three days, Miss Carter. Not an hour more. Now get her out of here, Old Tom. I’m sick of looking at her milkmaid complexion.’

Chapter Three

The chill outside hit Clara like a slap in the face. Quite how she arrived on the pavement outside the alley she could not remember, but taking deep breaths of ice-laden air brought her abruptly back to her senses. She looked round, half hoping to find Luke waiting for her, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was only now that the impact of what had happened in the illegal gaming club hit her with full force. Eight guineas was a small fortune and she had about as much chance of raising such a sum in three days as she had of flying to the moon. She wrapped her shawl around her slender body and set off for home, ignoring lewd suggestions from the few men who were about on such a night, and the shrill threats from the women who braved the winter weather to solicit from doorways or open windows. She was numbed not only by the cold and the fact that Luke had abandoned her, but by the sheer impossibility of her situation. Patches Bragg was not like any other woman she had ever met and Clara felt completely out of her depth. Miss Silver might have been a martinet at times, but she was a saint by comparison.

Clara arrived home to find Betsy waiting for her in a state of considerable agitation. ‘Where’ve you been? I thought something terrible must have happened to you. Where’s Luke?’

‘He abandoned me, if you must know.’ Clara sank down onto a chair by the fire, which had burned down to a few desultory embers. A loud snore from the truckle bed made her glance over her shoulder. ‘I don’t know how he can sleep after what he’s done.’

‘What happened? You’re scaring me, Clara.’

‘Pa owes Patches Bragg eight guineas and she’s given me three days to find the money.’

Betsy’s eyes widened. ‘That’s a fortune. How are we to raise such a sum?’

‘I don’t know, and that’s the truth.’

‘What will happen if Pa doesn’t pay up?’

‘He’ll end up a cripple or worse. Luke was right about Patches. She’s a bad woman, but Pa is to blame too. His gambling has led us to this.’

A loud knock on the door made Clara jump to her feet. ‘They can’t have come for him already.’

‘I told you we should have left Pa and gone to your shop.’

‘Clara, are you there?’ Luke’s anxious voice was followed by another rap on the door.

She hurried to open it. ‘Where were you when I needed you? I had to walk home on my own—’ She broke off at the sight of his bloodied face. ‘What happened to you?’

He closed the door and leaned against it. ‘You might say that I had an argument with a lamppost.’

‘You’ve been fighting again, Luke Foyle. When is all this going to stop?’ Clara guided him to the chair she had just vacated and pressed him down on its seat. ‘Sit still and I’ll bathe your face.’ She plucked a towel from the rail and handed it to him. ‘There should be some warm water in the kettle.’ She turned to Betsy, who was standing by the bedroom door, pale-faced and trembling. ‘You look exhausted. You should get some sleep.’

‘I don’t want to be murdered in my bed. We’ve got to get out of here, Clara.’

Luke staunched his bleeding nose with the scrap of towelling. ‘You’re safe for tonight. I saw to that, but I can’t be here to protect you girls all the time. You need to leave this place and Alfred must get as far away from here as he can, if he wants remain in one piece.’

Clara’s hands trembled as she filled a bowl with tepid water. ‘Pa has to leave London, and when he sobers up I’ll tell him so.’ She took the towel and tore off a strip, using it to bathe the gash on Luke’s forehead. ‘How did you get this?’

‘I told you that Patches Bragg and the Skinners don’t get along. They’ve been fighting for control of Seven Dials for years, and I decided to go back to the club to make sure you were all right when I happened to bump into Patches’ son, Dagobert.’

‘You bumped into his fist, by the look of you,’ Clara said crossly. ‘You’ll have a black eye in the morning and I wouldn’t be surprised if your nose is broken. Why couldn’t you just walk away?’

‘You don’t know Bert Bragg.’

Momentarily diverted, Clara paused with the bloodied cloth in her hand. ‘If he’s anything like his mother I’d prefer to keep it that way.’

‘You’re right, he’s a nasty piece of work and you must keep clear of him.’

‘Maybe you should take your own advice. Just look at the state of you.’

‘If you think I’ll walk away from a fight, you don’t really know me, Clara.’ Luke snatched the damp cloth from her and held it to his bleeding nose. ‘He came off worst, if you’re interested. I left him lying in the snow in White Hart Court. Patches won’t like that, but it will take her mind of your father’s debts for a while.’

‘And if this man is as bad as you say he is, you’ll be the next one who has to leave London.’ Clara emptied the contents of the bowl into the stone sink.

‘Not me, sweetheart.’ Luke rose to his feet. ‘I’m going to marry you and raise a family of boys who’ll keep the streets free from Bert Bragg and his mother.’

‘That’s not what I want for myself.’ Clara pushed him away as he moved to embrace her. ‘I want to be free from gamblers and gangsters altogether, and I intend to make a better life for myself and any children I might have in the future.’

Luke’s eyes narrowed. ‘I want a wife who’ll pay attention when I give her good advice.’

‘Then I am not the right woman for you, Luke Foyle.’

His expression lightened, and his lips twitched. ‘You’ll change your mind, sweetheart. You’ve had a bad time and you’re tired so I’ll leave and let you get some rest.’ He took her hands in his. ‘I might be able to find the money to get Alfred out of harm’s way, so sleep easy, my darling.’ He leaned over to brush her lips with a kiss and was gone before she had a chance to argue.

‘There you are,’ Betsy said triumphantly. ‘You should be nicer to Luke. He’s going to take care of us.’

‘That’s what worries me.’ Clara set about clearing spatters of blood from the table. ‘I won’t have anything to do with money gained from crime. I wish I’d never met Luke Foyle.’

‘You don’t mean that, Clara.’

‘Yes, I do. I’ve had enough of living like this, and I’m going to do something about it.’

‘Like what?’

‘Miss Silver left the shop to me. I intend to build up the business and expand when the time is right.’

‘That’s just a dream.’

‘Maybe, but sometimes dreams come true, especially if you’re prepared to work hard. If everything goes to plan I’ll take you on as head of the millinery department.’

‘And maybe one day we’ll go to bed with a full belly. I’m starving, Clara.’

‘So am I, but we have the money Luke loaned us, and first thing I’ll go to the bakery and get some fresh bread, and a pot of jam from Mr Sainsbury’s shop in Drury Lane.’

‘Could we run to a pat of butter?’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Now go to bed and I’ll just make sure that Pa is all right, and then I’ll be in. Don’t wake Jane; she needs her sleep, poor child.’

Alfred lay groaning and calling for water when Clara entered the kitchen next morning. It was still dark outside but the snow made it seem that dawn had come early. Clara lit a candle and went over to the truckle bed.

‘I suppose you’re feeling very ill this morning, Pa. It really does serve you right.’

He covered his eyes with his hand. ‘My head hurts and my throat is parched. A cup of tea would go down well, Clara.’

‘I’m sure it would, Pa. But we have no coal, so I can’t boil the kettle. You’ll have to make do with melted snow because the pump is frozen solid.’

Alfred raised his head only to fall back against the pillow. ‘What have we come to?’

‘What indeed, Pa. And whose fault is it that we’re penniless and in debt?’

‘Don’t go on, girl. I’m a sick man.’

‘You’re suffering from the effects of drink, so don’t expect sympathy from any of us.’

‘What have I done to have such ungrateful children?’

‘You’ve run up gaming debts of eight guineas, Pa. That’s why we’re in this state.’

He sat up and this time he remained upright. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I went to see Patches Bragg last evening and she’s given you three days to find the money, or else …’ Clara did not need to finish the sentence. She could see by her father’s expression that he understood only too well. ‘You have to get away from London, Pa. I agree with Luke on that.’

‘Luke? Where is the boy? He can help me.’

‘No, Pa. He can’t. You have to go somewhere the Braggs won’t find you.’

‘But I can’t leave my girls. Who would look after you?’ Alfred’s once-handsome face creased into lines of distress, adding ten years to his age.

‘We will be safer if you aren’t here,’ Clara said, moderating her tone. Despite his failings he was still her father and she could remember the time when he had been her hero. ‘I can take care of Betsy and Jane, and Lizzie is all right where she is now. Is there anywhere you can go?’

Alfred clutched his forehead, rocking backwards and forwards. ‘I can’t think. I don’t know what to do …’

‘It’s all right, Pa.’ She patted his hand. ‘I have to go out and get food and a bag of coal so that we can light the fire. We have three days to find a way out of this – three days, that’s all.’

She put on her outdoor things, picked up a basket and set off for the bakery.

When she returned she found to her surprise that Betsy had cleaned the grate and laid twists of newspaper and the last of the kindling ready to light to fire. Alfred had raised himself from his bed and had attempted to shave in cold water, but had cut himself and was holding the towel to his cheek.

Clara gave the shop boy a farthing for carrying the coal and she set the basket on the table. She shot a wary glance at her father. ‘I’ll get the fire going and make a pot of tea. We’ll talk after we’ve eaten, Pa. But we have to come to a decision soon.’

‘I’ve filled the kettle with snow,’ Betsy volunteered. She peered into the basket. ‘Did you get butter and jam?’

‘It was a choice between the two, so I bought jam.’ Clara set to and lit the fire before placing the kettle on the hob.

Betsy was already slicing the loaf and Jane emerged from the bedroom, yawning and blinking as a ray of sunlight filtered through the window. ‘Bread and jam – how lovely.’ She shot a wary glance at her father. ‘Are you quite recovered now, Pa?’

Alfred bowed his head. ‘I’m so sorry, girls. You deserve a better father. I’ve let you all down and I’m ashamed of myself.’

‘That’s as may be.’ Betsy slapped a slice of bread onto a plate and thrust it in front of him. ‘Being sorry isn’t going to help us out of this tangle.’

Clara shot her a warning glance. ‘Pa knows what he’s done, Betsy. Give him a chance to put things right.’

‘I have a cousin who lives on the Dorset coast,’ Alfred said slowly. ‘Is the tea ready yet, Clara? My mouth is so dry I can hardly speak.’

‘Be patient. It will take a while longer. What were you going to tell us about your cousin?’

‘I haven’t seen Jim since we were boys. I doubt if we would recognise each other now, but we were friends once.’

‘Where is Dorset?’ Betsy gave the kettle a shake as if encouraging it to come to the boil. ‘I have to leave for work in a few minutes. I need a hot drink to ward off the cold.’

‘Never mind that now.’ Clara took a seat next to her father. ‘Dorset is a long way from here. You’d be safe there, Pa.’

Alfred gazed at her, his bloodshot eyes swimming with tears. ‘But what would I do there, Clara? Jim is a fisherman and he lives in a tiny thatched cottage. Can you see me in such a place?’

She laid her hand on his arm. ‘I can see you alive and well, living by the sea. You know what will happen to you if you remain here.’

‘You have to go, Pa,’ Betsy said firmly. ‘You haven’t any choice in the matter.’

‘I haven’t got the fare, girls.’

‘Then you’ll just have to walk.’ Betsy snatched her bonnet off the peg and rammed it on her head. ‘I’ll be late if I don’t go now, and I haven’t had my cup of tea.’ She picked up her shawl and hurried from the room, muttering beneath her breath.

‘What have I done?’ Alfred held his head in his hands. ‘What have I brought you all to?’

‘It’s too late to worry about that now.’ Clara rose to her feet. ‘Betsy’s right, though. You have to leave London and the sooner the better. The week’s takings have yet to be paid into the bank. I’ll borrow enough to buy you a railway ticket to Dorset but you must leave today.’

‘I can’t have you stealing money from Miss Silver. I’m a lot of things, Clara, but I won’t allow my daughter to take what doesn’t belong to her.’

Clara was tempted to tell him that she had inherited the shop and its entire contents, but she knew that would be fatal. The gleam would return to her father’s eyes and he would see the opportunity to double or treble his stake at the gaming table. It was a disease that was eating him away, for which there was no apparent cure. ‘I’ll work twice as hard to pay the money back, so you mustn’t worry.’

‘But, darling girl, if you have the money to send me to Dorset, wouldn’t it be better to give it to Patches? Then I’d be a free man and I could find work and support my family.’

‘It’s no good, Pa. Patches wants the money in full. I think you know her well enough to realise that she means business.’

‘All right, I’ll go to Dorset, Clara. But I want you to promise me that you’ll never go near Patches Bragg’s place again.’ Alfred reached out to grasp her hand. ‘Promise.’

Clara crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘All right, I promise. Now pack your things and I’ll go to the shop. The sooner you’re away from London the safer we’ll all be.’

Clara kept the shop closed for another day, ostensibly out of respect for Miss Silver, but in reality to accompany her father to Waterloo Bridge station. Even though he had promised to leave London, she was only too well aware of his erratic tendencies. When he was in a sorry state and riddled with guilt he would act and think rationally, but as the effects of drinking too much wore off and his optimistic spirit returned, he was likely to head for the nearest gaming club with his ticket money in his pocket.