The Button Box

Having made sure that he was on the train when it pulled out of the station, Clara set off to walk back to Wych Street. The sun shone palely on the snow-covered rooftops but the icy pavements were still slippery underfoot. The River Thames was swollen with snow melt on the ebb tide as it snaked its way towards the sea, swirling around the stanchions of Waterloo Bridge, playing with the vessels tied up at the wharfs so that they bobbed up and down like toy boats.

Clara made her way as quickly as possible in the icy conditions, intent on getting her sisters to the relative safety of Miss Silver’s shop. A wry smile curved her cold lips and she reminded herself that it belonged to her now, but a chill ran down her spine at the thought of what Patches Bragg might do if she discovered that Alfred Carter’s daughter owned such a property. She quickened her pace, calling in first at the milliner’s in the Strand where Betsy was at work in the backroom.

Miss Lavelle did not welcome such intrusions, nor did she encourage visits from ladies whom she considered to be unsuitably dressed for a high-class establishment, and from the pained expression on her face when Clara entered the premises, that obviously included her. Tall and painfully thin, Miss Lavelle was able to look down her nose at someone who barely came up to her shoulder. Clara had never considered herself to be short, but Miss Lavelle made her feel small and insignificant.

‘You know the rules, Miss Carter,’ Miss Lavelle said icily. ‘No visitors during working hours.’

‘I do know, and I apologise, but this is something of an emergency. Might I have a quick word with my sister, please?’

‘She is busy. We have an order for a titled lady that must be completed today.’

‘Then would you be kind enough to pass on a message?’ Clara said firmly. ‘Betsy is not to go home tonight. Please tell her to go to the shop in Drury Lane. She’ll know what I mean.’

‘That sounds ominous, Miss Carter. If your family is in trouble I would like to know. I have to be very careful whom I employ. I am patronised by the carriage trade, and any taint of scandal would ruin me.’

‘Your reputation is quite safe, Miss Lavelle, but I would be grateful if you would give my sister the message.’ Clara swept out of the shop, head held high. She could only hope that Miss Lavelle’s no-torious love of tittle-tattle would lead her to pass on the information in the hope of discovering a new scandal. One thing was certain – Betsy could stand up for herself. Sometimes she was too forthright for her own good, but she would not allow Miss Lavelle or anyone to browbeat her, and she would not breathe a word of their father’s fall from grace.

It was Jane who was now Clara’s main concern. Jane and Betsy were complete opposites. Betsy had the face of an angel and a core of tempered steel. No one got the better of Betsy Carter, but Jane was sensitive and easily hurt, and her disability made her an easy target for mockery in Seven Dials. Clara was not looking forward to breaking the news of their father’s sudden departure, and she had no intention of telling her youngest sister about Patches Bragg. There was something important she had to do before she went home.

The pawnshop in Vere Street exuded the familiar smell of sweaty old clothes, lamp oil and mildew. Fleet emerged from the back room, wearing two military overcoats with a striped woollen muffler wrapped several times around his scrawny neck. He had to climb over several piles of books and a jumble of pots and pans in order to reach the counter.

‘What you got to pawn this time, miss?’

‘Nothing, Mr Fleet. I’ve come to redeem my button box.’ Clara took the money from her reticule. She had taken the week’s takings from the strong box in Drury Lane, intending to use the money for her father’s railway ticket, but she could not allow her treasure to remain with Fleet for another day. He would only keep it for a specified amount of time before placing it for sale, and then it might be lost to her for ever, and with it the precious memories attached to each of her tiny treasures. There was little or no loveliness in the dark and dirty streets she knew, but one day she would escape the squalor of Seven Dials and create a place where colour and beauty could be shared by all. It was a dream, but to her the button box represented hope over despair, and success over failure. She placed the coins on the counter and Fleet reached up to retrieve the box from the top shelf.

‘Here you are, but I expect you’ll be back with it before the month is out.’

She shook her head. ‘I hope not, Mr Fleet. I sincerely hope not.’

Jane was seated at the kitchen table, finishing off a spray of silk flowers for Betsy. She looked up and a slow smile transformed her pale face. ‘Things must be looking up, Clara. You’ve got it back.’

‘Yes, I called in at the pawnshop on my way home. I couldn’t leave it there another moment.’

‘And we have jam,’ Jane said happily. ‘I had some on my bread, although I only took one slice. I didn’t want to be greedy.’

‘Having enough to eat isn’t being greedy.’ Clara felt the teapot and it was still warm. She filled a cup with the weak, straw-coloured liquid. ‘Jane, I have something to tell you. Pa has had to go away for a while. He’s gone to stay with his cousin in the country.’

‘Are those people after him for money, Clara?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so, but he’ll be safe in Dorset with his cousin Jim.’

‘But you look sad, Clara. That’s not all, is it?’

‘No, dear. We have to move out of here today. I need you to help me pack our things, such as they are. We’re going to live above the shop in Drury Lane.’

‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it, Clara?’ Jane said, smiling. ‘I mean this isn’t what we are used to. I can remember when we owned the whole house and we had a cook and a maid, and Pa was a different person when Mama was alive. He used to kiss me goodbye every morning before he left for the City, and he dressed smartly and smelled of cologne.’

Clara put her cup down with a sigh. ‘You’re right, Jane. Things were better then but we have a chance to make a new life for ourselves, and you can play your part.’

‘What can I do? I’m a cripple and always will be.’

‘Don’t say things like that. You might not be able to walk very far, but you’re a bright girl and you have a good head for figures. You can help me in the shop.’

‘Can I really?’ Jane’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘I’d love that.’

‘But first we have to move our things to Drury Lane. Let’s make a start. The sooner we leave here, the better.’

It was not far from Wych Street to the shop in Drury Lane, but the snow on the pavements was rapidly turning to slush. Clara had hoped that Luke might turn up and offer to help, but there was no sign of him and she had no intention of going to his lodgings to beg for assistance.

As soon as they had sorted out what to take and what might be left until another day, Clara took Jane to the shop. It was slow going, but Jane was determined to walk and the distance hardly merited spending precious funds on a cab. Clara lit the fire in the back parlour and left Jane to settle in while she went home to collect as much as she could carry. She lost count of how many trips she made, but darkness was falling as she left the house in Wych Street for the last time, and under a cloudless sky the temperature plummeted.

Slipping and sliding on the frozen slush, she was close to exhaustion and every muscle in her body ached. Her fingers were clawed around the handles of a valise and a carpet bag, and she had lost all feeling in her toes. A man, walking head down against the bitter wind, almost collided with her and she lost her footing, saving herself from falling by clutching a lamppost.

‘Clara, is that you?’ The young man she had met at Miss Silver’s funeral hurried to her side.

‘Mr Silver?’ Clara managed to regain her balance and salvage her dignity.

He bent down to retrieve the carpet bag and valise. ‘Did you hurt yourself? I saw that fellow barge into you. He didn’t even stop to see if you were all right.’

‘My feet went from under me.’ She leaned against the lamppost, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to bring back the feeling in them. ‘I’m not hurt.’

‘Where are you going? May I help you? These bags are very heavy.’

‘I’m going to the shop in Drury Lane.’ Clara eyed him warily. He was hatless and his wildly curling auburn hair reached almost to the shoulders of his jacket, which was little protection on such a cold night. He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, an unconscious gesture she recognised from the time they met at Miss Silver’s graveside. She had a sudden desire to laugh. ‘We do seem to meet in the oddest places, Mr Silver.’

‘Nathaniel, please.’ He smiled shyly. ‘Did you say you were going to the shop?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid I have no choice but to move in. Do you mind?’

‘No, of course not. I told you before that I have no moral claim on my aunt’s estate. Let me prove my good intentions by helping you with your luggage.’

Clara was too tired to argue, but she realised that he had his violin case slung over one shoulder. ‘May I carry that? You have your hands full.’

He unhooked it and handed it to her. ‘I’ve just come from the audition I told you and Jane about at the Gaiety Theatre.’

‘Did you get the job?’ She started walking in the direction of Drury Lane.

‘Yes, it will do until something better turns up.’

She came to a halt, turning her head to give him a questioning look. ‘I don’t understand. If you have to take any work that comes along, why are you allowing me to take your inheritance? You could challenge the will, if you chose, and I don’t want to think of the shop as my own and then have it taken away from me.’

‘That won’t happen, I promise you.’

‘But you might need the money.’

‘I can assure you that is not the case.’

‘You told me that you play on street corners in order to buy food or to pay your rent. That doesn’t sound like the action of a man of means.’

‘Might we continue this conversation somewhere out of the cold? My hands are turning blue and I’ve lost the feeling in my feet.’

Clara nodded. ‘Me, too. Let’s get to the shop and sort this out once and for all.’

Chapter Four

The shop was in darkness but a flicker of light be-neath the parlour door was a welcome sight. Clara unlocked the door and Nathaniel staggered in with the heavy bags, which he dumped on the floor with a sigh of relief.

‘I don’t know how you managed to carry these any distance.’

The parlour door opened and Jane peered anxiously into the dark shop. ‘Is that you, Clara?

‘Yes, and I met Nathaniel in the street. He was kind enough to help me with the last of our bags.’

‘Nathaniel! How lovely to see you again,’ Jane cried excitedly. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve had the kettle on the hob for an hour or more, and I found some tea in one of the cupboards in the scullery.’

‘That would be nice,’ Clara said hastily. She laid a restraining hand on Nathaniel’s arm as he made to follow her sister into the back room. ‘Tell me why I should trust you not to make trouble for us in the future. I really need to know.’

‘I am not a poor musician. Well, that’s not quite true. I am poor at the moment, but in a few months’ time, when I reach the age of twenty-five, I’ll come into the fortune left to me by my late father. He was of the opinion that if I was young when I inherited the money he had worked so hard to make I would run riot and squander it. So you see, Clara, you have no need to worry. Now, shall we join your sister for a cup of tea?’

‘In a minute,’ Clara said warily. ‘If what you say is true, your family must have property somewhere. Why then do you live in London, playing for pennies on street corners?’

‘You’re right. There is a town house and a country estate, but one of the conditions of my father’s will was that should I ignore his wishes and follow my dream to become a serious musician and composer, I had to leave home. I have to prove that I can earn my living and to survive without any financial help.’

‘That seems extremely hard,’ Clara said, frowning.

‘My uncle is executor of Father’s will, and he sees to it that I don’t put a foot over the threshold until I’m of age. I have a suspicion that he hopes I might die of some terrible disease or starve on the streets in the meantime, or should I give up and prove myself a failure, I forfeit my claim and he gets everything. You see, my father was of a whimsical turn of mind.’

‘I wouldn’t call it that,’ Clara said hotly. ‘He sounds a very spiteful man.’

‘You know all there is to know about me now, Clara. You can trust me.’

‘Yes, but it’s a strange state of affairs.’

‘Not in my family. If you knew the rest of the Silvers you wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘And yet Miss Silver lived very frugally and never took a day off work,’ Clara said, frowning. ‘That does seem odd when her brother was so well-off.’

‘I didn’t know, or I would have tried to help her.’ Nathanial pushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. ‘I really would.’

Jane emerged from the parlour, leaning heavily on one crutch. ‘Are you going to stay there chatting all evening?’ Her eyes widened and her lips formed a circle of surprise. ‘Who is that outside? I saw a shadow in the glass.’

Clara had barely turned to look when the person outside in the street hammered on the door. ‘Clara, open up. I can see you.’ Betsy’s angry voice made Clara hurry to let her in.

‘Why was I locked out? I need a key of my own, Clara.’ Betsy came to a halt, staring at Nathaniel. ‘Who is this?’

‘Please come through to the parlour,’ Jane said plaintively. ‘You’re letting in the cold air, and the room has only just warmed up.’

Betsy eyed the cases. ‘Where are my things? You haven’t left them in Wych Street, have you, Clara? Miss Lavelle passed on your message – or part of it, anyway. She just said I was to come straight here after work.’

Clara turned to Betsy with a sigh. ‘If you would just give someone else a chance to speak, I’d introduce you to Nathaniel Silver, Miss Silver’s nephew.’

Nathaniel bowed over Betsy’s hand. ‘How do you do, Miss Betsy?’

Betsy smiled coyly. ‘How do you do, sir?’

‘As to your things,’ Clara continued, ‘Jane and I packed everything we could and I’ve been going to and fro all day bringing whatever I could carry, so I don’t want to hear any grumbling from you, Betsy. If it hadn’t been for Nathaniel, I might still be clutching a lamppost in Wych Street after someone almost knocked me flying.’

Betsy cast a sideways glance at Nathaniel. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve had a busy day and I wanted to go home to my own bed.’

‘This is home for the present.’ Clara ushered her sister into the parlour. ‘I saw Pa off on the train this morning, so he should be with his cousin by now, and we’ll be safe here unless the Bragg gang discover our whereabouts.’

Nathaniel followed them into the small room. ‘I’ve heard of them. They’re a bad lot.’

‘You mustn’t worry,’ Jane said confidently. ‘Clara’s gentleman friend, Luke, is with the Skinners. He had a fight with Bert Bragg and I think Luke’s nose was broken, but I’m sure that Bert came off the worst.’

‘Thank you, Jane.’ Clara sent her a warning look. ‘The kettle is boiling, so why don’t you make the tea? I’m sure Nathaniel would like something hot to drink before he braves the cold.’

Betsy tossed her bonnet onto the sofa and shed her mantle with a dramatic flourish. ‘I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day because Miss Lavelle made us work until the wretched hat was finished.’

‘We’re all hungry, Betsy.’ Jane struggled to lift the kettle off the trivet. ‘I filled it too full.’

‘Allow me.’ Nathaniel moved to her side, retrieved the kettle and placed it safely on the hearth. ‘I must admit to being famished too. There’s a coffee stall not far from here. The fellow sells hot pies, and baked potatoes, as well as boiled eggs and ham sandwiches. If you all agree I’ll go out now and purchase our supper.’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ Jane said eagerly. ‘I’d like a pie and an egg, if it’s not too much to ask.’

‘I’d like a baked potato and a ham sandwich.’ Betsy settled herself on the chair nearest the fire. ‘Thank you, Nathaniel. You are a true gentleman.’

Clara reached for her reticule, acutely aware that their funds were running low. ‘I’ll give you the money, Nathaniel. It is very kind of you to offer to go out on such a night. I should come with you to help carry everything.’

‘There’s no need for you to brave the weather yet again, Clara.’ Nathaniel made a move towards the door. ‘You haven’t said what you would like.’

‘A pie would be just the thing.’ Clara followed him into the shop. ‘You must let me pay for our supper.’

He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it. I wasn’t looking forward to eating alone in my room, yet again. I’ll enjoy your company and that of your sisters. It will make me feel part of a family.’

Clara was about to unlock the shop door when a male figure loomed outside, making her leap back in fear. Her encounter with Patches had left her feeling nervous, and Luke’s fight with Bert was not going to make things easier. The person rapped on the door.

‘Who’s there?’ Clara demanded, hoping that she sounded braver than she was feeling.

‘It’s me, Luke. Let me in.’

Clara unlocked the door and Luke stepped in on a gust of ice-cold air. His smile of greeting faded when he saw Nathaniel standing in the shadows. ‘Who are you?’

Clara stepped in between them. ‘This is Miss Silver’s nephew, Nathaniel.’

‘What’s he doing here?’ Luke demanded.

‘Nathaniel, this is my friend, Luke Foyle,’ Clara said hastily.

‘How do you do?’ Nathaniel held out his hand, but Luke ignored the gesture.

‘We’re more than just friends.’ Luke placed his arm around Clara’s shoulders. ‘So I’ll say it again. What are you doing here?’

Clara twisted free from his grasp. ‘Really, Luke. Is this necessary? Nathaniel saw me struggling with two heavy cases and he offered to help.’

Before Luke could respond Betsy appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s going on? I’m faint with hunger and all you can do is argue. Anyway, you’re upsetting Jane. You know how she hates the sound of raised voices.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Nathaniel murmured. ‘Perhaps I should go.’

‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.’ Luke opened the shop door. ‘Thanks for helping Clara, but we don’t need your services now.’

Clara grabbed the door and slammed it. ‘I won’t stand for this behaviour, Luke. That was very rude and extremely ungrateful. You don’t know how much I am indebted to Nathaniel, and he was trying to help us.’

‘Even so, you don’t know a thing about this fellow.’

‘I’ll go, Clara.’ Nathaniel rammed his top hat on his head. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Foyle. I think you should apologise to Clara.’

‘I can see how the land lies. Maybe I should be the one to leave.’

‘Yes, you should go, Luke,’ Clara said angrily. ‘Come back when you’ve calmed down and remembered your manners.’

Luke slammed out of the shop.

‘I’m sorry,’ Nathaniel said hastily. ‘I seem to have placed you in an awkward situation.’

‘Don’t apologise, it was Luke who was in the wrong. He doesn’t own me, and he shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’

‘Perhaps I should leave anyway.’

‘If you go now I will be forced to venture out into the snow to buy our supper,’ Clara said, smiling. ‘And you would face another evening eating on your own.’

‘If you put it like that, how can I refuse? I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Clara let him out of the shop, taking care to lock the door after him. She did not want Luke to come barging in and create another scene. He could be arrogant sometimes, and jealous; two qualities she disliked in anyone, especially the man she might marry, although that possibility was becoming more and more remote. Better to be an old maid than to be shackled to a man who wanted to dominate her and take control of her innermost thoughts. That was not for her. She returned to the parlour to comfort Jane and reassure Betsy.

Despite the circumstances, Clara felt relaxed and surprisingly happy as they sat round the fire eating the food that Nathaniel had bought for them. The parlour was small and shabbily furnished; the seats on the chairs were threadbare and the delicate floral wallpaper was stained and peeling, but a fire blazed up the chimney and the room was warm and cosy. While they ate, Nathaniel entertained them with accounts of his experiences busking on the city streets. When the remains of the meal were tidied away he took his violin from its case and, with a little persuasion, played a merry jig that had their feet tapping and their hands clapping.

Clara joined in the applause. ‘That was lovely, Nathaniel, but I would like to hear one of your own compositions.’

‘Mine?’ He ran his hand through his unruly hair, causing it to curl around his brow in wild profusion. ‘Are you sure?’

Betsy leaned forward, eyes shining. ‘Oh, yes. Let us hear something you’ve composed.’

‘Is it sad?’ Jane asked wistfully. ‘Sad music makes me cry.’

‘Let him play and then we’ll find out.’ Clara settled back in Miss Silver’s favourite chair, resting her feet on the brass fender, as Nathaniel launched into a hauntingly sweet melody. In his skilful hands the violin seemed to sing and the music filled Clara’s head and made her heart swell with joy and sadness. It was as if all the emotions she had ever felt had been transposed into sound and she closed her eyes, floating away on the tide of Nathaniel’s lyrical creation. She was still enraptured when the piece came to an end, and as she opened her eyes she realised that Jane was crying and Betsy sat with her hands clutched to her bosom, gazing at Nathaniel with moist eyes and a wistful smile.

He dropped his hands to his sides and bowed.

‘That was so beautiful,’ Clara said in a whisper. ‘It melted my heart.’

‘Yes, it was lovely.’ Betsy jumped to her feet. ‘You are so clever, Nathaniel.’

Jane sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Your music made me cry, and I’ve lost my hanky.’

‘You are all too kind.’ Nathaniel placed the instrument in its case, treating it as tenderly as a mother would a newborn infant. ‘It still needs some work.’

‘What is it called?’ Clara asked. ‘I’d love to hear it again some time.’

‘I haven’t given it a title; perhaps you can help me there.’ Nathaniel glanced at the mantel clock. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late. It’s time I returned to my lodgings.’

‘Don’t go yet,’ Jane cried. ‘Please stay a little longer.’

Clara rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for our supper and for allowing us to hear your composition. It was wonderful.’

‘It was my pleasure, but now I really must leave you.’ Nathaniel made his way through to the shop, pausing to wrap his muffler round his neck. ‘I’m sure that Luke will come round, Clara. He obviously cares a great deal for you.’

She tossed her head. ‘He can do as he pleases. I choose my own friends.’

‘Does that include me?’

‘I’m proud to know you, Nathaniel Silver, and very much indebted to you.’

‘Nonsense. You were my aunt’s choice and I respect her wishes.’ He stood aside as Clara unlocked the street door. ‘I haven’t forgotten the tickets for the Gaiety. As soon as I’m in a position to get some I’ll bring them round.’

She held the door as he stepped outside into the bitter winter night. ‘You’re welcome to call at any time.’

‘Thank you, I will.’ Nathaniel backed away, smiling, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the pool of yellow light that surrounded the gas lamp.

Clara was about to close the door when she saw the dark shape of a man lingering in a doorway on the far side of the street. She could not be certain but it looked very much like Luke. It would be typical of Luke to spy on her; he had done it before and she had found it oddly touching, but now it had become irritating and downright insulting. Nathaniel was just a friend, and he had been magnanimous enough to allow her to keep her inheritance without challenging his aunt’s will. The mere fact that they had a roof over their heads tonight was because of the generosity of the Silver family. Clara locked the door, snatched her button box off the counter and went into the parlour.