The Button Box

Betsy was in the process of helping Jane to negotiate the narrow staircase. ‘We’re going to bed. Will you be up soon?’

‘Yes, don’t worry about me.’

‘I said I’d share the back room with Jane. You’ll have to sleep on your own for the first time,’ Betsy said, smiling.

‘At least I won’t be kept awake by you snoring.’ Clara blew them a kiss. ‘Night-night.’

‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ Jane called over her shoulder.

Clara had intended to put the fireguard in place before making sure the back door was locked, but she needed first to check the contents of her button box. She trusted Fleet, but she knew she would not sleep unless she was certain that her collection was intact, and she sat cross-legged on the floor, close enough to the dying embers of the fire to take advantage of the last vestiges of warmth. She opened the box and scooped up a handful of the small buttons, allowing them to slip through her fingers in a kaleidoscope of colour. Her most valued items were a set of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons from the bodice of her mother’s wedding dress. The gown had been cut up to make clothes for herself and Lizzie when they were children, but she had persuaded Ma to let her snip off six of the twelve buttons. Then there were the much larger millefiori buttons that she had found lying in the mud on the Thames foreshore while out walking one Sunday afternoon with Pa. He had bought her a penny lick from the hokey-pokey man and she could still remember the taste and the sweet icy sensation on her tongue. A brass military button winked at her as if to divert her attention from its fellows, and she held it between her fingers, wondering as to the identity of the gallant soldier who had gone into battle with this button on his uniform. Then, last but not least, there was her favourite, her special button, it was still there glittering in the firelight as it had done when it lay lost and forgotten in the snow.

The fire crackled and a blue flame licked around an ember and was immediately extinguished by a draught of cold air. It was time to close the memory box and go to bed. Clara snapped the lid shut, turned the tiny brass key in the lock, and rose to her feet. Tomorrow would be her first day as shopkeeper. She must get some sleep, although her stomach was churning with excitement at the prospect of being in sole charge. She could do it, of that she was certain. This was the start of a new and better life for her and her family. There was just one problem – Patches Bragg.

Trade was slow next day, but the freezing conditions did not encourage housewives and maidservants to venture out unless absolutely necessary. Clara spent the time rearranging the shelves to her satisfaction, but while she worked her mind was wrestling with the problem of how to raise the eight guineas she needed to pay her father’s debt to Patches. She was deep in thought when the shop door opened and Lizzie burst in, pink-cheeked and flustered.

‘Clara, you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you would be opening so soon after Miss Silver’s funeral. I mean, it doesn’t seem very respectful to carry on as if nothing has happened.’

‘Miss Silver only closed the shop on Sundays and on Christmas Day. She would come back to haunt me if I let her down.’

‘It’s not funny, Clara. I don’t know how you can treat the woman’s death as a joke.’

‘Far from it. I was very fond of Miss Silver, and I owe it to her to look after her legacy.’ Clara stared at her sister, frowning. ‘What’s the matter? You’re all of a twitter.’

‘I should think I am. Miss Jones sent me out to purchase blonde lace, only I don’t know how much she needs. It was all said in a bit of a panic.’

‘Does she want it in black or white?’

‘I’m not sure. Madam is going out to an important function this evening and the lace on her gown is torn. Miss Jones was very particular that it had to match.’

‘I’ve got Chantilly lace as well.’

‘I’d better take both. You have to come with me, Clara. I’ll be in trouble with Miss Jones if I bring the wrong material.’

‘I can’t shut up the shop simply because Miss Jones is fussy.’

‘Please come with me. You’ll need to bring the unwanted lace back to the shop because I won’t be allowed out again.’

Clara had never seen her sister in such an agitated state. ‘All right. I’ll close the shop for an hour. There aren’t many customers about this morning.’

‘Thank you. I can’t afford to lose my job.’

‘I’ll have to warn Jane not to open the door to anyone but me, and I’ll fetch my bonnet and cloak.’

‘Why is Jane here?’

‘We had to leave Wych Street. I was going to tell you when I had a chance. I’ll explain on the way to Bedford Square.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Clara said, shivering as they came to a halt outside the four-storey terraced house in Bedford Square. ‘Miss Silver never made house calls.’

Lizzie opened the gate which led down to the tradesmen’s entrance. ‘Maybe she would have made more money if she had. I don’t know, Clara, I’m not a businesswoman, but Mrs Comerford is very rich, and if Miss Jones is satisfied she’ll tell her so, and then who knows? Maybe Mrs Comerford will recommend your shop to her friends.’

‘I’m only doing this as a favour to you.’ Clara followed her sister down the steep, ice-coated steps to the tradesmen’s entrance.

Lizzie knocked on the door and it was opened by a tiny scullery maid who could not have been more than ten years of age. The child scuttled off in the direction of the kitchen and Lizzie led the way through a maze of narrow corridors and up the back stairs. On the other side of the green baize door was another world. A marble-tiled passage opened out into a wide hallway with large, gilt-framed mirrors reflecting the ornate candle sconces. The scent of beeswax and lavender mingled with the spicy aroma of crimson and gold chrysanthemums, arranged in large urns. A liveried footman cast a sidelong glance at Lizzie, and Clara was quick to see a blush staining her sister’s cheeks.

‘Miss Jones sent me for material to mend madam’s ball gown, James,’ Lizzie said hastily.

‘And who is this young lady?’ He looked Clara up and down with an appreciative grin. ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow you to wander round the house uninvited.’

‘This is my sister Clara.’ Lizzie hesitated, eyeing James warily. ‘I’ll have to find Miss Jones. Stay here, Clara.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after her,’ James said, winking at Clara. ‘I always enjoy the company of a pretty girl.’

Clara put her head on one side, looking him up and down. He was a handsome fellow, tall and broad-shouldered, and he obviously traded on his good looks. She was not impressed.

‘I don’t need looking after,’ she said coldly.

Lizzie cast her a sidelong glance, shaking her head. ‘Be nice to him,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But not too nice, if you know what I mean.’ She snatched the basket of lace from Clara and hurried off towards the staircase.

‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, miss?’ With a sweep of his hand, James indicated a dainty hall chair. ‘You’re likely to have a long wait. You know how ladies like to chat.’

‘I’m in trade,’ Clara said stonily. ‘I don’t have time to chat, as you call it.’

James bridled visibly. It was obvious that he was not used to his clumsy advances being spurned. ‘I can see the family likeness. Lizzie is as prickly as a briar rose.’

Clara was saved from replying by the sudden appearance on the staircase of a young man dressed for outdoors. He was plain to the point of homeliness except for a head of golden curls, which would have been the envy of any woman. He strolled down the stairs, coming to a halt in front of Clara. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’

She rose to her feet. This person was obviously a member of the family and by rights she ought to have been waiting for Lizzie below stairs. ‘My sister, sir. Lizzie Carter – she ran an errand for Mrs Comerford’s maid. I have to wait to take the unwanted lace back to the shop, but I’ll be gone as soon as she returns.’

A slow smile spread across his even features. ‘My mother always demands the best. Only she would send a servant out in such inclement weather.’

James stood to attention, staring straight ahead, although Clara thought she saw the muscle at the corner of his mouth quiver, as if he were suppressing the desire to laugh. She thought it wiser to remain silent, hoping that Mrs Comerford’s son would go about his business, but he seemed reluctant to leave. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Joss Comerford. How do you do, Miss Carter?’

Remembering her place, she bobbed a curtsey. ‘How do you do, sir?’

‘It’s very cold outside and the pavements are treacherous. May I escort you home, Miss Carter?’

‘That’s very kind of you, but as I said, I have to wait for the unwanted lace.’

‘Have you a connection with the textile trade?’

She looked him in the eye and realised that he was teasing her. ‘You make it sound as though I’m dealing in smuggled goods, Mr Comerford.’

‘Now that would be exciting. Are you a smuggler, or a river pirate?’

‘Nothing so interesting, sir.’

‘So your connection with lace is …?’

Clara could see that he was not going to be satisfied with anything other than a full explanation. ‘I am a shopkeeper, Mr Comerford. I own a drapery in Drury Lane.’

His blue eyes widened and he stared at her with renewed interest. ‘You’re a shopkeeper?’

‘I am, sir.’

‘How intriguing. I must visit your emporium one day.’ He held his hand out to take his top hat and cane from a young maidservant who appeared seemingly from nowhere. ‘I’m going your way, Miss Carter. I have a luncheon appointment in the Strand, so it’s no trouble to see you safely home.’

Clara was about to refuse politely when Lizzie came hurrying down the wide staircase, the basket in her hand. ‘Madam has taken all the lace, Clara.’ She came to a halt, gazing anxiously at Joss. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

‘That’s all right, Lizzie. I’m glad that Mama is supporting local shopkeepers.’ He turned to Clara with a disarming smile. ‘My father is also in trade. He has a warehouse on the docks filled with exotic imports from foreign lands. I used to think it was like Aladdin’s cave when I was a child.’

Clara shifted from one foot to the other. At any other time, and in a different place, it would have been a pleasure to talk to someone like Joss Comerford, but James was listening to every word and Lizzie was staring at her open-mouthed. Their reaction was typical of most people. The sons of wealthy families, whether their fortune had been made in the Caribbean sugar plantations or from privateering centuries ago, or in trade, did not mix socially with girls from the lower classes. That was the way things were and Clara could feel disapproval radiating from both her sister and James. If Joss Comerford had taken a liking to her, it was a recipe for disaster.

‘Isn’t it time you were going, Clara?’ Lizzie said in a low voice. ‘Jane will be wondering what’s happened to you.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Clara took the empty basket from her. ‘Madam is keeping all the lace?’

‘Put it on her account,’ Lizzie said grandly. ‘Goodbye, Clara. I’ll come and see you on my afternoon off.’ She turned on her heel and headed towards the servants’ quarters.

‘I must go.’ Clara glanced at James, who leaped to attention and opened the front door.

Joss proffered his arm. ‘Allow me. It’s a long walk so I suggest we take a cab.’

There was nothing Clara could do without appearing rude and she laid her hand on the sleeve of his cashmere coat. James kept his gaze fixed on a distant point as he held the door for them.

‘Go and find a cab, James, there’s a good fellow.’ Joss hesitated on the top step. ‘Dashed inclement weather. I was in two minds as to whether to venture out or not.’ He glanced down at Clara and smiled. ‘But I’m very glad I did or I would not have had the pleasure of your company, Clara. I hope you don’t mind my using your Christian name?’

She shook her head. ‘No, sir.’

‘It would please me greatly if you would call me Joss. I’m uncomfortable with formality.’

‘I doubt if your mama would agree with that – Joss.’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I was right. I took you for a spirited woman, Clara. I’m a very good judge of character.’ He leaned forward to get a better view of James, who was slipping and sliding on the snowy street as he attempted to hail a cab. ‘I’d laugh if he took a tumble. James is so stiff-necked he’ll make an excellent butler one day. I sometimes think he must have been born middle-aged, and I doubt if he is a year my senior.’

Clara was just about to tell him she would prefer to walk when James succeeded in attracting the attention of a cabby who had just dropped a gentleman off at a house further along the street. Joss handed her into the hansom cab and climbed in after her. Sitting side by side with a relative stranger was a nerve-racking experience for Clara and she stared ahead, wishing she had risked offending him by refusing his offer. Joss Comerford might not be this friendly if he knew of her involvement with one of the most vicious gangs in London. It was a relief when the cab drew to a halt outside her shop, but the feeling was short-lived.

A man wearing a battered top hat and a greasy woollen muffler was leaning against the pub wall. She recognised him at once and her heart sank.

Chapter Five

‘Thank you, sir.’ Clara gathered her skirts around her and climbed down from the cab before Joss had a chance to assist her. Standing on the icy pavement, she flashed him a smile. ‘I’m very grateful for the cab ride, Mr Comerford.’

‘Don’t mention it, Clara. I hope we meet again soon …’ His voice trailed off as the cabby flicked his whip above the horse’s ears and the cab lurched on its way.

Clara waited until it was out of sight before turning to Bones, Patches’ right-hand man. The mere sight of him was enough to make her flesh creep, but she put on a brave face.

‘I have another day to find the money, Mr Bones.’

‘Not by Patches’ reckoning you ain’t. You’re to come with me and no argument.’

‘All right, I’ll come, but first I must make sure that my little sister is all right. I left her alone in the shop.’

‘You should have thought of that afore you got mixed up with Patches Bragg, my duck.’ He grabbed her by the arm and propelled her along the street with surprising strength for a small man.

Clara gave him a shove, catching him off guard. ‘There’s no need for force. I want to see Patches anyway.’

‘I hope you got the readies.’

‘That’s something I want to discuss with Patches.’

His cackle of laughter made people stop and stare at the odd couple, but Clara held her head high. Patches Bragg might be the leader of one of the roughest gangs in London, but she was still a woman. There must be some common ground for negotiation. Clara’s heart was pounding, but she fought down the instinct to run way and allowed Bones to lead her to Angel Court.

It was daylight above ground, but in the underworld of the illegal gaming club it was permanent night. The smell of oil lamps and the fumes of alcohol mingled with tobacco smoke and the stench of unwashed bodies, and Clara had to fight down a feeling of nausea. Her empty stomach rebelled against the noxious odours and the sight of unkempt, unshaven men lolling in their seats at the gaming table, some of them head down and snoring, while their fellow gamesters played on, staring at their cards with bloodshot eyes.

Patches was in a small cubbyhole, counting her takings.

‘I don’t like to be kept waiting,’ she said gruffly. ‘What kept you, Bones?’

‘She weren’t at home, boss. Had to wait in the freezing cold and then she turns up large as life in a cab with a toff I ain’t never seen afore.’

‘So you got a fancy man, have you?’ Patches leaned forward, her large breasts bubbling over the top of her low-cut gown. ‘He should be good for a bob or two. Where’s me money?’

Clara drew herself up to her full height. ‘I’ve never met the gentleman before today. He’s nothing to me, and I haven’t got the money. You said three days and it’s only been two.’

‘I was counting from the day you turned up here, so don’t play games with me, and that was before your feller blacked my Bertie’s eye. I got a score to settle with Luke Foyle, but that’s another matter. Have you got the cash or not?’

‘I can’t raise that much so quickly. I must have more time.’

‘Must have?’ Patches spat the words as if they were a bitter taste in her mouth. ‘I don’t think you’ve got much choice, not if you want your young sister to walk again. One gammy leg is bad luck, two is a tragedy that you can prevent, and it’ll cost ten guineas. The price has gone up now.’

‘That’s not fair.’ Clara was too angry to feel intimidated. ‘Leave my family out of this. I’ve taken on responsibility for my father’s debts; it has nothing to do with my sisters.’

‘Then you got to pay up, or …’ Patches narrowed her eyes so that they disappeared into slits. ‘There is one way you could make things square.’

‘Go on.’ Clara knew she was not going to like the alternative, but she had little option.

‘I got a score to settle with the Skinner brothers, and I ain’t too pleased with Luke Foyle, neither. He’s supposed to work for me, and keep an eye on the other gangs, but I fear he’s let me down, and that ain’t acceptable.’

Clara’s heart was beating so fast that she could hardly breathe. ‘That has nothing to do with me.’

‘Hoity-toity, ain’t you? But you should be more respectful. I could wring your pretty neck with one hand tied behind me back, and Bones is an expert in other methods of making people co-operate. Do I make meself clear?’

‘Yes,’ Clara said, nodding. ‘Crystal clear.’

‘I knew you was a clever girl.’ Patches lowered her voice. ‘Your feller is small beer and I’ll deal with him, but it’s Ned and Sid Skinner I want put out of the way – permanent like.’

‘I don’t know how I can help you with that. I have nothing to do with the gang.’

‘But your feller does. I want information and it’s worth ten guineas.’ Patches reached for the gin bottle and half-filled her glass. She took a mouthful, swallowed and breathed gin fumes into Clara’s face. ‘The Skinners have gone to ground. I want to know where they’re hiding out. It’s as simple as that.’

‘But surely your men could get that information much quicker than I would?’

‘Not necessarily.’ Patches took another swig of her drink. ‘It ain’t much to ask. Don’t tell me you can’t wrap your man round your little finger if you so wish. Get me what I want within the next twenty-four hours and your pa’s slate is wiped clean.’

‘And if I fail?’

‘You won’t if you knows what’s good for you and your sisters. Don’t think you can play fast and loose with me, because you can’t.’

Clara faced Patches with what she hoped was an outward appearance of calm, but she could see no way out other than to agree to her terms. ‘All right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘I think you’ll do better than that. I want those sewer rats put away for good.’ Patches turned to Bones. ‘Get her out of here. I’m sick of looking at her pretty face.’

‘Why were you so long, Clara?’ Jane asked tearfully. ‘People have been banging on the shop door and I didn’t know what to do.’

‘What sort of people?’ Clara glanced over her shoulder, hoping that Bones was now out of sight. He had marched her back to Drury Lane in grim silence, and, although he had left her at the door and walked away she was afraid he might return later to spy on her.

‘There was an old man in a top hat who kept peering in the window, but that was not long after you left. He knocked several times, but I ignored him. The others were women and they didn’t look too pleased when they realised that the shop was shut.’

‘They’ll come back if they really want something. I’ll open up now. Anyone else?’

‘Luke came and I did open the door to him, Clara. I didn’t know what else to do and he looked so angry I didn’t want to make things worse.’

‘It’s all right, Jane. What did he want?’

‘To see you, of course. He brought me some sugared almonds. He knows they’re my favourites. I hope you make it up with him, Clara. I know he’s in with a bad lot – Pa told me so – but I think deep down Luke is a good person.’

‘Yes, I’m sure he is.’ Clara tried to sound positive, but she was not so sure. The gangs had not affected them directly – until now. ‘What did Luke say? Is he coming back?’

‘I’m still here.’ Luke emerged from the parlour. ‘Where have you been, Clara?’

She was tempted to tell him everything, but Patches’ threats were fresh in her mind and she had no doubt that they would be carried out. ‘I had to deliver some lace to Lizzie’s employer.’

‘On a day like this?’ He stared at her in disbelief.

‘Yes, you know what rich people are like. They don’t think about anyone else, least of all shopkeepers and servants. I had to do it for Lizzie’s sake.’

He glanced at the sodden hem of her skirt. ‘Come and sit by the fire. Jane has just made a pot of tea. You look as though you could do with a hot drink, and something to eat.’

‘I should have stopped to buy some bread,’ Clara said, sighing. ‘I haven’t stocked the larder yet.’

He shook his head. ‘You girls would starve if it weren’t for me.’

‘Where are you going?’ Clara asked as he picked up the empty basket.

‘To buy food, of course. If you get any thinner I’ll be able to see through you, Clara Carter.’ Luke winked at Jane. ‘And you can’t live on sugared almonds alone.’

She giggled. ‘I’d like to try.’

‘Look after your sister, Jane,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes or so.’

The door closed on him as he left the shop, and Jane’s smile faded. ‘Where did you go? You lied to him. I was in the shop, and I saw you getting out of a cab. Then you went off with that nasty-looking old man.’

‘I didn’t tell him the whole truth, which isn’t the same as lying.’ Clara took off her bonnet and shawl. ‘I would love a cup of tea, and maybe you could spare me a sugared almond?’ She hurried into the parlour.

‘I’m not a baby, Clara.’ Jane followed her into the room. ‘You can trust me to keep a secret. Where did you go?’

‘I had to sort out Pa’s gambling debt, Jane. It’s nothing for you to worry about.’

‘How can you pay? Did Miss Silver leave you a lot of money?’

Clara thought of the empty strong box and sighed. ‘There was a little, but I used that to pay for her funeral and to buy Pa’s railway ticket. I should have kept it to buy new stock, but you mustn’t worry. We’ll manage somehow. We always do.’ Clara filled two cups with tea and handed one to Jane.

‘You shouldn’t go off with people like that. Luke wouldn’t like it.’

‘Then we won’t tell him. I know what I’m doing, Jane.’

‘We never seem to be free from trouble.’

‘This is our new start. Just you wait and see.’ Clara spoke with more conviction than she was feeling. Getting out of debt meant betraying Luke – it was a terrible choice to have to make. ‘I’ll take my tea into the shop, just in case the customers come back.’

Jane popped a sugared almond into her mouth and nodded.

Luke returned with a basketful of groceries. Clara shook her head. ‘You can’t keep doing this. We’re not your responsibility.’ She emptied the contents onto the table in the parlour. ‘Bread, cake, ham, cheese, butter. This must have cost a small fortune.’

He shrugged. ‘You can repay me by letting me take you to a chop house for dinner this evening. There’s plenty here to feed Jane and Betsy, with some over for tomorrow.’

At any other time Clara might have refused his invitation to dine, but she was desperate to find out where the Skinner brothers were hiding. ‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

‘Really?’ He stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘I was expecting an argument.’