The Button Box: Gripping historical romance from the Sunday Times Bestseller

Jane answered Clara’s knock on the door and she entered the shop with a smile on her face. ‘Look what I’ve got for supper. We’ll eat well tonight.’

‘Did you find Luke? Is he all right?’

Betsy stuck her head round the parlour door. ‘Do I smell hot pies?’

‘Yes to both questions. Luke has gone away for a while, Jane, but he’ll be back before you know it. Betsy, get the plates out, please. The pies are getting cold.’

When her sisters had gone to bed, Clara stayed downstairs on the pretext of locking up, but although she was physically exhausted, she knew that sleep would elude her. She sat by the dying embers of the fire with the box containing her treasures on her lap and she held Luke’s silver button between her fingers. It was beautifully crafted, and the whole set must have been very expensive, but that was typical of Luke – only the best would do. She sighed, wondering what had happened to him. Luke had left the country, or so the man had said, but he could have been lying. Perhaps Luke had simply left London. As far as she knew he had no family living. He had told her that his mother was dead, but he had always been reluctant to talk about his past, and she had respected his right to keep silent about matters that were obviously distressing. She wished now that she had questioned him further as it might have given her a clue as to his whereabouts.

Clara closed the box and rose to her feet, but as she replaced it beneath the counter she remembered that Luke had wanted her to have an elegant gown made from the emerald-green silk. Generosity had been one of his more endearing qualities, and, despite her reservations as to his character, she realised with a sense of shock that she would miss him more than she would have thought possible. She had managed to keep her emotions in check all evening, but now she was alone she could give vent to her feelings and tears trickled down her cheeks. If she were being honest she had to admit that she cared deeply for Luke, despite his many failings, or maybe because of them, but it was his involvement with the criminal world that had made her wary of falling in love. The gangs were constantly at war, but last night Luke had acted on her behalf, and it was her father’s inability to repay his debt to Patches that had brought matters to a head. If she had kept her worries to herself none of this would have happened. She bowed her head and sobbed as if her heart would break.

Lizzie breezed into the shop next morning, smiling triumphantly. ‘Madam was delighted with the lace.’ Her smile faded. ‘What’s the matter with you, Clara? You look dreadful.’

‘I didn’t sleep very well, but I’m fine.’

‘Don’t fib. You can’t fool me. What’s happened?’

There seemed little point in lying. Lizzie would not be fooled easily and Clara knew that she was not looking her best. When she had eventually fallen asleep she had suffered terrifying nightmares that had made her fearful of dozing off again in case they returned. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the parlour door was closed. Jane was working on a creation that Betsy had brought home to finish off, and Clara did not want her to hear what she had to say.

‘I’ll tell you, but you must keep it between us. No one else must know.’

Lizzie’s eyes brightened and she pulled up the stool that was reserved for privileged customers. ‘Do tell, but make it quick. I’m sure Miss Jones times my absences so that she can report me to the housekeeper. She knows I’m a threat because madam likes me, and I know how to keep on her good side.’

Clara launched into a brief summary of the events leading to Luke’s disappearance. ‘I only have a stranger’s word for it that Luke has left the country. He wouldn’t tell me what really happened, but when I went to Angel Court yesterday there was no sign of Patches or any of her men.’

‘How awful, but very exciting, even though I don’t approve of you taking matters into your own hands.’

‘I still don’t know what happened to Luke.’

Lizzie put her head on one side, eyeing her sister with a wry smile. ‘You said you didn’t care for him.’

‘I don’t, not in a romantic way, but I am fond of him. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him, especially when he was trying to help us. Patches threatened to hurt Jane, and I believed her.’

‘You didn’t tell me that.’

‘I thought I could handle it on my own, and I certainly don’t want Jane to find out. The poor child suffers enough as it is.’

‘So what happened to Patches? She can’t have disappeared in a puff of smoke.’

‘I don’t know, Lizzie. I wish I did, but I’m not going back there.’

‘Then you must try to put it out of your head.’ Lizzie rose to her feet. ‘Heavens! I’d almost forgotten why I came here today.’

‘You needed to buy needles and thread? More lace?’

‘Yes, that’s it. Miss Jones needs more blonde lace. Madam has taken a liking to it and she wants another gown trimmed with it, but she needs at least ten yards. It’s a very grand gown and I think she wants to show off in front of her husband’s business colleagues and their stuffy wives. Have you got that much in stock?’

Clara shook her head. ‘No, there might be three yards but that’s all, and it means I’d have to go to the warehouse to order more, which would take time.’

‘She wants it by tomorrow. What will we do?’

‘You could probably get some in Oxford Street.’

‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ Lizzie reached across the counter to grasp her sister’s hands. ‘But you would, Clara. You have an eye for these things.’

‘I have to look after the shop, Lizzie. I can’t just close up on a whim. I’ll lose customers.’

‘Mrs Comerford is a very influential woman. If she’s satisfied with your service she’ll recommend you to her wealthy friends. Please, Clara.’

Lizzie’s pleading expression made it almost impossible to refuse, and the temptation of a shopping trip to Oxford Street outweighed all other considerations. The lure of the big department stores was too strong to refuse. ‘I suppose I could shut for an hour at midday. It’s quite a long walk but I could do it.’

‘Miss Jones gave me the money for a cab. I don’t mind walking back to Bedford Square. If you could bring the lace to the house you’d be saving my life.’

‘I don’t think Miss Jones would stoop to murder,’ Clara said, chuckling, ‘but I’ll do it for you, Lizzie. Just remember you owe me a favour.’

‘I’ll be in your debt for ever.’ Lizzie delved into her reticule and took out a purse. She pressed some coins into her sister’s hand. ‘That should be enough for the lace and the cab fare.’ She moved to the door and paused to blow a kiss. ‘Thank you. I won’t forget this, Clara.’

Oxford Street was thronged with carriages, cabs and horse-drawn omnibuses. People had braved the snow, and the shop windows were filled with displays designed to tempt customers to come in and look around. Clara alighted from the cab outside Peter Robinson’s department store. She headed for the drapery department and stopped for a moment to take in the sheer size and the vast quantity of stock compared to her own small establishment. She took off one glove and fingered the silks, satins and crisp cottons on display. Filmy muslin and delicate lace hung like cobwebs from tall stands, and black-uniformed shop assistants offered their services with a smile. Bolts of linen and other materials had their own fresh smell that acted like wine on Clara’s heightened senses, and she drifted towards the counter, drinking in the atmosphere until she was dizzy with delight. This was what she wanted for herself. An emporium to satisfy the senses and provide beauty and luxury at prices that almost everyone could afford.

‘Can I help you, madam?’ A small, pretty assistant was suddenly at her side. ‘What would madam like to see?’

‘Blonde lace,’ Clara said firmly. ‘I need ten yards.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t stock it any more. It’s fallen out of fashion, but we have some very fine Valenciennes lace, which is very popular at the moment.’

Clara thought quickly. ‘I’d like to see it and also if you have any Chantilly lace, perhaps I could compare the two?’

A flicker of respect lit the girl’s dark eyes and she inclined her head. ‘Certainly, madam. If you would like to take a seat for a moment I’ll fetch them for you.’

Half an hour later Clara had her purchase of Chantilly lace tucked under her arm and she had taken time to walk through the store and inspect the merchandise. She stood outside, and was about to hail a hansom cab when she spotted a ‘To Let’ sign a little further along the street. She could not resist the temptation to have a look at what was on offer.

The four-storey building had once been a town house but the ground floor had been turned into a shop. Peering through the grimy window she could see very little, apart from an upturned chair and the floor strewn with rubbish. The dilapidated exterior, with peeling paintwork and faded lettering on the fascia indicating that it had once been the premises of a bespoke tailor, gave the impression that the shop had been empty for quite some time. In her mind she began refurbishing the interior and filling the shelves with irresistible items that would tempt women of all classes to come and buy. She sighed and turned away. It was just a dream after all. She hailed a cab.

The thaw had set in and the trees in Bedford Square seemed to be weeping as the snow on the branches melted and fell in icy tears to the ground. Spikes of grass had begun to poke through the white blanket and the pavements were slippery with slush. Clara made her way carefully towards the steps leading down to the area, but as she was about to open the gate a waft of warm air made her look up to see Joss Comerford emerge from the house and head down the steps. She was about to continue but he had spotted her and smiled.

‘Miss Carter, this is a pleasant surprise. Has my mama been putting more business your way?’

‘In a manner of speaking, sir.’

‘There’s no need to use the servants’ entrance.’ Despite her protests, he ushered her into the house. James stood to attention, gazing into the distance, but Clara could feel disapproval emanating from him in waves. She walked past him with her head held high.

‘I have a package for Miss Jones,’ she said firmly.

Joss took off his top hat and tucked it under his arm. ‘James will see that she gets it.’ Joss curved his lips into a lazy smile as he slowly peeled off his kid gloves.

Clara tightened her grip on the package. ‘Thank you, sir, but I really need to speak to Miss Jones in person.’

‘Oh, all right, if you insist. James, I want you to find Miss Jones and ask her to come to the morning parlour.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Holding himself stiffly erect, James headed for the back stairs.

‘Come, Miss Carter. I’ll show you to the morning parlour. It’s much warmer in there and you’ll be more comfortable.’

‘Thank you, but I really can’t stay long. I had to close the shop.’

‘Really? An inconvenience, I’m sure.’ Joss led the way across the wide entrance hall and ushered her into an elegant reception room where a fire burned in the grate. He laid his hat on a rosewood side table together with his gloves. ‘Do take a seat and make yourself comfortable. Would you like some refreshment?’

Clara remained standing. ‘No, sir. Thank you, but as I explained I have to get back to the shop.’

‘Ah, yes. The shop – it’s rather small, isn’t it? I mean it can’t provide much of an income.’

‘It’s a living, sir. I’m only just starting out in the drapery business, but I have ambition to go much further.’ She glanced around, taking in her surroundings with a feeling of envy. The morning parlour had been decorated and furnished with a feminine touch, and no expense had been spared. The delicate blues and greys of the silk upholstery and the elegant furniture seemed dwarfed by Joss Comerford’s presence.

He unbuttoned his greatcoat and perched on a chair that seemed too fragile to bear his weight. ‘Have you indeed? I’d like to hear more about that.’ He stretched his legs out to the fire.

‘There’s not much to tell. It’s a dream really, but when I’ve made enough money I’d like to rent premises in Oxford Street. I’d start quite small and I’d build up gradually until I had a treasure house filled with beautiful things at a price that most people could afford.’

‘That sounds wonderful, but aren’t there already several department stores in Oxford Street?’

‘The more, the better. It would bring people in from the country, and with the railways spreading ever further it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that people could come to London just for the day. Imagine Christmas with lights and decorations all along the street and shop windows filled with luxury items.’

‘By golly, you’ve sold the idea to me already. When will you start this odyssey?’

Clara folded her hands tightly around the parcel of lace. ‘As I said, sir, it’s just a dream at present, but one day—’ She broke off at the sound of a faint tap on the door.

‘Enter,’ Joss said grandly.

The door opened and Miss Jones sidled into the room. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

‘Miss Carter has something for you, Jones.’ Joss rose to his feet. ‘I’ll wait for you in the hall, Miss Carter.’

Clara shot him a questioning look. ‘Why, sir? I explained that I have to hurry home.’

‘I’m going your way. Another luncheon at Simpson’s. A bit of a bore, but I have to keep in touch with friends.’ He left the room, allowing the door to swing shut.

‘What is this, Miss Carter?’ Miss Jones looked down her pointed nose, glaring at Clara as if she had done something unforgivable.

‘I had to go to Oxford Street to get the lace, Miss Jones.’ Clara handed her the neatly wrapped package. ‘They didn’t have any blonde lace and the assistant told me that it went out of fashion some time ago.’

‘I don’t know about that. I always thought it was a favourite with royalty,’ Miss Jones said stiffly. ‘You provided us with such lace from your little shop.’ The emphasis she put on the last two words made them sound like an insult.

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