Dilly Court - The Button Box

Jane’s eyes shone. ‘That’s wonderful, but what about Lizzie? She’s our other sister, although she’s in service so she doesn’t live with us now. Can she have a ticket as well? And there’s Betsy too. She loves music.’

‘Jane, really,’ Clara said, exasperated. ‘You should know better than to ask for things.’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Silver.’ Jane gave him a winning smile. ‘But I’m sure my other sisters would like to come, too.’

He held up his hand as Clara was about to protest. ‘It would be my pleasure to give you as many tickets as you need, providing, of course, that I get the job.’

‘You will get it, I’m sure of that,’ Jane said enthusiastically. ‘What do you think, Clara?’

Nathaniel took off his spectacles and polished them on a grubby handkerchief. ‘You don’t have to answer that, Miss Carter.’

Clara met his quizzical gaze with a smile. His myopic blue eyes twinkled and she found herself warming to him. ‘I’m sure Jane is right, Mr Silver.’

He replaced his glasses and tucked the hanky back in his pocket. ‘Thank you, Miss Carter.’

‘Oh, please!’ Jane looked from one to the other. ‘Do we have to be so stuffy? Might we not use first names now? After all, you both have Miss Silver in common. She would have introduced you formally, had she still been with us.’

‘Aunt Rebecca might approve,’ Nathanial said, smiling. ‘What do you think, Miss Carter?’

‘I think she would be turning in her grave if we overstepped the boundaries, Mr Silver. She was a stickler for etiquette. I was only a little older than Jane when I first worked for her, and she taught me such a lot. I’ll always be grateful to her.’

‘Well, I am going to call you Nathaniel,’ Jane said firmly, ‘and you must call me Jane. If my sister wants to be stuffy, that’s her business.’

‘Very well, Jane. But we must allow your sister to do as she sees fit. I am, after all, a complete stranger.’

‘But not for much longer,’ Jane insisted. ‘You must call on us, mustn’t he, Clara?’

‘Yes, that would be nice,’ Clara said vaguely. She sat back, allowing Jane to chatter, and Nathaniel answered her sister’s eager questions with good-humoured ease. Clara found herself liking him despite the problems that must inevitably arise from too close a friendship with Miss Silver’s nephew, and it was good to see Jane enjoying herself. Her disability had left her a virtual prisoner in their home, making silk flowers and trimmings for the milliner. It was poorly paid work, but every penny counted, and Clara herself had spent long hours in the shop, coming home late in the evening too exhausted to be much company for her youngest sister.

They parted outside the house in Wych Street. Nathaniel had insisted on sharing a cab from Waterloo Bridge station as he was going their way, and he refused to accept payment for their part of the journey. Clara was at once grateful and mortified. She had not wanted him to see where they lived, but he seemed to have made a great hit with Jane, and she could not deny her sister the pleasure of having the full attention of such a pleasant young man. Jane was bubbling over as she made her way down the dark corridor to their tiny apartment.

Clara opened the door and was met by the sight of her father slumped over the table with Betsy and Luke standing over him.

‘What happened?’ Clara cried anxiously. ‘Is he ill?’

‘Is he dead?’ Jane clapped her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

Luke shook his head. ‘He’s dead drunk. I found him like this and I brought him home.’

‘He’s been missing for three days,’ Betsy said angrily. ‘His pockets are empty, as usual. We should leave him here and move into the rooms above your shop, Clara.’

‘Your shop?’ Luke looked from one to the other. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘It’s all right, Betsy. I’ll tell Luke all about it.’ She shooed Jane towards the bedroom they shared. ‘Take off your wet things, love. I’ll look after Pa.’

Pale-faced and trembling, Jane hesitated in the doorway. ‘He won’t die, will he?’

‘No, of course not. He’s drunk too much rum, but he’ll get over it. Now do as I say and then we’ll have supper.’

Jane took one last look at her father’s inert figure before going into the bedroom and closing the door. Clara stepped in between Luke and Betsy, who were glaring at each other. ‘Help me get Pa into bed, Luke. And, Betsy, put the kettle on. Jane and I have had a long day and we’re chilled to the bone.’

‘I’m not your slave,’ Betsy grumbled, but she picked up the kettle and went out into the back yard where they drew their water from a communal pump.

Luke hefted Alfred Carter over his shoulder. ‘Where do you want him?’

Clara pointed to a truckle bed in the far corner of the room. ‘Over there.’ She crossed the floor and folded back the coverlet.

Alfred groaned when Luke dumped him unceremoniously on the wooden bed, but he did not open his eyes.

‘Dead drunk,’ Luke said grimly. ‘He must have been pouring booze down his throat for days.’

‘I don’t know where he got the money.’ Clara covered her father with the patchwork quilt and tucked him in.

‘He’ll have put it on the slate and that will have added to his debts. I did what I could, Clara, but I’m not going to cough up sums like that simply to get your old man off the hook. He’s a millstone round your neck and you ought to walk away and leave him to it.’

‘Oh, but I couldn’t do that.’ Clara stared at him, horrified. ‘He can’t manage on his own. He never has any money because he gambles it away, and he wouldn’t eat properly.’

‘Then let the old devil starve. He’s a lost cause.’ Luke turned away from the bed where Alfred lay slack-mouthed and snoring loudly.

Clara was prevented from answering by Betsy, who erupted into the kitchen stamping ice off her boots. ‘The pump is frozen solid. I had to scoop snow off the privy roof.’ She slammed the kettle down on the range. ‘That’s the last of the coal, Clara, and there’s nothing in the larder for supper. It’s all very well for you and Jane to pay for the old girl’s funeral and go gallivanting off on the train, but that money should have fed us for the month.’

‘It was Miss Silver’s money,’ Clara protested. She shot a sideways glance at Luke. ‘The will has to go to probate, but she left me everything. Giving her a proper send-off was the least I could do.’

Luke took a handful of coins from his pocket and tossed them onto the table. ‘This will keep you girls going, but I meant what I said. If you stay here you’ll get a visit from Patches Bragg’s men. It was her gaming house where I found your pa, and you don’t want to owe Patches money. She takes her debts in the most painful ways imaginable, if you get my meaning.’

‘I understand,’ Clara said, wincing at the thought. She knew of Patches Bragg – everyone in Seven Dials and the surrounding area knew of the French woman who was a legend in the criminal underworld, and ran her gang with more brutality than any of the other gangland bosses, including the Skinner brothers. Scarred by smallpox, Amelie Bragg wore the once-fashionable patches to cover the worst of her blemishes, and it was these that had earned her the nickname. Clara had seen her on one occasion, and that was enough to convince her that Luke’s warning was timely.

‘You must move out of here,’ Luke insisted. ‘I can’t protect you if you stay. Leave your father to sort out his own problems.’

‘He’s right,’ Betsy said urgently. ‘I’ve heard what that woman does to people who can’t pay up, and I don’t want my face scarred like hers.’