Merryn Allingham - The Buttonmaker’s Daughter

He stopped walking for a moment and looked down at her. It was as though he needed to dwell on his own words. ‘You know it was a huge piece of good fortune for me that he met Jonathan – at a race meeting, would you believe?’

‘Racing?’

‘Jonathan Simmonds is a bit of a gambler,’ Aiden admitted, walking on once more, ‘but don’t tell your father. He might not like to think his architect has such a weakness.’

‘And you? Are you a gambler?’

‘No, indeed. What would I gamble with? Mind you, my uncle has hardly a penny to his name. But then the Irish can never resist a flutter.’

‘He’s Irish?’ She was learning something new every minute. Right now, though, the Irish were not the most popular of nations. Only yesterday, she’d heard her father fume against the ‘Irish trouble’ and predict that a civil war there was all but inevitable.

‘It’s not just my uncle that’s Irish. I am too.’

‘You don’t sound it.’ He didn’t, though now she was aware, she thought she could detect the slightest of lilts to his voice.

‘That’s because I’ve been in England too long. And my aunt and uncle even longer.’

‘How long? Why did they come to England? Where do they live?’

The bicycle was propped against the bothy wall, as he’d said. He took hold of the handlebars and wheeled it onto the path that led to a side gate and out onto the village road. She stayed where she was and he turned back to her.

‘So many questions, Miss Summer.’ She blushed hotly. He was right. She’d been intrusive to the point of rudeness. ‘But am I allowed one?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she said hastily. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Then, what are you doing deep in the Sussex countryside? Shouldn’t you be in London, having a fine time?’

‘I’ve had a fine time,’ she was quick to counter.

‘Still… you might enjoy a very different kind of company, away from Summerhayes.’ He pointed to her hands where the faintest traces of paint were still visible. He was far too acute.

‘I daub, that’s all. And I’m happy enough here.’

‘Are you?’

His face glimmered beneath the arc of moonlight and she could just make out his expression. He was considering her intently, as though wanting to drill down into her deepest thoughts, and she found it discomfiting. It was time for her to leave.

Chapter Three

Alice was on alert and heard the side door of the house click shut. She hoped her husband had not. But Joshua was still talking, still vehement, though a good deal calmer now. He seemed to have talked himself out of his anger and she had no wish to provoke a further outburst. She looked through the uncurtained diamonds of window glass and saw only darkness. What was Elizabeth doing walking in the gardens so late? At last her husband’s voice dwindled to a stop. He would return to her brother’s perfidy soon enough, but, for the moment, she could breathe freely.

‘Shall I call Ripley for tea?’ she asked hopefully.

He didn’t answer but shuffled to the edge of the sofa, then heaved himself to his feet and trod heavily across the polished oak floor. He enjoyed using the telephone, she knew. It was modern and efficient, two words that were his touchstone. His hand had reached for the instrument when she said, as casually as she could, ‘Did you think any more about the finishing school?’

‘I did not. And the answer is still no.’ He turned to face her, a grimace enlivening his otherwise stony expression. ‘I thought I’d made it plain that Elizabeth has no need to attend a foreign school. In my view, she is perfectly finished already.’

‘She is a credit to the family.’ Alice used her most emollient tone. ‘But would it not be a good idea to allow her to travel a little before she settles down? You have said yourself how wonderfully foreign travel broadens the mind. And, in Elizabeth’s case, it would be particularly beneficial. She would have a new setting in which to paint.’

‘She can paint here. She has her own studio, dammit. And as for travelling, she travelled more than enough last year and didn’t like it. This is where she belongs.’ He stomped back across the polished boards and spread his bulk along the printed velvet of the sofa. The effort pulled the Norfolk jacket tightly across his chest, its buttons looking ready to pop.

‘She travelled to London,’ Alice said mildly.

‘Exactly. And isn’t London the greatest city in the world? Even greater than Birmingham, though some would argue differently.’ His lips pulled back into the slightest of smiles. When his wife failed to acknowledge the pleasantry, he glared at her. ‘Where else should she go?’ he asked belligerently. ‘I don’t want her in Europe. Europe is a dangerous place – more so with every month that passes.’

‘But how is that possible? You are still in touch with Germany, are you not? Surely people there won’t want trouble. Or in France or anywhere else for that matter.’

‘Trade is one thing, war another. I’ll keep contact with Germany as long as it remains a good customer. The old factories do well from it. But it doesn’t mean I trust them. I don’t trust the man who leads them. The Kaiser is a swaggerer and he’s unpredictable; he’ll make trouble, mark my word. It may appear quiet at the moment but the Germans have the greatest army in the world – that’s something we should never forget. And now it has a navy to rival ours. They’ve been building a fleet large enough to threaten us at sea. Did you know that?’

She shook her head. She was hazy about the politics of Europe and could not argue. Not that she would, if she’d been Emmeline Pankhurst herself. It was not what women did. But, surely, Elizabeth would be safe in one of the best schools in Switzerland? And her daughter would gain so much from the experience. Different people, different customs, and encounters that could prove important. Introductions. Introductions that could lead to marriage and put the wild ideas Elizabeth had out of her mind. It was typical of Joshua that he couldn’t see the need for his daughter to widen her horizons. Summerhayes was the only horizon he could contemplate and what was right for him must be right for Elizabeth. But if the girl were to remain here, things could not stay the same. She approached the subject tentatively.

‘If Elizabeth is not to go to Switzerland, we might look for a suitable husband.’

‘She had the chance to find a husband and chose not to.’

He wanted to keep his daughter here. Keep her under his fond but watchful eye. And part of her sympathised. Marriage wasn’t the gilded promise that mothers held out to their daughters. She, of all women, should know that. But the girl’s future had to be considered. Joshua wouldn’t always be here and neither would she. Far better that Elizabeth had a home of her own long before that happened. And her daughter would have choice; she would not be forced to marry for money, as her mother had been.

‘London may have been the wrong place,’ she persisted. ‘The men she met there were not perhaps right for her.’ Though goodness knows what kind of man would attract her wayward daughter. ‘Someone closer at hand, someone from our own county, might suit her better.’

Joshua’s shoulders tensed in an angry fashion and she began to think it wise to abandon the conversation, when a quiet knock on the glass doors of the drawing room heralded Ripley and the tea tray. Her husband was forced to swallow his rancour but, when the footman had poured the tea and departed, he said, ‘Why can’t you leave the girl alone? She’s still young. She is happy here. Let her be.’

‘She is nineteen years old, Joshua. In a few months’ time, she will be twenty. She is in her prime, a time of her life when she should have the pick of husbands.’