Dilly Court - The Button Box - Gripping historical romance from the Sunday Times Bestseller

‘No, I’m not one of the gang,’ Clara said angrily. ‘Where have they gone?’

‘I dunno, and I don’t ask questions. Nor will you if you’ve got any sense. I’ve got work to do, and you’d better go about your business, whatever that might be.’

‘I need to know what happened here last night. Please tell me anything you know.’

‘Go away and let me get on. I got a family to feed and I don’t know nothing.’ The woman glanced over her shoulder. ‘He’s coming.’ She scuttled into the room and pushed past Clara, brandishing a broom.

Clara attempted to leave but found her way barred by a swarthy man wearing a billycock hat and a heavy overcoat with its collar pulled up to his unshaven chin. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded, squinting at her from beneath bushy black eyebrows.

‘I’m looking for Luke Foyle,’ Clara said, hoping she sounded more confident than she was feeling. This man had an air of menace about him that made her feel distinctly threatened, but to her surprise his frown was replaced by a broad grin, exposing a row of uneven, yellowed teeth.

‘What’s your name, lovely?’

‘I’m Clara Carter.’

‘So you’re the one,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Luke has an eye for a looker, and that’s the truth.’

‘Where is he?’ Clara demanded breathlessly.

‘You might say he’s had to go on a trip for the sake of his health, miss. You won’t be seeing him for quite a while.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Haven’t you heard? There was a fight between the Skinners’ gang and the Braggs’ last night. Very bloody it was too. Those what are left have scarpered.’

‘Who are you?’ Clara demanded furiously. ‘How do I know you’re not lying?’

‘It don’t matter who I am, my duck. I’ll be off soon meself, but it’s a pity about Foyle. You’ll get over him in time.’

Clara felt a bubble of hysteria welling up inside her, but she mustered every scrap of self-control in an attempt to sound calm and collected. ‘What happened to him?’

‘I told you, girl. He left the country and he won’t be coming back for a long while. If he does he faces the hangman’s noose. D’you understand me now?’

‘Did he kill someone?’ Clara’s breath caught on a sob. ‘Was it Patches? Is that why this place is deserted?’

‘I ain’t prepared to say no more. The less you know, the better. Go home, girl.’ He was about to walk past her but she caught him by the sleeve.

‘Why won’t you tell me where Luke has gone?’

He shook her hand off as if it were an annoying bug. ‘Oh, didn’t I say? How very remiss of me. He’s taking in the delights of Paris, so I believe.’ He sauntered off to inspect the bar, or what was left of it, giving Clara the opportunity to escape.

It was not until she was outside that the full force of events overtook her and she leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. It had all begun with a gambling debt, but everything had spiralled out of control, and now Luke had left the country, if that man was to be believed. There must have been a scuffle outside the shop, which would account for the bloodstain on the snow and the loss of a waistcoat button, but what happened after that would remain a mystery.

She walked home slowly, stopping to buy three hot mutton pies from the pieman, and three baked potatoes from the stall a little further along Drury Lane. Her movements were automatic and she was still in a state of shock. She had done her best to persuade Luke to get away from the gangs, and he had managed to keep that part of his life separate, treating it almost as a joke. Now the reality of gang warfare had struck home – Luke must have killed someone, maybe Patches herself, and he had fled for his life. He was a marked man and if he returned to England he would face the full force of the law.

The sound of footsteps made Clara glance over her shoulder. Home and safety were just a few yards away, but to her relief she recognised a familiar figure. With his muffler flying and his hair tousled by the wind, Nathaniel came hurrying towards her with his violin case slung over his shoulder. As he came to a breathless halt she noticed that he had done his coat up on the wrong button and his stiff white collar was coming undone as if he had lost a stud in his hurry to get dressed.

‘Clara, I thought it was you.’ He sniffed the air, like a hungry hound. ‘Mutton pie, my favourite.’

‘You’re welcome to join us, Nathaniel. There’s plenty to go round.’

‘I wish I could, but I’m already late. I should have been at work ten minutes ago. I just hope the conductor hasn’t noticed that I’m not in my place.’

‘Another time then,’ Clara said, smiling, ‘but perhaps you ought to stop off for a moment and fix your collar. You do look a bit untidy, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

‘I was so busy composing that I forgot the time.’

‘You seem to have lost a collar stud.’

‘Devil take the wretched things.’ Nathaniel ran his hand through his windblown hair. ‘I’m always losing them, but I can’t stop now. May I call on you soon, Clara? I don’t want to intrude.’

‘That would be very nice.’ Clara had to suppress the sudden desire to laugh. In the midst of murder and mayhem Nathaniel represented a different world that was infinitely more appealing.

‘Splendid.’ He backed away, smiling. ‘And I haven’t forgotten about the tickets for the show …’ His voice trailed off as he broke into a run, heading in the direction of the Strand.

Clara walked on slowly, making a huge effort to compose herself before she arrived at the shop. What had happened last night was something she wanted to keep to herself for as long as possible.

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.