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

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.