The Buttonmaker’s daughter

by Merryn Allingham

  ‘Have you now? Then you’d best check the tyres. Those bikes haven’t been out for weeks.’

  ‘They seem all right.’ Oliver had walked into the motor house where the bicycles were stored and bent to examine the two machines leaning against the wall. ‘They’re okay, aren’t they, William?’

  He agreed, though he’d hardly glanced at them. He had no interest in a ride, to the village or to anywhere else. But when he wheeled the bicycle out into the courtyard, he remembered how proud he’d been of this birthday gift just two winters ago.

  ‘If you’re going to the village, best take the long way round,’ Eddie advised. ‘They’ve been cutting the hedges in the lane this morning and there’s muck and branches everywhere.’

  When they’d wheeled their bikes on to the drive, Oliver said, ‘It’s a good idea of Eddie’s to take the road. There’s a great slope we can fly down all the way into the village. The hill must be half a mile long.’

  ‘And a great slope to climb up again,’ William muttered gloomily.

  Olly didn’t hear him. His friend was already halfway down the drive and he was forced to clamber on his bike and follow suit. Once out on the road and riding freely, the sadness that seemed to have seeped into his very bones began slowly to drift away. Perhaps, as Cook suggested, the fresh air was helping. Or perhaps it was simply leaving Summerhayes behind. The bad feeling within its four walls upset him greatly. But he knew that to keep strong he mustn’t think of it. The situation wasn’t dire, he comforted himself. Elizabeth might be sent away, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t come back. And, as for the unexplained accidents, nothing bad had happened to him for days, for weeks even. And this afternoon the sun was shining, the sky was without a cloud and the air filled with the scent of wild honeysuckle. He would enjoy it.

  Even by road, the village was only a mile distant, and they were soon at the peak of the hill that Oliver had spoken of.

  ‘This is it, Wills,’ he said. ‘We should try freewheeling. It will be brilliant. I’ll go first.’

  ‘You’ll need to use brakes,’ he warned him. ‘At least from the halfway mark, otherwise it gets dangerous. I know, I’ve tried it before.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  His friend’s cheeky grin was worrying but he had to let him go. Oliver was too determined, too headstrong, to attempt to control. He gave him a minute’s start then pushed off himself. It was wonderful, like sailing on the wind. The tarmac sped beneath his wheels and hedgerows on either side rushed past as though they had not a minute to spare. Ahead, Olly’s figure was hunched over the handlebars, his hair blowing this way and that as the hill fell away. Halfway down, William had reached the speed where he knew he must apply the brakes or end in trouble. He squeezed the metal lever on his right, but nothing happened; he squeezed the lever to the left, but nothing again. He pressed both together as hard as he could, but still he was flying forward at a frightening speed, and all the time gaining momentum as the hill snaked its way downwards. Over and over, he pulled on the brake levers. He was going to crash, he was certain.

  The village was straight ahead and any minute now he would cross the road that ran at right angles. He prayed there would be no pedestrian, no cyclist, coming that way. There wasn’t. It was a car that appeared out of nowhere, right in his face it seemed and, giving up any effort to control the bicycle, he threw up his hands in despair, expecting any minute to feel the impact of hard metal. Instead, the bike slewed sideways, bumped up and over the grass verge, and landed with him beneath, deep in the ditch that ran alongside the road.

  He heard voices and footsteps hurrying towards him. At least he was conscious. Olly’s frightened face peered over the grass bank and into the ditch.

  ‘Let me get there.’ It was Dr Daniels. It had been his car. That was all right then, he thought stupidly.

  Frank Daniels clambered up on to the verge and pulled the bike free, tossing it to one side. Then he bent forward and stretched out an arm.

  ‘Can you grab my hand, William?’

  He grabbed. Slowly, he managed to stumble to his knees then to his feet. With the doctor on one side and Olly on the other, he found himself hauled roughly out of the ditch, over the grass bank and onto the road. He was covered in leaves and twigs and Oliver had begun brushing him down when the doctor pushed him aside.

  ‘Let’s have a look at you, young man. You’ve taken a very nasty tumble.’

  A nasty tumble was not how he’d have described it. His body felt as though it had been on the rack, one of those instruments of medieval torture, but he said nothing and allowed Dr Daniels to prod and poke him from head to foot.

  ‘Nothing broken, I think. I should take you back to my surgery, though, and listen to your heart.’

  ‘I’m fine. Really, I am.’ He was embarrassed at the fuss.

  ‘Then we’ll leave it for now. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow but I’d say you were a very lucky boy.’

  He tried to smile but he knew it was a wan effort. ‘Come on,’ the doctor said briskly, ‘we’ll load up the bikes and I’ll drive you back to Summerhayes.’

  ‘But we haven’t got the almond paste yet,’ Olly protested, evidently seeing the Battenberg disappear from sight.

  ‘Never mind the almond paste. William needs to be home.’ And the doctor picked up Oliver’s bicycle and heaved it into the open boot of his car. ‘You should have checked your brakes before you left,’ he said severely, and grabbed the second bike to stow it in the same fashion.

  ‘We checked the tyres but not the brakes,’ Oliver admitted, ‘but— wait a minute!’ he said urgently. The doctor had lifted the bicycle high in the air, but now let it fall with a thump on to the road. ‘What now?’ he said impatiently.

  ‘Look!’ Oliver was pointing at the back wheel. A thin metal cable still ran to the rear of the bicycle but the small caliper that should have forced the rubber block to press against the wheel when the brake was applied, had been badly bent.

  ‘It’s damaged,’ the doctor said indifferently.

  ‘It’s not just damaged, it’s been twisted out of shape.’ Oliver was excited. ‘And look it’s happened on the front wheel too. And it’s not just the calipers. The thick rubber blocks have been cut almost in two. No wonder the brakes didn’t work.’

  ‘The blocks must have worn out,’ the doctor insisted. ‘They obviously needed replacing.’

  ‘That can’t be right.’ Oliver never feared to argue with an adult if he thought he was right. ‘William’s bike is nearly new.’

  Dr Daniels shrugged and began to lift the bike again, when Olly blurted out, ‘It’s been damaged deliberately.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ the doctor exclaimed. ‘Why on earth would anyone do that?’

  William swallowed hard. Olly’s eyes were on him, intent and full of meaning, but he kept his silence. It could have been an accident, he told himself, as he squashed into the front of the car beside Oliver and the doctor. No one said a word until Dr Daniels had deposited boys and bicycles outside the motor house once more, and taken off down the drive.

  ‘Well…’ Oliver began.

  But he didn’t want to hear it. No more conspiracies please, his mind was pleading and, before his friend could launch into his latest theory, Cook appeared at the rear entrance. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘we didn’t manage to get the almond paste.’

  ‘Never mind, my love. I don’t blame you taking the lift when it was offered. That hill from the village is some steep. I heard the car and came to tell you – Mrs Lumley has sent over your favourites.’

  ‘Who is Mrs Lumley?’ His companion was temporarily distracted.

  ‘She’s the cook at Amberley. When I’m home, she bakes something special for me every week. I expect it’s macaroons.’

  ‘I don’t like macaroons,’ Oliver said, disappointed.

  ‘But I do.’ William gave a rare smile and went through the door and along the flagged passageway to the kitchen. Astonishingly, he found himself hungry. It must be
all that fresh air. And he hadn’t been badly hurt, had he? He was just aching and sore. A macaroon or two would put him right.

  Chapter Thirty

  In the middle of the night, he woke feeling wretchedly ill. He was going to be sick. He sat up quickly and tried to swing his legs off the bed. He must get to the bathroom. But his stomach was heaving and somehow his feet couldn’t find the floor. Before he could stop himself, he gave a loud ‘whoop!’ and a stream of vomit flooded his pyjamas, bedclothes and much of the bedside rug.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Oliver sat bolt upright, blinking in the beam of cold moonlight that had edged its way between the curtains. Then he realised his friend was in trouble and threw himself out of bed, rushing to William’s side.

  ‘Ugh!’ He had nearly trodden in the mess.

  ‘Sorry,’ William could just about mumble. Then, ‘Go away. I’m going to be sick again.’

  This time when his stomach had stopped its pitching, he was wet with perspiration. ‘Need to get to the bathroom,’ he ground out.

  Oliver put his hands under each of his friend’s arms and hauled him out of bed, trying to place his feet on a dry patch of carpet. Together, they limped along the landing, but almost immediately they reached the bathroom, William began to vomit again.

  ‘I’m going to get your sister.’ Olly sounded seriously worried.

  ‘No,’ he gasped. ‘Mustn’t. She’s already in trouble.’

  ‘But she’s the best bet. Your ma will fuss so and make things worse. Stay there, I’m going to fetch her.’

  He didn’t have much choice, he thought, his head once more over the toilet bowl.

  *

  When Elizabeth opened her door to a frenzied tapping, she stepped back in surprise. ‘What on earth…?’

  ‘It’s William, he’s ill. You’ve got to come.’

  She didn’t pause to ask questions, but grabbed her wrapper from its hook and followed Oliver along the length of floral geometry that carpeted the landing. The door to the bathroom was open and William was sitting on the toilet seat, his head drooping, his face beneath the harsh electric light a ghastly shade of grey.

  ‘He’s been sick.’

  Her nose had already told her that but she simply nodded. ‘Very sick,’ Olly went on. ‘And it’s all over the bedroom.’

  ‘Stay with William,’ she commanded. ‘I’ll sort it out.’

  Oliver hadn’t exaggerated. The mess was beyond anything she could clear on her own. She scurried up the stairs to the servants’ quarters and crept into Ivy’s room. Her maid, as always, was intensely practical. Within minutes, the girl had grasped the situation and dressed quickly. Together they ran down to the basement for buckets of water. It took nearly an hour to clean the room sufficiently well for William to return and, even then, they were forced to throw the stained rug out of the window to deal with in the morning. Ivy fetched clean sheets and remade the bed while Elizabeth returned to the bathroom. Oliver was sitting on the side of the bath, while William was exactly where she’d left him.

  ‘He’s not been sick again,’ Olly said cheerfully.

  ‘Good. It’s probably safe now to get you back to bed.’ But when her brother tried to stand, he was so weak that both she and Oliver had to put their arms around him to keep him from falling.

  ‘Be brave,’ she urged. ‘Just a few steps along the landing and we’ll have you lying down.’

  Progress was painfully slow but at last he was climbing between clean sheets. Ivy had left a small bowl of lavender water and she set about sponging her brother’s face. The smell of the lavender, sweet and refreshing, filled the room and she was relieved to see the grey retreating from William’s pallid cheeks.

  ‘Better?’ she asked after a while.

  ‘Lots,’ he answered. ‘But you shouldn’t be here.’

  She was puzzled. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘They might not like you to talk to me.’ She guessed he must mean their parents.

  ‘That’s silly,’ she said bracingly. ‘Of course, we can talk.’

  ‘But you’re going away. To school.’ His voice broke and she saw tears forming in his eyes.

  She put the bowl down and put her arms fully around him, hugging him close. His body was stick thin, she noticed. He’d lost weight in the days since the dogs had attacked.

  ‘Was it worrying about me, that made you so ill?’

  He shook his head.

  Oliver bounced up from the adjoining bed. He’d been unusually quiet. ‘I reckon it was those macaroons. The ones Mrs Lumley sent over.’

  ‘It couldn’t be,’ her brother protested feebly. ‘Mrs Lumley bakes them most weeks for me when I’m home.’

  ‘They’re the only thing you ate and I didn’t,’ Oliver persisted.

  ‘Could it have been the macaroons, William?’ she asked. She felt very slightly sick herself. She didn’t want to think what that might mean.

  ‘They tasted a bit different,’ he admitted, ‘but I’m sure there was nothing wrong with them.’

  She couldn’t share his certainty. He didn’t want to make a fuss, worried no doubt that he might get Mrs Lumley into trouble, but the macaroons had come from Amberley and that fact was a great bell tolling trouble. Ivy had told her this evening about the damaged bike – the servants all knew of it – but she had put that down to a lack of maintenance. Until now.

  At all costs, though, she must avoid scaring William. She set off down another track. ‘Are you eating properly? Not cakes, I mean. Good food that will make you strong?’

  He hung his head. ‘To be honest, I don’t feel too hungry these days.’

  ‘So where does all the food go that Cook serves you in the kitchen? No, don’t tell me – Oliver, I suppose.’

  Oliver’s protest was muffled by the bedclothes, but William gave a shy grin. ‘I guess so. Some of it at least. But—’

  ‘But nothing. You have to eat. I don’t know whether there was anything wrong with the macaroons. Probably not,’ she lied. ‘But you must eat and get strong. And you must stop fretting. There’s nothing at Summerhayes to disturb you. The dogs are under control and they won’t be coming back. The fencing is done and the stonemason has blocked up the old rear entrance.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She took his thin hands in hers. ‘I’m absolutely sure.’

  ‘I’ve been having nightmares,’ he confessed.

  ‘No more nightmares. And no more worrying about my going away to school. That was just Papa in one of his tempers.’

  ‘But he meant it.’

  ‘He meant it at the time, but you know what he’s like. I went against his wishes and he was very angry and threw out the first threat he could think of.’

  She got to her feet, ready to go. She could see that he was thinking hard.

  ‘Mama wants you to go to school, too,’ he said at last. ‘I heard Father say so.’

  ‘She wanted me to go to school in Switzerland. She’s wanted that for a long time. But now war is raging, it’s completely out of the question.’

  ‘He said Scotland.’ William was stubborn.

  ‘And where would they find to send me in Scotland? It’s ludicrous. I don’t imagine for one moment that the Scots have their own finishing schools, do you?’

  ‘It did sound strange,’ he admitted.

  ‘That’s because it was strange. Papa was casting around for a place as far away from Sussex as he could find.’

  ‘So you won’t be going away?’

  She couldn’t prevent the slight hesitation in answering. ‘That is not to be your next worry. I forbid it! I’m here now and I love you. I’ll always love you.’ She had wriggled out of a promise to stay, but if William realised this, it wasn’t clear.

  ‘You’ll marry Giles Audley and live at Summerhayes?’ he asked eagerly.

  ‘I can’t marry him, William. I don’t love him. But it will make no difference to us, I promise. I’ll always be your friend, married or not.’

&nb
sp; *

  It was nearly dawn when she returned to her room. Wearily, she climbed into bed but could find no rest. There had been a day of upset and now a night. Yesterday, she had bolstered herself for the interview with Giles, even imagined its aftermath, knowing her father would bully and Alice entreat, but the reality had been so much worse. And it hadn’t changed her mind one jot, even after her mother’s extraordinary confession. For a moment she’d been stunned – the idea of her mother in love was so foreign – but the moment had passed and she knew she would never act in the same way. Alice had done her duty as she saw it, but her own duty was very different: it was not to make the same mistakes as her parents had.

  Yesterday’s raking wouldn’t be the end of it. She would have to face the inquisition again and again, and face it alone. Aiden was going away and could not help. After the dreadful morning, she had longed to see him, feel his arms around her, hear his voice. They’d arranged a rare meeting in the late afternoon as soon as the men had packed away their tools and left for home. He was to cycle from the village; he’d wanted to know how she’d fared at the dinner party, but it hardly seemed worth the telling. She’d arrived at their meeting place without incident, though at that time of day it was difficult to slip from the house unnoticed: the light was still bright and people still on the move. The minutes had ticked slowly by and there had been no sign of him. She’d made a fair guess why. Mrs Boxall would have shown him the door within hours of Giles returning to Amberley with his tale of rejection – her uncle would have seen to that – and Aiden would need to find a resting place for the night. After an hour, she could stay no longer. Her mother might come knocking on her bedroom door, armed with yet more reasons why she should accept Audley’s proposal. When she’d turned back towards the house, her spirits had been very low.

  But not nearly as low as now. It seemed impossible to believe, but William had again been the target of malice. The faulty bicycle might still be accidental since the boys had hardly used the machines this summer, and for long periods of time while William was at school, they were never ridden. But even if that were a mishap, she couldn’t believe the same of his illness. She’d seen him very briefly on his return from the village yesterday evening, and he’d seemed well. Tired and bruised it was true, but otherwise unaffected by the crash. Was it possible that overnight he had caught some horrid illness that made him sick? And he had been so very sick. She hardly thought so. It had to have been the food he’d eaten, and since the macaroons were the only thing that Oliver’s immense appetite had balked at, they were where guilt must lie. They had come from Amberley, but there was no way Mrs Lumley could bear responsibility. She was a good friend of Cook’s and a good friend of the Summers. Someone else must have tampered with the cooking, that was the only explanation.