The Buttonmaker’s daughter

by Merryn Allingham

  By now her head was hot and aching, as she tried to take in the enormity of what was happening. Her own young brother was being systematically hunted down and weakened. No one else in the house appeared to have eaten the cakes, but if others had and fallen ill, they would have recovered swiftly enough. For William, though, the bouts of nausea had put untold pressure on his body. Sickness alone would not cause permanent damage, but for a boy with a weak heart, it could have severe consequences. If the measure of poison that had been added to the macaroons – and she was speculating here – had been a little larger, goodness knows what they would be facing this morning.

  William was in danger, it was clear, but how to protect him? She could spell out her suspicions to her mother and she thought she would be believed. Alice had been frightened of her brother for as long as Elizabeth could remember, and she’d begun to see her mother might have good reason. But her father would scoff at her, scoff at them both, and take no action. For him, his heir was a weakling and they were silly women who fussed unnecessarily. She could hear him now, saying that all his son needed was a spell of hard discipline. But no amount of discipline, no amount of hardening, could combat an evil intent on destroying the young boy. Aiden had been right all those weeks ago. She hadn’t wanted to listen to him, had stopped him when he claimed that the boys’ retreat in the Wilderness had been rigged to collapse, that Amberley’s dogs had been encouraged to invade their gardens.

  She hadn’t wanted to listen, but he had been right all the time. A clear plan was emerging, its origins somewhere in Amberley. She was to be married according to Fitzroy wishes and, at the same time, her brother made weak and helpless. Yesterday morning, she’d been expected to accept Giles Audley’s proposal; yesterday afternoon, William had crashed his bike and then been made deliberately sick. That was the plan, and it would have moved smoothly ahead except that she hadn’t accepted Giles. Her refusal had thrown the project into disarray, and if her uncle really were the villain she was imagining, how would he react? What would he do next?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Alice had risen that morning almost as early as her daughter. By seven o’clock, she was sitting at her desk and gazing despairingly at the letter she had started an hour ago. She roused herself to concentrate. Focusing hard on the inky characters, she noticed that she’d written the same sentence twice. Her hands unsteady, she tore the paper in two, and reached for a fresh sheet. Dear Henry, she wrote again, and then stopped, discarded the second piece of paper, too, and stared hopelessly ahead at the pale peach wall and the Sickert painting of a Venice church. What could she say to her brother that would explain Elizabeth’s conduct? What would in any way mitigate the offence? Her daughter had shown a gross lack of respect for her elders’ judgement and, in particular, for Henry’s judgement. It was not a transgression that could be easily excused.

  Since yesterday’s catastrophic events, there had been silence from Amberley. But she wasn’t deceived by the seeming calm; it was the silence itself that was frightening. She knew her brother would be furious, as angry with her as he was with Elizabeth. And ferociously angry with Joshua. They had asked him for help and out of the kindness of his heart, as he would see it, he had given it. He had produced Giles Audley, the perfect bridegroom. And instead of receiving grateful thanks, instead of luxuriating in a lordly condescension, he had had his choice rejected. And by a nineteen-year-old whose knowledge of the world was a shadow of her uncle’s.

  Alice felt quite ill at the thought of the encounter she must have with her brother. And iller still, when she considered the reprisals he might exact. And there would be reprisals, if past experience was a guide. As a boy, he had cut her favourite dress into shreds when she’d refused to hand over the tennis racquet she’d been given for her birthday. He’d lied to their father that she’d stolen money from Mrs Lumley’s kitchen fund because she’d screamed when one of his horrible school friends had tried to kiss her. And, darker still, he’d killed her cat – she was sure of it – because she’d inadvertently broken the glass case containing the sticklebacks he was keeping. But all that had happened when he was a boy. He was a grown man now, a civilised man. What could he do, except in various small ways, make their life unpleasant? And the family would weather whatever was coming: the petty insults, the spreading of rumours, the trivial acts of bad faith. After all, they had done so for years.

  Dear Henry, she wrote a third time on yet another fresh sheet. We are so sorry… A light footfall sounded outside her door and she jumped up. Elizabeth. She hadn’t seen her daughter since yesterday’s dreadful interview. Dinner last night had been a solitary affair – Joshua at one end of the table and herself at the other, both of them mightily relieved when the meal had come to an end. And she had little hope that Elizabeth would appear for breakfast this morning. She needed to see her; if she could talk to her again, perhaps exert a little more persuasion, a letter to Henry might not be necessary. She might even be able to write an entirely different missive.

  She opened the morning-room door in time to see a skirt of bright blue cotton disappear up the stairs.

  ‘Elizabeth,’ she called. The skirt stopped moving, hovering three steps from the top of the staircase, then disappeared in a swift movement. She sighed. She would have to write the letter after all.

  *

  Elizabeth wasn’t the only one to miss breakfast. After the rigours of the night, the boys had slept late, much to Olly’s consternation, but, by midday, Ripley had retrieved matters by serving them a modest luncheon in their room. When Elizabeth looked in on them, they had just finished eating. She thought that William still looked unusually pale but he assured her that he was feeling a good deal stronger. The old theatre had been pulled from its hiding place and various pieces of scenery scattered across the floor. He and Oliver were about to spend the afternoon working on a new play. She was relieved; he could come to no harm here.

  She wished them well with their project and walked back to her room. She would spend the next few hours here, safe from any new attempt at coercion. She settled herself to read and it was a while before she realised she’d read the same page several times and was getting nowhere. It was the fault of the print, she decided. It was dancing crazily across the page, dancing to the tune of a mind that couldn’t be still. Today, surely, Aiden would come. In a short while, she would slip from the house and wait in the garden once more, near to the lane that led to the village. She wanted so much to be close to him, to confide in him her worries. But if he came, what could he do? And if he pressed her again to marry, what could she say? She loved him, of that there was no doubt. But the thought of leaving the home she knew, the brother she cared for, filled her with dread. And now she was convinced that William was under attack, it had become impossible.

  She put the book aside. The house was silent. The servants’ work must be done for the moment and they were taking a well-earned rest. William would be in his room, planning with Oliver their next great work. Her parents would be in their respective hideaways. She heard the chimes of the grandfather clock, way down in the hall. Four o’clock. Teatime. But there was no rattle of cups. No one had called for tea. It was as though the house were holding its breath. And for what? She’d expected her uncle to arrive on the doorstep as soon as the news reached him that she’d refused Giles Audley. Giles was staying at Amberley and her uncle would have known immediately the outcome of his protégé’s mission. But there had been no sign of Henry Fitzroy yesterday or today and, as far as she knew, no message from Amberley. It was strange for her uncle to remain so quiet. Her father had shouted and threatened her with exile to a non-existent school, her mother had tried soft persuasion and painted an unhappy picture of life as an old maid. So where was Uncle Henry in all this?

  If making William sick had been his doing, perhaps that was sufficient punishment, but she thought not. His scheming was twofold. It included her and she was the one who had destroyed his plan. There would be trouble, she was su
re, but what and when? A black shroud hung over Summerhayes, but for the moment she must put it out of her mind. She must escape the house again and hope for Aiden to come. She must tell him her place was here, tell him he must travel alone.

  At five o’clock, she put on a light coat. The French linen should keep her warm enough on a day that had remained overcast. Summer had temporarily retreated, the weather adding its own touch of grey to the gloom within the house. She would need to be swift. In an hour, Ivy would be knocking on her door, expecting to dress her for dinner, and she would not be allowed to miss another meal.

  She stole down the stairs. The house remained uneasily silent, the hallway empty, but the smell of warm dough rising from the basement signalled that the kitchen staff were still hard at work. Slipping out of the side door, she was in time to see the last of the men gathering their tools and making their way out on to the lane that led to the village. She took cover beneath a nearby elm and waited until they’d disappeared from view, then stole past the bothy and past Mr Harris’s office, to reach the tool store which stood adjacent to the lane. A small part of her had expected her lover to be there, but there was no sign of him. Could he have gone away already, gone away without saying goodbye? Her heart gave a sharp twinge and she scolded herself into sense. He would never do that. Then an irrational panic washed over her. Was he unwell or injured, or had he been lured away? Perhaps he’d been physically manhandled and forced onto a train. If so, he could be miles away by now. But she was allowing her imagination too much licence.

  Her skin was prickling, with cold as much as with disquiet. The linen coat was no match for the chill of early evening and she decided she would wait in the shed. Five minutes passed, then ten. She became increasingly anxious, peering through the cobwebs that draped the mottled glass of the window. From here she had a view of the vegetable garden, rows of kale and cabbage, carrots and onions, and pyramid after pyramid of runner beans now flowering wildly. A sound came to her and she crouched down. If anyone from the house found her here, she would be in deep trouble. Her father would draw his own conclusions and take action; most likely to despatch her immediately to his friends in Birmingham. For all Joshua’s love for her, she knew he was determined that she obey his wishes, and her father’s determination was not to be gainsaid. But it was the sound of a bicycle on gravel. One of the gardeners returning for a forgotten bag, or Aiden himself?

  A figure blocked the doorway and her heart jumped – with relief, with delight. He ducked beneath the low lintel and she saw the worry lines creasing his forehead. ‘You’re here! How good to see you!’

  ‘And to see you.’ She had thought to keep distance between them, but found herself walking towards him, drawn against her will.

  ‘Not without difficulty though.’ He pulled her into his arms and when she made no protest, kissed her soundly.

  ‘What difficulty?’ she said into his shoulder.

  He stepped back. ‘Several of the Summerhayes’ men were on the road and I had to avoid them. I spent a lot of time in the ditch along with the bicycle.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of them being on the road.’

  ‘Nor me, but then we’re not natural conspirators. And shouldn’t have to be,’ he added.

  The thought of conspiracy made her ask, ‘What happened, Aiden? My mother said that Mrs Boxall asked you to leave.’

  ‘She did, but with a great many apologies. She said all the right words – that I’d been a model lodger and so on – but certain things had come to her notice and unfortunately she couldn’t allow me to stay. I imagine the “certain things”, as she put it, had come to your uncle’s notice, too. He’s her landlord.’

  ‘I know he is. But when did this happen?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon. I had my bags packed and was out of the door before supper.’

  ‘But where is your luggage?’

  That made him laugh. ‘You didn’t think I’d come to meet you balancing a suitcase on my handlebars?’

  ‘I didn’t know if you would come at all,’ she said in a low voice.

  He took hold of her roughly and she was aware of his warmth encasing her. ‘How could you think I wouldn’t?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure what had happened. I didn’t know where you were.’

  ‘I found a room at the the George in Kingston.’

  ‘But that’s miles away.’

  ‘A little over two miles, that’s all. It was the cheapest place I could find. Luckily, Jonathan was generous when he bade me goodbye. He didn’t like being told to send me packing. Thanks to him, I’ve enough money to stay a few days more.’

  ‘And after that?’ she asked, even though she knew what he would say.

  ‘After that, it’s Canada.’ He pulled from his inside pocket a small cardboard envelope. ‘See. Two tickets for a passage on the Mauretania. It’s a Cunard ship and sails in four days’ time. The route goes via Queenstown – that’s on the south coast of Ireland – but from there we’ll speed straight across the Atlantic to New York. Like an arrow. Seven days in all and we’ll be there.’

  Her head was whirling. ‘You bought me a ticket. You expect me to come?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? We belong together. You know that, Elizabeth.’

  The speech she’d prepared disappeared without trace and she was left grasping for a straw to cling to. ‘But we’re not married. I can’t travel with you as an unmarried woman. And I can’t marry without my father’s permission, and he won’t give it.’

  ‘Of course he won’t. I never expected him to. But there is such a thing as a special licence. That’s what Niall – he’s my cousin – is procuring. He and his wife will stand guarantors for us and, when we reach Toronto, we can be married without the need for banns.’

  She was too dazed to make any kind of reply. ‘Are you fearful for your virtue?’ he teased. ‘Don’t be. You’ll have a single cabin on the ship. The money has stretched just far enough to travel Second Class, though it means we’ll have few savings left. But it will be worth it. It won’t be as crowded or insanitary as travelling Third. You’re at the very bottom of the ship there and everyone is seasick. And when we dock at the East River pier, passengers in Third Class will be shipped to Ellis Island for a medical. While we, my darling –’ and he put his hands around her waist and twirled her around, ‘– will be free to disembark.’

  He was talking as though it had all been settled. But it hadn’t. She felt her heart tearing itself from its moorings, and dashed against the hard rock of old loyalties. Her hands clasped at the skirt of her coat. It was as though she needed something, anything, to hang on to, and she twisted the linen this way and that until it revealed a spider’s web of deep creases.

  ‘I can’t come with you,’ she said in a broken voice. ‘I can’t leave Summerhayes.’

  He looked at her long and searchingly. He was trying to understand, she thought, but the green eyes showed him perplexed. ‘I know I’m asking much of you, but if you believe we should be together, you will come. Everything is arranged. Niall has been busy finding me work. He’s had several enquiries already. And he’ll look out for an apartment for us. It might be small but it will be a start.’

  ‘Why have you done all this?’ she asked desperately. ‘Why are you so sure? I never agreed to marry.’

  ‘You love me,’ he said simply, ‘and I love you. What else is there?’

  ‘But love isn’t always enough, Aiden, and I can’t go.’

  ‘It’s a choice you must make.’ His voice was soft, wistful. ‘The day after tomorrow is Ivy’s wedding. I’ll be at the church, I’m one of Eddie’s supporters. Your father may be able to dismiss me from his estate and your uncle throw me out of my lodging, but neither of them can prevent me from attending a wedding. Tell me then. One single word, one whisper. And I’ll be at the lodge gates at twelve the following night with a pony and trap.’ He stroked her cheek with one finger. ‘More arrangements, you see. With a farmer this time, Jack Roberts from Hedge End. He’s
been sworn to secrecy. We’ll leave the trap at Shoreham and catch the train from there to Southampton. Bring only a small valise – there’ll be no space to carry more.’

  ‘You’re suggesting we elope.’ How stupid she sounded. What other course was open to them, if they were to marry? The ‘if’ went unspoken and floated between them.

  ‘It’s an elopement,’ he agreed, ‘and I wish that it weren’t. But it’s one that promises a new future. Be brave, Elizabeth.’

  *

  It wasn’t until he had gone that she realised she’d said nothing of the dinner party. Nothing of Giles Audley’s proposal. It was as though they no longer existed. And, for Aiden, they didn’t. He was fixed on the future, one he expected her to share. But he had no idea of the predicament her family faced; that was something else she had failed to mention. She would not cloud his life by confessing their troubles. She must let him go, leave him free to fly.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Alice was deeply worried about her son. She had learnt from her maid how ill William had been the night before last – the servants always knew everything – and although she had wanted to scold Elizabeth for not waking her at the time, she hadn’t done so. She must tread carefully. She was terrified that, if provoked, the girl might storm from the house and carry out her threat to set herself up as an artist. Alice had horrible visions of a garret somewhere in Brighton. Instead, she’d gone quietly to work, asking Cook to prepare a few special dishes and having the boys’ meals sent to their room. But how much William had eaten was uncertain. He had a delicate constitution and his sudden illness, following the quarrels of the past week, had upset him badly. The healthy boy of a few weeks ago had become a thin shadow of himself, and it broke her heart to see it.