The Buttonmaker’s daughter

by Merryn Allingham

  The maid blushed scarlet. ‘I know you feel sorry for me, but you mustn’t. You mustn’t give it to me out of pity.’

  ‘It’s not given with pity, Ivy. It’s given with love. Please take it as a remembrance of me.’

  Instantly, she wished she could bite back the words. Ivy’s diminutive figure had stiffened and her eyes grown too large for her face. ‘Remembrance?’ she queried, and there was a quiver to her voice.

  ‘Remembrance of our time together when I did the London Season,’ she said lightly, trying to recover her mistake.

  The girl was thinking back and, for the first time in several days, she smiled. ‘That was a fair grand time, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was,’ Elizabeth said, ‘fair grand.’ And then she walked down the stairs to the dining room, readying herself to eat with her parents for the last time.

  *

  Once dinner was over, the storm set in properly, and a vicious wind fluttered the roof tiles and caroused the brick of the three tall chimneys. The windows in her bedroom were too well set to rattle, but the furious rain beating against their glass made her feel she was under attack. What a night to venture out. What a night to begin the rest of her life.

  She allowed Ivy to see her to bed and then settled herself to wait until the house fell asleep. Before long, the only noise to reach her was wind and rain. An hour, two hours, then she was up and dressing herself in the most serviceable gown she had. Over this, she put on a summer coat of thick French linen, ankle length, and with a wide enough collar to protect her neck. It would have to do. Her winter clothes were pressed and packed away in trunks, and a visit to the attics to find a heavier garment would have provoked unwelcome questions. She scrabbled in the top of the wardrobe, drawing out an untrimmed velvet poke bonnet. It was the best head covering she could find.

  She checked the clock on her bedside table. Five minutes to twelve. Time to go. But she would make a last visit to William. She was relieved to see he was asleep but when she bent down to kiss him, he stirred fleetingly and opened his eyes a fraction. Then he raised his arms and held her in a tight embrace, nuzzling his face against her neck.

  ‘I’ll write,’ she whispered.

  He smiled and fell back into sleep. A note left for her mother in the morning room and one for her father in his smoking room. Then she was sliding the bolts back on the front door and walking out into the storm.

  He was waiting for her just past the bend in the drive. A pony cowered beneath what shelter the trees offered, pawing at the gravel, impatient to be off. Aiden, water running off his hair and face, jumped down from the open carriage and enfolded her in his arms.

  ‘We’ve certainly chosen a night,’ he murmured. He took hold of her valise and threw it into the trap, then helped her up onto the seat beside him. Only then did he kiss her.

  ‘We must be off or we’re likely to drown before we ever reach the railway station.’

  There was a laugh in his voice, but as the trap pulled forward and travelled the length of the drive, he fell quiet. They had reached the lodge gates and, for an instant, she looked back. It was her last glimpse of Summerhayes and her heart splintered. Even on a bleak and stormy night such as this, it called to her to stay. This is your home, the voice said. Why abandon the beauty you have loved all your life for an unknown land, so distant, so alien?

  He reached across and clasped her hand. His touch was warm, comforting. ‘You’ll be back, don’t doubt it. We’ll both be back.’

  His words helped a little to fill the sudden emptiness, but to divert herself, she asked, ‘What will happen to the horse and carriage when we get to Shoreham?’

  ‘There shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve arranged for the trap to stay at the station and a porter to mind the pony. Roberts will collect him when he meets the milk train from London.’

  He appeared to have thought of everything and she must concentrate now on enduring a journey that was wilder than either of them could have imagined. But the pony had a good heart and trotted tirelessly through wind and rain, until the skies began to lighten and the rain to slacken. The South Downs, smooth and majestic, rose clear against the sky. She felt their claim on her, felt their need to keep her here, safe from a hostile landscape.

  But she would not think of the future; the present was what mattered. By now, they were both thoroughly wet and she wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘We’re through the worst,’ he said hopefully. ‘But as soon as we reach the station, we should plunder our bags for dry clothes. Otherwise, we could fall sick and lose our sailing.’

  She nodded absently. Now that the storm was no longer a distraction, her mind had wandered back to Summerhayes. It was impossible to escape its pull.

  ‘You must have heard about Eddie?’ she asked.

  He turned his head towards her, seeking her face. ‘I did. Joe came to the inn to tell me the dreadful news.’ There was a pause as he weighed his next words. ‘Is that what decided you?’ he asked at length. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘I’m here because I love you, Aiden.’

  ‘Eddie’s death must have made a difference though. It was a most shocking thing.’

  She admitted as much, but then said vehemently, ‘I wanted to come. Always. I wanted to be here with you, you must know that. But I was torn, thinking I owed it to my family to stay. Then Eddie was murdered and the balance tipped. I knew I was no longer safe at Summerhayes. And while I stayed, nor was William.’

  ‘Your brother is a boy of few words, but when he came calling, I reckoned that must be the case.’

  ‘Thank goodness he found you at the inn. I was afraid you might already have left for Southampton.’

  ‘I stayed on to the last moment – there was always the hope you would decide for me. But soon after William visited, I packed up and left. I knew about Eddie by then and the inn no longer felt safe.’

  ‘Where did you go?’ she asked in surprise.

  ‘I spent the night in a cottage a village or so away. It was well hidden, so safe enough. As soon as I put two and two together, I knew that I’d been the target and not poor Eddie. And that once whoever killed him realised their mistake, I would still be the target. It seemed sensible to move.’

  It was a sober thought, and for a while they travelled in silence until Elizabeth burst out, ‘If my parents hadn’t decided that I should marry, none of this would have happened. For once, they might have agreed with each other and simply sent me away to school, as my mother wanted.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘If you’d been sent away to school, we would never have met.’

  ‘I know, and that’s the wonderful thing that has come from it. But there are so many bad things, too. It was my father asking Uncle Henry to find a husband for me that began this chain of misery. William has been made ill and forced to forfeit the best friend he’s ever had. You lost employment and were driven into hiding. Eddie has had his life taken from him – think of that – and Ivy been condemned to a future of service.’

  ‘Can you really lay the blame for all of that on one simple request.’

  ‘All of it. In the end, the request wasn’t that simple. When Papa asked for Henry’s assistance, my uncle saw his chance, I’m convinced. For years, he’s been waiting for an opportunity to move against Summerhayes, and there it was quite suddenly, out of the blue, presented on a plate. Marry Elizabeth to a relative, torment William until he is weak and defenceless, and then wait for my father to die. Or perhaps not even wait.’

  The thought had come unbidden. A thought that was as grim as it was new. Seeing her stricken expression, he squeezed her hand again. ‘Be glad. We’ve called a halt to it. We’ve broken the chain.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she said at last. And her mood lightened alongside the coming dawn. ‘We’ve broken the chain.’

  Chapter Forty

  William found his mother in the morning room, trying to create order from the jumble of her sewing box. The storm had finally cleared and the first beams o
f sunlight were brightening the room. He saw the letter as soon as he walked through the door, but that was because he was expecting it. It was tucked behind an ugly Chinese vase sitting in the middle of the mantelpiece. His mother seemed unaware.

  She looked around when she heard his footsteps. ‘Come and help me untangle these silks. You’re so good at it.’

  He went willingly. He’d always been happy in his mother’s company and now it seemed more precious than ever. Almost happier with her, he realised with surprise, than with Oliver. He felt safe, consoled and reassured. Olly had been exciting, the feelings he’d induced had been exciting. But worrying, too, and difficult to live with. For all kinds of reasons, Oliver was dangerous. He still loved his friend, he always would, but this was simpler, more easeful.

  Mother and son set to work on the tangle of silks. ‘Should these go with the pinks?’ he asked, waving several skeins of fuchsia and rose thread.

  ‘You can line them up with the pinks or the reds. I don’t think it matters, dear.’ She looked over her spectacles, observing him closely. ‘How are you, William?’

  ‘I’m fine, Mama.’

  And he was, though he knew there was more trouble to come. There was misgiving at the thought of his sister’s letter, but he couldn’t be sorry that Elizabeth had escaped. He would miss her dreadfully, but his heart told him that she’d been right to seize her chance of happiness and right that she had made them both safer by doing so.

  His mother smiled. ‘You certainly look a good deal better. And you are over the sickness now?’

  ‘Completely.’ And over his punishment, too, though he noticed Alice couldn’t bring herself to mention the beating.

  ‘I was wondering about your friend,’ she pursued. ‘How you felt about Oliver leaving?’ He could see that she was approaching the subject as delicately as she could.

  ‘I was sad to see him go, Mama. But he couldn’t stay. And I can’t be friends with him any longer, not after what he did.’ He knew his mother had never liked Oliver and the boy’s confession had come as no surprise to her.

  She looked relieved. ‘I’m very glad to hear you say that. Particularly as you’ll not be seeing him again.’

  ‘I’ll see him at school, of course, but I don’t need to talk to him.’

  His courage ebbed at the thought of the difficult encounter to come. And worse, how he’d fare confronting the school bullies without Oliver’s championship. Already he could feel himself encircled, hear the animal chants of ‘button boy’, and the blows buffeting his head.

  ‘No,’ his mother said firmly. ‘That isn’t so. You’ll not be returning to Highgrove Academy. I have spoken to your father and he has agreed that you will not be sent back there. Your education is to be completed at Summerhayes. We will find a new tutor for you, a younger man, I think, who shares your interests.’

  The news broke on him like a shower of gold, a balm that made his wounds whole. Not to have to go to school, not to face the taunts of teachers and the spiteful kicks and punches of his fellows. To stay home, here in his beloved Summerhayes, with the gardens to roam and his mother to talk with. A Summerhayes no longer darkened by bad deeds.

  ‘Are you happy with our decision?’ His mother was still looking concerned.

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ he hastened to say. ‘Very happy. But why am I not to return?’

  ‘It is a matter of principle. We cannot have you attend a school where boys such as Oliver Amos are accepted. What he did was a wicked, wicked act. The loss of the Italian Garden has destroyed your father.’

  Olly would be pleased to hear it, he thought miserably. But his mother’s words worried him. ‘Where is Papa?’ He hadn’t seen his father since the beating. He wondered if Joshua, too, had received a letter from Elizabeth.

  ‘Since the garden was laid waste, he has spent every hour in the library. The room seems to chime with his mood. He is sitting there now, staring at the walls and refusing to talk. And he’s hardly eaten a thing. At dinner last night, his plate went completely untouched.’

  ‘But he will get better?’

  His mother spread her hands in surrender. ‘I have no idea. At the moment, he is sunk deep in misery. All we can do is wait and hope. It’s important that he recovers soon – now that all the men have left. He needs to find a way of keeping the estate going and, when he does, we must be sure to be by his side.’

  She gathered up the last few skeins that William had disentangled and laid them lengthwise along the bottom of the sewing box. ‘There. That’s a good job we—’ she broke off as the door swung sharply back.

  Joshua stood on the threshold, his face working uncontrollably. The blank look Alice had spoken of had been replaced by one of fury. ‘Have you had one?’ He waved a piece of paper at her.

  His wife looked bewildered. ‘One what?’

  ‘A letter, woman. A letter.’

  ‘I’ve had a number of letters, Joshua,’ she said placidly.

  ‘Not any letter.’ His face was slowly taking on the familiar crimson. He darted looks around the room, his gaze coming to rest on the mantelpiece. ‘That letter over there. Haven’t you read it?’

  It was a superfluous question, since Alice clearly had not. She adjusted her spectacles and peered across at the gaudy ornament. Then rose stiffly and walked across to take hold of the cream vellum half hidden behind its bulk.

  She tore open the envelope and William waited for the explosion. But his mother said nothing, walking back to her chair and sinking into its depths. She looked a trifle paler than she had minutes before, and her breathing had become a little more rapid, but when she spoke, her voice was steady. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘She’s gone!’ her husband repeated in a roar. ‘And with that young villain.’

  ‘Is there any way in which we might stop them?’ It was an ill-advised question.

  Joshua’s lips formed into a sneer. The letter appeared to have snapped him back to his old self. ‘And how precisely do you imagine we can do that, when we don’t know when they left or where they’re going.’

  ‘I would think it was during the night, though I believed her in her room still.’

  ‘Of course, it was during the night,’ His roaring had reached full pitch. ‘But in case you hadn’t noticed, the night lasts for many hours. If they left at midnight, they will be well on their way to wherever they intend.’

  To Canada, thought William. That was where Aiden Kellaway was headed. The man had told him. There was a cousin or some such who could find him work and a place to live.

  Alice read the letter again. William noticed that her hand wasn’t quite steady, but her voice remained suprisingly calm. ‘She says that she will write to us as soon as she reaches her destination. She says that she is to be married.’

  ‘And you believe that poppycock? She might be naïve enough to believe it, but surely at your age, you must know the truth. The girl is ruined. Completely ruined.’ He stormed to the window and then back again, his face mottled and his lips working furiously. When he came to a standstill, he raised a fist. ‘From now on,’ he declared, ‘she is no daughter of mine. She has cut herself adrift from Summerhayes and that is where she’ll stay. I wish to hear no more of her.’

  His audience was stunned. Elizabeth was the love of his life. Even the gardens came second in his affections. For a long moment no one spoke, then Joshua, still glowering, stalked to the door. He shot an angry look at his wife. And another at his son.

  ‘You knew,’ he accused. ‘You knew what she planned to do. Both of you.’

  ‘We did not,’ Alice said indignantly. ‘How could we have known such a thing? How could we have known that she would take such precipitate action?’

  ‘Yet you don’t seem unduly perturbed.’ His face assumed a sly expression.

  ‘I may not feel the need to shout, but you can be certain that I am deeply upset. I cannot believe, though, that Elizabeth would serve us in this way unless she had very good reason.’ She paused for a moment and
then spoke her thoughts. ‘We should not have pushed her so hard. Our determination to see her married could be reason enough for her to leave.’

  William thought his mother on dangerous ground. And so it proved. ‘Good reason!’ Joshua yelled. ‘Her only reason is to get what she wants.’ And he stomped from the room.

  ‘Not unlike her dear father then,’ Alice remarked, as the door slammed behind him.

  William wondered how much his mother knew or guessed of that summer’s doings. Did she suspect her brother of plotting against her family? Is that why she’d received the news of Elizabeth’s elopement with such equanimity? If she did suspect, no one would ever know. She would cope alone with the knowledge. For all her timidity, his mother had an inner courage that saw her steadfast against whatever fate dealt.

  ‘I won’t ask you if you knew what your sister intended,’ she said. ‘I shall assume that this letter is as much a shock to you as it is to me.’ She gazed at him intently and he found himself unable to meet her eyes. He looked down into his lap and shuffled a stray skein of silk between his fingers.

  ‘Your sister is a headstrong girl,’ she went on, ‘she always has been. But she is also a loyal daughter, and I know in my heart that she would not have taken such reckless action without good cause. I had hoped that Giles Audley would give her a safe future and, when she refused him, I tried to persuade her to think again. She wouldn’t listen. Perhaps she couldn’t. Maybe her life had become so difficult that her only option was to take flight.’

  He nodded vigorously. His mother was right, though whether she realised just how difficult, he couldn’t tell. ‘She will write to us,’ he said eagerly.

  ‘We must look forward to that.’ She gave his hair a gentle stroke. ‘In the meantime, we must find some distraction. Shall we do a jigsaw puzzle? I have a new one I’ve been waiting all summer to do with you. It’s called “Woman with Poinsettia”.’

  She walked over to one of the highly polished chests that lined the room and brought out a large box. ‘Just look at these beautiful colours.’ She held up the illustration for him to see. ‘The woman’s hair is an amazing shade, isn’t it? Though I think we might find the background a little tricky. It’s fairly monochrome and there is little to distinguish the pieces.’