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

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      ‘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.

      ‘I have a package for Miss Jones,’ she said firmly.

      Joss took off his top hat and tucked it under his arm. ‘James will see that she gets it.’ Joss curved his lips into a lazy smile as he slowly peeled off his kid gloves.

      Clara tightened her grip on the package. ‘Thank you, sir, but I really need to speak to Miss Jones in person.’

      ‘Oh, all right, if you insist. James, I want you to find Miss Jones and ask her to come to the morning parlour.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ Holding himself stiffly erect, James headed for the back stairs.

      ‘Come, Miss Carter. I’ll show you to the morning parlour. It’s much warmer in there and you’ll be more comfortable.’

      ‘Thank you, but I really can’t stay long. I had to close the shop.’

      ‘Really? An inconvenience, I’m sure.’ Joss led the way across the wide entrance hall and ushered her into an elegant reception room where a fire burned in the grate. He laid his hat on a rosewood side table together with his gloves. ‘Do take a seat and make yourself comfortable. Would you like some refreshment?’

      Clara remained standing. ‘No, sir. Thank you, but as I explained I have to get back to the shop.’

      ‘Ah, yes. The shop – it’s rather small, isn’t it? I mean it can’t provide much of an income.’

      ‘It’s a living, sir. I’m only just starting out in the drapery business, but I have ambition to go much further.’ She glanced around, taking in her surroundings with a feeling of envy. The morning parlour had been decorated and furnished with a feminine touch, and no expense had been spared. The delicate blues and greys of the silk upholstery and the elegant furniture seemed dwarfed by Joss Comerford’s presence.

      He unbuttoned his greatcoat and perched on a chair that seemed too fragile to bear his weight. ‘Have you indeed? I’d like to hear more about that.’ He stretched his legs out to the fire.

      ‘There’s not much to tell. It’s a dream really, but when I’ve made enough money I’d like to rent premises in Oxford Street. I’d start quite small and I’d build up gradually until I had a treasure house filled with beautiful things at a price that most people could afford.’

      ‘That sounds wonderful, but aren’t there already several department stores in Oxford Street?’

      ‘The more, the better. It would bring people in from the country, and with the railways spreading ever further it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility that people could come to London just for the day. Imagine Christmas with lights and decorations all along the street and shop windows filled with luxury СКАЧАТЬ