The Button Box. Dilly Court

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      ‘You mustn’t worry,’ Jane said confidently. ‘Clara’s gentleman friend, Luke, is with the Skinners. He had a fight with Bert Bragg and I think Luke’s nose was broken, but I’m sure that Bert came off the worst.’

      ‘Thank you, Jane.’ Clara sent her a warning look. ‘The kettle is boiling, so why don’t you make the tea? I’m sure Nathaniel would like something hot to drink before he braves the cold.’

      Betsy tossed her bonnet onto the sofa and shed her mantle with a dramatic flourish. ‘I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day because Miss Lavelle made us work until the wretched hat was finished.’

      ‘We’re all hungry, Betsy.’ Jane struggled to lift the kettle off the trivet. ‘I filled it too full.’

      ‘Allow me.’ Nathaniel moved to her side, retrieved the kettle and placed it safely on the hearth. ‘I must admit to being famished too. There’s a coffee stall not far from here. The fellow sells hot pies, and baked potatoes, as well as boiled eggs and ham sandwiches. If you all agree I’ll go out now and purchase our supper.’

      ‘Oh, yes, please,’ Jane said eagerly. ‘I’d like a pie and an egg, if it’s not too much to ask.’

      ‘I’d like a baked potato and a ham sandwich.’ Betsy settled herself on the chair nearest the fire. ‘Thank you, Nathaniel. You are a true gentleman.’

      Clara reached for her reticule, acutely aware that their funds were running low. ‘I’ll give you the money, Nathaniel. It is very kind of you to offer to go out on such a night. I should come with you to help carry everything.’

      ‘There’s no need for you to brave the weather yet again, Clara.’ Nathaniel made a move towards the door. ‘You haven’t said what you would like.’

      ‘A pie would be just the thing.’ Clara followed him into the shop. ‘You must let me pay for our supper.’

      He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it. I wasn’t looking forward to eating alone in my room, yet again. I’ll enjoy your company and that of your sisters. It will make me feel part of a family.’

      Clara was about to unlock the shop door when a male figure loomed outside, making her leap back in fear. Her encounter with Patches had left her feeling nervous, and Luke’s fight with Bert was not going to make things easier. The person rapped on the door.

      ‘Who’s there?’ Clara demanded, hoping that she sounded braver than she was feeling.

      ‘It’s me, Luke. Let me in.’

      Clara unlocked the door and Luke stepped in on a gust of ice-cold air. His smile of greeting faded when he saw Nathaniel standing in the shadows. ‘Who are you?’

      Clara stepped in between them. ‘This is Miss Silver’s nephew, Nathaniel.’

      ‘What’s he doing here?’ Luke demanded.

      ‘Nathaniel, this is my friend, Luke Foyle,’ Clara said hastily.

      ‘How do you do?’ Nathaniel held out his hand, but Luke ignored the gesture.

      ‘We’re more than just friends.’ Luke placed his arm around Clara’s shoulders. ‘So I’ll say it again. What are you doing here?’

      Clara twisted free from his grasp. ‘Really, Luke. Is this necessary? Nathaniel saw me struggling with two heavy cases and he offered to help.’

      Before Luke could respond Betsy appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s going on? I’m faint with hunger and all you can do is argue. Anyway, you’re upsetting Jane. You know how she hates the sound of raised voices.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Nathaniel murmured. ‘Perhaps I should go.’

      ‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.’ Luke opened the shop door. ‘Thanks for helping Clara, but we don’t need your services now.’

      Clara grabbed the door and slammed it. ‘I won’t stand for this behaviour, Luke. That was very rude and extremely ungrateful. You don’t know how much I am indebted to Nathaniel, and he was trying to help us.’

      ‘Even so, you don’t know a thing about this fellow.’

      ‘I’ll go, Clara.’ Nathaniel rammed his top hat on his head. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Foyle. I think you should apologise to Clara.’

      ‘I can see how the land lies. Maybe I should be the one to leave.’

      ‘Yes, you should go, Luke,’ Clara said angrily. ‘Come back when you’ve calmed down and remembered your manners.’

      Luke slammed out of the shop.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ Nathaniel said hastily. ‘I seem to have placed you in an awkward situation.’

      ‘Don’t apologise, it was Luke who was in the wrong. He doesn’t own me, and he shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’

      ‘Perhaps I should leave anyway.’

      ‘If you go now I will be forced to venture out into the snow to buy our supper,’ Clara said, smiling. ‘And you would face another evening eating on your own.’

      ‘If you put it like that, how can I refuse? I’ll be as quick as I can.’

      Clara let him out of the shop, taking care to lock the door after him. She did not want Luke to come barging in and create another scene. He could be arrogant sometimes, and jealous; two qualities she disliked in anyone, especially the man she might marry, although that possibility was becoming more and more remote. Better to be an old maid than to be shackled to a man who wanted to dominate her and take control of her innermost thoughts. That was not for her. She returned to the parlour to comfort Jane and reassure Betsy.

      Despite the circumstances, Clara felt relaxed and surprisingly happy as they sat round the fire eating the food that Nathaniel had bought for them. The parlour was small and shabbily furnished; the seats on the chairs were threadbare and the delicate floral wallpaper was stained and peeling, but a fire blazed up the chimney and the room was warm and cosy. While they ate, Nathaniel entertained them with accounts of his experiences busking on the city streets. When the remains of the meal were tidied away he took his violin from its case and, with a little persuasion, played a merry jig that had their feet tapping and their hands clapping.

      Clara joined in the applause. ‘That was lovely, Nathaniel, but I would like to hear one of your own compositions.’

      ‘Mine?’ He ran his hand through his unruly hair, causing it to curl around his brow in wild profusion. ‘Are you sure?’

      Betsy leaned forward, eyes shining. ‘Oh, yes. Let us hear something you’ve composed.’

      ‘Is it sad?’ Jane asked wistfully. ‘Sad music makes me cry.’

      ‘Let him play and then we’ll find out.’ Clara settled back in Miss Silver’s favourite chair, resting her feet on the brass fender, as Nathaniel launched into a hauntingly sweet melody. In his skilful hands the violin seemed to sing and the music filled Clara’s head and made her heart swell СКАЧАТЬ