The Button Box. Dilly Court

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СКАЧАТЬ and she did not look back. Luke Foyle was handsome and charming, and his fair hair and wide grey eyes gave him the appearance of a romantic poet, but he was too sure of himself and she was no man’s property. His allegiance to the Skinner gang puzzled her greatly, and had always been a source of contention between them. Why an educated, intelligent man like Luke would mix with the worst thugs in the East End was a total mystery. She quickened her pace, slowing down only when she entered Wych Street with its gabled sixteenth- and seventeenth-century houses, rowdy pubs, second-hand clothes shops, and booksellers whose stock in trade were indecent prints and lewd literature.

      Clara’s home was next to the barber’s shop and she could smell the pomade and shaving soap wafting out as a customer emerged, clean-shaven and shiny-faced. He looked like a poorly paid but respectable clerk, who should have been on his way home to his wife and children, but he lurched across the road and entered the pub. Clara sighed. That would be another family who would go without because the breadwinner frittered away his wages. She had lived with that problem since her mother died nine years ago and Pa had drowned his sorrows in drink and the excitement of the gaming tables. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that Luke had not followed her before letting herself into the building.

      What had once been a happy family home was now divided into cheap rented rooms. Clara was used to hearing the tenants swearing at each other in half a dozen different languages, with children screaming and babies crying. The smell of boiled cabbage mingled with a strong odour of overflowing chamber pots and rising damp. The wallpaper was peeling off in long strips and the paintwork was scuffed. From a room on the top floor she could hear the out-of-work musician playing his trumpet; soon he would have to pawn it in order to buy food and pay the rent. At least they would get a bit of peace and quiet until he begged or borrowed enough money to redeem his instrument. A woman screamed and a door slammed, causing the windows to rattle. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Clara hurried along the narrow hallway and rapped on the kitchen door. Moments later it was opened by Betsy. ‘Where have you been, Clara? Do you know what time it is?’

      Out of habit, Clara glanced at the place where the clock used to stand on the mantelshelf, between a spill jar and a brass candlestick. Like everything of any value in the Carter household, it had ended up in the pawnshop.

      ‘I know I’m late but I couldn’t close up until the last customer had gone.’ Clara slipped off her cloak and hung it from a peg on the wall. ‘Where’s Pa?’

      ‘Where do you think?’ Betsy asked crossly. ‘He’s gone out and taken every last penny we had.’

      ‘He said he’s on a winning streak.’ Fourteen-year-old Jane raised herself with the aid of her crutches. ‘There’s tea in the pot, Clara. I’m afraid it’ll be a bit stewed.’

      ‘That’s all right,’ Clara said hastily. ‘Sit down, Jane. There’s no call for you to wait on me.’

      ‘But you work such long hours, and I’m at home all day. I feel so useless.’

      ‘Nonsense.’ Clara moved swiftly to her side and gave her youngest sister a hug. ‘You keep us all sane in a mad world.’

      ‘There’s nothing to eat.’ Betsy returned to her seat at the table and picked up the hat she had been trimming. ‘I’ve got to have this finished by morning. It’s an order from the woman Lizzie works for. Miss Lavelle promised it would be ready in time, only she’s not the one who’ll have to sit up half the night working by the light of a single candle.’

      Clara glanced anxiously at Jane, who had always been delicate but this evening her pallor was even more pronounced and dark shadows underlined her blue eyes. ‘Have you eaten today, Jane?’

      ‘I don’t get hungry sitting down doing next to nothing.’ Jane picked up the silk flower she had been making and her nimble fingers added another petal. ‘You mustn’t worry about me.’

      ‘I’ve only had a slice of bread and dripping,’ Betsy said mournfully. ‘I wish I’d gone into service like Lizzie. At least she gets three square meals a day.’

      Clara reached for the teapot and filled a cup with the straw-coloured liquid. She took a sip, trying hard not to pull a face. It was lukewarm and bitter, but it revived her enough to take command of the situation. She was the eldest and her younger sisters had been her responsibility since their mother’s death from the illness that had left Jane crippled. Clara went to retrieve her cloak.

      ‘Where are you going?’ Betsy demanded. ‘I need you to help me.’

      ‘We’ll all work better on full stomachs.’ Clara opened the door leading into the room that had once been their mother’s parlour and was now their bedroom. She returned with her precious button box tucked under her arm.

      ‘Not that,’ Jane murmured, her eyes filling with tears.

      ‘I’ve nothing left to pawn other than the clothes I’m wearing,’ Clara said sadly. ‘I’ll redeem it when Miss Silver pays my wages, but we can’t work if we don’t eat.’

      ‘It’s just a collection of odd buttons.’ Betsy tossed her dark head. ‘I don’t know why you keep it anyway, Clara. It’s not as if they’re worth much.’

      Ignoring her sister’s last remark, Clara braved the snow to walk to the pawnbroker’s in Vere Street. She arrived just as Fleet was about to shut up shop.

      He peered at her from beneath shaggy grey eyebrows. ‘Oh, it’s you. I suppose it’s the button box you’ve brought me, yet again?’

      Clara slipped inside the shop, eager to be in the warm, if only for a few minutes. The thin soles of her boots were no protection from the cold and they leaked at the best of times. ‘How much, Mr Fleet?’ Her teeth were chattering so uncontrollably that she had difficulty in framing the words.

      He took the box from her, opened it and plunged his mittened hand into the colourful assortment, allowing the buttons to trickle through his dirty fingers. Clara held her breath. It made her feel physically sick to see her precious collection manhandled in such a way, but her stomach growled with hunger and she was beginning to feel light-headed. They went through this ritual every time she pawned her treasure, and each time the amount she received grew less. She left the shop with enough money to purchase two baked potatoes and a bunch of watercress, but she had to run to catch up with the man who was trudging homeward, pushing his cart.

      Despite Clara’s efforts Betsy remained unimpressed. ‘I’d have thought you could get three taters instead of a bunch of wilted watercress. I hate that stuff.’

      ‘Don’t be ungrateful,’ Jane said, frowning. ‘I like watercress.’

      ‘Then you have it and I’ll have your share of the murphy.’

      ‘Stop it,’ Clara said sharply. ‘You sound like two five-year-olds. We’ll share and share alike. Two po-tatoes was all the man had left in his can, and he gave me the watercress.’

      ‘I suppose it’s better than nothing.’ Betsy held out her plate. ‘It’s all Pa’s fault anyway. He only ever thinks of himself.’

      ‘He might win tonight.’ Jane took a small portion of the potato. ‘I’m not very hungry, Betsy. You can have the last piece.’

      Clara took her seat at the table. ‘Are you feeling unwell, Jane?’

      ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. But I’ll be able to finish off the СКАЧАТЬ