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

‘Maybe you should take your own advice. Just look at the state of you.’

‘If you think I’ll walk away from a fight, you don’t really know me, Clara.’ Luke snatched the damp cloth from her and held it to his bleeding nose. ‘He came off worst, if you’re interested. I left him lying in the snow in White Hart Court. Patches won’t like that, but it will take her mind of your father’s debts for a while.’

‘And if this man is as bad as you say he is, you’ll be the next one who has to leave London.’ Clara emptied the contents of the bowl into the stone sink.

‘Not me, sweetheart.’ Luke rose to his feet. ‘I’m going to marry you and raise a family of boys who’ll keep the streets free from Bert Bragg and his mother.’

‘That’s not what I want for myself.’ Clara pushed him away as he moved to embrace her. ‘I want to be free from gamblers and gangsters altogether, and I intend to make a better life for myself and any children I might have in the future.’

Luke’s eyes narrowed. ‘I want a wife who’ll pay attention when I give her good advice.’

‘Then I am not the right woman for you, Luke Foyle.’

His expression lightened, and his lips twitched. ‘You’ll change your mind, sweetheart. You’ve had a bad time and you’re tired so I’ll leave and let you get some rest.’ He took her hands in his. ‘I might be able to find the money to get Alfred out of harm’s way, so sleep easy, my darling.’ He leaned over to brush her lips with a kiss and was gone before she had a chance to argue.

‘There you are,’ Betsy said triumphantly. ‘You should be nicer to Luke. He’s going to take care of us.’

‘That’s what worries me.’ Clara set about clearing spatters of blood from the table. ‘I won’t have anything to do with money gained from crime. I wish I’d never met Luke Foyle.’

‘You don’t mean that, Clara.’

‘Yes, I do. I’ve had enough of living like this, and I’m going to do something about it.’

‘Like what?’

‘Miss Silver left the shop to me. I intend to build up the business and expand when the time is right.’

‘That’s just a dream.’

‘Maybe, but sometimes dreams come true, especially if you’re prepared to work hard. If everything goes to plan I’ll take you on as head of the millinery department.’

‘And maybe one day we’ll go to bed with a full belly. I’m starving, Clara.’

‘So am I, but we have the money Luke loaned us, and first thing I’ll go to the bakery and get some fresh bread, and a pot of jam from Mr Sainsbury’s shop in Drury Lane.’

‘Could we run to a pat of butter?’

‘I’ll see what I can do. Now go to bed and I’ll just make sure that Pa is all right, and then I’ll be in. Don’t wake Jane; she needs her sleep, poor child.’

Alfred lay groaning and calling for water when Clara entered the kitchen next morning. It was still dark outside but the snow made it seem that dawn had come early. Clara lit a candle and went over to the truckle bed.

‘I suppose you’re feeling very ill this morning, Pa. It really does serve you right.’

He covered his eyes with his hand. ‘My head hurts and my throat is parched. A cup of tea would go down well, Clara.’

‘I’m sure it would, Pa. But we have no coal, so I can’t boil the kettle. You’ll have to make do with melted snow because the pump is frozen solid.’

Alfred raised his head only to fall back against the pillow. ‘What have we come to?’

‘What indeed, Pa. And whose fault is it that we’re penniless and in debt?’

‘Don’t go on, girl. I’m a sick man.’

‘You’re suffering from the effects of drink, so don’t expect sympathy from any of us.’

‘What have I done to have such ungrateful children?’

‘You’ve run up gaming debts of eight guineas, Pa. That’s why we’re in this state.’

He sat up and this time he remained upright. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I went to see Patches Bragg last evening and she’s given you three days to find the money, or else …’ Clara did not need to finish the sentence. She could see by her father’s expression that he understood only too well. ‘You have to get away from London, Pa. I agree with Luke on that.’

‘Luke? Where is the boy? He can help me.’

‘No, Pa. He can’t. You have to go somewhere the Braggs won’t find you.’

‘But I can’t leave my girls. Who would look after you?’ Alfred’s once-handsome face creased into lines of distress, adding ten years to his age.

‘We will be safer if you aren’t here,’ Clara said, moderating her tone. Despite his failings he was still her father and she could remember the time when he had been her hero. ‘I can take care of Betsy and Jane, and Lizzie is all right where she is now. Is there anywhere you can go?’

Alfred clutched his forehead, rocking backwards and forwards. ‘I can’t think. I don’t know what to do …’

‘It’s all right, Pa.’ She patted his hand. ‘I have to go out and get food and a bag of coal so that we can light the fire. We have three days to find a way out of this – three days, that’s all.’

She put on her outdoor things, picked up a basket and set off for the bakery.

When she returned she found to her surprise that Betsy had cleaned the grate and laid twists of newspaper and the last of the kindling ready to light to fire. Alfred had raised himself from his bed and had attempted to shave in cold water, but had cut himself and was holding the towel to his cheek.

Clara gave the shop boy a farthing for carrying the coal and she set the basket on the table. She shot a wary glance at her father. ‘I’ll get the fire going and make a pot of tea. We’ll talk after we’ve eaten, Pa. But we have to come to a decision soon.’

‘I’ve filled the kettle with snow,’ Betsy volunteered. She peered into the basket. ‘Did you get butter and jam?’

‘It was a choice between the two, so I bought jam.’ Clara set to and lit the fire before placing the kettle on the hob.

Betsy was already slicing the loaf and Jane emerged from the bedroom, yawning and blinking as a ray of sunlight filtered through the window. ‘Bread and jam – how lovely.’ She shot a wary glance at her father. ‘Are you quite recovered now, Pa?’

Alfred bowed his head. ‘I’m so sorry, girls. You deserve a better father. I’ve let you all down and I’m ashamed of myself.’

‘That’s as may be.’ Betsy slapped a slice of bread onto a plate and thrust it in front of him. ‘Being sorry isn’t going to help us out of this tangle.’

Clara shot her a warning glance. ‘Pa knows what he’s done, Betsy. Give him a chance to put things right.’

‘I have a cousin who lives on the Dorset coast,’ Alfred said slowly. ‘Is the tea ready yet, Clara? My mouth is so dry I can hardly speak.’

‘Be patient. It will take a while longer. What were you going to tell us about your cousin?’

‘I haven’t seen Jim since we were boys. I doubt if we would recognise each other now, but we were friends once.’