The Buttonmaker’s Daughter

Elizabeth was unconvinced by her mother’s logic, but at least it seemed to be circumventing Joshua’s immediate rage.

‘If you like to see it that way.’ He grunted in a dissatisfied fashion.

‘I think we should. Being at odds with Amberley is pointless, and if we have the chance to talk to Henry, it could prove useful.’ Elizabeth saw her mother give him a meaningful look, but Joshua merely grunted again.

She must interrogate Alice on that look, and was deciding on the best time to broach the subject, when the heavy crash of a body against the wood panelling of the morning-room door brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.

‘What the devil!’ Her father spun round.

‘I’ll find out what’s going on,’ she said quickly, abandoning the embroidery to a nearby chair.

On the other side of the door, she almost tripped over Oliver’s prone body. His face was pink from exertion and he had a rugby ball clutched between his hands. William’s head was just visible at the top of the stairs.

‘Go outside,’ she ordered. ‘At once. And take that ball with you.’

‘They don’t want us outside.’ William arrived on the landing, out of breath.

‘And why would that be?’ She could take a fairly accurate guess.

‘They said we were getting in the way,’ Oliver offered, scrambling to his feet. ‘They were quite cross, actually.’

She tried to look severe, but couldn’t prevent a smile. ‘And people in the house will be quite, too, if you make much more noise. Why don’t you go to the Wilderness – lose yourself there? I’ll come and call you when lunch is ready.’

Oliver shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose. C’mon on, Wills.’

‘Before you do…’ Elizabeth looked at their innocent faces and took a decision. ‘William, could you do something for me?’

‘What is it?’

‘Come to my room and I’ll explain. Oliver can go down to the kitchen. Cook has made at least a hundred pork pies for the fête. Tell her I said you could have one each.’

‘Thanks,’ Olly enthused. ‘You’re a top-hole sister. I wish I had one.’

She wondered whether William would think so once she’d spoken to him.

Chapter Eleven (#ulink_6e66bc2e-1651-52e2-ad31-81652e2e1a49)

Ten minutes later, William emerged from Elizabeth’s room pushing a small piece of white paper as far down his trouser pocket as he could. He wasn’t at all sure that he agreed with Olly’s claim of her being ‘a top-hole sister’. Right now, he wished he were sister-free. He loved Elizabeth – when he was very young he’d worshipped her – but what she wanted him to do was wrong. Yet she had asked him so plaintively that he’d had no alternative but to agree.

He met Oliver coming out of the kitchen, his right cheek bulging with pork pie. ‘Here, I’ve got one for you. Let’s go to the retreat and stuff ourselves.’

They skirted the lawn, making sure they kept a distance from the men who were still hard at work, then bounded along the path that led beneath the pergola, eager to get to their hideaway. It was another warm day and the slight breeze was welcome. In addition to the pork pies, Oliver had managed to secrete two large bottles of lemonade and filch a chunk of plum cake from the larder when Cook had her attention elsewhere. Evidently, there was serious eating to be done.

In front of them rose the beautiful curved wall, dear to William since infancy, its face to the south, its espaliered apricots, pears and plums beginning to form their fruits for a late-summer picking. He felt a swell of love for the garden. Life at Summerhayes could be dull and, when it wasn’t dull, his father’s short temper made it unpleasant. But the garden never failed to calm. It was what he missed most when he packed his trunk for a school that knew nothing of the beauty his father’s despised money had created. And it was the garden he enjoyed most when once more he returned home. Wandering its acres, noticing new flowers, trees that had grown, bushes that had spread. It was like getting to know an old friend all over again.

‘What did your sister want?’ Olly asked, as they jogged past the outbuildings.

‘Just something she asked me to do for her.’ He tried to sound unconcerned.

‘What?’

‘A message. She wanted me to take a message.’

‘Sounds exciting. Where is it?’

He trundled to a stop and pulled from his pocket the scrap of paper, already dented and a little dirty around the edges. Before he could stop him, Olly had reached out and plucked it from his fingers.

‘“I hope to see you at the fête tomorrow. I’ll be there. Elizabeth,”’ he read aloud. ‘Not much excitement there.’ He sounded disappointed.

William retrieved the message and stuffed it back into his pocket. But his friend hadn’t given up. ‘Who’s it for, anyway?’ Then, as the truth dawned on him, added, ‘Not that chap – the chap working on the temple?’

He nodded miserably. Olly gave one of his low whistles. ‘Why are you looking like that? It is exciting, after all.’

‘It’s not exciting, it’s wrong,’ he said stubbornly.

‘Don’t be a spoilsport. True love and all that. We have to help.’