The Buttonmaker’s Daughter

‘Thank you, Mr Summer,’ the vicar said weakly. ‘I’m happy to accept on behalf of the fête committee.’

Chapter Seven (#ulink_06bbf3dd-81d2-543e-a75e-fbbe7f131454)

June, 1914

They had spent all morning building a ramshackle shelter deep in the Wilderness and now they were unsure of what to do with it. William stood back and considered it from a distance. He had to admit it looked a little odd, a boy-made structure dropped out of nowhere into this wild place, besieged on all sides with lush plantings of every kind of foreign shrub. Behind them, drifts of bamboo masked from view the pathway that wound its way through the Wilderness. And behind the massed bamboo, row after row of tree ferns and palms, an ever-changing profusion of shades and textures. As a small boy, he’d had a particular love for the tree ferns. He would fold himself into a ball and hide beneath their long wavering fronds, then wait for Elizabeth to track him down. She would be forced to search long and hard and, when she found him, he would most often be asleep, curled into the fern’s green heart.

Oliver swished at the towering vegetation with a broken tree branch, one of the few left over from their labours. ‘Are we going to camp here or not?’ he asked moodily.

William looked uncertainly at his friend. Oliver was a boy who liked action but he wasn’t himself at all sure how wise camping would be. ‘There are all kinds of animals prowling through the Wilderness at night, you know.’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve got cold feet.’

‘How would we manage it anyway?’ he defended himself. ‘We’d have to sneak bedding from the linen cupboard. And apart from lumping it all the way down here, can you imagine how we’d get it from the house unseen?’

It was midday and the sun was directly overhead. Oliver wiped a sweaty hand over his forehead. ‘Well, we need to use it in some way. I haven’t spent the last three hours killing myself for nothing.’

He was right, William thought, it was stupid to build the shelter and then not use it, but he wished Olly would sometimes be a little less forceful. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

Olly shrugged his shoulders, but when he saw William’s downcast face, his mood changed and he walked over to his friend and gave him a hug. ‘What we need first is something to drink. Then we’ll be able to think straight.’

‘I’ll run back to the kitchen and grab some lemonade,’ William said eagerly. ‘Cook won’t mind.’

‘Take care that your mother doesn’t see you then, or she’ll send you on some tedious errand.’

He thought it more than likely. He knew his mother would be looking for him. ‘I’ll have to go up to the house and see Mama, in any case. I can bring the lemonade back with me.’

‘Why? What’s happening?’

‘The doctor is there.’

‘So? What’s that to do with you?’

‘He has to listen to my heart and he’s coming this morning.’

Oliver frowned. ‘What’s wrong with your heart? You never said you were ill.’

‘I’m not. Not any more, at least. But Mama insists that Dr Daniels comes every month.’

His friend pulled a face. ‘What’s the matter with parents? Wouldn’t life be perfect without them?’

‘Pretty much,’ William agreed. ‘But I’ll get it over with – it’s only a five minute check – then I’ll sneak into the kitchen and bring some grub as well as the lemonade. We can have a proper picnic.’

‘Great idea, Wills. That’s what we’ll do with the shelter – it will be our daytime retreat. Somewhere we go when we don’t want to be found.’

William began to wade through the shoulder-high grasses, walking in the direction of the invisible path, but then stopped. He put his hand up to shield his eyes and tried to focus through the shimmer of heat. ‘Look there,’ he called back to Olly, ‘through the bamboo. It’s my sister, isn’t it? What’s she doing down here?’

Olly pushed his way forward and the boys stood shoulder to shoulder, peering intently through the jungle of greenery. ‘I don’t think she wants to be found either,’ William said thoughtfully.

Oliver stood on tiptoe. ‘I can just make her out. She’s in deep blue. But who’s that she’s with?’

‘I think it’s one of the architects. He works for Mr Simmonds. He was in church on Sunday.’

They stood, silently watching the distant tableau. Olly gave a low whistle. ‘She certainly seems interested in him.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Stand this side of me. You’ll get a better view.’ Elizabeth was clearly visible from the new position. She was standing beneath the laurel arch and Aiden Kellaway was by her side. They were talking animatedly to one another.

William’s mouth drooped at the sight. ‘She better not get too interested,’ he said in a glum voice.

‘Why, what’s the matter? Don’t you fancy him as a brother-in-law,’ Olly teased. ‘She could marry him, couldn’t she? If he wanted to.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But she’s old.’

‘Old enough, I suppose, but our parents would never agree to it. In fact, Mama would be furious if she saw her talking to him. Elizabeth has to marry someone a lot more special, I think.’

‘In what way special?’

‘Someone who is important.’

‘You mean someone who’s rich.’

‘Not necessarily. Father would supply the dibs, I guess. But someone from an old family. That’s what he wants.’

‘Then he’s a snob.’ Oliver was definite in his judgement.

William simply nodded. He was tired of the conversation and the heat was making him drowsy. He was also perturbed. A dark shadow had seemed to flit across a sky that was cloudless, though he could not say what it might be or why it worried him. He forgot Dr Daniels and his stethoscope and collapsed into the hollow the boys had made, settling himself under a tree fern as he’d done so many years ago. Oliver followed suit. The quest for lemonade was temporarily abandoned. Overhead, the sun was a glowing ball, shepherding the exhausted boys towards sleep. His eyelids were almost closed when he sensed a wavering at the corner of his sight.

He sat upright, his eyes wide. ‘Look, Olly, isn’t that the most fabulous butterfly?’ The amber wings fluttered closer. ‘And look at those splodges of black. It seems to have veins on each wing. But how beautiful it is.’

‘Do you know the name?’

‘I’m not sure. I think it may be a kind of fritillary. It’s large enough. I’ll have to look it up when we get back.’

‘Shall I catch it for you? Then you can put it in your collection.’

‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Leave it be.’ And he cupped his hands around the butterfly to bring it closer, entranced by its fur-like body and its bright orange wings.

Olly came to kneel beside him and cupped his own hands beneath his friend’s. ‘It is beautiful,’ he said, ‘and it likes you.’

William smiled a rare smile. ‘It likes its freedom better.’ He opened his palms and allowed the insect to flutter away, but Olly’s hands remained enclosing his.

‘I’m never going to marry,’ William said staunchly.

‘Nor me,’ Oliver agreed.