I’ll Bring You Buttercups. Elizabeth Elgin

always did.

      Alice jabbed the last pin into the bun at the nape of her neck, then set her starched white cap primly upon it. Her hair, she supposed, was quite nice, though it went its own way at the sides and front and curled where it fancied and never, despite her efforts, where she wanted it to. But this was eight o’clock on a bright spring morning, and the whole of London was beckoning. Smiling, she picked up the tray.

      ‘Mornin’, miss,’ she called, drawing back the curtains. ‘Here’s a nice cup of – oh, my goodness!’

      ‘Hawthorn?’ Julia’s fingers moved reluctantly to her forehead. ‘Is it …?’

      ‘It is.’ There would be no covering that up with vanishing cream and face powder. ‘Your eye, an’ all. What on earth do we tell her ladyship?’ she whispered, reaching for the hand mirror.

      ‘That I tripped and fell, of course.’ Critically, Julia surveyed the bruising.

      ‘With a big fat policeman on top of you?’

      ‘Of course not. Oh, we’ll thank of something, and anyway, it might almost be gone by the time we get home.’

      ‘Does your head still ache?’ Solicitously, Alice plumped the pillows, then poured tea.

      ‘Only a little. I think, though, that a walk might help clear it. Where did you put the card, Hawthorn?’

      ‘The doctor’s card?’ Alice took it from her apron pocket. ‘You weren’t thinking of – well, wouldn’t it be better to call Miss Sutton’s doctor, if you need one?’

      ‘I don’t need a doctor – I want one.’

      ‘Doctor MacMalcolm?’ Alice swallowed hard.

      ‘Yes. I – well, I want to thank him. He was very kind, last evening,’ she murmured, oddly defiant.

      Kind? Aye, and tall and handsome, Alice brooded. There had been a glazed look in her eyes last night that wasn’t altogether to do with the knock on her head. A look, she mourned, that could spell trouble for Alice Hawthorn.

      ‘Miss Julia – do you think it wise for us to –’

      ‘No. Not at all wise, but I want to see him again. And not us – me! Smithfield way, I think he lives.’ She reached for her wrap, put on her slippers, then ran downstairs. ‘I’ll have to check. There’s a street map in the desk.’ Aunt Sutton had said it might come in useful. ‘Yes, I was right. Look, Hawthorn. Little Britain. Quite near St Paul’s, and very near the hospital he works in. I can take a motor bus to Newgate Street, walk up King Edward Street, and I’ll be there.’

      ‘Miss! We’re not going to his lodgings?’

      ‘I am going to his lodgings.’

      ‘But Newgate Street – that awful prison …’

      ‘Not any more. It’s long gone. I’ll be perfectly all right. This is London and young women go about alone all the time. It isn’t right I should be escorted everywhere – well, not here.’

      ‘But you wouldn’t go inside his lodgings?’ She was becoming uneasy. You never knew, with Miss Julia. ‘Not without me, you wouldn’t?’

      ‘Of course I wouldn’t. I shall leave my card with his housekeeper – and anyway, he’s sure to be at the hospital. My card, that’s all – then if he wants to visit he can do so.’ And please, please, let him want to …

      ‘You promise, Miss Julia?’

      ‘Promise. Word of a Sutton.’

      ‘Mm …’ With that, Alice had to be content. Even though she was expected to take good care of her young mistress, she wasn’t her keeper, wasn’t her equal. She was the sewing-maid and sewing-maids didn’t tell their betters what to do. And she knew how Julia Sutton felt. Hadn’t it happened to herself? It had only taken, Does this creature belong to you? It was the same the world over, she was forced to admit, be it servants or ladies of quality.

      ‘We-e-ll – maybe just this once, miss …’

      The air was cool in Brattocks Wood, and smelled headily of green things growing. Edward Sutton breathed deeply. Almost the instant he had set foot on Rowangarth land he had felt more calm.

      ‘Am I welcome?’ he smiled as he tapped on the morning-room window. Helen Sutton answered with a smile, and was waiting at the front door to greet him as he walked up the steps.

      ‘My dear.’ She held out her hands and offered her cheek for his kiss. ‘Come in, do. It’s far too late for coffee. Shall we have a sherry, and shall you stay to lunch?’

      He lingered his lips on her cheek because, as her brother-in-law, it was his privilege, and because an imp of defiance inside him whispered that Clemmy wouldn’t have liked it.

      ‘Now, my dear,’ she said when they were settled, ‘tell me about it.’

      ‘It shows? How well you know me.’

      ‘And so I should. You are John’s brother, and you were here, shy and not a little perplexed, when first I came to Rowangarth. And debating, if I’m not mistaken, the pros and cons of proposing to Clementina Elliot.’

      ‘So long ago. And she accepted me the year Robert was born. I was a father myself not a year after. And now your Robert is a grown man, and –’

      ‘And miles away in India. I had a letter from him this morning, telling me he is well and happy, that the tea garden thrives, and not one word of what I most want to hear – that he’ll be bringing his bride home to Rowangarth. And how is Elliot?’ They were to talk of family, it seemed.

      ‘Elliot is – Elliot,’ he shrugged. ‘He’ll never change. But you’ll know. It’s why I’m here, really, to get out of Clemmy’s way.’ Clemmy always vented her anger on him, especially when it concerned their eldest son. Clemmy disliked the Suttons and all they were, yet fretted that it was Nathan and not Elliot who favoured them most.

      ‘Tell me about young Nathan.’ She knew what Edward would say, given the chance, for hadn’t Giles told her about the butcher’s daughter? ‘He’ll be coming down, soon. What will he do then, do you think?’

      ‘Holy orders, I imagine. Strange isn’t it, that I’ve sired a saint and a sinner – and a gigolo.’

      ‘Oh, poor Albert! Don’t call him that!’

      ‘Then what else should I say, will you tell me, when our youngest goes off with a woman fifteen years older – though he did have the sense to pick a wealthy one and the decency to marry her. But he’s a kept man, Helen, though I suppose I’m the last one to talk about being kept.’

      ‘Don’t, my dear.’ Her eyes showed pity. ‘He did what he thought best, I shouldn’t wonder. And you do hear from him from time to time. Only last week, Clemmy said there had been a letter from Capetown.’

      ‘Yes, and Auckland before that. And three months ago, one from St Petersburg. The lady must have a liking for travel. But it’s Elliot who caused the upset this morning. Somehow Clemmy found out – there was a caller, so maybe that was how. About the girl in Creesby – but I don’t have to tell you, do I?’

      ‘No.’ Helen studied her glass. ‘I’d – heard. Is the girl – I mean, did he get –’

      ‘Get her pregnant? I don’t believe so, but nothing Elliot does now would surprise me. And it isn’t the first time there’s been a scandal. There won’t be a father in the county lets his daughter within a mile of him if he carries on like this. He’ll end up with a butcher’s daughter, just see if he doesn’t. You’ve heard the saying, Helen: from clogs to clogs in three generations – back to Mary Anne Pendennis, it’ll be.’ Morosely he held out his empty glass. ‘Do you mind, m’dear?’

      ‘Don’t blame yourself, Edward.’ She placed the decanter on the table at his elbow.