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

      ‘Clara, I thought it was you.’ He sniffed the air, like a hungry hound. ‘Mutton pie, my favourite.’

      ‘You’re welcome to join us, Nathaniel. There’s plenty to go round.’

      ‘I wish I could, but I’m already late. I should have been at work ten minutes ago. I just hope the conductor hasn’t noticed that I’m not in my place.’

      ‘Another time then,’ Clara said, smiling, ‘but perhaps you ought to stop off for a moment and fix your collar. You do look a bit untidy, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

      ‘I was so busy composing that I forgot the time.’

      ‘You seem to have lost a collar stud.’

      ‘Devil take the wretched things.’ Nathaniel ran his hand through his windblown hair. ‘I’m always losing them, but I can’t stop now. May I call on you soon, Clara? I don’t want to intrude.’

      ‘That would be very nice.’ Clara had to suppress the sudden desire to laugh. In the midst of murder and mayhem Nathaniel represented a different world that was infinitely more appealing.

      ‘Splendid.’ He backed away, smiling. ‘And I haven’t forgotten about the tickets for the show …’ His voice trailed off as he broke into a run, heading in the direction of the Strand.

      Clara walked on slowly, making a huge effort to compose herself before she arrived at the shop. What had happened last night was something she wanted to keep to herself for as long as possible.

      Jane answered Clara’s knock on the door and she entered the shop with a smile on her face. ‘Look what I’ve got for supper. We’ll eat well tonight.’

      ‘Did you find Luke? Is he all right?’

      Betsy stuck her head round the parlour door. ‘Do I smell hot pies?’

      ‘Yes to both questions. Luke has gone away for a while, Jane, but he’ll be back before you know it. Betsy, get the plates out, please. The pies are getting cold.’

      When her sisters had gone to bed, Clara stayed downstairs on the pretext of locking up, but although she was physically exhausted, she knew that sleep would elude her. She sat by the dying embers of the fire with the box containing her treasures on her lap and she held Luke’s silver button between her fingers. It was beautifully crafted, and the whole set must have been very expensive, but that was typical of Luke – only the best would do. She sighed, wondering what had happened to him. Luke had left the country, or so the man had said, but he could have been lying. Perhaps Luke had simply left London. As far as she knew he had no family living. He had told her that his mother was dead, but he had always been reluctant to talk about his past, and she had respected his right to keep silent about matters that were obviously distressing. She wished now that she had questioned him further as it might have given her a clue as to his whereabouts.

      Clara closed the box and rose to her feet, but as she replaced it beneath the counter she remembered that Luke had wanted her to have an elegant gown made from the emerald-green silk. Generosity had been one of his more endearing qualities, and, despite her reservations as to his character, she realised with a sense of shock that she would miss him more than she would have thought possible. She had managed to keep her emotions in check all evening, but now she was alone she could give vent to her feelings and tears trickled down her cheeks. If she were being honest she had to admit that she cared deeply for Luke, despite his many failings, or maybe because of them, but it was his involvement with the criminal world that had made her wary of falling in love. The gangs were constantly at war, but last night Luke had acted on her behalf, and it was her father’s inability to repay his debt to Patches that had brought matters to a head. If she had kept her worries to herself none of this would have happened. She bowed her head and sobbed as if her heart would break.

      Lizzie breezed into the shop next morning, smiling triumphantly. ‘Madam was delighted with the lace.’ Her smile faded. ‘What’s the matter with you, Clara? You look dreadful.’

      ‘I didn’t sleep very well, but I’m fine.’

      ‘Don’t fib. You can’t fool me. What’s happened?’

      There seemed little point in lying. Lizzie would not be fooled easily and Clara knew that she was not looking her best. When she had eventually fallen asleep she had suffered terrifying nightmares that had made her fearful of dozing off again in case they returned. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the parlour door was closed. Jane was working on a creation that Betsy had brought home to finish off, and Clara did not want her to hear what she had to say.

      ‘I’ll tell you, but you must keep it between us. No one else must know.’

      Lizzie’s eyes brightened and she pulled up the stool that was reserved for privileged customers. ‘Do tell, but make it quick. I’m sure Miss Jones times my absences so that she can report me to the housekeeper. She knows I’m a threat because madam likes me, and I know how to keep on her good side.’

      Clara launched into a brief summary of the events leading to Luke’s disappearance. ‘I only have a stranger’s word for it that Luke has left the country. He wouldn’t tell me what really happened, but when I went to Angel Court yesterday there was no sign of Patches or any of her men.’

      ‘How awful, but very exciting, even though I don’t approve of you taking matters into your own hands.’

      ‘I still don’t know what happened to Luke.’

      Lizzie put her head on one side, eyeing her sister with a wry smile. ‘You said you didn’t care for him.’

      ‘I don’t, not in a romantic way, but I am fond of him. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him, especially when he was trying to help us. Patches threatened to hurt Jane, and I believed her.’

      ‘You didn’t tell me that.’

      ‘I thought I could handle it on my own, and I certainly don’t want Jane to find out. The poor child suffers enough as it is.’

      ‘So what happened to Patches? She can’t have disappeared in a puff of smoke.’

      ‘I don’t know, Lizzie. I wish I did, but I’m not going back there.’

      ‘Then you must try to put it out of your head.’ Lizzie rose to her feet. ‘Heavens! I’d almost forgotten why I came here today.’

      ‘You needed to buy needles and thread? More lace?’

      ‘Yes, that’s it. Miss Jones needs more blonde lace. Madam has taken a liking to it and she wants another gown trimmed with it, but she needs at least ten yards. It’s a very grand gown and I think she wants to show off in front of her husband’s business colleagues and their stuffy wives. Have you got that much in stock?’

      Clara shook her head. ‘No, there might be three yards but that’s all, and it means I’d have to go to the warehouse to order more, which would take time.’

      ‘She wants it by tomorrow. What will we do?’

      ‘You could probably get some in Oxford Street.’

      ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’ Lizzie reached across the counter to grasp her sister’s hands. ‘But you would, Clara. You have an eye for these things.’

      ‘I have to look after the shop, Lizzie. I can’t just close up on a whim. I’ll lose customers.’

      ‘Mrs Comerford is a very influential woman. If she’s satisfied with your service she’ll recommend you to her wealthy friends. Please, Clara.’

      Lizzie’s pleading expression made it almost impossible to refuse, and the temptation of a shopping trip to Oxford Street outweighed all other considerations. The lure of the big department stores was too strong to refuse. ‘I suppose I could shut for an hour at midday. It’s quite a long walk but I could do it.’

      ‘Miss Jones gave me the money for a cab. I don’t mind walking back to Bedford