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

      ‘He abandoned me, if you must know.’ Clara sank down onto a chair by the fire, which had burned down to a few desultory embers. A loud snore from the truckle bed made her glance over her shoulder. ‘I don’t know how he can sleep after what he’s done.’

      ‘What happened? You’re scaring me, Clara.’

      ‘Pa owes Patches Bragg eight guineas and she’s given me three days to find the money.’

      Betsy’s eyes widened. ‘That’s a fortune. How are we to raise such a sum?’

      ‘I don’t know, and that’s the truth.’

      ‘What will happen if Pa doesn’t pay up?’

      ‘He’ll end up a cripple or worse. Luke was right about Patches. She’s a bad woman, but Pa is to blame too. His gambling has led us to this.’

      A loud knock on the door made Clara jump to her feet. ‘They can’t have come for him already.’

      ‘I told you we should have left Pa and gone to your shop.’

      ‘Clara, are you there?’ Luke’s anxious voice was followed by another rap on the door.

      She hurried to open it. ‘Where were you when I needed you? I had to walk home on my own—’ She broke off at the sight of his bloodied face. ‘What happened to you?’

      He closed the door and leaned against it. ‘You might say that I had an argument with a lamppost.’

      ‘You’ve been fighting again, Luke Foyle. When is all this going to stop?’ Clara guided him to the chair she had just vacated and pressed him down on its seat. ‘Sit still and I’ll bathe your face.’ She plucked a towel from the rail and handed it to him. ‘There should be some warm water in the kettle.’ She turned to Betsy, who was standing by the bedroom door, pale-faced and trembling. ‘You look exhausted. You should get some sleep.’

      ‘I don’t want to be murdered in my bed. We’ve got to get out of here, Clara.’

      Luke staunched his bleeding nose with the scrap of towelling. ‘You’re safe for tonight. I saw to that, but I can’t be here to protect you girls all the time. You need to leave this place and Alfred must get as far away from here as he can, if he wants remain in one piece.’

      Clara’s hands trembled as she filled a bowl with tepid water. ‘Pa has to leave London, and when he sobers up I’ll tell him so.’ She took the towel and tore off a strip, using it to bathe the gash on Luke’s forehead. ‘How did you get this?’

      ‘I told you that Patches Bragg and the Skinners don’t get along. They’ve been fighting for control of Seven Dials for years, and I decided to go back to the club to make sure you were all right when I happened to bump into Patches’ son, Dagobert.’

      ‘You bumped into his fist, by the look of you,’ Clara said crossly. ‘You’ll have a black eye in the morning and I wouldn’t be surprised if your nose is broken. Why couldn’t you just walk away?’

      ‘You don’t know Bert Bragg.’

      Momentarily diverted, Clara paused with the bloodied cloth in her hand. ‘If he’s anything like his mother I’d prefer to keep it that way.’

      ‘You’re right, he’s a nasty piece of work and you must keep clear of him.’

      ‘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,