The Buttonmaker’s Daughter. Merryn Allingham

beneath his head, his dark hair a clear contrast to the white linen of the pillowcase. The other arm lay outside the covers, slightly bent towards William and, in the narrow beam of moonlight that crept between the drawn curtains, he could see the small dark hairs on Oliver’s arm. They looked soft and inviting, and he felt a strong impulse to reach out and stroke them. It left him confused, disturbed. Olly was his friend. That was the sort of thing you did with girls, he’d heard, though he could never imagine himself touching a girl. You didn’t do it with friends. Chaps pushed each other around, cuffed each other’s ears in play, but that was different. Everyone did that. What would Olly say if he woke to find his friend stroking his arm? He would think William had run mad and he’d be right.

      This was the first time they had ever shared a bedroom, since at school they slept in different dormitories. And they were taught by different teachers, too, so their hours together were precious. They would meet at break times, meal times as well, and after prep if it were possible. It was Olly who had rescued him one evening from Highgrove’s biggest bully and that kindly act had cemented their alliance. Since then, they’d become the best of friends. The two musketeers, Olly had called them. How right that had felt; it hadn’t seemed to matter then that he didn’t fit in, would never fit in. It wasn’t just his background that was wrong, it was the way he felt. That was all wrong, too. When his classmates whispered about girls, it made him curl up inside. He pretended to be interested, anything to keep from another beating, but those sniggering conversations made him feel odder than ever. He couldn’t imagine wanting to do what the boys spoke of.

      He looked across at Olly again, his gaze fixed on the boy’s beautiful skin, and was awash with a strange hollowness. Bewildered, he tossed himself to the other side of the bed, his back to Oliver. At school, there were rules to follow, orders to obey, and daily life was cut and dried. But these last few weeks had been different. It was this magical summer that was at fault. That and the beauty and freedom of the gardens. It was being at Summerhayes that was making him anxious. Nothing was cut and dried here. Not with Olly. Boundaries seemed to be dissolving, growing fainter every day. There was nothing to grasp, no certainty to hang on to. How was he to deal with that?

Chapter Five

      ‘Miss Elizabeth! Wake up, Miss Elizabeth. Your father wants you downstairs.’

      With the tug at her bedclothes, Elizabeth surfaced slowly from a very deep sleep. She opened her eyes the barest fraction, shielding them with her hand from the brightness in the room. It was gilding the satinwood furniture with its brilliance and had settled in a pool of gold on the embroidered bedspread directly beneath her feet. She glanced at the carriage clock on her bedside table. It was very late. Sunday was no day of rest at Summerhayes and right now she should be at the breakfast table.

      ‘Thank you, Ivy.’ She took the teacup the maid was offering.

      Between yawns, she sipped at the hot liquid while Ivy’s black-clad figure moved quietly around the room, gathering up items of cast-off clothing and sorting them for washing or mending. As soon as the maid judged her mistress sufficiently awake, she drew back the curtains, their stencilled linen vivid in the bright sunlight. A vista of soft green and splashed colour crowded in on them.

      ‘It’s going to be another fine one, by the look of it.’ She smiled at the day’s promise.

      ‘That it will, miss.’ The girl wore an even wider smile. ‘And what dress will you be wearing?’

      ‘I don’t know. Nothing special – it’s only Sunday service.’

      Then she thought again. Would Aiden Kellaway be at church this morning? It was possible, if he had lodgings in the village. It was possible that he’d been in church all these weeks past, but she hadn’t known. She shook her head at the thought and then realised how odd she must look. But if she were thinking at all sensibly, he wouldn’t be there. He must be a Catholic and would never attend St Mary’s. Or he was busy and still working in his spare time on the temple plans. Or he was simply godless. Her mind swung wildly from one proposition to another, until she became quite cross with herself. It shouldn’t matter whether he was there or not, but somehow it did and the fact annoyed her greatly. She’d already spent far too long thinking about him.

      And far too long growing annoyed. She’d been ruffled by him, ruffled by his assumption that she wasn’t happy at Summerhayes, and knowing he was right only added to her annoyance. She wasn’t happy. Life on the estate was dull – no one visited and nothing happened. But her dissatisfaction went deeper than that. While she lived here, her art would remain hidden. There was little chance of ever becoming the professional painter she longed to be. In London, it might be different. But then she hadn’t been any happier there and had been glad when the Season ended. Plunged into a summer of flower shows and exhibitions, races and regattas, she’d found society frenetic. It was not the London she wanted or needed. She’d danced at ten balls a night, but the mad tempo masked a falsity that struck her acutely. She’d not belonged there any more than she belonged at Summerhayes. But she didn’t need a man to tell her that, and a man she barely knew. This morning she would show herself content with her world – just in case he was there.

      ‘I’ll wear the Russian green,’ she decided. And when Ivy looked uncertain, added, ‘The moiré silk the dressmaker delivered last week?’

      ‘I remember – such a handsome dress,’ her maid enthused. ‘I hung it behind the green cloak, but you’ll not be needing that this morning! The colour will show off your hair something lovely though. Will you wear it up?’

      ‘There’s no time. Just pin it back and maybe we can find a ribbon to match the dress.’

      Ivy went busily to work, pulling the gown from the wardrobe and laying it across the old nursing chair to hang out the creases. Various pieces of underwear were whisked from the chest of drawers and then she was delving into the squat wooden box that sat on the dressing table in search of a ribbon. All the time, the girl hummed quietly to herself.

      Elizabeth swung her legs out of the bed. ‘You sound remarkably happy.’

      ‘I should be, miss. It’s my banns today.’

      ‘Of course, it is. I’m so sorry. I’d forgotten.’

      ‘I don’t mind. Neither does Eddie. We don’t want a lot of fuss and bother. The next three weeks the banns will be called and then we can lie low for a while.’

      ‘It’s September, isn’t it? The wedding?’

      ‘We’ve fixed it for the fifth – we’re saving hard.’

      Elizabeth knew that money was scarce for them both and had wondered if she dared ask her father to raise Eddie’s pay. Cars were still a novelty in the countryside and chauffeurs even more so. But when the gleaming dark green Wolseley had arrived from Birmingham last year, Eddie Miller had performed the small miracle of transferring his driving skills from horse to car. The day he’d donned a motoring uniform of drab grey, together with leather gauntlets and leggings and a visored cap and goggles, he had become an entirely different man from the groom who only weeks previously had flicked his whip at a recalcitrant horse. Surely he deserved reward for that. And reward, if Joshua only knew it, for refusing her request that he teach her to drive this mechanical beast. That had been a step too far, even for a warm-hearted Eddie.

      She wanted to help the couple, but she was nervous of tackling Joshua in his present mind. Her father had been mercifully quiet these last few days, but it didn’t mean he had forgotten his anger over the derelict lake, and the smallest annoyance could light the spark again.

      Aloud, she said, ‘Is the bathroom free, do you know?’

      ‘I’ve the bath running now. Master William and his friend were in and out of there this morning like the shake of a lamb’s tail.’

      ‘I bet they were!’

      When she walked into the breakfast room half an hour later, it was to find the silver salvers lining the buffet table almost