The Buttonmaker’s daughter Read online

  She could see him now. He was a tall man and his head and shoulders were clearly visible through the nodding plumes and feathers of the women’s toques, donned for this special moment of a special day. He sat rigidly straight, his glance never deviating from the stained glass figure immediately ahead. The window, fittingly donated by the Fitzroy family, held the image of Jesus in an unusually martial pose. Aunt Louisa sat to one side of her husband and, next to her, Dr Daniels. That seemed odd. It appeared they had a lot to say to each other, small sharp whispers between the hymns or as Eddie Miller’s and Ivy’s banns were read or as the vicar made his way to the pulpit. She wondered if her aunt or uncle might be feeling unwell, to need the doctor in attendance.

  When the last prayer had been said, the congregation trickled from the church to shake the minister’s hand as he waited in the porch to greet them. She had thanked him for his sermon and begun to walk along the brick path to the lych gate, when she realised that her mother still lingered by the church door. She looked around and saw her father taking an inordinate interest in several of the more ancient tombstones, their engravings barely visible beneath the lichen. Of William and Oliver there was no sign. They had sat almost entirely silent during the service, and she’d been about to congratulate them on their forbearance, when like two young colts freed from harness, they had chased off, one after another, to the fields that lay at the back of the church. Her mother appeared distracted and seemed not to have noticed.

  It was a feeling Elizabeth shared when Aiden Kellaway emerged from the stone porch and came up to her. She had not seen him in church, had hardly dared look for him. And now he was here, in person rather than in thought, and she was most definitely distracted. He looked a good deal smarter than when she’d encountered him in the Italian Garden, though his hair had not remembered it was the Sabbath and still waved wildly across his forehead.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Summer.’

  Her mother turned sharply at the unfamiliar voice and she became conscious that Alice’s eyes were fixed on them.

  Her colour mounted. ‘Good morning, Mr Kellaway. I hope you are well.’ She tried for a neutral tone.

  He gave a small nod. ‘And you, Miss Summer?’

  ‘Indeed, yes. And how is your work progressing?’

  ‘Well, I thank you. And yours?’

  ‘My work?’ She sounded bewildered.

  ‘Your painting.’

  That left her more bewildered still and very slightly affronted. Art was not work, not in her world. It was an acceptable hobby for a young woman, that was how her family thought of it. And most other families, too. There were women, she knew, who’d escaped the straitjacket, a few who’d attended art school and were even painting for a living. Laura Knight, for instance – she’d heard her spoken of last year in London. But they were exceptional and she was not. At Summerhayes, she remained alone in sensing the true nature of what she did. Alone in knowing the passion that gripped her. But it was a secret, brooding passion, and one she had never shared.

  ‘It’s going well,’ she stuttered, thinking of the lake scene now emerging from the canvas in her studio. ‘But tell me about the temple.’

  ‘Tomorrow we raise the first of the columns – it’s an important moment. We should have a good idea then of how the finished building will look. But I fear the lake will be a blot on the picture.’

  ‘The stream is still dammed then? I’m sorry to hear it.’

  She was burbling. She must sound ridiculous but she had to say something. For days, she’d allowed her mind to conjure an image of him, hear his voice, imagine a conversation. Now faced with the reality, she was flustered and flailing.

  But he treated her remark seriously, or had the good manners to do so. ‘As far as I know, the situation remains the same. Though I sense there may be moves afoot.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I’ve a feeling it’s to break the dam that has been constructed, though I know little of what’s planned.’

  It was probably as well to know little. Breaking the dam sounded altogether too grave, but his words reminded her that her father had yesterday been closeted with Mr Harris and several of his men for some hours.

  ‘You must pay the Italian Garden another visit,’ Aiden was saying, ‘and see the temple as it rises. There’s an excellent view from the summerhouse and the pathway around the lake has now dried completely. We have been lucky with the weather.’

  ‘It would be good to see it,’ she said impulsively.

  But then checked herself. Would she go? She found herself looking into a pair of misty green eyes and thought that she might. Her mother would be shocked by such forwardness, and her father disapprove heartily of her mingling with men he considered servants. But the chance of a small adventure was enticing.

  She became conscious that Aiden was looking at her in the same intent way that earlier she’d run from, and found herself trying to fill the silence that had grown between them. ‘At least today you can forget about the temple. Sunday must be a day of leisure, even for you.’

  He smiled down at her and she grew warm beneath his gaze. ‘Will it be meat and pickles for lunch?’ she gabbled. She’d remembered the supper he’d spoken of and there was something that appealed to her in that simple meal.

  ‘No, indeed.’ His eyes lit with laughter. ‘On Sunday, Mrs Boxall treats her lodgers to a feast – a leg of lamb at the very least. A trifle singed around the edges, but nevertheless roasted meat. And, if we’re lucky, a slice of Sussex Pond pudding to follow.’

  She was about to ask him how such a pudding tasted, when her mother called to her. Whatever had distracted Alice, it was not weighty enough for her to ignore her daughter’s protracted conversation. ‘Elizabeth,’ she called sharply, ‘I need you here.’

  She was apologetic. ‘Enjoy your meal, Mr Kellaway.’

  ‘And yours too, Miss Summer.’

  ‘Who was that?’ her mother asked, as she reached her side.

  ‘One of the men working on the temple, Mama. He is apprenticed to Mr Simmonds.’

  The information seemed unwelcome. ‘You should not be talking to him for so long,’ Alice scolded. ‘Your place is beside me.’

  She felt the familiar wash of suffocation, the familiar burn of annoyance. But any urge to challenge her mother died when Henry Fitzroy and his wife emerged from the church, their son and his tutor a step behind. Dr Daniels was at the rear of the small party. She hadn’t noticed Gilbert in the church, but of course he would have been there. Her young cousin was too small and too quiet, altogether too quiet. She saw her aunt bend her head towards her son, the large plumes on her headdress almost smothering him. Louisa was looking extraordinarily smart, she thought.

  ‘Greet your uncle and aunt, Elizabeth,’ her mother almost hissed into her ear.

  ‘Good morning, Uncle Henry, Aunt Louisa,’ she said obediently.

  Henry stopped mid-path. ‘Good morning.’ He doffed his hat abruptly and then went to move on.

  ‘Henry, we need to speak to you.’ Her mother sounded bold. ‘Louisa, you too. On a private matter.’

  The doctor by then had drawn level with them and looked surprised, but he bowed a polite farewell and walked on. Louisa, looking equally surprised, hustled away her young son and his instructor, then took up position in the lea of her husband, casting an uneasy eye at him. Elizabeth, too, was uneasy. It looked very much as though another confrontation might be looming – Joshua’s anger over the destruction of his lake still burnt brightly – but surely not on a Sunday and not on consecrated ground.

  While she was trying to make sense of the situation, her mother turned back to her. ‘Go and find William,’ she said abruptly.

  She blinked. She had never heard Alice sound so commanding. And hadn’t she just been instructed to stay by her mother’s side? ‘Go!’ Alice urged, when her daughter remained where she was.

  She gave the slightest shrug of her shoulders and went.

  Chapter Six
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br />   ‘What is all this?’ Henry said roughly.

  ‘We are hoping the unfortunate events of the last few days can be forgotten. Are we not, Joshua?’ Her husband’s marked reluctance to join them had sent her spirits sinking. ‘Are we not?’ she asked again, a little despairingly. At that, he gave the required nod, but without conviction.

  Henry drew himself to his full height, his chest resembling a pouter pigeon in full strut. ‘The events, as you term them, Alice, are not in my view the slightest bit unfortunate. They follow from your husband’s determination to purloin water from my estate.’

  Joshua took a step forward. ‘The water is as much Summerhayes’ as it is yours,’ he began dangerously.

  Alice stepped between them. ‘Please, there has been too much argument already. Henry, you have made your point, I think. We are kin and we should not be quarrelling in this way.’

  ‘Kinship appears to mean nothing to your husband –’ again her brother refused to use Joshua’s name, ‘– but he would do well to remember the importance of family connections.’

  ‘Such connections mean a lot to both of us,’ Alice protested, ‘and particularly now.’ She looked across at Joshua. Why wasn’t he helping her? He had promised to play his part, but instead was standing blank faced, a pillar of granite.

  Louisa, who until this moment had remained a silent onlooker, suddenly expressed an interest. ‘Why now?’ she asked, glancing up at her husband as though seeking his approval.

  She is hoping for scandal, Alice thought. Her sister-in-law might come from a high-born family, but she had always an ear for gossip, with conversation that would fit her for the servants’ hall.

  ‘We wish to talk to you about Elizabeth,’ Joshua put in unexpectedly. ‘She is your niece, after all.’

  ‘I’m well aware she is my niece.’ Henry’s chest expanded further. ‘Are you hoping that she will beg me for water, now you are prevented from stealing it?’

  The blank face had gone. In its place, Joshua’s lips tightened and Alice could see his knuckles grow white from the effort of keeping his hands at his sides.

  ‘It is something entirely other. She needs to be married,’ he said tautly. ‘At least, Alice seems to think so.’

  ‘And we would like her to marry with honour,’ Alice interjected.

  ‘Ah.’ Henry was beginning to understand.

  ‘You have the contacts, or so Alice tells me,’ Joshua said loftily. Then, unable to maintain his indifference, the bitterness spilt out. ‘You may have contrived to exclude me from society in a most underhand fashion, but I trust you will not treat your niece as shabbily.’

  ‘My niece is a lady,’ Henry said deliberately. ‘As is your wife.’ Joshua’s knuckles whitened further. ‘I would naturally treat them as such, and if you are looking for a suitable match for Elizabeth, it may be that I can help.’

  Alice could see the calculating look in her brother’s eyes, a look she knew from old. Most often it was accompanied by a charming smile, and Henry could be charming if it gave him advantage. He had charmed Papa into permanent indulgence from the day he was born; even their astringent mother had buckled beneath the onslaught: his concerned brow, his gentle voice, the smile which said it understood. But if you watched him carefully, and his sister always did, his eyes gave him away. Today, he appeared willing to swallow his rancour and agree to find a suitor for Elizabeth because it meant influence, and even greater influence if that suitor were from a distant branch of the family. It was a disturbing prospect but she must swallow her fear and do this for her daughter. The Fitzroys dotted any number of family trees, from the highest aristocracy to the lowest squire, and Henry was the only person likely to produce the right man.

  ‘That is very good news, is it not?’ She turned to Joshua, but her husband merely grunted.

  ‘For myself, I think it an admirable idea,’ her sister-in-law offered. ‘Elizabeth lives a secluded life, and must meet very few young men. And suitable husbands are scarce at the best of times. We would hate our niece to be reduced to marrying badly. To a man of business, for instance.’

  She seemed to find comedy in the words, a spasm passing across her face and leaving her lips disagreeably twisted. Alice surprised herself by a strong desire to slap her sister-in-law, but was thankful that Joshua had stayed silent. It was a silence, though, that teetered on the edge, and she knew he dared not speak for risk of an uncontrollable rage. Still, she tried to think fairly, Louisa had said only what Joshua himself had declared a few days ago.

  Henry nodded a dismissal and took his wife’s arm. He was making ready to leave when the vicar, half walking, half running along the churchyard path, arrived in their midst and put out a detaining hand. He was breathing heavily. ‘May I trouble you? Is the doctor still here?’

  ‘He left minutes ago,’ Henry answered abruptly. ‘What ails you, Reverend?’

  The vicar was still finding it difficult to breathe and did not answer directly. ‘Then I must send for him,’ he puffed. ‘Ah, Mr Summer.’ He’d caught sight of Joshua standing in the shadow of a large gravestone. ‘You are the very man I need.’

  ‘I thought it was the doctor you sought.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the vicar said a trifle testily. ‘But he is one of your men, Mr Summer. Dumbrell, I think his name is. He is quite badly injured.’

  ‘Dumbrell injured? How can that be?’

  ‘He has a bust head. There has been some kind of contretemps. It’s difficult to make sense of the man’s words but it appears there has been a fight – over a dam?’ Henry stared at the vicar, disbelievingly. ‘He and his fellows, as far as I can gather, were attempting to demolish it but then a gang of men appeared and thought otherwise.’

  ‘But we did it, Mr Summer. In the end, we did!’ A man caked in mud, blood streaming from a large wheal across his forehead, staggered into view.

  ‘We did it,’ Dumbrell repeated. ‘And them bastards from Amberley – begging your pardon, ladies – they couldn’t stop us. That water is flowing neat and pretty. Your lake’ll be full in no time, gaffer.’

  ‘What!’ Henry was now the one who looked as though he would erupt into uncontrollable fury, while the smile on Joshua’s face spread slowly from ear to ear.

  ‘Good man, Dumbrell,’ he said. ‘We’ll get the doctor to you immediately.’

  ‘Good man?’ screamed Henry. ‘You’ll not hear the last of this, Summer. But you have heard the last of any help you might think to extract from me.’

  ‘You need not concern yourself, my dear chap. We find we don’t require your aid after all. My money will do the work. It saved your neck years ago and now it will buy Elizabeth a far better husband than any you might propose. Your sister may still have a weakness for her old home and think Amberley important, but in truth the place no longer matters. The Fitzroys no longer matter.’

  Henry was gobbling with rage but her husband, Alice could see, was enjoying his triumph to the full. He went on remorselessly: ‘And while we’re speaking of county matters, Reverend –’ he turned to the vicar who was looking distressed and perplexed in equal measure, ‘– I feel it may be time for you to consider a change. You will be aware that mine is the premier estate in our beautiful part of Sussex. It seems only right, therefore, that I offer Summerhayes as a setting for the village fête.’

  ‘But—’ the vicar began.

  ‘I know, I know. It has always been at Amberley, but, as I say, times change. The fête has surely outgrown its origins, and though I grant you Amberley may have a faded appeal, I think such an important event in our local calendar, should be allowed a more modern stage. It is Summerhayes, after all, that has the money to make it the very best.’

  The vicar tried again to speak, but was steamrollered into silence. ‘Consider for a moment!’ Joshua boomed. ‘The Summerhayes lawn is so much more spacious than Amberley’s and the gardens are in full flower. I am more than happy for the villagers to wander the entire estate if they so wish. I am certain that your parish
ioners would be most eager for the opportunity. What do you say?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ the vicar stammered. ‘It’s a most generous offer. But Mr Fitzroy—’ He broke off. Henry had turned his back on the group, and was marching down the path towards the churchyard gate, his wife stumbling to keep up with him.

  ‘Well?’ Joshua raised an enquiring eyebrow.

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

  Chapter Seven

  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.