‘Your reputation is quite safe, Miss Lavelle, but I would be grateful if you would give my sister the message.’ Clara swept out of the shop, head held high. She could only hope that Miss Lavelle’s notorious love of tittle-tattle would lead her to pass on the information in the hope of discovering a new scandal. One thing was certain – Betsy could stand up for herself. Sometimes she was too forthright for her own good, but she would not allow Miss Lavelle or anyone to browbeat her, and she would not breathe a word of their father’s fall from grace.
It was Jane who was now Clara’s main concern. Jane and Betsy were complete opposites. Betsy had the face of an angel and a core of tempered steel. No one got the better of Betsy Carter, but Jane was sensitive and easily hurt, and her disability made her an easy target for mockery in Seven Dials. Clara was not looking forward to breaking the news of their father’s sudden departure, and she had no intention of telling her youngest sister about Patches Bragg. There was something important she had to do before she went home.
The pawnshop in Vere Street exuded the familiar smell of sweaty old clothes, lamp oil and mildew. Fleet emerged from the back room, wearing two military overcoats with a striped woollen muffler wrapped several times around his scrawny neck. He had to climb over several piles of books and a jumble of pots and pans in order to reach the counter.
‘What you got to pawn this time, miss?’
‘Nothing, Mr Fleet. I’ve come to redeem my button box.’ Clara took the money from her reticule. She had taken the week’s takings from the strong box in Drury Lane, intending to use the money for her father’s railway ticket, but she could not allow her treasure to remain with Fleet for another day. He would only keep it for a specified amount of time before placing it for sale, and then it might be lost to her for ever, and with it the precious memories attached to each of her tiny treasures. There was little or no loveliness in the dark and dirty streets she knew, but one day she would escape the squalor of Seven Dials and create a place where colour and beauty could be shared by all. It was a dream, but to her the button box represented hope over despair, and success over failure. She placed the coins on the counter and Fleet reached up to retrieve the box from the top shelf.
‘Here you are, but I expect you’ll be back with it before the month is out.’
She shook her head. ‘I hope not, Mr Fleet. I sincerely hope not.’
Jane was seated at the kitchen table, finishing off a spray of silk flowers for Betsy. She looked up and a slow smile transformed her pale face. ‘Things must be looking up, Clara. You’ve got it back.’
‘Yes, I called in at the pawnshop on my way home. I couldn’t leave it there another moment.’
‘And we have jam,’ Jane said happily. ‘I had some on my bread, although I only took one slice. I didn’t want to be greedy.’
‘Having enough to eat isn’t being greedy.’ Clara felt the teapot and it was still warm. She filled a cup with the weak, straw-coloured liquid. ‘Jane, I have something to tell you. Pa has had to go away for a while. He’s gone to stay with his cousin in the country.’
‘Are those people after him for money, Clara?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so, but he’ll be safe in Dorset with his cousin Jim.’
‘But you look sad, Clara. That’s not all, is it?’
‘No, dear. We have to move out of here today. I need you to help me pack our things, such as they are. We’re going to live above the shop in Drury Lane.’
‘But that’s a good thing, isn’t it, Clara?’ Jane said, smiling. ‘I mean this isn’t what we are used to. I can remember when we owned the whole house and we had a cook and a maid, and Pa was a different person when Mama was alive. He used to kiss me goodbye every morning before he left for the City, and he dressed smartly and smelled of cologne.’
Clara put her cup down with a sigh. ‘You’re right, Jane. Things were better then but we have a chance to make a new life for ourselves, and you can play your part.’
‘What can I do? I’m a cripple and always will be.’
‘Don’t say things like that. You might not be able to walk very far, but you’re a bright girl and you have a good head for figures. You can help me in the shop.’
‘Can I really?’ Jane’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘I’d love that.’
‘But first we have to move our things to Drury Lane. Let’s make a start. The sooner we leave here, the better.’
It was not far from Wych Street to the shop in Drury Lane, but the snow on the pavements was rapidly turning to slush. Clara had hoped that Luke might turn up and offer to help, but there was no sign of him and she had no intention of going to his lodgings to beg for assistance.
As soon as they had sorted out what to take and what might be left until another day, Clara took Jane to the shop. It was slow going, but Jane was determined to walk and the distance hardly merited spending precious funds on a cab. Clara lit the fire in the back parlour and left Jane to settle in while she went home to collect as much as she could carry. She lost count of how many trips she made, but darkness was falling as she left the house in Wych Street for the last time, and under a cloudless sky the temperature plummeted.
Slipping and sliding on the frozen slush, she was close to exhaustion and every muscle in her body ached. Her fingers were clawed around the handles of a valise and a carpet bag, and she had lost all feeling in her toes. A man, walking head down against the bitter wind, almost collided with her and she lost her footing, saving herself from falling by clutching a lamppost.
‘Clara, is that you?’ The young man she had met at Miss Silver’s funeral hurried to her side.
‘Mr Silver?’ Clara managed to regain her balance and salvage her dignity.
He bent down to retrieve the carpet bag and valise. ‘Did you hurt yourself? I saw that fellow barge into you. He didn’t even stop to see if you were all right.’
‘My feet went from under me.’ She leaned against the lamppost, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to bring back the feeling in them. ‘I’m not hurt.’
‘Where are you going? May I help you? These bags are very heavy.’
‘I’m going to the shop in Drury Lane.’ Clara eyed him warily. He was hatless and his wildly curling auburn hair reached almost to the shoulders of his jacket, which was little protection on such a cold night. He pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, an unconscious gesture she recognised from the time they met at Miss Silver’s graveside. She had a sudden desire to laugh. ‘We do seem to meet in the oddest places, Mr Silver.’
‘Nathaniel, please.’ He smiled shyly. ‘Did you say you were going to the shop?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid I have no choice but to move in. Do you mind?’
‘No, of course not. I told you before that I have no moral claim on my aunt’s estate. Let me prove my good intentions by helping you with your luggage.’
Clara was too tired to argue, but she realised that he had his violin case slung over one shoulder. ‘May I carry that? You have your hands full.’
He unhooked it and handed it to her. ‘I’ve just come from the audition I told you and Jane about at the Gaiety Theatre.’
‘Did you get the job?’ She started walking in the direction of Drury Lane.
‘Yes, it will do until something better turns up.’
She came to a halt, turning her head to give him a questioning look. ‘I don’t understand. If you have to take any work that comes along, why are you allowing me to take your inheritance? You could challenge the will, if you chose, and I don’t want to think of the shop as my own and then have it taken away from me.’
‘That