The Buttonmaker’s Daughter. Merryn Allingham
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suppose that might help,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Your brother is obviously unhappy,’ Louisa continued in queenly fashion, ‘but Joshua was quite right when he said that Summerhayes is the better venue. Henry will need some persuading, as I’m sure you know, but I will do all I can. If I’m successful and he agrees to come, can you persuade Joshua to meet him halfway? It could be very helpful to you. I know you are both concerned for Elizabeth’s future, and I would like to think that together we can manage an excellent marriage for her.’
It was surely worth a try. If Louisa could smooth the way, then it was possible the right husband could still be found. Elizabeth’s marriage was not something she could dismiss as easily as Joshua, and since this latest quarrel with the Fitzroys, she had been nagged by a sense of inadequacy. Every day she had begun to think the matter more urgent. A moment ago, Joshua himself had seemed to realise his daughter enjoyed far too much freedom. It might persuade him to meet Henry in a more conciliatory mood.
‘It sounds an admirable plan,’ she said, her voice infused with a new energy, as she ushered Louisa to the front door.
‘Splendid.’ Her sister-in-law beamed approval.
In retrospect, Alice was not sure how comfortable that made her.
Ivy always knew where to find her sweetheart, but for once he was not tending his beloved Wolseley, but cleaning shoes. The boot boy must be ill, and it was just like Eddie to help out.
‘Are you sure it will be all right?’ she asked without preamble. He’d promised to ask Mr Summer if they could put fresh paint around Eddie’s apartment.
He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Don’t fuss, Ivy. It will be fine.’
‘You haven’t asked him, have you?’ She didn’t want to sound cross but she couldn’t stop herself.
‘Not yet, but I will. In any case, why would he mind us making the old place look better?’
‘He’s got fixed ideas of what he likes and don’t like,’ she said darkly.
‘Three rooms above a motor house? C’mon. It’s not likely.’
‘Then why haven’t you asked him?’ She felt her arms rising to her hips to rest akimbo. Like an old fishwife, she thought, annoyed with herself.
‘There’s not been the opportunity, honest. I’ll drop it into the conversation, casual like, when I can.’
‘And when will that be?’
‘I’m driving him to Worthing this morning. He’s off to collect some antique he’s bought – a Japanese vase, Imari, or something like that. He’ll be in a good mood. I’ll do it then.’
‘And mebbe at the same time you could ask for a couple of days off after the wedding?’ Her voice was gentler now.
He put his polishing cloth down and got to his feet. ‘You don’t stop, do you?’ He grinned down at her, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I’m beginning to wonder what I’m marrying. I’ll be pecked to bits before I even get to the altar!’
‘I’m sorry, but I get anxious.’ She looked around then, and seeing the coast clear, reached up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I don’t mean to nag, Eddie, really I don’t, but I get that worried things won’t work out for us.’
‘Why shouldn’t they? We’ll have a bang-up wedding and a bang-up home. The jammiest, you’ll see.’ He narrowed his eyes against the sun. ‘And I’ve a mind to ask an extra favour.’
‘Yes?’ Her gaze widened with anticipation and that made him laugh.
‘Don’t get too excited. But I’ve been thinking. My ma can’t come to the wedding, you know that, but what if we went to my ma?’
Her face fell. ‘How would we do that? She lives miles away.’
‘How else?’ He turned and pointed at the sleek green beast dozing in the wedge of sunlight.
Ivy gasped. ‘You’d never dare to ask!’
‘Watch me, girl. For you, I’d dare anything.’
He laughed again and his arms went round her waist, cradling her tight, and swinging her so high into the air that he lost his footing and they tumbled to the ground, landing on the cobblestones in a giggling heap.
‘You’ll want to keep your jobs, I’m supposing.’ It was Ripley glaring at them from the rear door.
Hastily, they scrambled to their feet. ‘Yes, Mr Ripley,’ they said in unison.
*
Elizabeth looked wistfully out at the busy scene below. A large marquee had already been erected on the huge spread of lawn and a stiff breeze was whipping to a frenzy the flags flying proudly at each of its corners. A sprinkling of smaller tents, too, had begun to lace the perimeter of the grass, the noise of mallets on wooden staves sounding clearly through the first-floor window. If she pressed her forehead hard against the glass, she could just make out Cornford working at his bench, sawing the planks with which he’d construct a temporary dais. And to her right, Mr Harris teetering on the tallest of ladders with one of his boys holding its feet, while he strung bunting from tree to tree. There were men everywhere, it seemed – scurrying, carrying, calling to companions. A few women, too, who had come from the village and were setting up stalls from where tomorrow they’d sell toys and fruits and home-made sweetmeats.
This morning her mother had insisted on her company in the morning room, and she had spent the last few hours reading while Alice sewed. But every so often, she had laid aside the book and glanced longingly through the window. If she were not allowed to escape completely, at least she might do something practical. Perhaps join the scene unfolding below. She could run errands for the women on their stalls or organise refreshment tables for the big tent. Mrs Lacey was busy enough without having a marquee foisted on her – the housekeeper would welcome her help, she knew. But she was not allowed to be useful. Her function was purely decorative and her mother’s morning room was where she must spend the day.
Her spirits had been high when earlier she’d watched Joshua leave for a drive to Worthing. He had wanted her to go with him, but she’d excused herself on the pretext of a lengthy journey. His pursuit of another precious vase for his collection was likely to take some time. With her father absent and the gardens filled with noise and movement, she’d hoped to slip from the house and make a swift visit to the temple. But her mother had swooped on her directly they rose from the breakfast table, and she’d had no opportunity. She wanted to speak to Aiden, wanted that he attend the fête tomorrow, for amid the hustle of the fair they could surely meet and talk unnoticed. She had barely seen the young man these last few weeks, now that her walks had been curtailed and Joshua’s presence constant. Her father seemed always to be just out of sight but sufficiently near to be aware of her every move.
Unless she could get a message to the young architect, he wouldn’t come. Perhaps it was as well that he didn’t; she found herself wanting to see him a little too much, and it worried her. Last year, she’d returned from London clear in her mind that her world needed no man. She certainly didn’t want to marry. She looked at the Pankhurst women – they led splendid lives, lives of power and excitement, and not a man in sight. And really, why should she want to see Aiden Kellaway so much, since she’d met him for a matter of minutes only? Yet she knew she did.
She was fascinated. He was like no other man she’d encountered: not the awkward boys at the few local dances she’d been permitted to attend, or the fulsome young men of the London Season with their smooth tongues and uncaring hearts. Aiden stood apart and his difference entranced her. She loved his misty green eyes, his soft brown hair, the lilt in his voice. Or was it his intelligence, the way he could cut through pretence and divine what was real, what