Читать книгу The Button Box: Gripping historical romance from the Sunday Times Bestseller - Dilly Court, Dilly Court - Страница 9

The shop was in darkness but a flicker of light be-neath the parlour door was a welcome sight. Clara unlocked the door and Nathaniel staggered in with the heavy bags, which he dumped on the floor with a sigh of relief.

‘I don’t know how you managed to carry these any distance.’

The parlour door opened and Jane peered anxiously into the dark shop. ‘Is that you, Clara?

‘Yes, and I met Nathaniel in the street. He was kind enough to help me with the last of our bags.’

‘Nathaniel! How lovely to see you again,’ Jane cried excitedly. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I’ve had the kettle on the hob for an hour or more, and I found some tea in one of the cupboards in the scullery.’

‘That would be nice,’ Clara said hastily. She laid a restraining hand on Nathaniel’s arm as he made to follow her sister into the back room. ‘Tell me why I should trust you not to make trouble for us in the future. I really need to know.’

‘I am not a poor musician. Well, that’s not quite true. I am poor at the moment, but in a few months’ time, when I reach the age of twenty-five, I’ll come into the fortune left to me by my late father. He was of the opinion that if I was young when I inherited the money he had worked so hard to make I would run riot and squander it. So you see, Clara, you have no need to worry. Now, shall we join your sister for a cup of tea?’

‘In a minute,’ Clara said warily. ‘If what you say is true, your family must have property somewhere. Why then do you live in London, playing for pennies on street corners?’

‘You’re right. There is a town house and a country estate, but one of the conditions of my father’s will was that should I ignore his wishes and follow my dream to become a serious musician and composer, I had to leave home. I have to prove that I can earn my living and to survive without any financial help.’

‘That seems extremely hard,’ Clara said, frowning.

‘My uncle is executor of Father’s will, and he sees to it that I don’t put a foot over the threshold until I’m of age. I have a suspicion that he hopes I might die of some terrible disease or starve on the streets in the meantime, or should I give up and prove myself a failure, I forfeit my claim and he gets everything. You see, my father was of a whimsical turn of mind.’

‘I wouldn’t call it that,’ Clara said hotly. ‘He sounds a very spiteful man.’

‘You know all there is to know about me now, Clara. You can trust me.’

‘Yes, but it’s a strange state of affairs.’

‘Not in my family. If you knew the rest of the Silvers you wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘And yet Miss Silver lived very frugally and never took a day off work,’ Clara said, frowning. ‘That does seem odd when her brother was so well-off.’

‘I didn’t know, or I would have tried to help her.’ Nathanial pushed a stray lock of hair back from his forehead. ‘I really would.’

Jane emerged from the parlour, leaning heavily on one crutch. ‘Are you going to stay there chatting all evening?’ Her eyes widened and her lips formed a circle of surprise. ‘Who is that outside? I saw a shadow in the glass.’

Clara had barely turned to look when the person outside in the street hammered on the door. ‘Clara, open up. I can see you.’ Betsy’s angry voice made Clara hurry to let her in.

‘Why was I locked out? I need a key of my own, Clara.’ Betsy came to a halt, staring at Nathaniel. ‘Who is this?’

‘Please come through to the parlour,’ Jane said plaintively. ‘You’re letting in the cold air, and the room has only just warmed up.’

Betsy eyed the cases. ‘Where are my things? You haven’t left them in Wych Street, have you, Clara? Miss Lavelle passed on your message – or part of it, anyway. She just said I was to come straight here after work.’

Clara turned to Betsy with a sigh. ‘If you would just give someone else a chance to speak, I’d introduce you to Nathaniel Silver, Miss Silver’s nephew.’

Nathaniel bowed over Betsy’s hand. ‘How do you do, Miss Betsy?’

Betsy smiled coyly. ‘How do you do, sir?’

‘As to your things,’ Clara continued, ‘Jane and I packed everything we could and I’ve been going to and fro all day bringing whatever I could carry, so I don’t want to hear any grumbling from you, Betsy. If it hadn’t been for Nathaniel, I might still be clutching a lamppost in Wych Street after someone almost knocked me flying.’

Betsy cast a sideways glance at Nathaniel. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve had a busy day and I wanted to go home to my own bed.’

‘This is home for the present.’ Clara ushered her sister into the parlour. ‘I saw Pa off on the train this morning, so he should be with his cousin by now, and we’ll be safe here unless the Bragg gang discover our whereabouts.’

Nathaniel followed them into the small room. ‘I’ve heard of them. They’re a bad lot.’

‘You mustn’t worry,’ Jane said confidently. ‘Clara’s gentleman friend, Luke, is with the Skinners. He had a fight with Bert Bragg and I think Luke’s nose was broken, but I’m sure that Bert came off the worst.’

‘Thank you, Jane.’ Clara sent her a warning look. ‘The kettle is boiling, so why don’t you make the tea? I’m sure Nathaniel would like something hot to drink before he braves the cold.’

Betsy tossed her bonnet onto the sofa and shed her mantle with a dramatic flourish. ‘I’m starving. I haven’t eaten all day because Miss Lavelle made us work until the wretched hat was finished.’

‘We’re all hungry, Betsy.’ Jane struggled to lift the kettle off the trivet. ‘I filled it too full.’

‘Allow me.’ Nathaniel moved to her side, retrieved the kettle and placed it safely on the hearth. ‘I must admit to being famished too. There’s a coffee stall not far from here. The fellow sells hot pies, and baked potatoes, as well as boiled eggs and ham sandwiches. If you all agree I’ll go out now and purchase our supper.’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ Jane said eagerly. ‘I’d like a pie and an egg, if it’s not too much to ask.’

‘I’d like a baked potato and a ham sandwich.’ Betsy settled herself on the chair nearest the fire. ‘Thank you, Nathaniel. You are a true gentleman.’

Clara reached for her reticule, acutely aware that their funds were running low. ‘I’ll give you the money, Nathaniel. It is very kind of you to offer to go out on such a night. I should come with you to help carry everything.’

‘There’s no need for you to brave the weather yet again, Clara.’ Nathaniel made a move towards the door. ‘You haven’t said what you would like.’

‘A pie would be just the thing.’ Clara followed him into the shop. ‘You must let me pay for our supper.’

He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it. I wasn’t looking forward to eating alone in my room, yet again. I’ll enjoy your company and that of your sisters. It will make me feel part of a family.’

Clara was about to unlock the shop door when a male figure loomed outside, making her leap back in fear. Her encounter with Patches had left her feeling nervous, and Luke’s fight with Bert was not going to make things easier. The person rapped on the door.

‘Who’s there?’ Clara demanded, hoping that she sounded braver than she was feeling.

‘It’s me, Luke. Let me in.’

Clara unlocked the door and Luke stepped in on a gust of ice-cold air. His smile of greeting faded when he saw Nathaniel standing in the shadows. ‘Who are you?’

Clara stepped in between them. ‘This is Miss Silver’s nephew, Nathaniel.’

‘What’s he doing here?’ Luke demanded.

‘Nathaniel, this is my friend, Luke Foyle,’ Clara said hastily.

‘How do you do?’ Nathaniel held out his hand, but Luke ignored the gesture.

‘We’re more than just friends.’ Luke placed his arm around Clara’s shoulders. ‘So I’ll say it again. What are you doing here?’

Clara twisted free from his grasp. ‘Really, Luke. Is this necessary? Nathaniel saw me struggling with two heavy cases and he offered to help.’

Before Luke could respond Betsy appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s going on? I’m faint with hunger and all you can do is argue. Anyway, you’re upsetting Jane. You know how she hates the sound of raised voices.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Nathaniel murmured. ‘Perhaps I should go.’

‘That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.’ Luke opened the shop door. ‘Thanks for helping Clara, but we don’t need your services now.’

Clara grabbed the door and slammed it. ‘I won’t stand for this behaviour, Luke. That was very rude and extremely ungrateful. You don’t know how much I am indebted to Nathaniel, and he was trying to help us.’

‘Even so, you don’t know a thing about this fellow.’

‘I’ll go, Clara.’ Nathaniel rammed his top hat on his head. ‘You’ve got the wrong end of the stick, Foyle. I think you should apologise to Clara.’

‘I can see how the land lies. Maybe I should be the one to leave.’

‘Yes, you should go, Luke,’ Clara said angrily. ‘Come back when you’ve calmed down and remembered your manners.’

Luke slammed out of the shop.

‘I’m sorry,’ Nathaniel said hastily. ‘I seem to have placed you in an awkward situation.’

‘Don’t apologise, it was Luke who was in the wrong. He doesn’t own me, and he shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’

‘Perhaps I should leave anyway.’

‘If you go now I will be forced to venture out into the snow to buy our supper,’ Clara said, smiling. ‘And you would face another evening eating on your own.’

‘If you put it like that, how can I refuse? I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Clara let him out of the shop, taking care to lock the door after him. She did not want Luke to come barging in and create another scene. He could be arrogant sometimes, and jealous; two qualities she disliked in anyone, especially the man she might marry, although that possibility was becoming more and more remote. Better to be an old maid than to be shackled to a man who wanted to dominate her and take control of her innermost thoughts. That was not for her. She returned to the parlour to comfort Jane and reassure Betsy.

Despite the circumstances, Clara felt relaxed and surprisingly happy as they sat round the fire eating the food that Nathaniel had bought for them. The parlour was small and shabbily furnished; the seats on the chairs were threadbare and the delicate floral wallpaper was stained and peeling, but a fire blazed up the chimney and the room was warm and cosy. While they ate, Nathaniel entertained them with accounts of his experiences busking on the city streets. When the remains of the meal were tidied away he took his violin from its case and, with a little persuasion, played a merry jig that had their feet tapping and their hands clapping.

Clara joined in the applause. ‘That was lovely, Nathaniel, but I would like to hear one of your own compositions.’

‘Mine?’ He ran his hand through his unruly hair, causing it to curl around his brow in wild profusion. ‘Are you sure?’

Betsy leaned forward, eyes shining. ‘Oh, yes. Let us hear something you’ve composed.’

‘Is it sad?’ Jane asked wistfully. ‘Sad music makes me cry.’

‘Let him play and then we’ll find out.’ Clara settled back in Miss Silver’s favourite chair, resting her feet on the brass fender, as Nathaniel launched into a hauntingly sweet melody. In his skilful hands the violin seemed to sing and the music filled Clara’s head and made her heart swell with joy and sadness. It was as if all the emotions she had ever felt had been transposed into sound and she closed her eyes, floating away on the tide of Nathaniel’s lyrical creation. She was still enraptured when the piece came to an end, and as she opened her eyes she realised that Jane was crying and Betsy sat with her hands clutched to her bosom, gazing at Nathaniel with moist eyes and a wistful smile.

He dropped his hands to his sides and bowed.

‘That was so beautiful,’ Clara said in a whisper. ‘It melted my heart.’

‘Yes, it was lovely.’ Betsy jumped to her feet. ‘You are so clever, Nathaniel.’

Jane sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Your music made me cry, and I’ve lost my hanky.’

‘You are all too kind.’ Nathaniel placed the instrument in its case, treating it as tenderly as a mother would a newborn infant. ‘It still needs some work.’

‘What is it called?’ Clara asked. ‘I’d love to hear it again some time.’

‘I haven’t given it a title; perhaps you can help me there.’ Nathaniel glanced at the mantel clock. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late. It’s time I returned to my lodgings.’

‘Don’t go yet,’ Jane cried. ‘Please stay a little longer.’

Clara rose to her feet. ‘Thank you for our supper and for allowing us to hear your composition. It was wonderful.’

‘It was my pleasure, but now I really must leave you.’ Nathaniel made his way through to the shop, pausing to wrap his muffler round his neck. ‘I’m sure that Luke will come round, Clara. He obviously cares a great deal for you.’

She tossed her head. ‘He can do as he pleases. I choose my own friends.’

‘Does that include me?’

‘I’m proud to know you, Nathaniel Silver, and very much indebted to you.’

‘Nonsense. You were my aunt’s choice and I respect her wishes.’ He stood aside as Clara unlocked the street door. ‘I haven’t forgotten the tickets for the Gaiety. As soon as I’m in a position to get some I’ll bring them round.’

She held the door as he stepped outside into the bitter winter night. ‘You’re welcome to call at any time.’

‘Thank you, I will.’ Nathaniel backed away, smiling, and disappeared into the darkness beyond the pool of yellow light that surrounded the gas lamp.

Clara was about to close the door when she saw the dark shape of a man lingering in a doorway on the far side of the street. She could not be certain but it looked very much like Luke. It would be typical of Luke to spy on her; he had done it before and she had found it oddly touching, but now it had become irritating and downright insulting. Nathaniel was just a friend, and he had been magnanimous enough to allow her to keep her inheritance without challenging his aunt’s will. The mere fact that they had a roof over their heads tonight was because of the generosity of the Silver family. Clara locked the door, snatched her button box off the counter and went into the parlour.

Betsy was in the process of helping Jane to negotiate the narrow staircase. ‘We’re going to bed. Will you be up soon?’

‘Yes, don’t worry about me.’

‘I said I’d share the back room with Jane. You’ll have to sleep on your own for the first time,’ Betsy said, smiling.

‘At least I won’t be kept awake by you snoring.’ Clara blew them a kiss. ‘Night-night.’

‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ Jane called over her shoulder.

Clara had intended to put the fireguard in place before making sure the back door was locked, but she needed first to check the contents of her button box. She trusted Fleet, but she knew she would not sleep unless she was certain that her collection was intact, and she sat cross-legged on the floor, close enough to the dying embers of the fire to take advantage of the last vestiges of warmth. She opened the box and scooped up a handful of the small buttons, allowing them to slip through her fingers in a kaleidoscope of colour. Her most valued items were a set of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons from the bodice of her mother’s wedding dress. The gown had been cut up to make clothes for herself and Lizzie when they were children, but she had persuaded Ma to let her snip off six of the twelve buttons. Then there were the much larger millefiori buttons that she had found lying in the mud on the Thames foreshore while out walking one Sunday afternoon with Pa. He had bought her a penny lick from the hokey-pokey man and she could still remember the taste and the sweet icy sensation on her tongue. A brass military button winked at her as if to divert her attention from its fellows, and she held it between her fingers, wondering as to the identity of the gallant soldier who had gone into battle with this button on his uniform. Then, last but not least, there was her favourite, her special button, it was still there glittering in the firelight as it had done when it lay lost and forgotten in the snow.

The fire crackled and a blue flame licked around an ember and was immediately extinguished by a draught of cold air. It was time to close the memory box and go to bed. Clara snapped the lid shut, turned the tiny brass key in the lock, and rose to her feet. Tomorrow would be her first day as shopkeeper. She must get some sleep, although her stomach was churning with excitement at the prospect of being in sole charge. She could do it, of that she was certain. This was the start of a new and better life for her and her family. There was just one problem – Patches Bragg.

Trade was slow next day, but the freezing conditions did not encourage housewives and maidservants to venture out unless absolutely necessary. Clara spent the time rearranging the shelves to her satisfaction, but while she worked her mind was wrestling with the problem of how to raise the eight guineas she needed to pay her father’s debt to Patches. She was deep in thought when the shop door opened and Lizzie burst in, pink-cheeked and flustered.

‘Clara, you’re here. I wasn’t sure if you would be opening so soon after Miss Silver’s funeral. I mean, it doesn’t seem very respectful to carry on as if nothing has happened.’

‘Miss Silver only closed the shop on Sundays and on Christmas Day. She would come back to haunt me if I let her down.’

‘It’s not funny, Clara. I don’t know how you can treat the woman’s death as a joke.’

‘Far from it. I was very fond of Miss Silver, and I owe it to her to look after her legacy.’ Clara stared at her sister, frowning. ‘What’s the matter? You’re all of a twitter.’

‘I should think I am. Miss Jones sent me out to purchase blonde lace, only I don’t know how much she needs. It was all said in a bit of a panic.’

‘Does she want it in black or white?’

‘I’m not sure. Madam is going out to an important function this evening and the lace on her gown is torn. Miss Jones was very particular that it had to match.’

‘I’ve got Chantilly lace as well.’

‘I’d better take both. You have to come with me, Clara. I’ll be in trouble with Miss Jones if I bring the wrong material.’

‘I can’t shut up the shop simply because Miss Jones is fussy.’

‘Please come with me. You’ll need to bring the unwanted lace back to the shop because I won’t be allowed out again.’

Clara had never seen her sister in such an agitated state. ‘All right. I’ll close the shop for an hour. There aren’t many customers about this morning.’

‘Thank you. I can’t afford to lose my job.’

‘I’ll have to warn Jane not to open the door to anyone but me, and I’ll fetch my bonnet and cloak.’

‘Why is Jane here?’

‘We had to leave Wych Street. I was going to tell you when I had a chance. I’ll explain on the way to Bedford Square.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Clara said, shivering as they came to a halt outside the four-storey terraced house in Bedford Square. ‘Miss Silver never made house calls.’

Lizzie opened the gate which led down to the tradesmen’s entrance. ‘Maybe she would have made more money if she had. I don’t know, Clara, I’m not a businesswoman, but Mrs Comerford is very rich, and if Miss Jones is satisfied she’ll tell her so, and then who knows? Maybe Mrs Comerford will recommend your shop to her friends.’

‘I’m only doing this as a favour to you.’ Clara followed her sister down the steep, ice-coated steps to the tradesmen’s entrance.

Lizzie knocked on the door and it was opened by a tiny scullery maid who could not have been more than ten years of age. The child scuttled off in the direction of the kitchen and Lizzie led the way through a maze of narrow corridors and up the back stairs. On the other side of the green baize door was another world. A marble-tiled passage opened out into a wide hallway with large, gilt-framed mirrors reflecting the ornate candle sconces. The scent of beeswax and lavender mingled with the spicy aroma of crimson and gold chrysanthemums, arranged in large urns. A liveried footman cast a sidelong glance at Lizzie, and Clara was quick to see a blush staining her sister’s cheeks.

‘Miss Jones sent me for material to mend madam’s ball gown, James,’ Lizzie said hastily.

‘And who is this young lady?’ He looked Clara up and down with an appreciative grin. ‘I’m afraid I can’t allow you to wander round the house uninvited.’

‘This is my sister Clara.’ Lizzie hesitated, eyeing James warily. ‘I’ll have to find Miss Jones. Stay here, Clara.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after her,’ James said, winking at Clara. ‘I always enjoy the company of a pretty girl.’

Clara put her head on one side, looking him up and down. He was a handsome fellow, tall and broad-shouldered, and he obviously traded on his good looks. She was not impressed.

‘I don’t need looking after,’ she said coldly.

Lizzie cast her a sidelong glance, shaking her head. ‘Be nice to him,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But not too nice, if you know what I mean.’ She snatched the basket of lace from Clara and hurried off towards the staircase.

‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, miss?’ With a sweep of his hand, James indicated a dainty hall chair. ‘You’re likely to have a long wait. You know how ladies like to chat.’

‘I’m in trade,’ Clara said stonily. ‘I don’t have time to chat, as you call it.’

James bridled visibly. It was obvious that he was not used to his clumsy advances being spurned. ‘I can see the family likeness. Lizzie is as prickly as a briar rose.’

Clara was saved from replying by the sudden appearance on the staircase of a young man dressed for outdoors. He was plain to the point of homeliness except for a head of golden curls, which would have been the envy of any woman. He strolled down the stairs, coming to a halt in front of Clara. ‘Are you waiting for someone?’

She rose to her feet. This person was obviously a member of the family and by rights she ought to have been waiting for Lizzie below stairs. ‘My sister, sir. Lizzie Carter – she ran an errand for Mrs Comerford’s maid. I have to wait to take the unwanted lace back to the shop, but I’ll be gone as soon as she returns.’

A slow smile spread across his even features. ‘My mother always demands the best. Only she would send a servant out in such inclement weather.’

James stood to attention, staring straight ahead, although Clara thought she saw the muscle at the corner of his mouth quiver, as if he were suppressing the desire to laugh. She thought it wiser to remain silent, hoping that Mrs Comerford’s son would go about his business, but he seemed reluctant to leave. He held out his hand. ‘I’m Joss Comerford. How do you do, Miss Carter?’

Remembering her place, she bobbed a curtsey. ‘How do you do, sir?’

‘It’s very cold outside and the pavements are treacherous. May I escort you home, Miss Carter?’

‘That’s very kind of you, but as I said, I have to wait for the unwanted lace.’

‘Have you a connection with the textile trade?’

She looked him in the eye and realised that he was teasing her. ‘You make it sound as though I’m dealing in smuggled goods, Mr Comerford.’

‘Now that would be exciting. Are you a smuggler, or a river pirate?’

‘Nothing so interesting, sir.’

‘So your connection with lace is …?’

Clara could see that he was not going to be satisfied with anything other than a full explanation. ‘I am a shopkeeper, Mr Comerford. I own a drapery in Drury Lane.’

His blue eyes widened and he stared at her with renewed interest. ‘You’re a shopkeeper?’

‘I am, sir.’

‘How intriguing. I must visit your emporium one day.’ He held his hand out to take his top hat and cane from a young maidservant who appeared seemingly from nowhere. ‘I’m going your way, Miss Carter. I have a luncheon appointment in the Strand, so it’s no trouble to see you safely home.’

Clara was about to refuse politely when Lizzie came hurrying down the wide staircase, the basket in her hand. ‘Madam has taken all the lace, Clara.’ She came to a halt, gazing anxiously at Joss. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

‘That’s all right, Lizzie. I’m glad that Mama is supporting local shopkeepers.’ He turned to Clara with a disarming smile. ‘My father is also in trade. He has a warehouse on the docks filled with exotic imports from foreign lands. I used to think it was like Aladdin’s cave when I was a child.’

Clara shifted from one foot to the other. At any other time, and in a different place, it would have been a pleasure to talk to someone like Joss Comerford, but James was listening to every word and Lizzie was staring at her open-mouthed. Their reaction was typical of most people. The sons of wealthy families, whether their fortune had been made in the Caribbean sugar plantations or from privateering centuries ago, or in trade, did not mix socially with girls from the lower classes. That was the way things were and Clara could feel disapproval radiating from both her sister and James. If Joss Comerford had taken a liking to her, it was a recipe for disaster.

‘Isn’t it time you were going, Clara?’ Lizzie said in a low voice. ‘Jane will be wondering what’s happened to you.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Clara took the empty basket from her. ‘Madam is keeping all the lace?’

‘Put it on her account,’ Lizzie said grandly. ‘Goodbye, Clara. I’ll come and see you on my afternoon off.’ She turned on her heel and headed towards the servants’ quarters.

‘I must go.’ Clara glanced at James, who leaped to attention and opened the front door.

Joss proffered his arm. ‘Allow me. It’s a long walk so I suggest we take a cab.’

There was nothing Clara could do without appearing rude and she laid her hand on the sleeve of his cashmere coat. James kept his gaze fixed on a distant point as he held the door for them.

‘Go and find a cab, James, there’s a good fellow.’ Joss hesitated on the top step. ‘Dashed inclement weather. I was in two minds as to whether to venture out or not.’ He glanced down at Clara and smiled. ‘But I’m very glad I did or I would not have had the pleasure of your company, Clara. I hope you don’t mind my using your Christian name?’

She shook her head. ‘No, sir.’

‘It would please me greatly if you would call me Joss. I’m uncomfortable with formality.’

‘I doubt if your mama would agree with that – Joss.’

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘I was right. I took you for a spirited woman, Clara. I’m a very good judge of character.’ He leaned forward to get a better view of James, who was slipping and sliding on the snowy street as he attempted to hail a cab. ‘I’d laugh if he took a tumble. James is so stiff-necked he’ll make an excellent butler one day. I sometimes think he must have been born middle-aged, and I doubt if he is a year my senior.’

Clara was just about to tell him she would prefer to walk when James succeeded in attracting the attention of a cabby who had just dropped a gentleman off at a house further along the street. Joss handed her into the hansom cab and climbed in after her. Sitting side by side with a relative stranger was a nerve-racking experience for Clara and she stared ahead, wishing she had risked offending him by refusing his offer. Joss Comerford might not be this friendly if he knew of her involvement with one of the most vicious gangs in London. It was a relief when the cab drew to a halt outside her shop, but the feeling was short-lived.

A man wearing a battered top hat and a greasy woollen muffler was leaning against the pub wall. She recognised him at once and her heart sank.