LITMIR.BIZ

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living and the customers were her friends. She was not going to retire gracefully, and she sometimes said, in her rare moments of levity, that she would die behind the counter and be buried in a shroud made from Spitalfields silk.

      Clara busied herself sweeping the floor and dusting the shelves, and was about to rearrange bolts of muslin when the door opened and her first customer of the day rushed in, bringing with her a gust of ice-cold air and a flurry of snowflakes.

      ‘Lizzie!’ Clara stared at her sister in surprise. ‘What brings you here?’

      ‘It’s not from choice, you may depend on that.’ Lizzie stamped the snow from her boots, creating icy puddles on the newly swept floorboards. ‘Miss Jones sent me to buy silk thread to mend Mrs Comerford’s best gown, which madam intends to wear tonight.’ Lizzie glanced out of the window, pulling a face. ‘Although I can’t see her going anywhere unless the weather improves.’

      Clara pulled out the drawer containing spools of silks in rainbow hues. The sight of them always made her smile, but Lizzie was frowning ominously. ‘What’s the matter?’ Clara asked anxiously.

      ‘It has to be an exact match. Miss Jones doesn’t know how madam managed to snag the skirt, but the tear is quite noticeable and so the thread must blend in perfectly.’ Lizzie fished in her reticule and produced a tiny scrap of pink silk.

      ‘I think that is the nearest.’ Clara picked up a spool and held it against the material. ‘Take it to the door and look at it in a good light.’

      ‘Such a fuss over a tiny tear.’ Lizzie examined the colours in daylight. ‘You’re right. It’s a good match. I’ll take it.’

      Clara wrapped the spool and handed it to her sister. ‘That will be twopence, please.’

      ‘Put it on Mrs Comerford’s account,’ Lizzie said grandly. ‘Wouldn’t you just love to say that when you went into a shop, Clara?’

      ‘I hadn’t given it much thought.’ Clara noted the purchase in the ledger Miss Silver kept for account customers.

      ‘Something’s wrong – it’s Pa, isn’t it?’ Lizzie gave her a searching look. ‘I can tell by your face, Clara. He’s up to his old tricks again, isn’t he?’

      ‘He’ll never change,’ Clara said, sighing. ‘He went out before I got home yesterday and hadn’t returned when I left this morning.’

      ‘And your button box is in Fleet’s pop shop, I suppose.’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘You ought to take our father in hand, Clara.’

      ‘There’s nothing I can say or do that would make any difference.’

      ‘Then leave home, like I did. I didn’t want to go into service, but now I have my sights set on becoming a lady’s maid, and that will give me all sorts of advantages. Mrs Comerford’s husband might be in trade, but I dare say he has more money than most of the titled toffs that she tries to imitate. It’s quite pathetic the way she fawns and grovels when she entertains Lady this and Lady that to afternoon tea. I have to stand there ready to pick up a napkin if one of them drops it on the floor, and hand round the food, watching them stuff their greedy faces, all the time pretending that I’m invisible.’

      ‘At least you’re well fed and they provide your clothes. I’m sure it’s worth putting up with their odd ways just for that.’

      ‘I suppose so, but I go out of my way to help Miss Jones. It’s her job I’m after – that’s if I don’t land a rich husband first.’

      Clara closed the ledger with a snap. ‘Have you anyone in particular in mind?’

      ‘That would be telling,’ Lizzie said with an arch smile. She tucked the spool of thread into her reticule. ‘I must go.’

      ‘It’s a long walk to Bedford Square in this weather,’ Clara said anxiously.

      ‘No matter. Miss Jones gave me the cab fare. She trusts me and so does Mrs Comerford.’ Lizzie left the shop with a cheerful wave of her hand and a faint trace of attar of roses in her wake. Clara could only guess that her sister had been sampling Mrs Comerford’s perfume while she dusted her room. Only Lizzie would be so bold. If she were discovered it would mean instant dismissal, but then Lizzie had the cheek of the devil.

      Clara was about to replace the drawer when she heard a commotion upstairs. It sounded like someone choking, and she hurried through to the tiny parlour at the back of the shop, coming to a halt at the foot of the staircase. ‘Miss Silver. Are you all right?’

      A loud thud was followed by silence and Clara took the stairs two at a time. The door to Miss Silver’s bedroom was open and she was sprawled on the floor, motionless, with her head on one side and a pool of blood soaking into the rag rug. Clara attempted to lift her, but despite her thin frame, Miss Silver’s lifeless body was too heavy for her to move without help. Trying hard not to panic, Clara raced downstairs and burst into the street, peering blindly into a veil of snow. There were only a few people braving the inclement weather and most of them hurried past despite Clara’s pleas for help. Snowflakes were settling in her hair and soaking through the thin material of her plain grey cotton gown. Her feet were already wet from her walk to work that morning, but she was oblivious to any discomfort and growing desperate when she saw a familiar figure striding towards her.

      ‘Luke,’ she cried. ‘Luke, come here quickly.’

      He quickened his pace and hustled her into the shop. ‘What the hell are you doing? You’ll catch your death of cold, running about in weather like this without a coat.’

      ‘Come upstairs. It’s Miss Silver – I think she’s dead.’

      He snatched a woollen shawl from its stand and wrapped it around Clara’s shoulders, despite her protest that it was new stock and would be ruined. ‘Never mind that, you’ll be joining her if you’re not careful. Where is she?’

      Teeth chattering, Clara led him through to the parlour and up the narrow staircase. She pointed to the inert body. ‘I tried to lift her but I couldn’t manage on my own.’

      ‘Wait there.’ Luke entered the room and leaned over to place his hand in front of Miss Silver’s blue lips. He straightened up, shaking his head. ‘She’s a goner, I’m afraid.’ He lifted her with ease and laid her limp body on the bed.

      Clara stood in the doorway, hardly able to believe her eyes. ‘She’d been ill with her usual chest complaint, but she gets that every winter. I had no idea that it was so serious.’

      ‘Has she any relations who ought to be told?’ Luke drew the coverlet over the dead woman’s body.

      ‘She had no one. I’ve worked for her for five years and in that time she never mentioned any relatives. She spent all her waking hours in the shop and the only time she went out was to visit the warehouses that supplied her merchandise. Poor Miss Silver.’

      He crossed the floor, stepping carefully over the blood-stained rug and placed his arm around Clara’s shoulders. ‘You’ve had a shock and you need something to keep out the cold. A glass of rum punch at the White Hart would be just the thing.’

      She managed a watery smile. ‘I’d prefer a cup of tea.’

      ‘Have you eaten today?’ His steel-grey eyes scanned her face and his lips hardened. ‘Did you have supper last night?’

      ‘Please, Luke, not now. I have to do something for Miss Silver. I can’t just go out and leave the poor soul here.’

      ‘She’s not going anywhere and she’s past feeling lonely. It’s you I’m worried about, Clara. Be sensible, come with me and let me look after you first, then we’ll go and find someone to take care of the body, and register the death. At least I know how to do that.’ He tweaked her cheek, smiling. ‘In my line of business it happens all too often.’

      ‘Don’t joke about things like that, especially now. I should have come upstairs first thing and made sure she was all right,

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