‘I’m so excited to see you,’ said Sophie as she threw her arms around Kate. ‘You look fantastic.’
‘Love a woman in a tux. Very chic,’ said George as he kissed Kate on both cheeks. ‘Good to see you.’
‘It means so much that you could come, Kate.’ Sophie squeezed Kate’s arm.
‘My pleasure. It’s a pity I can’t stay longer. I leave for India in a few days.’ She ushered them to the middle of the room, where images of three pieces from the Cheapside collection were flickering on the walls.
George pointed to the vision of a pomander gliding across the ceiling. ‘This scent bottle takes the cake.’
Kate eyed the tiny blooms painted in the enamel, then studded with opals, rubies, diamonds and pink sapphires to give it a vibrant botanical feel. It felt like spring. ‘Trust you to choose the most precious of all.’ Kate winked at Sophie behind George’s back. ‘I’d wear this on a long chain today.’
‘So would I,’ said Sophie.
Kate’s chest tightened at the thought of a woman clinging to something so exquisite—clinging to hope—when London’s cobbled streets were blocked with sewerage and garbage, beggars, rats and festering bodies during the Black Death.
‘I wonder if she survived,’ said Sophie wistfully.
‘I doubt it! No jewel immunises against bacteria. But rubies were seen as amulets against the plague. Diamonds protect—I mean they are invincible, right? And opals ease a sore head, apparently.’ ‘Good for a hangover,’ said George as he collected three fresh glasses of champagne from a passing silver tray and handed one to Kate as the image of the black and white diamond solitaire from the Museum of London flashed in multiples around the room.
Who was it made for?
‘Did you know that’s a Golconda diamond?’ Kate asked, pointing to the image.
‘Ah,’ said George, eyeing the ring. ‘So that’s why you’re going to India. I have clients who would pay any price for a Golconda diamond—they’re so rare. The only one I’ve heard of on the market in the past couple of years was just over ten carats. It sold at Christie’s in New York for just over twelve million dollars. But now there’s talk that, today, the price could be worth that amount per carat.’ He shrugged. ‘Nobody wants to sell. They stopped mining them in the early eighteenth century.’
‘Wasn’t it Alexander the Great who recorded that the Golconda locals threw chunks of meat down to a valley floor swarming with snakes, then sent eagles to lift the meat back up the mountain, studded with the clearest stones ever seen?’
‘Cheers to tall tales.’ George laughed as they clinked glasses.
‘But they’re not always white, are they?’ asked Kate, thinking of the legendary Hope Diamond, which was blue and rumoured to have been found in Golconda.
‘Correct. But all Golconda gems share a magical quality. It’s like looking into the purest river moving through the stone. Clear water, they called it back in the day. If I did have one to sell, I wouldn’t just sell it to the highest bidder. They’d have to appreciate the beauty …’
Sophie beamed at George. ‘You old romantic.’
Kate studied her friends. George looked at Sophie as if he could gaze at her forever. He was proud of his clever wife and Kate couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy whenever she was around this flamboyant couple. She loved them both dearly, of course. It was just that when she was near them, Kate wondered if she would feel that kind of deep connection ever again.
They all paused to look at the diamond ring flashing on the wall.
‘Who created this?’ Sophie wondered aloud. ‘The peasecods are exquisite. It took time to make this ring. Whoever it was intended for must have been deeply loved.’ She squeezed George’s hand and he leaned in and gave her a tender peck on the lips.
Kate took a sip of champagne and turned her head. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Marcus talking with Lucia and a circle of men. As if sensing her gaze, he looked over and gave her a wave before returning to the conversation. Kate couldn’t work out what surprised her more: that Marcus had brought a tux to London or that he looked so at ease in it.
She turned back to her own conversation in time to see Sophie raise her champagne glass and say, ‘To Golconda. May it surprise you.’
Chapter 9
ESSIE
LONDON, 1912
It was Friday afternoon and Essie was kneeling beside a desk in Miss Barnes’s classroom, helping a student with his spelling list—an arrangement Miss Barnes had kindly negotiated with the headmaster the day before so the twins and Gertie could stay in school until the end of term. But, the headmaster had warned, if Essie failed to pay the thruppence a week owing for each girl, they would all have to leave at once.
When term finished, Gertie would finish school and start at the factory alongside Essie. Ma had agreed to Gertie’s weekly pay and start date in writing with Mrs Ruben, despite Essie’s protestations that Gertie should stay at school until at least the end of the year.
‘And how would we be paying for that, Essie?’ Ma had snapped.
Essie shifted her weight on her knees as she leaned across the desk to help a little boy remember his alphabet.
When Essie had approached her manager to request an afternoon off so she could assist at the school, Mrs Ruben had been initially reluctant. ‘I’ll be having to dock your pay.’ But when Essie suggested that Mrs Ruben instead pay Essie a little extra to cover her sisters’ schooling, Mrs Ruben bristled. ‘This factory is not a charity, young lady. I’ll thank you for not taking advantage of my good nature.’ She did, however, agree to the afternoon off.
Still, Essie couldn’t help thinking that this small concession would not be shared with Mr Ruben. Mrs Ruben was a battleaxe to be sure, but she looked after her workers in her own way. Last week, Bridget had found a large remnant of wool felt folded and tucked into her basket. When Bridget asked Mrs Ruben about it, she was batted away with a stiff, ‘It was going to be tossed out, so it might as well be fashioned into a baby’s blanket.’
And so it came to be that Essie had agreed to help Miss Barnes with reading and writing on Friday afternoons in the classroom as part-payment for the girls’ tuition.
‘H,’ said Essie softly as the boy nodded and started to scratch the letter with a flourish, trying not to smudge his chalk across the slate.
‘Can you think of three words that begin with an H, Jack?’
He scratched his head and his legs jittered so hard they hit the desk.
‘’Istory, miss. And ’orrible—like my dad.’ He looked around the room sheepishly in case the teacher had heard. But there was no need as Miss Barnes had moved to a different room.
‘One more,’ coaxed Essie.
‘’Appy.’ He gave her a gap-toothed grin. ‘Like you, miss. You always wear your best smile in here. Not like Mr Morton,’ he whispered in a conspiratorial voice before starting to scratch out a row of wobbly I’s.
‘Ah, well.’ Essie patted his back as she stood up. ‘Thank you, Master Wainwright. You are most kind,’ she said in a mock-official voice.
The boy giggled and Essie gave him a wistful smile. She wished she could keep him at this desk farting, smudging his chalk and scrawling illegible letters forever. Instead, he’d be turning eleven soon enough and labouring down at the docks with his four older brothers.