Once, Essie recalled, he’d cried her name in ecstasy. She thought she might split apart. Her dashing beau had become a cruel stranger.
Unreliable. Unpredictable. Selfish.
Essie could smell the yeasty brew on his breath. It was the drink that made people sour and bitter.
With that smell came the realisation of the ugliness that lay ahead if she were to stay in London. She recalled their high teas taken in shadowy corners, the hats lifted in the street as she was hastily ushered past ladies and gentlemen in expensive silk suits and dresses, never introduced. Edward would never be proud to be seen with Essie. And who could blame him? Essie’s own cheeks burned with shame on the rare occasion she walked with her dishevelled mother to school, or the greengrocer, or to church.
It was time for Essie to end this pattern of shame.
Edward started to talk. ‘When you get to Boston, you can sell the ring—’
‘Stop.’ Essie held up her palm. She didn’t want to hear his instructions. She was finished with following everyone else’s rules.
All her life she’d imagined that, if only she kept to the rules, one day there would be a space for her. A warm bath, buttercup curtains. A clean, happy home filled with enough food for a loving family. Gertie would finish school and it would be the proudest moment of Essie’s life.
But Ma had been right all along. A lifetime of factory work, ragged clothes and dealing with the self-serving likes of Father McGuire and Mr Morton lay ahead. Essie’s life would be no different to the life her mother had.
Essie wanted to keep her baby, but how? The child growing inside her deserved more. She didn’t want to bring this baby into her world of despair, decay and death.
She wouldn’t.
Essie turned on her heel and started to walk away.
‘Essie! Wait!’ cried an indignant Edward as he grabbed her by the wrist. ‘I just gave you a diamond ring. You could at least say goodbye.’
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘Essie!’ She swore she could hear her name being called as if from a distance, but it was probably just the drizzle and hiss of the wind. She was imagining it, just like she’d imagined the little faces of the twins …
Several people eyed the pair with curiosity as they scurried past in the rain, but they pursed their lips as they saw Essie’s muddy skirt and old boots. Who cared what business this handsome man had with the bedraggled girl? She didn’t warrant stopping and making a fuss.
‘Let go!’
Edward dragged her into the shadows around the corner, away from prying eyes. ‘Essie, you need to understand how sorry I am. It’s not my fault!’
She refused to meet the coward’s eyes.
He grasped her chin, trying to force her to look up at him. ‘I need to hear you say you understand.’
‘I understand alright—you’re a coward,’ she hissed through gritted teeth as she tried to wrest herself from his grip. ‘Now let go of me.’
‘Calm down. You’re making a scene.’
Essie’s chin started to throb and she winced.
Hooves thudded on cobblestones, a motor honked as a dray skidded into the gutter. Her chest thumped as the horse whinnied and tossed its head as it was yanked sideways by the out-of-control tilting dray.
‘She said to let go!’ All at once Gertie flew out of the mist with wild eyes and lunged at Edward, pushing him away from her sister with both hands.
Edward toppled backwards on one foot, left leg flying and arms flapping as he tried to regain his balance. Gertie grabbed Essie by the elbow and whispered, ‘Quickly,’ as they ran towards the pale-faced Mr and Mrs Yarwood who stood by a nearby lamp-post.
For the rest of her life, Essie would never forget the horror on her neighbours’ faces, the crack of bone on cobblestones, and the splatter as the metal wheel of the dray made contact.
Chapter 25
KATE
LONDON, PRESENT DAY
The Serpentine Gallery stood neat and proud in the heart of Kensington Gardens. Manicured lawns stretched in every direction, and the classical lines still felt more teahouse than art gallery. Crowds milled about, turning their faces to the morning sun like sunflowers.
Bella greeted her in the foyer. ‘London’s turning it on, isn’t she?’
‘And I thought Bostonians were obsessed with the weather!’
Bella laughed and slipped her arm through Kate’s as they entered the gallery. ‘It was only when Mum went through all the stuff in the attic that she found out Gertrude had been painting and sketching for years. Plus there were her diaries from when she was a girl.’
They’d wandered along the corridor to the final, well-lit room. As they stepped through the doorway, Kate stopped, arrested by the sight of a huge canvas of a female nude with her back to the viewer. The woman was painted the deep cornflower blue of a sapphire.
Kate glanced at the painting as her phone pinged. She pulled it from her pocket to check the message.
Sorry I haven’t been able to catch you to chat. Hope you enjoyed Paris. Shows insane. Will try tonight. Miss you, Marcus xx
The tone was breezy—typical Marcus—but the last few words made her shiver. Miss you.
Bella gave Kate a quizzical look. ‘You are somewhere else today … Look! That painting is the exact shade of your earrings.’
‘Blue was always Essie’s favourite colour. Mine too. I think that’s why she gave me these.’
‘Clearly the sisters shared the same taste. I mean—’ Bella waved her arm at the far wall, where the same nude figure lay curled asleep in one picture, and leaped across a river—a lake?—in another. As Kate drew closer, she saw faint lines across the bodies, like facets, as if they were made not of flesh, but gemstones.
‘These are remarkable. The figures are so sensual; they seem to have the lustre of gemstones.’
‘I thought these would appeal to you.’ Bella nodded. ‘But apparently the only jewels Gertie ever wore were her gold wedding band, a pair of pearl earrings and this pendant.’
They walked along, studying the canvases, until they came to a break on the wall. The museum had placed a series of black decals as quotes, perhaps to give the visitor a moment to pause and reflect as they went through the exhibition.
Sapphires possess a beauty like that of the heavenly throne; they denote … those whose lives shine with their good deeds and virtue.
Marbodius of Rennes (11th-century bishop and poet)
Kate thought of Essie raising funds for libraries for public schools, establishing college scholarships and her endless campaigning for free women’s health centres. Back in London, her younger sister Gertrude had been doing the same type of thing: campaigning for women’s rights, opening refuge centres.
Two women, two cities.
Kate looked at the gold button pendant peeping from under Bella’s silk shirt. There were no definitive answers about the button. No leads, only speculation. But if Kate could prove Gertrude’s button was a Cheapside jewel, it belonged at the museum. Yet it also belonged with Bella.
Not everything in life is black and white.
At their allocated time to examine the diaries, Bella and Kate made their way into a private reading room and were seated at a mahogany table. A prim assistant in a button-down shirt and cardigan entered carrying a stout oak box and placed it on the table. With a flourish, he produced a giant Victorian iron key from a keychain on his belt, unlocked the box, flicked back the gold clasps and lifted the heavy lid. The release of pressure made it sound like the old oak box was sighing. Bella raised her eyebrows and covered her mouth to stifle a giggle at this theatrical gesture.