The Lost Jewels

by Kirsty Manning

  “He’s praying for their souls,” hissed Essie with a sharp look to quell her sister. “Now, hush, otherwise he might stop. The twins’ poor souls will be stuck in this freezing church forever.”

  Essie didn’t blame Gertie—she shared her anger. Eyeing the stained-glass windows filled with lightning bolts, crosses, and other reminders of God’s wrath, Essie wished she had a rock to shatter them. What business did such a vengeful God have with Maggie and Flora?

  Father McGuire glared at Essie from the pulpit. Gertie squeezed her hand. Mrs. Yarwood pressed her handkerchief into each eye, and Mr. Yarwood leaned forward with his head bowed. Ma sat sniffing, tattered skirts pooled around her hips.

  It was the worst day of Essie’s life.

  Chapter 21

  Essie met Edward at their usual meeting spot at the corner of Hyde Park, as they had arranged the previous Saturday. Essie had wanted to send a letter to cancel. Her heart was too broken. She missed the twins, and her head was churning with rage. What could she do for Gertie to make things better? How could Gertie finish school so her life wasn’t wasted too? She’d thought about forging Ma’s signature on the permission papers to take the entry exams for Miss Barnes, but she couldn’t just sneak her sister into a different school.

  It had been Gertie who had put her hand on Essie’s wrist and insisted she go. “I know you’ve not been going to Mrs. Ruben’s on Saturdays.”

  Essie looked up, surprised. Her cheeks started to burn.

  “For one thing, nobody sings because they are going to work for an extra day.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . there’s always a glow to your cheeks when you get home. And no factory smell on your skin. Last time you smelled of cut grass and strawberries.” Gertie gave her a knowing look. “I don’t s’pose there’s either of those in the factory. I guess I’ll find out soon enough when I start work there.”

  “Stop! I won’t let that happen.”

  “Es, you need to stop trying to fix us all.” She reached out and took Essie’s hand and whispered sadly, “There’s no point . . .”

  “Stop saying that! I couldn’t save Flora and Maggie”—bile started to burn the back of her throat as her stomach roiled—“but it’s still possible for—”

  Gertie pulled away abruptly and covered her face with her hands. Her body shuddered as she started to sob.

  Essie touched Gertie’s shoulder. Their grief for the twins sat heavy in their bones. If Essie let it, it would drag them both under. She looked at Ma, snoring in their only good sitting chair—sleeping off last night’s bottle of whisky. Freddie had only just arrived home this morning. They had not seen him since the funeral earlier in the week.

  “I’ve been meeting Mr. Hepplestone—Edward”—she blushed— “since our excursion to the Observatory. We walk in Hyde Park, go to the pictures. Sometimes we even have tea . . .”

  Gertie’s mouth twitched and she half smiled. “I’m pleased for you, Es.” She grabbed her older sister’s hand. “You deserve more.” She shook her head at their ma, still asleep slumped in the chair.

  “Edward’s bought a flat in Mayfair,” blurted Essie. “He wants to show me. We’re going there this afternoon, straight after our usual walk in Hyde Park.” She stopped, guilt stuck like a stone in her throat.

  She’d imagined, hoped, that maybe if Edward was as sweet on her as he seemed that there might be a future for them. A future with fresh sheets smelling of lavender, their own bedrooms with a desk for Gertie, and a yellow kitchen full of slow-roasting beef and apple pie, just like the Yarwoods’. And surely it meant something that he was taking her to see his new flat. Perhaps he, too, was imagining that one day they might live in it together . . .

  * * *

  Edward closed the heavy wooden door to his apartment, and Essie’s heart skipped a beat. They were alone for the first time that day.

  Freddie had insisted on accompanying Essie.

  Just as she’d been about to leave, Freddie had come in from the yard, where he’d been fixing the chicken coop, and said, “Wait, I’ll be coming with you, Es.” His eyes softened as he touched Essie on the shoulder. “I know you’ve been walking out a bit with Edward Hepplestone. Danny told me he’d seen you around.” His dark eyes shone with hurt. “He was worried I wasn’t looking out for you, what with all that’s happened and me being . . . away.”

  Yet as soon as they reached the grand wooden door of Edward’s apartment building, Freddie looked down at his hand-stitched felt pants and dusty shoes and quickly excused himself. “Gotta go meet some of the lads down the road,” he muttered.

  So Essie and Edward would be alone in Edward’s new apartment for as long as it took Freddie to drink his pint down the road—and maybe a second and third, if darts went his way. She couldn’t blame her brother for his reluctance to step into his boss’s fancy new digs. He dreamed of getting his own two-up two-down with Rosie Jones one day . . . but his loyalty to Ma, Essie, and the girls meant there was nothing put aside for savings.

  Edward pulled the security chain across the door and tucked the key into his waistcoat. Then he took Essie by the hand and led her down the wide hall and into a large empty room with duck-egg blue silk wallpaper. A chandelier dangled from a golden ceiling rose, and she gasped.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “This blue is my favorite.”

  “I know. I remember.” He smiled and held her gaze for a beat. “What do you think of the view?”

  She stepped across to the bay window and saw London outside—but not the London she was used to. This was a London of sleek black motorcars, of elegant women in stylish coats with fur cuffs and men in bowler hats.

  Essie’s stomach fluttered, and for the first time since the twins had died she felt aglow with happiness. Was it possible that she could live in this London—and bring her family with her? Though she still hadn’t met Edward’s family, she recalled. She wanted to ask when his sister would be home from Switzerland, and when she might be introduced to his parents, but she didn’t know how to without seeming pushy or forward.

  Edward, meanwhile, was eager to continue the tour, leading her through the master bedroom and a luxuriously appointed bathroom with claw-foot bath, gold taps, and hot running water, before pointing out the two smaller bedrooms at the back.

  “I plan to move in a couple of months,” he said proudly. He put his arms around her and gave her a squeeze. “But before I do, there are some opportunities in Boston for my family’s company. I’m sailing over for business. I could even end up living there someday.”

  “You mean you might be moving to Boston?” Essie’s chest tightened and her cheeks started to burn—it had been silly of her to imagine they had a future together. Ludicrous.

  “In time, perhaps.” He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  “When do you sail?”

  “Tomorrow. But before I go, I have something for you—so you don’t forget me while I’m gone.” Then he added softly, “I’ll be coming back for you, I promise.”

  Edward reached into his pocket and pulled out his purse. Hooked onto its end, like a shepherd’s crook, was a tiny silver hairpin studded with turquoise stones at the top of the hook.

  As Edward unhooked it, she moved forward for a closer look.

  “It’s a bodkin!” she exclaimed. “I’ve seen ladies who come to the factory wearing them in their hair. Mrs. Ruben’s best customer has one with diamonds. She let me hold it last week.” Her eyes widened. “Can you imagine?”

  “Well . . .”

  Essie stilled. Edward had been responsible for the Cheapside site. Freddie had said there was an unspoken agreement between the lads to divvy some of the spoils between them, instead of handing them over to Edward. But what if Edward also kept some jewels? She eyed the bodkin. Did he pay for this apartment with his wages, an inheritance, or with stolen jewelry? Essie shook the shadows of uncertainty from her head, telling herself the Hepplestones were people of means. Respectable. She chided herself fo
r thinking otherwise as she ran her hands across the wall and felt the ripple of silk . . .

  “This is for you.”

  He stepped closer now and slid the hairpin into her hair. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Like you.” He tipped his head to the side, those green eyes asking only one question.

  Essie knew she shouldn’t, but against her better judgment she stood on her toes and kissed him. His lips tasted of cherry syrup. They drew away from each other for a beat, and then kissed again with greater confidence. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her onto the table. Her heart raced and her breath was ragged as his fingers caressed her cheeks, her hair, her neck.

  Slowly, Edward unlaced her boots and let them each drop to the floor with a thunk. Then he stood and placed both hands on her shoulders, eyes burning into hers.

  He promised.

  Her throat was dry. Her heart thumped, and she longed to lift her legs and wrap them around Edward’s waist, to lose herself in this strange sensation of heat and desire that made her limbs ache. But she wasn’t sure what to do.

  So she did nothing except sit a little stiffly atop the table, knees primly together.

  Edward started to unbutton her dress quickly, slipping it down so her shoulders were laid bare and creamy in the twilight. He kissed her skin, and his fingers lingered on her shoulders before he traced the line of them.

  “Oh, Essie,” he whispered as he started to feather his fingers down her spine. “You’re so beautiful . . . this skin,” he sighed, and he trailed kisses down her back until her dress was bunched at her waist. Linen scratched against her soft stomach.

  Edward stepped in front of her now, and cupped her breasts with both hands, groaning. Her back arched involuntarily, and suddenly she found herself pulling off his jacket, fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat. He took over, stripping off his waistcoat and shirt and flinging them to the floor.

  They pressed together skin to skin, breathing ragged. She’d opened her legs so he stood between them, and she could feel him pressing into her through the cloth of his trousers.

  She hesitated. What if Freddie . . .

  Edward leaned forward and kissed her deeply. More than anything she wanted him. All of him. She wanted to feel his flesh pressed against her skin . . . to feel alive. Essie was so very tired of feeling lost, sad, and ashamed. Was it so wrong to snatch a moment of joy?

  “Edward . . .” She seized his hand and led it to the warm spot under her skirts, between her legs. He gasped, then fell to his knees, slowly slipping off her drawers. He then slid his tongue up the inside of her thigh, moving higher and higher until he reached the point where her thighs met.

  After that, it all seemed to happen so quickly. She lay down on the table as he unbuckled his belt and unfastened his pants. He leaned into her, feeling first with his fingers, then he thrust himself into her. She bit hard into her hand as the warm sensation she’d been feeling was pricked with sharp pain.

  He stopped, sensing her discomfort. “Sorry . . . I’ll stop. We’ll wait until—”

  But Essie pulled him by the shoulders so his full weight was pressed against her groin and adjusted her hips. The burning sensation softened.

  Essie didn’t want him to stop. Not ever.

  As they moved together she was aware of the light falling across the room, shadows shifting against the crystal chandeliers. Her brown curls rippled across the table like an ocean. Edward buried his nose in her hair and pressed faster and faster until Essie thought she couldn’t stop.

  She sighed. Edward shuddered, then stilled.

  Edward rolled to the side, groaning. “Essie Murphy,” he whispered. “Thank you.” Then he reached across and clasped her hand. They lay together like that for a moment, her head on his chest and his arm wrapped tight around her. He whispered again, so softly that she almost missed it, “I wish you were coming with me to Boston. One day I’ll take you.”

  Another promise. Her heart filled.

  She kissed his chest. “That would be wonderful,” she said. “But what about Gertie? I couldn’t leave her.”

  “Shh.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll take care of it.” And he kissed her again before gently helping her back into her dress.

  “We’d best—”

  “Of course, before Freddie . . .”

  They spoke shyly, glancing at each other and blushing like schoolchildren.

  Essie turned away to pull on her drawers and lace her boots while Edward refastened his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket. She’d just finished fixing her hair when the doorbell rang.

  “It’s Freddie!”

  Edward kissed the top of Essie’s head and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before he walked down the hallway to answer the door.

  “Well, hello, Freddie. Any luck?” Essie could hear Edward’s voice carry down the corridor. It was only when she smoothed her skirt and tucked a curl behind her ear that she realized her lovely hairpin was missing. She quickly checked under the table and scanned the floor.

  Nothing.

  Edward must have removed it from her hair and tucked it away for safekeeping.

  She felt the heat rising to her cheeks as she recalled what had just happened between them.

  No matter, he would return it to her when they saw each other again on his return from Boston. It was only to be a short trip, and then he would be coming back to her, just as he had promised . . .

  * * *

  The door whipped open and Essie’s mother stood framed in the doorway, holding a candle.

  She pulled her shoulders back and stood as if she were a queen. Her hair was neatly swept into a bun, and her green shawl was wrapped around her shoulders to hide her filthy tunic. But the dark rings under her eyes and the spider’s web of red veins across her pasty cheeks and nose betrayed her.

  Essie cringed as Edward held open the door of his motorcar for her to climb out. Freddie had hurried inside some minutes ago, leaving Essie and Edward alone to say goodbye.

  It was kind of Edward to offer to drive her and Freddie home at this late hour. He’d insisted—said he was driving out anyway for a late supper with friends at a new restaurant before he set sail tomorrow. Essie felt threads of hope and confusion twist in her stomach as she pictured him drinking and dining in a posh restaurant with his well-dressed friends. How would she ever fit into that world?

  Essie met her mother’s icy gaze as she stood on the doorstep and brushed her nerves aside. She needed to move quickly to shoo away her mother before she spoke—or, worse, invited Edward inside.

  Her chest tightened with embarrassment and shame. What would her beau think of her if he saw how she lived? Would it make him realize that she didn’t belong with him in his Mayfair flat?

  “You shouldn’t have waited up, Ma.”

  “Well, when your brother came inside alone, I got to wondering what could be keeping you.” Ma narrowed her eyes as she took in Edward’s bespoke striped suit, front-creased trousers, and pale shoes. “And now I see.”

  “Ma’am.” Edward removed his cream Panama hat to reveal a neat part and stepped forward under a streetlamp with his hand outstretched. “Edward Hepplestone. I’m pleased to meet you.” He beamed with the easy confidence of someone who was welcomed wherever he went.

  “Mrs. Murphy,” Ma grunted stiffly. “It’s after ten thirty. And I’ll thank you not to be keeping my daughter outside.” Clementine reached forward and wrapped her fingers around Essie’s wrist, squeezing tightly. “Good evening, Mr. Hepplestone.” She nodded haughtily.

  “Evening, ma’am.” He tipped his hat in farewell. “Esther. I’ll see you—”

  But Essie didn’t get to hear where and when he would next see her, because Ma had whipped her inside and slammed the door.

  “Ma! That was so rude. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

  “Now you listen here, miss.” Ma stepped close, and Essie could smell the gin on her warm breath. “That pretty man with his striped suits and sharp shoes is not for the lik
es of you.”

  Essie felt her neck growing hot. “But—”

  “Those green eyes will get you into trouble.” She poked Essie’s shoulder. “Are you understandin’ me?”

  “But, Ma, he loves—”

  “He loves what’s on offer beneath your skirts, Essie.” She tugged at her daughter’s dress before reaching into her own apron and pulling out a tiny bottle. She removed the lid with shaking hands and took a sip, then sighed with relief.

  When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “Don’t be daft, child. You know what they say: A sea wind changes less often than the mind of a weak man. And weak he is, lass. Those shiny eyes and new suit will be gone as quick as you give him what he’s asking.”

  Essie felt her cheeks redden with rage and humiliation. Her mother was wrong. Tonight was . . .

  She closed her eyes and remembered Edward’s fingertips tracing along the top of her bare shoulders, peeling off her bodice, kissing her back as he unbuttoned her dress.

  She shivered. What she and Edward had was special.

  How could her mother understand? Poverty had made the once-fair Clementine Murphy bruised and broken. But Essie would show her ma it was possible for fortunes to change. For hope to triumph.

  Chapter 22

  Kate

  PARIS, PRESENT DAY

  Kate stood in Cartier’s workshop at the top of a Haussmann building in Rue de la Paix, Paris. The sun streamed through the giant sash windows as she gazed out. Luxury jewelers and fashion boutiques lined the street below, their elegant awnings billowing in the light breeze. Above, identical window boxes spilling over with red and pink flowers were attached to every balcony.

  She smiled, and her stomach grumbled. She’d peeled apart a flaky croissant from a paper bag during her dash from the Opéra metro, but now she wished she’d arrived a little earlier to sit at one of the marble-topped café tables below. She’d have sipped mediocre Parisian coffee while trying to decide between a plain buttery croissant with raspberry jam, or a more decadent almond croissant filled with gooey frangipane.