found themselves separated from the others as clowns stomped and juggled between them.
‘May I be honest with you, Miss Murphy?’ said Mr Hepplestone as he stopped walking and turned to face her.
‘Of course,’ said Essie. She was moving into unfamiliar territory and she wasn’t sure how to proceed.
‘I was hoping to bump into you. I overheard Freddie and Danny talking about you helping with the children at Greenwich Observatory today, and so I thought …’ He’d turned a little pink in the sun. He cocked his head sideways, green eyes twinkling and teasing.
Essie’s heart quickened. Could it be true? Had he really motored out to Greenwich just so he could bump into her? More likely it was a coincidence and he was just trying to flatter her … But when she looked from under the brim of her hat, he was still gazing right at her.
They walked down the path, the sun on her face and butterflies floating with the breeze. At the bottom of the hill stood a black Clydesdale, twitching his tail in the sun and eyeing the world from under drooping eyelids. Attached to the horse was a wooden ice-cream cart manned by a smiling fellow with thick black curls, a moustache and a pink candy-striped vest and matching boater.
‘Please?’ said Flora running towards them with a cheeky smile. Maggie was two steps behind. Miss Barnes finished watching the clowns and came to join them.
‘Please?’ echoed Maggie.
Essie knew she should take the two spare pennies she kept in her handkerchief for an emergency home—they would buy enough vegetables for soup for a week. But the closeness of a handsome man standing within reach was a heady distraction. For a moment she almost convinced herself that she could afford to part with her pennies.
Mr Hepplestone said, ‘Actually, I quite fancy one myself. You must let me treat you. I insist.’
The girls rushed ahead to the cart, shrieking, ‘Ice cream!’
‘We have vanilla or strawberry left—no more chocolate,’ the ice-cream seller informed them in a thick Italian accent.
‘Oh, strawberry, please!’ Maggie clapped her hands together.
‘Strawberry it is,’ Mr Hepplestone declared. ‘One cone for each of us, please.’
‘Our own cones?’ Flora looked at Maggie, her eyes wide. Essie thought if the girls’ smiles were any broader their faces might burst.
With their cones in hand, they walked to stand in the shade of a tree. The twins ate their ice cream in a kind of trance then clambered back up the hill to join their classmates.
Meanwhile, Essie, Gertie, Miss Barnes and Mr Hepplestone all sat with their backs against a huge oak tree, taking their time. Essie allowed herself to relax as they spoke about time and astronomy, chance and circumstance, and the changing streets of London. Mr Hepplestone commended Wren on the splendid job he did redesigning St Paul’s and the streets around London after the Great Fire. He prayed the new buildings he was supervising would likewise stand the test of time. As Gertie sketched the skyline, Miss Barnes chatted about the curriculum at her new school and the women who had recently started at St Hilda’s in Oxford. One had decided to read mathematics, another law and a third astronomy. The latter girl had been inspired after an excursion just like this.
Essie eyed the dome of the Observatory, glinting like a jewel in the sunlight.
Miss Barnes stood up and said, ‘If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to take Miss Gertrude here on a tour of the Observatory while the other teacher watches the children.’
‘Do you think they’ll let me look through a telescope?’ asked Gertie eagerly as she leaped to her feet and brushed the grass from her skirt.
‘We’ll see. There’s also a pinhead view of London …’ Miss Barnes threaded her arm through Gertie’s and led her back up the hill towards the red ball.
As Mr Hepplestone chatted amiably, Essie realised that he was not in fact a foreman for the building contractors that employed Freddie. Rather, Edward Hepplestone was a nephew of the firm’s owner, brought in to help manage all the demolition and rebuilding that was taking place across the city.
He made no mention of the treasure they’d unearthed at Cheapside, though Essie knew he had seen it. Instead, he talked about his uncle’s house in Mayfair and the dinners of roast beef with all the trimmings that were a regular Sunday repast. Essie admired the cut of his linen suit—French, judging by the snug lines fitted to his broad shoulders and slim hips. They cut