The Lost Jewels - Kirsty Manning Page 0,51

them a little squarer at the Rubens’ factory. Essie tucked her hands under her skirts. Sitting here in the park it was almost as if she and Edward had everything in common, but then the cut of his suit and her work-roughened hands reminded her otherwise.

Time seemed to drift with the haze of the afternoon, and Essie was surprised when Miss Barnes, returning with a flushed Gertie, pulled her pocket-watch from her skirts and exclaimed, ‘Goodness! We’ve been gone for two hours. Hopefully Mr Morton and Father McGuire have enjoyed their annual lunch at the naval barracks and won’t have noticed us missing.’

Essie realised from Miss Barnes’s tone that the outing to Greenwich wasn’t about the headmaster and priest spending time with the children in their care. The excursion gave them the respectable veneer of doing their charitable duty.

Essie looked up to where some of the older girls were packing blankets into wicker hampers as the children—Flora and Maggie included—rolled and tumbled down the steep hill behind them.

‘We were told to meet them at the pier at half past four. We’d best be moving.’ Miss Barnes shot Essie an apologetic look. ‘Come, Gertie. Help me gather the children and pack up the last of the things.’ She ushered Gertie up the hill and out of earshot.

‘I’m sorry—I’ve kept you all afternoon,’ said Mr Hepplestone. But the glint in his eye suggested he was anything but sorry. Or was she imagining it?

Essie had an image of her mother lying with her face covered in mud, chickens clucking on her belly, desperately warning Essie against handsome men like this Mr Hepplestone. His immaculate suit and carefree smile should be causes for suspicion. But Essie was intrigued. She envied his ease in the world.

She and Mr Hepplestone walked the same streets of London, but it felt as if they existed in different times, different meridians. He could not imagine the dirt floor and copper tub she went home to, but Essie had snatched a glimpse of his world; it was there in the Fortnum & Mason window, in the expensive suits and shirts she sewed every day, in the glimpse of a French heel under silk skirts as it disappeared into a leather-lined automobile or marched among the crowd of women at the Monument. She folded these images into her heart, hoping that one day things might be different for her own family.

Mr Hepplestone pulled a gold watch from his jacket, and she thought of the jewels and gemstones unearthed at Cheapside. Emeralds the very colour of Mr Hepplestone’s eyes.

‘I must get back,’ he said. ‘I promised my family I’d dine with them.’

Essie imagined him in a white dinner coat and vest, and shivered. Did he share her reluctance to part company?

‘If I wasn’t already committed, I would offer to drive you and your sisters home,’ he added.

Essie was touched by his sentiment. But the thought of letting this lovely man see where she lived made her feel queasy. She was ashamed of their garden flat. But what made her feel worse was her shame. As if her family were a dirty secret to be hidden.

And yet, Essie thought, Mr Hepplestone must have some idea of their circumstances. Freddie was a navvy, after all. And still he had sought her out. Hope bloomed in her heart, like the first tender shoots of spring. Essie was filled with an urge to reach for Mr Hepplestone’s hand and hold him there for just a few minutes longer and pepper him with questions. She wanted to ask him about the jewels that were dug up … Did he know who they belonged to? About the younger sister he’d mentioned who was finishing her schooling in Switzerland. She wanted to know whether he had ever sailed down the Thames and out to sea, or if he ever dreamed of going?

He stood up and brushed some grass from his pants. Then he held out a hand to help Essie to her feet. His grip was warm and strong and she felt a little dizzy suddenly. It was probably just the heat of the day, she told herself. Or the unaccustomed sweetness of the ice cream.

‘I would like to continue this conversation, Miss Murphy. May I take you to tea next week?’

Essie could think of nothing else but Mr Hepplestone’s invitation as she and Miss Barnes ushered the children onto the steamer ferry. They all sat on slatted seats on the afterdeck, wind whipping their hair about their faces.