The Lost Jewels - Kirsty Manning Page 0,78

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.

‘You have one hour—and please use the gloves when handling the documents.’

Kate picked up a pair of protective gloves and handed them to Bella, before pulling on the second set. ‘Of course. Thank you.’

The assistant left.

Kate lifted out some letters and diaries then reached for her eyepiece and spread her sketches from Boston across the table in front of her. Bella leaned towards her as she opened an accounting ledger book and saw the girlish script on the front page: Gertrude Murphy.

The letters were catalogued chronologically, the first from Essie dated 1918. Essie told Kate when she was writing her college entrance essay that she’d left London in 1913. Why weren’t there any letters from Essie in the years immediately after she left England?

Dearest Gertie,

I’ve received your monthly letters but I’m sure you’ll understand why I thought it not safe to respond until now. I’m both shocked and proud to hear about your work for the war effort and pray that this madness will be over soon