The Lost Jewels - Kirsty Manning Page 0,80
moment.’ Bella recalled the Marbodius quote they’d seen out in the exhibition: ‘Essie had a life that shone with good deeds and virtue.’
‘I get that, but—’ Kate stopped, remembering the haunted look in Essie’s eyes that day in her study on Kate’s eighteenth birthday. Essie had said she’d made a terrible mistake … and I live with that guilt each and every day. Kate had assumed Essie’s mistake, her regret, was not returning to London. But what if it was the mistake that had forced Essie to flee her home in the first place?
‘There are no answers here,’ Kate said, as she placed the ledger and letters back in the box and closed the lid, deflated.
Bella put her hand on Kate’s forearm. ‘Kate, if there are any dark secrets in Essie’s past—or Gertrude’s—isn’t it better to leave them be? When someone leaves a loved one behind, in my experience it is never because they don’t care. It is perhaps the single most torturous decision they will make in their whole life. In court—and in counselling—it is almost always referred to as a breaking point.’
‘But—’
Bella held up her hand. ‘No buts, Kate. Every single time, the woman feels she had no choice but to walk away. Stay and she might be killed by a partner who beats her. Stay and she might overdose. Stay and she might find herself unable to cope with the demands of a child. A woman very rarely leaves her loved ones in danger.’
‘You’re saying that Essie left Gertrude behind not to start a new life for herself, but so that her sister would have a better life?’
‘Both can be true. See those blurred lines?’ Bella pointed at Kate’s scraps of paper spread across the table. ‘Life’s full of messy edges.’
Following the morning at the Serpentine, Bella had rushed back to chambers and Kate to her hotel room at the Mandarin Oriental.
She’d fallen behind on the Cheapside essay and the magazine’s deadline was next week.
A cold cup of Earl Grey sat on her desk and chocolate liquorice bullets lay in a small pile by her computer—she’d decided to reward herself with a bullet per paragraph. So far the candy pile was barely diminished.
Taking a moment to procrastinate, she googled Edward Hepplestone 1912 and a small notice from The Times appeared on her screen. As she read, she tugged at a curl and made yet another futile attempt to tuck it behind her ear.
26 NOVEMBER 1912
MAN KILLED BY HORSE TRAP AT PICCADILLY CIRCUS
Mr Edward Hepplestone, son of Mr George and Mrs Audrey Hepplestone of Mayfair, was knocked down and killed by a horse and cart at Piccadilly Circus yesterday evening. Police are looking for witnesses and the family have offered a £1000 reward to any persons who come forward with information.
Two women of small build and dark hair were spotted running from the scene, but as yet have not been identified. The investigation is ongoing and police expect charges to be laid.
Chapter 26
KATE
BOSTON, PRESENT DAY
On her first day back in Boston, Kate met Molly and Emma for a bowl of deconstructed lobster bisque at a new bistro overlooking the Charles River. Rowers glided past in neat pairs, battling the fine misty rain and sharp wind sending ripples across the river.
The sisters first caught up on Molly’s news; she was coming up for partnership in the fall, and she and Jessica had plans for their new kitchen. Jess wanted pale blue, Molly wanted charcoal and stainless steel.
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Kate asked with a chuckle.
As the wine was poured, Kate produced the envelopes of Essie’s—Gertrude’s—sketches. She pulled the sketch of the button to the top and described how similar it was to Bella’s button, then showed her the photos of the buttons at the Museum of London.
‘Well, the button in the sketch looks the same as the ones in the photos, but this evidence is circumstantial at best. It’d never stack up in court. Have you told Bella?’
‘A little. I showed her the images from the museum, of course.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing! But if we had concrete evidence …’
‘You’d suggest she donate it to the museum? I know you. But no-one can identify who the original owners are, Kate. What’s the point?’
‘I’m not sure. But I want to find out.’
Kate was interrupted by a poke to her thigh.
‘I went to a Dora party,’ said Emma.
Molly laughed, ‘It’s a thing!’ She reached for her wineglass. ‘God help us. How are we into themed parties when they can’t even—’
‘Mommy! I’m talking to