The Lost Jewels - Kirsty Manning Page 0,82

to intrude …’

His ruddy face paled when Aurelia’s mother bustled down the passage towards them, her belly straining against the apron.

‘What’s all this fuss and—Mr Jenk! What are you … ? Oh!’ Mama swayed on her feet. Aurelia and Mr Jenk both leaped forwards to steady her. Together they guided her into the parlour and helped her into a chair.

No-one spoke for several seconds.

In Mr Jenk’s tight lips and averted eyes Aurelia read the news he couldn’t bear to utter.

‘When?’ Mama’s voice was hoarse.

‘A little over a fortnight ago,’ Mr Jenk replied softly. ‘He contracted a fever. It was very sudden.’ He gestured to a chair. ‘May I?’

‘Of course,’ said Aurelia, though she was barely aware of saying it—her mind had gone suddenly and completely blank.

‘I’m sorry,’ the apprentice said, his voice cracking. ‘He talked of you constantly. He was so looking forward to seeing the new babe when it was born.’ He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe his employer was dead.

‘I brought you this.’ He unbuckled his satchel, pulled out a scroll and a letter and handed them to Aurelia’s mother.

Mama unrolled the scroll. The document was in Dutch, Aurelia saw, but she recognised the official seal of the Amsterdam Goldsmiths Gilde and her father’s name.

The accompanying letter had been written in English by Master Goldsmith de Jong. It was a recommendation that the guild admit Papa—now Master Goldsmith—into the Ordinances of the Goldsmiths’ Company.

As her Mama covered her mouth with a hand to stifle a sob, Aurelia felt a fleeting elation. At last, her father—the best goldsmith and jeweller in London—would be recognised as a master. But the feeling vanished and her chest tightened as she realised it meant nothing.

Papa was dead. His magnificent work—the gold chains, the rings—would never be granted his assay and touch. His pieces buried downstairs in the cellar would remain unmarked.

As her mother covered her face with her hands and wept, Mr Jenk shifted his gaze to Aurelia. ‘He asked that I give this to you.’ Reaching into his satchel once more, he withdrew a small leather pouch.

With a heavy heart, Aurelia took it and loosened the string. Then she tipped the contents into her palm.

It was a champlevé ring set with the finest of table-cut diamonds.

‘He said it was for your marriage,’ Mr Jenk said sombrely. ‘This is his masterpiece.’

Chapter 27

ESSIE

LONDON, 1912

‘Was there anything else?’ Mr Lawrence frowned, as if trying to make a decision.

Essie and Gertie stood before the desk in his shop, shivering, wet and frightened. They’d presented the antiquarian with the jewelled button Freddie had gifted Gertie all those months before.

Essie swallowed, then reached into her pocket for the black and white diamond ring Edward had given her.

Mr Lawrence’s face lit up as he took the ring up between his thumb and forefinger. The gemstone glinted in the light, and he used his eyepiece to study the diamond.

‘Remarkable! Very clear. Must be almost four carats.’

Gertie and Essie exchanged a hopeful look.

Mr Lawrence continued, ‘The faceting is exquisite. See these corners here? They’ve been chipped with a scorper.’

The girls must have looked confused, because he explained, ‘A scorper is a tiny chisel. They use it when the stone is set, to give it that extra sparkle. This one in particular has a slight angle. See?’

He held a pencil up and pointed to each side of the diamond, where there was indeed an extra facet. ‘But this is rather beautiful.’ Now he was examining the black-painted enamel flowers and florets on the hoop. ‘Champlevé. See the pansies and forget-me-nots dancing around the base? Love and death. Was this originally made for a mourning ring, or a betrothal, I wonder?’

The ring was suspended in a shaft of light coming in through the shop window. As he swivelled it to examine the ring from every angle, the black flowers looked fluid, like ink dropped into water.

Essie felt dizzy and nauseous. She swallowed and remained expressionless. This ring was a transaction. It meant nothing to her. Yet she was mesmerised by the patterns. The diamond. She’d not permitted herself to slide it onto her finger. Not once.

‘I take it you wish to sell?’

Essie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘And it’s from the same place?’

‘I … don’t know.’ As she said these words, she realised this ring had never been intended for her. This exquisite ring was intended for another woman’s hand. Edward had not chosen this for her, nor had it made with love. There was no care behind it