at all. He’d picked it up out of the dirt and passed it on. Silly of her to place faith in something plucked from rubbish, even for a moment.
Essie looked across at Gertie, patted the steamer ticket in her pocket and knew exactly what she had to do. They’d both be leaving London tonight.
Mr Lawrence placed the ring back on the desktop and pushed his chair out from the desk. He left the room via a small door set into the bookshelf and he could be heard moving around in the next room.
Gertie raised an eyebrow and took herself across to the shelf to study the new additions. A leather sandal, a bronze dagger that had seen better days and some cut-glass vases.
When the antiquarian returned, he held a thick cream envelope in his hand. The ring and the button sat glistening on the desk in front of him.
‘Here is your payment. I trust you feel this is a fair price.’
Gertie gasped when she read the huge amount written on the envelope and Essie’s hand involuntarily moved to her stomach.
Mr Lawrence narrowed his eyes a fraction, but said nothing.
‘Thank you, sir,’ they said in unison as he handed Essie the envelope. She felt the smoothness of the paper before she slipped it into her pocket. It seemed awkward to count the notes in front of him. She’d do it as soon as they stepped outside.
Mr Lawrence said gently, ‘I believe our business here is done, ladies. Thank you most kindly for thinking of me. I trust you’ll mention it to any of your friends, should they find anything of interest.’ He tapped the side of his nose and winked.
Essie nodded. ‘Goodbye, Mr Lawrence. Thank you.’
The antiquarian must have caught the note of finality in Essie’s voice and he held her gaze—and hand—for a beat too long. His eyes moved from her reddening cheeks to her swelling bosom and thickening waist.
A jolt of recognition, though not pity. He knew. He understood.
Mr Lawrence released Essie’s hand and stepped back. He reached for the button on the desk and handed it back to Gertie. ‘You may not wear it in your neckpiece ruff like Queen Elizabeth and her consorts, or on a velvet gown to a ball, but I hope it brings you luck. Every artist needs a talisman, no?’
‘Sir! Mr Lawrence, we can’t accept—’ Essie stepped forwards to protest.
‘Nonsense!’ He gave a slight wave as he coughed again. ‘Quite the clump of clay your boys found.’
Gertie accepted the button, held it up to the light and watched the rainbow hit a sliver of uncovered wall. ‘Thank you, Mr Lawrence,’ she said as if in a trance.
Tears filled Essie’s eyes, and she tried to swallow. She was too scared to speak, lest a torrent of sadness, gratitude and heartbreak spill from her. If she let it out, she might never be able to contain it.
‘I … we … can’t …’ Unable to finish the sentence, she shook her head.
‘The button is yours,’ the antiquarian said to Gertie. ‘I insist. My mother once told me that every lass should have a little something sewn into the hem of her skirts.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Gertie.
‘Goodbye, Mr Lawrence,’ Essie repeated and she ushered her sister towards the door.
She and Gertie stepped out onto the street, but instead of retracing their steps along West Hill, Essie directed Gertie to the nearest underground station. If Essie’s plan was going to work, they had to leave London that night.
THE GREAT FIRE
THE CHEAPE SIDE, LONDON, 1666
Outside, the fire that had blazed across London for days continued to burn, but in the cellar the air was damp and cool as Aurelia began to dig. She’d promised Papa she would look after her mother and brother, but for that she would need his stock.
A gust of wind slammed the cellar door, sealing her in silky darkness. And still she kept on digging.
She didn’t notice that, above her, the house had started to burn until it was too late. A flaming joist fell and pinned her to the floor. Her back cracked loudly as she landed. Red and blue flames danced a duet along the wooden beam and licked her skirts.
Aurelia watched the flames merge and twirl, reminding her of the life and fire in the treasures buried in the dirt below.
She’d wanted to make Papa proud—to keep her promise to look after Mama and Samuel.
Her stockings were ablaze and the thick air turned musky and bitter. She screamed as the fire reached