stay, I mean?’
Kate hesitated.
She was anxious about her growing feelings for Marcus. He was more than just a shiny distraction for her and Kate worried about being hurt. She wasn’t sure she had the strength for it.
‘Kate?’ His voice was softer now.
She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, please come. I’ll be here.’ She was giddy with the thought of seeing him—touching him again.
‘Fantastic!’
When she hung up, she realised she hadn’t thanked Marcus for sending the images of the ring. She zoomed in on the diamond ring yet again …
Then she gasped, peering at it. Was she seeing things, or was there a faint script engraved into the inside of the gold band?
She’d missed it at the museum; the curatorial staff too; the human eye could only pick up so much with a hand-held loupe. Even now, with the ring magnified a hundred times, it looked like the merest scratch. It was so delicate; the engraver would have had to have worked with a diamond tip and beat a tiny hammer into the curve of soft gold.
I GEVE ZOU VIS IN LUIF AURELIAE
Kate read the words aloud and they echoed around her study. ‘I give you this in love, Aurelia.’
And just like that, she felt the words start to flow. She started to type the final section of her article:
The Champléve Ring
There is no greater symbol of love—of commitment—than the finger ring. It was the Greeks who developed these tokens of love and the Romans quickly added their own charm, with secret inscriptions inspired by Ovid quickly becoming the norm …
Kate’s fingers flew over the keyboard, describing the forget-me-nots and pansies, quoting Madame Parsons and detailing the craftsmanship and risk it took to produce a black and white enamel ring that would fit on a small finger. She wrote about London’s talented goldsmiths in the seventeenth century, and the trail of trauma—war, plague and fire—that soured the history books. Stories of grief, betrayal and death that brought London and her subjects to their knees time and time again.
This Golconda diamond ring had endured it all.
Kate gulped the last of her white wine and banged out her final line.
This ring was made for a woman named Aurelia, and she was loved.
Chapter 29
ESSIE
LONDON, 1912
Essie stood at the ticket counter at Paddington Station, Gertie pressed close beside her.
They were surrounded by noise and movement: whistling locomotives, guards yelling for tickets, the hiss of steam. Excited children circled their parents, tired workers looked for a place to rest their feet. The clatter and chaos of London’s streets was condensed, echoing under the wrought-iron fretwork that arched over the platforms.
‘Two second-class tickets to Cheltenham Spa, please.’
Essie counted out the coins carefully as Gertie watched, wide-eyed.
These tickets would be the last of the extravagances. She had two boiled eggs and a thick slice of bread wrapped in a handkerchief in her apron pocket for the five-hour train trip. Miss Barnes had written that their destination was a twenty-minute walk from the Cheltenham Spa station.
‘A spa!’ Gertie whispered as the stationmaster handed over their tickets. ‘Are we leaving London? No wonder you made me wear my Sunday dress.’
Did Gertie think they were going on a holiday to the seaside? There would be time enough to explain once they were on the train. Mrs Yarwood had brought The Times over that morning to show Essie, her face downcast. ‘I’m so sorry, love. They’ll be looking for you. Maybe it’s for the best that you leave London …’ She’d sobbed as she clasped Essie to her bosom. ‘I just worry about you travelling alone,’ she leaned in close so only Essie could hear, ‘what with your condition …’
Essie had had to stop herself crying with gratitude as she clasped both Mrs Yarwood’s hands between her rough palms. Ma had seemed to think it was only proper Essie sail for Boston—to save her the embarrassment of explaining her daughter’s condition to Father McGuire.
Essie hadn’t breathed a word about her plans to Gertie. Only Miss Barnes and the Yarwoods knew. She hadn’t been sure she’d be able to see her plan through until they had seen Mr Lawrence. It would have been cruel to get her sister’s hopes up only to have them dashed if Essie couldn’t come up with the money.
The huge clock on the station wall chimed and Essie grabbed Gertie’s hand and started to run towards the platform.
‘Hurry, Gertie.’
Gertie ran beside her, notebook clutched to her chest. They mustn’t miss this train. It would ruin—
A man in a bowler