before slowly removing her dress and undergarments and kissing his way down to her belly, and all her words melted away.
Epilogue
KATE
BOSTON, PRESENT DAY
Kate sat curled up on her peacock sofa, laptop perched on her gigantic belly. Two cups of hot chocolate steamed on the coffee table on top of an embossed save-the-date notice for a special evening at the Museum of London in six months’ time. The cardboard was so thick Kate had taken to using it as a coaster.
It had been Lucia who had insisted on pushing back the gala until Kate and Marcus might be in a position to travel. She’d even written a note on the back:
Looking forward to seeing you. Might I suggest this would be the perfect location for your next project’s launch?
Over the past eight months Kate’s breath had caught at times, when she and Marcus started to make plans for their future, but Marcus always held her gaze and wrapped his arms around her belly until her breathing steadied. He never tried to brush away her hurt. He cradled her fear, along with her ballooning belly.
‘I understand. I’m here.’ He’d whispered it over and over until her fear was replaced with something new, something … calmer.
The baby grew, along with her excitement—though the dread never dissipated entirely. How could it?
It was Essie who’d shown Kate how to carry a heart full of sorrow and joy.
And just like Essie, Kate started to rearrange her life around those she loved. She’d relished a recent road trip from Los Angeles to Salt Lake City with Liv and Marcus, stopping at the Grand Canyon, where father and daughter rode partway down on mules while Kate had a much-needed massage and mud body scrub. Liv had flown home afterwards, with promises to come back and stay for a month when her new sibling was born. ‘Trust me, I’m the baby whisperer,’ she’d said wryly. ‘Just look how calm my brothers are!’ She’d giggled and Kate couldn’t resist reaching out to give her a grateful hug. She couldn’t wait to be tripping over Liv’s backpack and a corridor full of fermenting travel clothes again soon.
After the baby was born and settled, she and Marcus planned a trip to London to see Bella donate her button pendant back to the museum, then an autumn spent squirreling about in Louisburg Square with Emma, Jessica and Molly, with their rugged-up newborn strapped and snuggled into Marcus’s chest. In the new year Kate would take up a board position with the Old State House and a mentorship program for young historians.
She wiggled her feet and poked Marcus in the thigh with her big toe. ‘I think I’ve just finished the last chapter. Your friend Natalya from J.P. Morgan was super helpful. She tracked down Essie’s receipt and emailed it through. Confirmed J.P. Morgan did indeed buy the gemstones that launched a hundred ships.’ She twisted her sapphires in her ears, relieved that the receipt from J.P. Morgan proved that these earrings were indeed just a gift from a doting husband to his beloved wife.
‘Great.’ Marcus looked over the top of his own laptop and smiled. ‘So can I read the last chapter?’
‘Sure.’ She jumped up, took his laptop and placed it gently on the table, replacing it with her own before snuggling in beside him.
‘You’re seriously going to stare over my shoulder while I read?’
‘Maybe!’
The Cheapside Jewels
A memoir of jewels and family
‘I’ll sit right here and let you read while I drink my hot chocolate.’ She leaned her head against his shoulder as he started to read.
My work as a jewellery historian has taken me deep into tragedies of the past.
But sometimes tracing the stories and the line of a jewel—the light bouncing off a diamond, the hue of an emerald, the floral detail set into champlevé enamel, solder marks on the back of gold buttons—has shown me that, just like jewels, people can be transferred to a new setting and have a different kind of life …
My great-grandmother Essie Kirby wasn’t from wealthy stock. She was an Irish lass who sailed from England to Boston with one suitcase and arrived in America with a clean tunic, starched apron, a spare petticoat, a new husband and a baby in her belly.
We knew the provenance of the baby, my grandfather Joseph—or so we thought.
My great-grandfather, Niall Kirby, was a merchant seaman who made his money in shipping out of Boston. The custom-made sapphire earrings were his gift to Essie on their fiftieth wedding anniversary.
He died quietly in his sleep not long afterwards, with a smile on his face and traces of smoke and his favourite Caribbean rum on his breath. So my family never heard the story of where the sapphires came from—but I suspected from their velvety blue that they were picked up for a song in Sri Lanka back when the Brits called it Ceylon.
My father, Joseph Jr, was a scrap of a child neatly tucked into shirts and long pants at his grandparents’ anniversary dinner. But for as long as I can remember, he loved to spin the tale of how his grandpapa’s eyes sparkled as he handed the earrings to his beloved Essie Rose—the old man’s smooth Irish lilt whispering: ‘Mo stórín.’
My treasure. My love …
‘So?’ Kate studied Marcus’s face, the cup warming both hands as she clenched it a little too tight.
‘So … it’s wonderful. It’s the story of you, Essie and Bella. Who’d have thought a buried bucket of jewels would unearth your own family tale of heartbreak, loss and—’
‘Murder?’ Kate winced. ‘Too much?’
Marcus chuckled and tickled her belly. ‘I was actually going to say love. Unconditional and crazy big-hearted love.’ He kissed her nose, then her lips. He tasted of chocolate, cinnamon and hope.
‘Wait! I just have one more bit to add before I email it off to my publisher.’
Kate put down her cup, elbowed herself upright and grabbed her laptop. She found the title page and typed her dedication:
For Essie, who showed me what to look for.
And Marcus, who helped me find it.