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Back The Dazzle of the Light Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Praise for Georgina Clarke
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. Historical Note
  52. Acknowledgements
  53. Also by Georgina Clarke
  54. About the Author
  55. Copyright

‘And Harriet, I meant what I said. Stay away from Lazenby.’

She returns to her desk.

Peter Lazenby had been nothing but politeness to her. He was Ralph’s friend; they had fought together in France – been through hell together, he had said.

Despite her assurances to Jimmy about keeping quiet, she must surely talk to Ralph.

37

37

Tuesday morning

Ruby bangs on Daisy’s door for the fifth time. It rattles on its hinges, but no one answers.

‘She ain’t in!’ a voice pipes up from somewhere behind a window of one of the dilapidated homes on this most dismal street. ‘I saw her go out at first light.’

Ruby squints up at the houses. It is not much beyond first light even now, and they are all still in shadow. She cannot tell which window the voice has come from. News has not yet reached this part of the Borough that she is back with the Forties. No one is supposed to be speaking to her – on Annie’s orders. The woman shouting will not reveal herself.

Someone has risked their own skin for her, and she is grateful for the kindness, even though she had already concluded that Daisy was not at home.

She leaves a small bag of aniseed balls on the doorstep, pushing them as close to the edge of the door as possible, knowing that, in all probability, some light-fingered child will have taken them before Daisy returns home. The doorstep is still thick with dust.

At least if Daisy’s out, she’s not on a mattress upstairs. Ruby imagines her buying food or a packet of tea, over the river, perhaps. She hopes that’s what Daisy is doing. She straightens up and stares, for a moment, down the empty street, knowing that everyone will be watching her from behind their ragged curtains. She walks slowly, swinging her hips and holding her head high, back to Solly’s.

There are jewels to be set after all, and Solly is keen to make an early start.

Solomon Palmer leans over the kitchen table, his eyeglass glued to his socket. He picks up a small piece of green glass with his finest-tipped pliers and drops it into the claw of the ring.

Ruby watches him as he folds the fingers of the claw into place. She always loves observing his work. He will pay as much attention to a chip of glass – setting it exactly right – as he will to a real emerald. He sits back in his seat for a moment and wrinkles his nose, examining the result.

‘Not bad.’

‘You’re a master, Solly. It’s exactly what I saw.’ It won’t fool any jeweller who might examine it closely, but it only has to fool one particular jeweller for the length of time Ruby is still in the shop. Even so, Solly is a craftsman who takes pride in his work.