Harriet bites her lip. Jimmy knows what he is talking about when it comes to writing the news, of course, but she has a story to tell. She was there.

‘May I write something about it, Mr Pickford?’

‘Be my guest. If I like it, I’ll print it. Not today, though.’ He gestures to the reports in front of him. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’

He has returned to the work on his desk and has already forgotten that she is in the room.

She will go home and consider her words carefully and write out some phrases. Then she will submit her typed copy first thing tomorrow morning. She wants to ponder how best to frame the horror and the drama. And to recall the wildness of that girl whose eyes had gleamed with such excitement.

7

7

Wednesday afternoon

Solly Palmer takes the trays of jewels from Billy and lays them out on his counter.

‘Lock the door, Ruby, there’s a good girl,’ he says in his gravel voice, without looking up.

Ruby draws the bolt across the top of the door. She used to have to stand on tiptoe to reach it, but not these days. She turns the sign to closed, pulls down the flimsy blind and keeps guard.

Solomon Palmer is a respectable jeweller in one of the smarter streets south of the river. He’s been operating here for years. The people who buy his goods are hardworking folk looking for their own work of art – something classy, but without the West End price attached, no questions asked. Everyone knows that Solly will do you a good deal: help you pay for your wedding ring over a couple of months, that sort of thing. He has a reputation for honesty – useful for a fence – that he is keen to protect, especially whenever the police come to sniff around. He looks the part in a well-cut grey suit and waistcoat, clean shirt and silk tie, carefully knotted and sitting straight.

In Solly’s shop there are glass display cases on every wall, containing the better items: necklaces dangling from hooks and stands, rings stacked in blue velvet trays and bracelets laid out to show off every gemstone and every gilded link. For those on slender means, there is a wooden box on a table by the window, full of brass wedding rings – any size you want – and paste brooches, popular with the factory girls with big dreams and no money. The shop is like a miniature palace, glittering and twinkling with gold and jewels reflected in fancy mirrors.

He straightens each of the newly delivered rings carefully and examines them under the lamp, his glass held right up to his eye.

Billy peers into the cabinets, hands in pockets, restless.