When Georgina returned to the Weldon Gallery she found Molly alone exploring portraits of Regency era reformers and staring up at large paintings depicting parliaments and reformation committees at work. The tables had already been cleared and lay empty but for their tablecloths and floral centrepieces. A clink of glasses could be heard being carried away down the corridor.
“I’m sorry, that took longer than I thought.” Georgina rested her hand lightly on Molly’s back. “Estelle Oberon insisted on asking me about our work together. I explained briefly about the Wright Community Room and Gallery and of course about Edith’s painting. She was quite clearly fascinated. She wanted to know how long you had worked at the museum and then I realized I didn’t know. And then I got caught with the de Clancys.” Georgina paused to catch her breath. “Sorry—I ran up the stairs. I didn’t mean to neglect you by leaving you so long.”
“That’s really sweet of you,” Molly said with a smile that reassured Georgina all was well. “But there was no need to worry. I have been enjoying the company of kick-arse reformers. Oh, and to answer Mrs. Oberon’s question, I’ve been at the museum about nine months now.”
“Is that all?”
“Yep. I guess I’m the new girl keen to make a good impression.” Molly rolled her eyes.
“Well, if Estelle Oberon’s interest is anything to go by, you have made quite an impression indeed.”
Molly beamed a smile. “She seems lovely.”
“Yes, she is. And kind and generous to boot. The Oberons support a lot of very good causes, particularly surrounding health and education. Estelle in her own right has done a lot of work around supporting young people, particularly from disadvantaged backgrounds, and raising their self-esteem. I’ve done some mentoring as part of one of her campaigns.”
“Really? I love that you’ve done that.” Molly stroked Georgina’s sleeve and she played for a moment with the cuff before catching the tips of Georgina’s fingers. “I love everything about you in fact.”
Georgina’s heart caught at Molly’s words and at the sensation of her fingertips, so warm and soft. “Likewise. Having you by my side tonight, and over the last few months knowing you were there…” An urge to cry choked at Georgina’s throat.
Molly rested her palm briefly on Georgina’s cheek. “I’ve loved every minute of our time together. Really, I have. And as for our research into Edith’s painting, it’s just been so captivating, hasn’t it? And it feels so important. And being here amongst Josephine’s and Edith’s contemporaries, how amazing is this?”
“Yes, it’s awesome.” Georgina looked around the room with its silk wallpapered walls laden with portraits with soft pink faces staring out from the depths of oil paint gloom. “I guess they got bored painting this poor fella.” Georgina stared at a half-finished portrait of a kindly looking old man.
Molly laughed. “That’s William Wilberforce.”
“Really?” Georgina leaned in to look at the plaque next to the painting and read, “Parliamentary leader of the abolition movement. 1759 to 1833. Oh, he died the same year as Josephine and William married.”
“Yes, and I remember reading that he lived just long enough to hear that the Abolition Act of 1833 had gone through.”
“He looks quite a softy. Not exactly the face of an ardent campaigner against slavery.” Georgina leaned in again to finish reading the plaque. “It says that he was well liked. Then I imagine Josephine and Edith would have been in awe of him.”
“Maybe.” Molly tilted her head and frowned.
“You don’t think so?”
“It’s just…do you remember Edith’s logbook?”
“The one with Edith’s passionate entry about painting Josephine?”
“Yes. Well in there was also a rhyme she’d written, maybe a poem or a hymn, I don’t know. I can’t recall the exact title—something about defiance—but it definitely had an angry tone. Anyway, it was about campaigning. I remember it because by the side of it was a cartoon of a man who looked like Wilberforce with the exception of a less than flattering large nose. By the side of the cartoon were the initials WW. It was the piece of evidence that led me to think that Edith could draw.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“According to the rhyme, Edith wasn’t keen on him at all.” Molly tapped the side of the frame. “It makes me question whether the man didn’t quite live up to the figure that history has us remember.”
May 1832
Chambers of Brancaster and Lane Solicitors
“They’re lighting the new lamps this September, on City Walk. The corporation has finally decided. Just imagine—it will be so pretty, the trees lit in the soft glow of lamplight as if Christmas is every day.”
Josephine turned from the window to face Edith. “That’s good news indeed. It will be much safer, one hopes, to enjoy an evening walk.”
“Will you be my guest, Miss Brancaster, on such an auspicious occasion?” Edith took Josephine’s hand and kissed it, finishing the action with a low bow.
Josephine laughed. “I shall be honoured. But now I must work and so, Miss Hewitt, must you.” Josephine released her hand from Edith’s and sat at her desk. She sighed. “I always feel so behind.”
Edith sat on the edge of her desk. “Is this the latest newsletter? What! Brazen-faced!” Edith squeezed her lips together as if the words which forced at her mouth were molten and threatened to burst and spurt with fury. She held out the offending article in front of her.
“Edith. Wilberforce is unwell.” Josephine glanced up from her writing.
Edith stood straight backed and indignant. “But yet he finds the energy in his state of infirmity to mock our efforts and to call us brazen-faced for taking a stand for ourselves. Does he imagine that the progress towards the freedom of slaves is entirely of his achievement? A male conquest.”
“Probably,” Josephine said matter-of-factly.
Edith began to pace around the room. “Well, I will write. No, I will compose a hymn and sing it at the top of my lungs. I will call it ‘Onward Defiance.’ Yes. Its fierce notes of rebuke will carry on the air to London and rest upon ears who will hear and listen and condemn him.”
“I doubt such a man will be condemned, Edith, as history will not remember him as the man of your hymn. It will remember him as the man who ended slavery in the British Empire.”
“You cannot be sure of that. And why are you so easily persuaded to resign yourself to things? You give in as if all things are inevitable.”
“How can you say that? I campaign, I write protests, I have dedicated my life to social justice. I do not just give in.”
“Don’t you?” Edith moved to Josephine. She rested her hand against her neck, leaning forward to place a kiss on her throat. “You give in every day to your fears of what a life lived with me, as us, would mean.”
Josephine sat fixedly in her seat. She closed her eyes. “I will not talk again on this matter. Your delusions are obsessional.”
Edith moved in front of Josephine, kissing at her closed eyelids. “If love is delusional, then I am mad indeed.” Edith tipped her chin to the ceiling and howled like a dog.
“Edith!” Josephine looked urgently at the door. “If you are seeking to provoke me—”
“I am seeking no more than to love you.”
“That is not true though, is it? You have my love. What you seek is a commitment from me that I am unable to give.”
“And that is where you give in.”
“No, it is where my heart breaks.”
Georgina folded her arms. “It’s difficult to know what to trust, isn’t it? At the end of the day, all you have is your instinct.”
“Yes. On the subject of trusting your instinct—a few weeks back now, Fran gave me some research she had done for a previous exhibition some years ago which featured Josephine. It contained a list of Josephine’s writing.”
“Okay.”
“I noticed something a little bit odd, but I’m not sure if it means anything, which is why I haven’t mentioned it before now.”
“But your instinct makes you think it does?”
“Yes. You see, there’s a gap of about two years where Josephine stopped writing completely. She’d been married six months or so by this point. I can’t shake off the sense that something happened that made her stop. And I keep wondering as well if that something also affected Edith. What if by answering this question about Josephine, we get new answers about Edith?”
“Yes, I get that—a new way in. Do you think it was William? Could he have somehow forbade Josephine from writing?”
“Maybe. It’s possible. But then, why fall for someone only to stop them being the person you fell for? What’s more, she started writing again a few years later. I think I need to go back to the records office and have one last look. Just to settle myself.”
“Will you let me know if you find anything?”
“Of course.”
The noise of the staff closing doors outside their gallery prompted Georgina to reluctantly say, “We should go.”
Molly looked at her watch. It was just after ten o’clock. “Yes, I can’t really risk missing my train.”
They walked in silence down the stone steps. Each step for Georgina was agony because it was a step closer to goodbye. They collected their coats and Georgina’s brolly which she opened up over Molly and herself as they stepped out into the busy streets of London. The rain had eased a little, but the air was still wet to breathe and damp in their lungs.
Georgina raised her arm, bringing a passing taxi to a halt. She opened the passenger door and leaned in and said, “St. Pancras, please.”
She held the door for Molly who hesitated.
“This evening has meant so much to me.” Molly rested her hand over Georgina’s.
Georgina tipped her brolly just enough to offer a little privacy as she pressed her lips tenderly against Molly’s. “And finding you means so much to me.” She took a deep breath and stood back to allow Molly to climb into the taxi and out of the cold.
“Goodnight then,” Molly said. “See you soon. I’ll text when I get home. Perhaps we can make plans for the weekend?”
“Yes, definitely. Goodnight, safe journey.”
Georgina waved back at Molly as the taxi pulled away. The red of its brake lights caught in the puddles as Georgina’s heart ached at the sight of the taxi turning the corner and taking Molly away. She stared after the taxi long after it had disappeared, for if she didn’t look away, then the spell of their magical night in London would not be broken.
But then the spell would always break, wouldn’t it? For Molly didn’t belong in London. Erica had said so, and Molly hadn’t corrected her. She had simply looked down as if the truth was hard to face.
But then could she leave London and return to Leicester for Molly? Georgina didn’t have to kiss her to know that Molly was in every way her future. But then there was her past.
Painful memories of her childhood and thoughts of the cold emptiness of her father’s house swept in with the rain, chilling Georgina to her core.
She quickly turned to look out to London. It was more than just a city. It had been her refuge from hurt and in every way the glittering hostess who had clasped Georgina to her heart when her own mother had been nowhere in sight.