Chapter 49
Early the following evening, The Mudlarkers’ Club met at Timothy’s houseboat, which disappointingly, and maybe predictably, had become a little more cluttered since their clean-up, for an emergency meeting.
Phyllida had convinced her husband to move their home-movie make-up date to the next night, Nick cut short a catch-up with mates at the pub, and Laila was more than happy to reduce her homework time. No one wanted to miss it.
‘I’d have brought a bottle of wine if I knew we were going to have cheese,’ Nick said when he saw the glass-domed cheese board on the coffee table as they gathered around Timothy’s kitchen.
‘That’s not cheese,’ Timothy said.
‘Eh?’ Nick went over to it.
‘It’s the brooch.’
Nick peered into the glass as if he were expecting to see an exotic animal from a far-away land.
Gemma and the others quickly followed. In the middle of the round timber board sat the brooch like a glossy wedge of gourmet cheddar.
Gemma knew they were all thinking the same thing: what was the curator going to tell them that she couldn’t have told Timothy in an email?
‘I didn’t know where else to put it,’ Timothy explained. ‘And, quite frankly, my friend has made me wonder whether we need to look after it very carefully.’
‘Can everyone come and sit at the table?’ Laila called out. ‘The Zoom call is starting in five.’
‘Oh, my goodness,’ Phyllida said. ‘I feel queasy.’
‘Me, too,’ admitted Gemma.
They huddled next to each other on one side of the dining table so everyone could see the screen and, for the most part, would all be seen by the curator. Phyllida produced her notebook and a pen.
Within minutes, the Renaissance Europe expert at the British Museum, Nicola Taylor, appeared on screen. She wore angular black-rimmed glasses and red lipstick.
‘Hello, dear Nicola,’ Timothy said. ‘Thank you for joining us. Let me introduce you.’
Introductions and small talk went on for a few minutes, which only added to the suspense and tension in the room.
‘Before I tell you my thoughts on the brooch,’ Nicola said. ‘May I ask you, Gemma, where exactly did you find it? Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul.’
Gemma glanced at Phyllida whom, she knew, had strong views on disclosing find locations. But Phyllida nodded because, Gemma suspected, her desire to learn Nicola’s assumptions far outweighed anything else. Gemma told her with as much detail as she could.
‘Did you discover anything else close by?’ Nicola asked.
‘Nothing of note,’ Gemma said. ‘I moved on to a different spot. I thought the brooch was modern and didn’t think to spend any more time there.’
‘Anyone else?’
Timothy looked into the distance as if he was trying to visualise the exact scene on the foreshore last Saturday. Neither he, nor the others, had found anything notable in the vicinity.
‘Well, I won’t lie,’ said Nicola. ‘I’ve seen a lot of incredible things in my time, but this brooch is something else.’
Gemma sensed that everyone, like her, was holding their breaths.
‘Before I get you too excited, I must caveat that what I’m about to say will need to be properly verified, of course.’
‘Of course.’ Timothy nodded.
‘This is so exciting.’ Phyllida put a hand to her chest.
Nicola cleared her throat. ‘As you suspected, Timothy, the brooch is gold. Real, solid gold.’
‘Excellent,’ Timothy said.
‘And I’d say it’s Tudor.’
‘Tudor?’ Laila exclaimed.
Gemma’s jaw dropped.
‘In Tudor times, brooches didn’t have catches to secure the pins when closed.
They came much later. Centuries later. So, if the brooch is Tudor, it isn’t that the catch has broken off, it would never have had one.
Interesting side note: brooches were mainly worn for practical reasons – to fasten cloaks or adorn hats – and not purely for decoration.
’ Nicola paused to let them take in what she’d said.
Phyllida started taking notes.
‘What do you think the stones are?’ Timothy asked.
‘Pearls.’
‘Real pearls?’
‘Although, in Tudor times fake and imitation gems were popular. They were often made from clear glass with coloured foil stuck on the back.’
‘Interesting,’ said Phyllida chewing on her pen.
‘And I think it may have belonged to Anne Boleyn,’ Nicola added so casually that she could have been talking about one of her museum friends from another department.
‘The Anne Boleyn?’ Nick said, incredulous.
Gemma exchanged a glance with Phyllida whose eyebrows had shot up in astonishment.
‘Yes,’ Nicola said.
‘Anne Boleyn?’ Nick repeated. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘I know it seems extraordinary, but I’ll give you my reasons.’
‘This is extraordinary, Nicola. Absolutely extraordinary,’ Timothy said, shaking his head.
Gemma was speechless. It seemed amazing and literally unbelievable at the same time.
Nicola continued. ‘Firstly, the spot where you were mudlarking – in front of the Greenwich Naval College – was where Henry the Eighth’s primary palace, the Palace of Palentia, once stood.
He was famous for throwing extravagant banquets and jousting matches there, including the first masquerade ball ever held in England.
But, more pertinently, he lived there with his second wife who gave birth in one of the private apartments to the future Queen Elizabeth the First. And who do you think that was? ’
‘Anne Boleyn,’ Laila whispered.
‘Correct.’
‘I’m sorry, Nicola, I don’t mean to doubt you, but isn’t this all supposition?’ Nick said. ‘I could say that the clay pipe stem I found there was once smoked by Henry the Eighth and who’d know?’
‘Of course, but bear with me. There are two more reasons why I’m thinking this, and the latter, I believe, is the most compelling.’
‘I think I’m going to pass out.’ Phyllida was flapping her notebook near her face even though the houseboat wasn’t as heated as it could have been, given the change of seasons.
‘This is so much better than school.’ Laila shook her head as if she couldn’t believe real life could be in any way educational or thrilling.
‘The brooch has three gold loops at the bottom of it, correct?’
They all glanced towards the brooch in the cheese-board-cum-jewellery-case to remind themselves of its design.
Nicola carried on. ‘Those loops most likely held gemstones. And, more pertinently, this was a design feature on many of Anne Boleyn’s jewellery. Like her famous ‘B’ necklace with the three drop-pearls.’
She held up a book to the screen to show them a painting of Anne Boleyn wearing the said necklace.
‘Awesome,’ Laila said.
Gemma smiled at Laila. In a funny way, she wished for her sake that it would turn out to be true because of how much joy Laila was getting from this real-time history-lesson-cum-mystery quest.
‘And the final reason,’ Nicola said. ‘Do you remember the engraving on the back of the brooch, H-A-M-A-T-A?’
They all nodded.
‘When Henry was courting Anne, he showered her with gifts. Especially jewellery. Symbolic pieces that formed an important part of the rituals of love in the Court. When they married, their personal signature, which Henry had engraved everywhere – on walls, ceilings, personal items – was “H Amat A”. Latin for “Henry Loves Anne”.’
‘If I faint, hold my legs in the air, will you?’ Phyllida said weakly.
‘As you can imagine, Henry regretted all of this when Anne didn’t produce him an heir. He went right off her, the poor thing, and he had her beheaded. There’s been no surviving jewellery of hers because he broke everything up and made into different pieces of jewellery for other royals.’
‘So, if this is Anne Boleyn’s brooch, this is the only piece that exists of hers? Ever?’ Laila asked.
‘That’s right.’
Gemma squeezed her temples. She dearly wished that what the curator was saying was true and she had found a royal brooch that was nearly five hundred years old. Yet it seemed too outrageous, too inconceivable. Perhaps there was another explanation.
‘But couldn’t the inscription mean anything?’ Gemma said. ‘Like, I don’t know, “Harry And Mary Are Together Always” or something like that?’
‘Or Harry and Meghan.’ Nick laughed.
‘Exactly,’ Gemma said. ‘Maybe it was commissioned by some modern-day guy who just so happened to have the same initials as Henry, whose specialist subject matter, if he had to go on Mastermind, was Henry the Eighth, and he thought it would be fun to emulate the king.’
‘I like where your imagination is taking you,’ Nick said.
Gemma smiled, pleased at having come up with an alternative, more realistic scenario because it was too overwhelming to entertain the idea of the brooch being of such historical importance. Or that little old her had found something so momentous.
‘If you had to have a Mastermind specialty, what would it be?’ Nick said.
‘Maybe the history of the British crisp,’ Gemma said. ‘Or the evolution of the wellington boot.’
Nick burst out laughing. Even the curator smiled.
‘Can we stay on topic, please?’ Phyllida said.
‘Look, it’s true,’ Nicola conceded. ‘Gemma could be right and I could be wrong. But I’ve got a hunch and I know from past experience that hunches should never be ignored.
My recommendation is to send photos and a detailed description to the Finds Liaison Officer at the Museum of London.
If this is going to be officially classed as treasure, the authorities need to know about it. ’
‘Yes, yes, we’ll do it right away, won’t we?’ Timothy said to the group.
‘And one more thing,’ Nicola said. ‘Don’t let it out of your sight.’
For the first time in the history of a Mudlarkers’ Club meeting, no one spoke for, what seemed to Gemma, a very long time.
After a moment, she got up and went over to the cheese board on the coffee table.
The brooch now seemed to have taken on a life of its own.
The stones shimmered like mother-of-pearl and the gold dazzled from the lights above shining through the glass.
It gleamed regally as if maybe, just maybe, it was real bona fide treasure.