Love, Life, and Jewellery

Chapter 1: The Immortal Element

London, November 1924 

It was the hour of stillness; the opalescent moon, majestically shrouded in a cloak of smog, ruled the night. A large 19th century estate stood by the river Thames in an affluent suburb of London. The normally white marble exterior of the mansion, now painted with the moon's light, gleamed like blackened silver. The gnarled branches of winter trees in the gardens surrounding the building reached for the sky like the fingers of desperate witches. A tall fence of brass with a padlocked gate encased the entire block. On the third floor of the mansion however, unlike the rest of the upper class estates surrounding, a window revealed a lighted room. Here sat a man with his back hunched, concentration visible in every aspect of his posture. 

Judging by the many shelves and cabinets within the room filled with sparkling trinkets of every variety, this man was a jeweller. He sat now at an elegant desk made of dark oak, in a matching chair with crimson velvet padding. On the desk was an empty open box. The priceless vintage of the box however could not match the grandeur of the piece within the jeweller's white-gloved hands. The piece was a necklace made of glimmering gold. Its carving was intricate and a variety of precious gems studded the various charms that hung from the chain. Despite its beauty, the man handled the necklace like it was nothing more than a rough-hewn rope. Brow furrowing, the young man pressed his index fingers to his temples. 

"I'll tell you something, young one," the old man at the jeweller stall smiled while combing his beard with calloused fingers. Lines written in his face told a story of hardship, experience and great wisdom. His hands went back to polishing a bold golden ring embedded with a ruby. "The most successful jeweller captures the immortal element, an element more powerful than time and matter, and channels it into his jewellery." The old man began to laugh hysterically like child; but despite the glint of insanity in his dulling eyes, the sincerity of his words had resonated in the mind of the young boy. 

It had been approximately 170 years since that encounter and Alastair still had not found that "immortal element". Many years he had spent making the trinket, but never had he felt that it was completed; skilled jeweller that he was, he still did not understand what that man was talking about. With a heavy sigh, he placed the unfinished masterpiece back inside the box and pushed it into a drawer, its safety guaranteed with the turning of a key in a lock. Alastair stood up. He glanced briefly outside the window, noting that daylight would soon stain the dark sky. A yawn escaped his lips, and a voice of reason told him that he should probably go to sleep; after all, he had an appointment with a client the next morning.