The Silver Touch (38 page)

‘Promise!’

‘I promise.’ He could not have refused her. She was frightened and pathetic, much like any of the helpless wild creatures he had rescued in the past, but the difference was that she would be less easy to set free. He was convinced that if not thoroughly reassured, she would attempt suicide again, the unbalanced streak in her all too obvious. Maybe as William’s brother he should be the one to shoulder that burden, for with Elizabeth gone he would never know love again as he had found it with her. If Sarah continued to trust him he might well be the anchor that would stop her from destroying herself.

During the next two months Hester saw what was happening and tried to dissuade him. ‘You’ll bring terrible unhappiness down on yourself. Don’t let pity rule your heart, Peter. I’ll always look after the girl.’

He was stern with her. ‘Let me be. My happiness went with Elizabeth. I shall do what I believe to be best.’

Hester looked down at her hands in her lap. How could she make her son understand that life went on, that in the years to come he might find room in his heart for another woman without losing his loving memories of Elizabeth. She glanced at his set face. It was hopeless. He was too young, too inexperienced, still too wrapped up in his bitter grief to heed her pleadings.

Not long afterwards Peter and Sarah were married. He had already moved out of the home he had shared with Elizabeth and he took Sarah to another house only yards away from Number 107 in Bunhill Row. There was no love on either side, simply protectiveness on his and a weird doting on hers that bore no relation to the intense feelings she still harboured for William. Once the ceremony was over, it was impossible for Hester not to experience a sense of regained freedom through having Sarah out of her house.

Hester’s meetings with James offered welcome spells of relaxation from family worries and workshop tensions. She dined with him whenever she was in the city to discuss designs or on other matters that needed her presence, for otherwise she left all business affairs to Peter and signed whatever papers necessary with her cross. She dressed in style for these visits to London. Side hoops had given way to simple fullness supported by petticoats, the softer style enhanced by the frills of a fichu. Mostly she favoured sea colours these days, knowing they set off the luxuriance of her hair in which she had taken pride all her life. The marigold rinse could no longer defeat two broad grey wings that swept back into a gleaming coil, but the lappets of a fashionable lacy cap veiled them to a certain extent. In any case James never saw any difference in her, treating her as though she were still thirty-nine and twenty-one years did not lay between that first meeting in the herb garden and the present day. He was a little broader and stouter and slightly more ruddy in his complexion every time she saw him, his marvellous good humour still matched by his continuing good health. He was like her in rarely, if ever, catching as much as a simple cold. If his cropped hair was thinning it neither showed nor mattered, for the white wigs that he wore with a formal curl over each ear suited him well.

She was particularly pleased to see him one October day, having heard of a stroke of fortune that had come his way. They met in the private dining-room of a large hostelry where the food was superb and the cellar limitless.

‘My dear Hester! How well you look and what a pleasure to see you.’ He kissed her warmly on the mouth. On their own there was no social pretence between them, the deep harmony in their relationship having long since erased the old emotional conflicts.

‘This is a celebration, isn’t it?’ she said, when they were seated at the table.

His eyes twinkled at her. ‘I thought you might have heard. Who told you?’

‘Joss read it out of the newspaper.’ She raised her sparkling glass to him. ‘My most sincere felicitations, Sir James! No man deserves a knighthood more than you with your long service to the community, especially as Alderman of the City of London for the Cripplegate Ward.’

‘I thank you, my dear. I value your kind words above those I received from King George himself!’

‘Now you’re flattering me,’ she laughed, although she knew as well as he that he had meant what he said.

As was their custom when together, they exchanged family news before moving on to other topics. She was able to tell him they had had a second letter from William which had been nearly six months in transit. He had written on a cheerful note, but once again a bleakness of spirit had come through between the lines, something she had detected immediately on both occasions when his letters were read out to her.

‘He’s in Virginia, mostly on patrol. There’s a troublesome element among the colonists with whom naturally, being Wiliam, he is in sympathy,’ she said smilingly.

‘I’m with him there and so is half this country, Hester. After all the colonists are simply Englishmen abroad and why should they be subject to impositions there that we would never tolerate here? This is being voiced frequently by notable members in the House of Commons and I hope that reasoning will prevail or greater trouble will come.’

‘I hope it doesn’t,’ she sighed fervently, ‘because Will will end up in the thick of it.’

‘Does he know of Peter’s marriage?’

‘Peter wrote himself to tell him. In this letter recently received William wishes them both well.’

‘How did Sarah react?’

Hester frowned unhappily. ‘In the worst possible way. She kept Peter away from work for three days for fear of what she might do. It has been generally agreed that for her own safety it is best that she doesn’t know in future when a letter comes.’

As it happened, that ruse was not to be needed. It seemed that the news of the marriage had had a more upsetting effect on William than anyone had anticipated, for he did not write again. Once Hester received a verbal greeting from him through a soldier in a homecoming regiment, but otherwise nothing more was heard.

Gradually Sarah settled down in her marriage. She developed an interest in gardening, something that was new to her, and was at her most peaceful when planting and tending her flowers. In the winter months she was frequently restless and temperamental, peering out through the windows at rain or snow as if she were caged. Often she would accept social invitations for Peter and herself with neatly written acceptances and then at the last minute refuse to go. He never persuaded her, for she was too unpredictable. When she did attend with him her behaviour was faultless and she enjoyed herself, giving him an insight into the kind of life they might have salvaged together if some quirk in her nature had not gone awry.

From the first Peter had employed a housekeeper whose duty it was to keep a protective eye on his wife at all times during his absence. Sarah showed no interest in domestic affairs, which in itself was a rebellion against the training her aunt had given her, and with maids to clear up after her she took a delight at times in being deliberately untidy. It was not unusual on days when she could not do gardening for her to tumble everything out of her drawers and clothes chest on to the floor in an act of defiance against the rigid discipline of the Thornes, wherever they were these days.

Once Peter found her clad only in her petticoats and laughing wildly as she twirled barefoot amid the scattered clothing. ‘They can’t punish me now, can they, Peter?’

‘No, never again,’ he replied patiently as he had done many times before.

Abruptly she stopped her aimless dance and darted across to clutch him about the waist and press herself to him. ‘Hold me!’ she implored, wanting the security of his arms that went about her.

In him she searched always for William, for he was of the same flesh and blood and any similarity in expression, voice or action was a sudden balm to the ache that was always in her. Since both brothers were built with the same broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips and muscular thighs, it was easy to pretend sometimes that it was William who was coupling with her; at others, when imagination failed, she would begin to sob and shriek hysterically, trying to claw and hurt the one person whom she knew stood between her and all that was frightening in the world. She never felt the least regret afterwards. It was Peter’s own fault that he was not William, an unbalanced reasoning that remained lodged in her mind.

Fourteen

It was James who suggested to Hester that she should hold an exhibition. ‘I’ll invite every distinguished person I can think of on your behalf.’

She had had a lot of work on his recommendation and a public display would bring her wider attention from the clientele that she wanted. Not that she scorned the everyday work that made up the bulk of her output any more than John had done before her, but all along she had worked out of necessity at an economic level, using thin silver whenever it suited an article, which meant it would be a delight to launch more often into costly and extravagant work. Although she was intrigued by his idea, there was a stumbling block.

‘There is nothing I should like more. Unfortunately the financial outlay —’

He held up a hand to check her. ‘There’s no problem there. You and Peter can arrange it between you. Later you may settle your account with me out of the commissions that ensue.’

As she had expected, Peter seized on the idea. Even Joss became enthusiastic. To give plenty of time to prepare for the exhibition, a week in December was decided upon and a hall secured in the heart of the city.

‘I may be a grandmother nine times over with Joss’s and Letticia’s little ones put together,’ she remarked with amusement to Peter, ‘and I’ll not see my sixtieth birthday again, but I have the feeling that this will be a new beginning for me.’ She put an eager hand on his arm. ‘Write to William about the exhibition. There’s always the chance that a letter may reach him through his last address.’

‘I’ll do that.’ He knew she hoped that the news would spur William into writing, but four years had gone by since his last communication and there seemed little likelihood that there would be any change now.

Yet the news of her forthcoming exhibition had effect elsewhere. It changed the arrangements Jonathan had been making for his future. Previously the Bateman workshop had had nothing to offer him in his opinion. All along he had intended to secure a good place for himself in a workshop of renown wherein he could rise financially and in reputation until in a position to start up on his own. Goldsmithing was such a lucrative business for the well-known that competition was great, and without an established name it was hard to get the kind of clientele he wanted for himself.

Now, with no more than a few days of his apprenticeship to serve, he had learned that overnight he had a surname that might soon be known everywhere and his could shine alongside that of his mother’s, albeit in reflected glory. Nevertheless, it would still give him a head start. With a place lined up for him in the highly established workshop of Mr William Dowling, he would have to spin a fine tale to extricate himself and not hazard his betrothment to Anne-Olympe Dowling, daughter of that household and a goldsmith in her own right. She had served her indentures with her father and registered her punchmark a while ago, being a year older than he. He put his case to her first.

‘My mother is going to need me at her work-bench. I would be failing in my duty as a member of the Bateman family if in view of this new development I didn’t join my brothers at their work-bench. Would you have any objection to living out at Bunhill Row? The city is spreading that way so fast it won’t be a country area much longer.’

He and Anne-Olympe were alone in the library of her home in Holborn, only a street away from Letticia and Richard’s residence. They had met at one of his sister’s musical evenings to which she and her parents had been invited. She was a well-formed, deep-breasted young woman with a swan neck and a good carriage. Her piquant looks, with ebony hair and eyes, were remarkably French as if in throw-back to her origins, for like Sir James Esdaile she was descended from the Huguenots as were many others of a skilled and artistic bent among the banking and craftsmen families of London. She also had the Frenchwoman’s flair for dress, able to make the simplest gown supremely elegant. When adorned with the inherited jewels she possessed, some once worn at a French court before the sword of Damocles had fallen across her Protestant forebears, she seemed to take her beauty from their sparkle. She had had many suitors and it had taken all Jonathan’s wits and finesse to convince her father that he would be a suitable son-in-law when his indentures were at an end. Luckily his ability to charm had worked well on Anne-Olympe, intelligent and independent though she was, and it had not been difficult to make her fall in love with him. He was fully prepared to use persuasion to win her round to his new scheme, but she surprised him by agreeing without hesitation.

‘I have no objection to your change of plan. In fact I welcome it. I did not like the idea of starting our married life with the two of us working for my father by day and sleeping under his roof by night.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’

She eyed him shrewdly. ‘Because your mind was made up. I know you, Jonathan. When you want something you’re determined to have it and you let nothing stand in your way.’

He did not care for the penetrating observations on his character she made periodically, but now he only smiled. Time enough to put her in her place when they were married. As his wife she would be subject to his will completely. He did not intend to be lenient with her. ‘I know of a house to buy. It’s Number 84, near to my mother’s house. It was the childhood home of Peter’s late wife and I know it well.’

‘I’m sure I can rely on your good taste, but I should like to see it before we decide.’

He was determined to have that house even if she raised objections. It had a grandeur to its well-proportioned rooms to which the Beavers had never done justice. Out of Anne-Olympe’s handsome dowry he could have every luxury installed and its good-sized grounds pleasingly landscaped. ‘How do you think your father will react to my new plans?’

‘If you put everything to him as you have to me, he will see your point of view. After all, he is a reasonable man.’

It turned out to be as she had predicted. As she had brothers in the business there was no need for her father to take on a son-in-law and no obstacles were put in their way. She had her first meeting with her future mother-in-law at a formal dinner her parents gave to celebrate the betrothal on Jonathan’s registering day and she thought Hester a strong and formidable lady. She would meet the rest of the Bateman family when the invitation was returned, an occasion which was to be combined with the opportunity to see the new house.

Peter left home on his own to meet his youngest brother’s wife-to-be for Sarah was in one of her difficult moods and refused to accompany him. He had to pass Number 84 and he slowed his pace, seeing that the door of Elizabeth’s old home stood open and a girl had come out to stand back and view the house from outside. There was something about her looks and her whole being that shot straight to his heart. She was different in every way from Elizabeth, but it was as if some power emanated from her to thaw all that had held him frozen these last years, making his pulse race and his blood go pumping through his veins. He was magnetized by her. She must have heard his step, for she turned and their eyes met in the look that becomes recognition when two strangers each see some quality in the other that complements their own nature. For Peter it was a revelation, as if he had found the lost half of himself again and she, guessing by the family likeness that this was Jonathan’s brother, was gripped by tension for a reason she chose not to understand. To her intense relief, Jonathan appeared in the porch in search of her and he came down the steps to take her hand and give a cheery wave of greeting to his brother.

‘You shall be the first to meet my betrothed. Anne-Olympe, allow me to present Peter to you.’

Peter heard himself say all the right things. Afterwards the dinner was a nightmare for him for her appeal increased every time he glanced in her direction and his whole body seemed keyed to her every movement and gesture. It was for that reason he avoided any further conversation with her.

‘Your brother is very reserved in his manner,’ she said to Jonathan as they spoke together in low voices on their way home, her parents dozing after the rich food and wine they had partaken.

‘Joss has always been the quiet one.’

‘No, I mean Peter.’

‘Peter? He is never at a loss for words. Quite the reverse.’

‘He hardly spoke to me.’ It troubled her. ‘Do you think he is averse to seeing his late wife’s childhood home occupied by a newcomer to the Bateman family?’

‘No, he’s not one to begrudge others happiness, even though he has little enough himself these days.’ Jonathan was enjoying the comfort of the coach. It was one of the first things he intended to buy himself out of her dowry.

‘I hope Peter hasn’t taken a dislike to me.’ She did not seem able to let the matter rest.

He picked up her slim hand and kissed the palm. ‘Who could ever dislike you? Least of all Peter. There’s not an unkind bone in his whole body, which was why he acted like a fool in marrying Sarah, as I told you.’

‘She sounds a sad person. I hope I may befriend her when we are sisters-in-law.’

He did not mind what she did as long as she did not interfere with the freedom that her money was going to give him.

Not all the redecorating of their new home was completed by the time they married in April. With paint still wet and some hand-blocked wallpaper yet to be hung, she had much to attend to and supervise in the house until finally all the carpets were laid and the last item of furniture delivered. Full of anticipation, she presented herself at the Bateman workshop. She had donned a plain wool dress, a large apron and a cap of pleats covered her hair. Her husband, his brothers and his mother were all at work there in what had once been the long drawing-room of Number 108.

‘Here I am,’ she announced, spreading her hands. ‘Where do I start?’

Only Joss looked pleased to see her. She had had a severe dispute previously with Jonathan who had no wish for his wife to work, for he thought it was not in keeping with the social position he intended to maintain; in any case he did not want her knowing of any comings or goings he might make in a working day. Peter lowered the tray he was working on, its gallery enhanced by symbolized birds that were fast being a characteristic of many of Hester’s designs.

‘There is no place for you here, Anne-Olympe,’ he said courteously but with firmness. ‘As you can see, we each have our own work-bench.’

‘This room is big enough to hold another one.’

‘I think not. We need the space.’

She was keenly affronted and looked to Jonathan for support, but he kept his attention riveted on the bowl of the punch-ladle that he was raising. Linney, coming from the packing-room next door when the Batemans’ voices reached him, gave her a sympathetic glance, having no authority to speak for her. She made a direct appeal to Hester.

‘There are other rooms in this house. May I not have a work-bench elsewhere?’

‘You would still have to use the facilities here,’ Hester pointed out.

Anne-Olympe flushed painfully. ‘Am I to be treated as a pariah in this family? I’m a qualified craftsman and believe myself to be the equal of anyone here, saving you, ma’am. Gold and silver are in my blood as they are in yours and since we are both women I fail to see why you do not want me here.’

Hester was full of pity for her but she had to side with Peter, even though he did not suspect why she should be his ally in this matter. On the evening of the dinner she had given for the Dowlings, she had inadvertently witnessed an unguarded look he had directed at Anne-Olympe when believing himself unobserved. His whole face had given him away and if she had had any doubts about the meaning of what she had seen it had been reinforced by his avoidance of Anne-Olympe whenever possible, his decline of an invitation to view the alterations at Number 84 and his deliberate indifference whenever she was near. It would not be fair to let him suffer her proximity daily in the workshop until time and reason had given him the chance to subdue a passion that could never be fulfilled.

‘It’s not a question of not wanting you,’ Hester began as tactfully as she could, ‘but as Peter has said —’

Anne-Olympe rounded on Peter then, striding across to stand challengingly by his work-bench. ‘I know you don’t like me, although to my knowledge I’ve done nothing to offend you, but you have no right to let your personal bias bar me when I could do so much towards helping with all the work waiting to be done.’

He appeared to weigh her words. Then he inclined his head, hardening his jaw. ‘There are articles waiting to be polished. You will find the polishing-machine upstairs.’

She took a step backwards, drawing in her breath in outrage. He had offered her an apprentice’s first task, but if he imagined he was going to make her retreat from the workshop by that insult, he was much mistaken. Fury made her voice shake. ‘Very well. I’ll start there. If I have to serve a second term of indentures to please you, I’ll do it, but the day will come when I’ll make you admit that I’m a goldsmith of the highest order!’

‘We have taken to using the term silversmith in this workshop,’ he said evenly.

She clenched her fists at her sides. ‘Damnation to you!’

Her heels flashed as she stalked from the workshop and upstairs in search of the polishing-room. A minute later the machine’s wheels and treadle could be heard rumbling with a speed that showed she was venting her anger on it. Peter took up his work, aware of Joss’s puzzled regard before he also continued with what he was doing. It was the first time real hostility of any kind had penetrated the Bateman workshop. Hester resumed the saw-piercing of a serving slice, a skill in which she excelled, and she felt apprehensive. A fiery relationship was potently more dangerous than a passive one with the same roots. She would do anything she could to make sure that nobody, particularly Jonathan, ever suspected why Peter had acted totally out of character this morning in a manner she would long remember.