With a relaxed air, Stephen Harwood sat back in his chair. Having misinterpreted the cause of the words he had heard, he thought simply that his warnings had gone home quickly and effectively. He had been young himself once and remembered the frustration of never being alone with his closely chaperoned betrothed before he had married her. Seeking release elsewhere was natural enough, but the sin was in being found out. In this case matters had reached a peak where the tavern-maid’s own relatives had pleaded for him to intervene, being aware, as he was, that girls who lost their heads could make a nuisance of themselves, something that John Bateman obviously had yet to learn.
He was grateful for Mrs Needham’s timely whisper. She had understood that at all costs he would want to protect Caroline from gossipy hearsay. His own well-chosen words had brought this otherwise excellent young man to heel. It bore out his conviction that John Bateman, with his even disposition, would always be malleable enough to be guided in all things by his future father-in-law, which in turn would ensure in time that the business would never leave the solid path on which he himself had set it. Caroline could easily have made a better match if money had been all there was at stake, but this craftsman would always be worth his weight in gold in the workshop — a simile that amused him — and that was not an asset to be easily turned aside, combined, as it was, with gentlemanly origins, which put Bateman on the necessary plane. Nevertheless, an apprentice of any standing could not be allowed to escape scot-free from a misdemeanour without some retribution to drive the reprimand home.
‘There’s no more to be said then.’ He could guess at Bateman’s sense of relief. ‘I’ll consider the matter closed.’ Deliberately he checked a gesture of dismissal even as his hand was in the air. ‘I have just remembered there is a man short on wire-drawing. Leave whatever workpiece you are engaged upon and take the absentee’s place until further notice.’ His shrewd eyes saw he had delivered a sentence that fell hard on its recipient, even though it was received in stiff-necked silence. ‘Now you may go, Bateman.’
As John went to put his tools away and wrap up his half-finished workpiece, he thought he had rarely had a worse day. On top of everything else he was being returned to work he had been through during the early days of his apprenticeship and to which he had never intended to return. It was a branch of goldsmithing that held no interest for him, wire-drawing being the method by which gold-coated silver bars were drawn through dies with each hole being smaller than the last, until finally wire was produced that could be made into gold and silver lace, as well as thread, for embroidery on ecclesiastical copes, royal robes, elaborate uniforms and the richly ornamented garments that fashion decreed for those who could afford them. It was a noisy process with the rattle of wheels and pulleys, the hammering of the forged bars, the thump of bellows and the grunts of effort that came from the amount of physical pressure needed in the processes. It was no wonder that qualified wire-drawers were sometimes granted admission into the Blacksmiths Company. He cursed long and loud as he took his place by a pulley. In the general din it went unheard and he felt no better afterwards.
Before the day was out, the full realization began to sink in as to what a future without Hester was going to mean to him. That evening he sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, having refused an invitation from Tom and Robin to go out with them again to cheer himself up. It was not drink he needed now but a clear head to assess what had happened and to find a means by which to accept it. He had never supposed they would be split apart forever by a final and terrible row. Yet now that he was free of Hester — the thought wrenching at him with a force that made him groan aloud — he knew it was going to be easier to speak to Caroline of his self-doubts about their future alliance. Why that should be he could not comprehend, but that was how it was.
On Sunday Caroline, coming to meet him at the head of the stairs, saw at once that there was a change in him. With the sensitivity of a woman in love, she had been able to tell weeks ago that there was some new distraction in his life that had come between them. There had been times when she felt herself to be on a precipice as if some word from him might plunge her down into emptiness without him and it had needed all her alertness to keep matters in hand.
Now he was different again; no vagueness in his glance or absent-minded smile on his lips, but a purposeful air about him and a set expression in his face that alarmed her far less than all those signs that had indicated he was falling in love with someone else. She felt she could cope with whatever came now.
‘I need to talk to you at some length without being overheard,’ he said at once.
She knew they were being observed through the open door of the drawing-room and drew away her hand which he had caught tightly in his to emphasize the importance of the request. ‘The chance will come. Not today, I fear, but somehow I’ll arrange it.’
It came about the following morning. When her father was out, she went down to his office and sent for John. He answered the summons with some misgivings, wondering if further trouble awaited him, and his whole face lit up at the unexpected sight of her.
‘This is a pleasant surprise!’
‘We have our chance to talk now.’ Her ravishing smile gave nothing away of the turmoil of anxiety within her. She could guess what he planned to say and needed to gain the advantage while there was still a chance. ‘I should like to speak first.’
‘Say whatever you wish,’ he encouraged, resting his weight on the edge of the desk.
She did not sit herself. Instead she stood a little distance from him, the linking and unlinking of her tapering fingers the only sign of some stress. ‘You have fourteen months of your apprenticeship left,’ she began, her voice firm. ‘I should like to suggest that once you have been granted the Freedom we start to know and love each other all over again. The restrictions imposed on your Sunday visits have put unnatural fetters on our relationship. I would go so far as to say I feel we have lost each other along the way.’
His expression of relief confirmed her deepest fears. ‘I see what you have said as yet another example of how well we have always understood each other. Remember how often we have thought alike on many matters.’
‘Then you agree to my idea of making a fresh start?’ She gave him no chance to reply, hurrying on with what she had to say. ‘Once you are a master craftsman in your own right, my father will no longer control your life, even though you’ll still be in his employ. Everything will be quite different for us.’ As he opened his mouth to speak, she put a hand forward. ‘Let me say just one thing more. I’m asking you to release me from all understandings of the past, just as I’m willing to release you. Only in that way can we begin again.’
He shook his head in wonderment that she should show such wisdom and yet it confirmed once again what an exceptional person she was in every way. ‘I agree to all you have said.’ His face was etched deep with the seriousness of his mood. ‘Much has happened to me in the past weeks. I have to tell you that at the present time I can’t see that anything can ever be between us as it was before.’
It was all she could do not to cry out in anguish. Somehow she kept her expression under control. ‘That will sort itself out one way or another.’ Inwardly she was sick with dread that she might have made a terrible mistake in releasing him, but to have held him to old ties would have strangled whatever feeling he still had for her. Now, at least, she had a fighting chance. ‘There shall be no looking back for either of us and the future will be allowed to take care of itself. Is that agreed?’
‘Agreed.’ The sensation of being liberated swept through him, bringing a wave of warmth and admiration for her. She saw it in his face and knew then that she had made the right move.
Their subsequent meetings were always pleasant for him, for they met as good friends. No longer troubled by his conscience towards her, the Harwood dinners lost their strain and he was back to lively participation in the conversation. In the workshop he was soon back again at his o
wn work-bench and engaged daily in the intricate work he enjoyed.
Everything would have been agreeable for him if the loss of Hester had not persecuted him every hour of the day and night. It seemed as if there was a grinding emptiness in his existence, the pain getting worse daily instead of better. She was never out of his thoughts. Even at the work-bench she was always at the back of his mind, ready to leap forward at the slightest reminder of her. Knowing her strength of pride and independence, he doubted whether she would consider letting him back into her life. There were times when he tried to be rational and think it was all the better for him that it was over. In the end, after several weeks of agonizing, he took a pen and wrote to her.
My dearest Hester,
Although I have no idea what your feelings might be for me after all this time, I am writing to tell you that nothing has changed with me except my circumstances. All that stood between us has gone. I love you now as I did then and long to see you again. Just let me know when and where I might meet you. If nothing else, allow me to give you my apologies in person for the distress I caused you through my angry words which have been much regretted.
John
Robin delivered it for him, simply handing it to a porter in order not to bring special attention to it from Jack or Martha Needham. In retrospect, John had made a guess that one or the other of them had spoken to Master Harwood about Hester’s association with him, probably directly after the quarrel when she had been seen to be upset. At least now he could be sure that Hester would know he still loved her in spite of everything, and he was certain she would write to him. Feeling more cheerful than he had done for a long time, he began to wait optimistically for her letter of reply.
Hester, who had watched daily for John in the desperate and gradually declining hope that he would come back to her, did not see the letter. If she had she would have passed it by, not being able to read her own name. Martha had found it when alone in the office as she sorted through the postal delivery that had come with the coach, John’s letter having been put with it. Without the least compunction, she broke the seal and read it through. Then she lighted a candle from the tinder-box and put a corner of the letter to the flame. It curled and burned right away, the last scrap almost scorching her fingers.
Three
Hester pined during the winter to a point where Jack, not normally observant, noticed that all was not well with her. Failing to get a satisfactory answer on several occasions, he questioned Martha.
‘What’s wrong with her? There’s no life in her any more.’
Martha, on her knees sorting wine bottles on a low shelf, grimaced to herself. She herself could drop from fatigue and Jack would barely notice but Hester, always Hester, could claim his attention. She had come to believe he saw the girl as the daughter they had never had. ‘She’s winter-sick, that’s all.’
‘Maybe she should see a physician.’
‘Nonsense!’ She rose to her feet, a bottle under each arm. No helping hand under her elbow from Jack, who had become more bull-like in his ale-ripened appearance and build and habits with every passing year, the agreeable looks that had once attracted her long since swilled away in a pint-pot. She thumped the bottles down on the bar, thinking it was as well he knew nothing of the part she had played in the cause of Hester’s loss of weight and shadowed eyes. ‘Winter-sickness touches every one of us at times. She’ll be better when the spring comes, you’ll see.’ Then, seeing he remained unconvinced, she added, ‘I’ll advise her to make up a herbal potion for herself. She’s skilled at that sort of thing. A syrup she made cured the linen-maid’s cough and cook’s rheumatic pains were much improved after some other concoction she devised.’
Jack continued to keep his eye on Hester. It seemed to him that she did improve when the spring came, but she lacked sparkle and remained far from her usual self. He came to the decision that Martha had worked her too hard over the years and it had finally taken a toll on her health. He pondered over which of his brothers or sisters would take her for a short holiday and dismissed each in turn, deciding that since he would never want to stay with any of them, he could not see that Hester would benefit either. Eventually he hit upon a solution. She should have more time off until she was herself again.
‘You shall have a full half-day off twice instead of once a month,’ he told her without consulting Martha. ‘Get out and enjoy yourself. I want to see some roses back in your cheeks.’
It was a measure of her low state that his kindness brought a swim of tears into her eyes. ‘Thank you, Jack.’
He took her face between his big hands, rumpling her hair and speaking to her as if she were still a child. ‘Cheer up, then! Let’s have a smile instead of those tears.’
She managed to smile for him and he was pleased, thinking her as good as cured from whatever had ailed her. For herself, the hollow ache inside her persisted unabated as it had done since she had finally forced herself to accept that John had made Caroline his choice and was never coming back to her.
Martha did her best to baulk Hester’s new liberty but Jack put his foot down. ‘She’s no good to you or herself or the Heathcock if she’s under par. Just let her be for a while. I believe that’s all she needs.’
Hester found the extra time to herself healing in its own way. On fine days she went to St James’s Park and sketched the birds that flew between the trees and hopped on the grass around her. For a while she was able to forget all else and at the end of the afternoon packed her drawings away in the same battered leather folder she had originally brought from home.
With an extra evening free as well, she saw more of the friends she had made over the years. They were mostly daughters of shopkeepers and merchants in the Strand area. With them and their beaux she began to attend the open-air dancing, which had been resumed with the milder weather, and she was never without an escort on these occasions. London boasted of over seventy pleasure gardens, some quite small, others spread over several acres, and the price of admission was within the means of most working people not weighed down by too many children or drunkenness in the family, which was the lot of many.
On any expedition beyond the tavern she wondered if she would see John. Large though London was, and it was said to be the most populous city in Europe, the chance remained that one day she might meet him face to face and she both longed for and dreaded such an encounter, knowing it would rip her to shreds all over again. There had been many weeks when she had wanted to die, all meaning gone from life, for she had loved him, and still loved him, with a passion that possessed her completely. Since she could not have him she wanted no one else, which was why men amorously inclined towards her met every time with total rebuff.
There were ten in the party on the June evening of the expedition to Cuper’s Gardens. It was one of the city’s oldest pleasure gardens and had much to offer in the way of entertainment with many booths for refreshments, a playhouse and a pavilion of sideshows. People from all walks of life went there, no class barriers existing in these public places, and it gave spice and excitement to the atmosphere, nobility and working folk rubbing shoulders together in the glow of coloured lanterns and leaping flares. Hester’s escort that evening was Alan Marshall, a friend’s brother, who was betrothed to a girl who lived in Cornwall, which meant she could enjoy his company in the knowledge that there would be no unwelcome tussles to fend off. They often paired up for these occasions, both missing someone else in their lives, his common knowledge and hers secret.
‘I feel like dancing this evening until I have holes in my shoes,’ she declared gaily as they arrived, music floating out to meet them.
‘Then let’s waste no time,’ Alan said with a smile, leading her ahead of the rest of the party along an illuminated path that led to a rotunda, which was one of several centres in the wooded and gladed spread of the garden where dancing took place.
It came into sight like a vast lantern, all doors and shutters folded back to make the rainbow lights o
utside one with the brilliance of the chandeliers suspended from the tent-like ceiling within. The liveliest of country dances was in full swing, the bows of the fiddlers flashing in unison as the merry music set the pace for those whirling around the floor. Alan took her by the hand to run her up the steps and into the maze of dancing couples. He was a good dancer and she was feather-light on her feet as they rotated together, the billowing of her skirt and her fluttering ribbons keeping time with his swirling coat-tails. In the next dance they parted to cross and counter-cross before linking hands again. Several times during the next hour they changed partners with others in their party. Then they were back together for a riotous square for eight with high arm movements which had her laughing with him when, her head flung back, she saw John looking down at her from the crowded gallery. The visual contact was no more than a second or two, for Alan was twirling her under his arm and when she looked again John was gone.
‘What’s wrong?’ Alan asked her as the final steps of the lively measure came to an end. All the laughter had gone from her. She looked taut and distracted.
‘I saw someone I used to know. If you don’t mind I’d like to go home.’
Thoroughly good-tempered, he was willing enough to oblige her, able to see she was in a state of distress. Then, as she turned with him to leave the rotunda, she saw that John had descended the flight from the gallery and was waiting in her path, a tall figure against the multi-coloured lights in the garden beyond. She reached out a hand and pressed Alan’s arm without taking her eyes from John’s gaze, which was fixed on her as if willing her to him.
‘Go back to the others, Alan. I thank you for bringing me here this evening. All is well now.’ She could not be entirely sure about that. This was simply a reunion that had to be between John and her on their own.
‘If you’re sure —’
She nodded and he fell back, watching from a distance. As she covered the remaining stretch of floor between John and herself, she felt as if she were walking on ice that was cracking all around her. When she reached him she might be plunged down into icy depths. She had to be prepared.
The Silver Touch Page 6