The Silver Touch

by Rosalind Laker

  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 yo
u? 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.

  As time went on she half expected Peter to relent, knowing what it must mean to him to deny a talented woman her full potential, but he remained totally unbending in his attitude. Anne-Olympe polished meticulously day in and day out, as well as carrying out other minor tasks that any apprentice could have done at the end of his first year. She polished the articles made for the forthcoming exhibition and, having no quarrel with silver, took immense pride in making every piece look its sparkling best before it was wrapped in chamois and placed in its own rosewood box.

  ‘Your exhibits will excel above all the others, ma’am,’ she declared enthusiastically. She could not bring herself to address her mother-in-law in any other way, for there was a barrier between them that quashed a more familiar term. It was as if this great craftswoman and her second son had joined forces against her for a reason entirely beyond her comprehension. Frequently Hester was at least communicative but Peter avoided speaking to her except when necessary. When she had made the announcement that she and Jonathan were expecting a baby, he actually turned away and went from the room as if he were deaf and neither wished to know or hear what she had said. Sarah, who had been present at the time, had stared after him with one of her eerie looks before coming forward to offer her felicitations. Efforts to make a friend of Sarah had not been successful, but at least Peter did not stop his wife visiting Number 84 even if he never came himself.

  The long-awaited exhibition drew near. Peter would handle all enquiries and deal with the business aspects, which would keep him in London for the week. Sarah, nervous of being without him, was to stay with Letticia and Richard at their home. Letticia, who never had patience with anybody’s moods, was determined there should be no temperamental nonsense under her roof.

  The workshop was left to Linney’s charge and on the eve of the exhibition Joss and Jonathan unpacked the articles Hester had chosen to show. Stands draped with velvet stood ready. She had either made or worked on almost every piece, only the large tureens, coffee-urns, dishes and wine-fountains coming from her sons’ hands.

  As the articles were unpacked, all but the heavier pieces were handed to her and these arranged at her direction. The rest she placed herself. First came an epergne. Entirely hand-raised, it was a splendid centre-piece for any table, the baskets on each of the branches petal-fluted with a band of hand-piercing, festooning on the central base and legs. There was a set of goblets that relied almost entirely on their lovely lines for impact, their only decoration a bead mount on the base and a complementary mount on the top of the stems, another characteristic that was fast showing itself in her work. Teapots had become larger since drinking tea had first become fashionable and she was showing several sets in the octagonal style that she also favoured in mustard-pots and cruets. Her coffee-pots were belly-shaped with their own cream jugs and sugar-vases, often on trays, and the beautiful curves of the handles of her pairs of sauceboats spelled out her name to those
already familiar with her work.

  She set her favourite small articles out on tables by themselves. They made up the type of work she had always preferred and showed her versatility. There was a shell snuff-box with a flush lid and several other charmingly fashioned boxes. There were handsome little salt-cellars, some oval in shape, and all fitted with glass liners that showed off with a sapphire glow the pierced decoration at which she was a master. Besides a range of wine labels was a wine-strainer with a gadroon border that was unusual for her, but she was experimenting with it while continuing to use feather-edge decoration on her flatware, as a range of her spoons, knives and four-pronged forks showed, together with marrow scoops and the soup ladles with the round bowls that were typical of her. Taking pride of place was a snuffer tray, similar to the design that had been all-important to her as the climax of the year’s work, and she had given it the extraordinary flow of motion for which she aimed in all her pieces. With the wing-like theme of its gallery it looked as if it might take off into the air from the crimson velvet on which it lay.

  When all was ready, she stood in the middle of the chamber and rotated slowly to view it all. Her thought went back to that day long ago when Jack Needham had taken her to the Goldsmiths Hall and her eyes had been opened to the extent of the full beauty of silver.

  As she had anticipated, James was the first to arrive at the exhibition next morning. He came through the open double doors, which were flanked by strong-armed beadles for security, and beamed all the way across the chamber as he approached, olive-green coat-tails swinging, his cream brocade waistcoat well expanded.

  ‘What a day this is!’ he greeted her, pressing her hand fondly as he kissed her fingers.

  ‘I’m glad that you of all people should be here.’

  They strolled together as he viewed the displays. Between praising certain pieces he liked best, he outlined something to her that he had been considering for quite a while.