‘I’m thinking of reopening my old home again in Bunhill Row. I need to relax more than ever these days at the week’s end and the journey to my other country seat is long and gets more tedious every time. What say you to my idea?’
‘It’s excellent!’ She felt that the house needed its rightful owner again, apart from the pleasure of seeing James more often. The last time the mansion had breathed with movement the closed and shuttered windows had kept a secret. She had had to tell him of the Thornes’ disclosure that William and Sarah had made use of his home. For her sake, he had been remarkably tolerant over it, but he had been thoroughly displeased. Although he had waived aside the responsibility she felt on her part for leaving the keys where they could be borrowed and duplicated, she had insisted on paying for the repairs to a chair knocked over in a romping game and the replacing of a cracked pier-glass. Her own servants had laundered the bed linen and put other matters to rights. ‘I shall look forward to your return, James.’
‘Then everything is settled.’
Not long after Christmas when the roads were hard and frosty, a band of servants returned to the Esdaile mansion to put it to rights and take up residence in preparation for their master’s coming. When James arrived he did not know how he had been able to live away from it so long, particularly since his quarrel with Hester had long since been healed and enriched into a loving friendship that he valued above all else. Irritated by much of the mansion’s artificial splendour, he installed workmen to restore the old rooms again to their original state. When it was done he invited Hester for supper and there began for them a pattern of peaceful evenings in each other’s company during which they played backgammon, chess or cards.
These times with her were in sharp contrast to the busy life he led in the city, civic responsibilities ever with him, and he went less and less to his other country seat, for his sons by Mary were now in business with him and she never missed him in the least. It was a totally amicable arrangement. Whenever he and his wife met they were always pleased to see each other and invariably had a jovial ale-drinking session together. When they parted it was always without a backward glance from either of them.
As Hester had foreseen, fame came quickly to her as a result of the exhibition. The Church, with its long tradition dating back to early mediaeval times of commissioning beautiful silver, became her patron. Joss was soon in his element producing chalices and salvers, candlesticks and other altar pieces to his mother’s designs. Although Hester made some of the pieces herself when these ecclesiastical commissions came in like a flood-tide, she continued with her policy of letting her sons do the work they liked best. As was to be expected, Jonathan always elected to make the most ornate dinner services or anything else of elaborate design when Hester had to comply more with a client’s wishes than she would have wished. Yet her fluid lines carried those pieces through and retained an honest beauty that a less masterful designer would not have managed to achieve.
Anne-Olympe gave birth to a son who was named after his father. Not even able to polish during the last month of her pregnancy, she made her own plans as to how it should be in future. On the north side of the house was a large garden room, little used for its poor location in relation to the sun, and in a fait accompli when Jonathan was in London for three days she had it made into a workshop. It had everything she needed from benches to a charcoal hearth. Unable to touch any money of her own, all she owned having become Jonathan’s upon their marriage, she had called on her father to finance her. His opinion of his son-in-law had deteriorated somewhat and he was willing enough to conspire against him, letting her have some seasoned stakes and many other items from stores in his own workshop.
‘Now you’ll be a goldsmith again,’ he said with pride in her as they viewed the finished workshop together. ‘I’ll send you all the work you want.’
‘No, Father,’ she declined firmly. ‘I could never work in competition with the Batemans, not even for you. This is to be an extension of their workshop. Here I shall do whatever work they allow me while at the same time I’ll be near my baby. It is how Hester managed when she was my age.’
‘Do you want me to stay until that husband of yours returns?’
‘No. I’m not afraid of him.’
‘Does your mother-in-law know why workmen have been here?’
‘She may have guessed from the hammering and banging but she never comes here uninvited.’
‘That’s a mercy! I could never have lived next door to your mother’s mother because her nose would have been into everything.’
Jonathan came home with a nosegay of flowers for Anne-Olympe, full of smiles and more satisfied with the social aspect of his time in London than in the business he had conducted. He had enjoyed his escape from the domesticity of married life and hoped that Peter, who ran the Bateman enterprise with keen efficiency, would send him again when the need arose.
‘I’ve something to show you,’ she said, inhaling the scent of the nosegay as she led the way to the rear end of the house.
His jaw dropped at the sight presented to him. ‘What the devil — !’
Then, as she explained, whatever anger he might have felt quite evaporated. Already burdened with the sense of guilt that most men experience when they return home after being unfaithful to their wives for the first time, he felt almost bound to give in to her in this matter. ‘Well, I don’t approve of what you’ve done,’ he stated heavily, ‘but I accept that you will never be completely happy if I don’t support you in this move. I’ll see you get all the work you want from the commissions received.’
She threw her arms around him in a kiss, scattering petals from the nosegay, the flowers’ perfume hiding another that clung to his clothes. In his own mind he began to see that her dedication to work could be to his advantage and he laughed as he swept her up in his arms, his desires renewed.
Hester was relieved when shown the new workshop. It was the perfect solution to keeping Peter and Anne-Olympe apart. They hardly needed to see each other any more. She admired her daughter-in-law’s bold action for it came close to what she might have done in similar circumstances, but she could not quell the hostility in herself that came from knowing what this young woman had done, all inadvertently, to Peter. He was a changed man. Even in grief his good nature had stayed open and kindly towards others, but now he could be quickly irritable and was intolerant towards Jonathan at all times. Only with Sarah did he retain the same endless patience that she had never managed to destroy.
‘I insist on Peter seeing my workshop.’ Anne-Olympe’s mouth was set determinedly. ‘He has made it clear he doesn’t want to visit my home socially but he would force himself to go to an enemy’s premises if business made it necessary and that is my claim to half an hour of his time.’
Not all her bitter words were repeated to Peter but he agreed to go anyway, choosing a time when he was sure Jonathan would be there. Instead, he found himself alone with her. In her triumph at getting him there, which seemed a kind of victory to her in the mostly silent battle that was waged between them, she almost danced ahead of him around the workshop, her lovely profile showing this way and that as she indicated what she wanted him to observe, the tangle of her jet-black curls spinning about in a measure of its own. In her pride in her new possessions, she was not aware that he looked only at her. The last thing he expected was that she should stop dead in her tracks and turn with a swirl of her striped silk skirt, almost catching him unawares. He hardened his face in the nick of time.
‘I forgot to show you an old chasing hammer hanging by the door. My father thinks it dates back to the twelfth century and he has given it to me.’
‘What a magnificent gift. I should like to see it.’
She darted across to take it down from the wall and hand it to him. ‘It has a good feel to it.’
He nodded, weighing it in his hand. ‘Centuries of our skill have become absorbed into this tool. Would you allow me to use it one day?’
>
‘Keep it as long as you wish.’
He shook his head quickly. ‘I’ll not take if from you before you’ve had a chance to use it.’
She took it back from him and held it to her. ‘Then you’re going to give me work. Did Jonathan persuade you?’
‘There was no need of persuasion and in any case I always make up my own mind on anything that concerns the business.’ He nodded at her surroundings. ‘You have the space here and the facilities you need without over-crowding the main workshop. In the morning I’ll send Linney across with the discs you’ll need for an inkstand.’
‘Thank you, Peter.’
He almost looked back at her. For the fraction of a second he was tempted to gaze again on the face of the woman who enthralled him more and not less with every passing day, but he had almost given himself away once already and he dared not risk it a second time. ‘Good evening to you,’ he said over his shoulder and went off down the road in the direction of his own home. She felt rebuffed anew, hurt and angered by him.
When Hester’s design and the discs came next morning, Anne-Olympe was aware he had presented her with a challenge. No easy task here, but a grand inkstand with three wells, flush lids and fine beading, complete with a pen-tray and a candle-holder and snuffer. She set to work at once, singing under her breath. In spite of Peter’s churlishness towards her she felt she was making the inkstand for him, and although their shared animosity was unabated, it gave a certain excitement to the project.
The inkstand was magnificent when finished. Hester was generous with praise and so was Jonathan. Peter only gave a nod. Anne-Olympe’s Gallic temper flared, making her long to throw the inkstand at him.
‘What do you want me to do next?’ she hissed.
‘Tell me what you prefer.’
‘Trays!’ She knew she would be taking away from him the work that he liked best.
‘Very well. The designs are on the shelf.’
She took the one that offered the most intricate work. He unlocked the chest where the discs were kept and gave her what she needed. She stalked away.
For all Jonathan’s penchant for the luxuries of life, he had the Bateman dedication to work and took immense pride in the articles he made. Hester knew only too well that he also felt that his wife’s extension of the working premises had given him a larger stake in the business than his brothers, and he tried to use this against them on occasions. Unfortunately for Anne-Olympe, he was more careless in his marriage bed than he would ever have been at work and she became pregnant every year. Hester’s respect for her daughter-in-law grew. No matter how unwell Anne-Olympe was feeling, she never shirked the silversmithing she had taken on and once collapsed with labour pains at her work-bench. It was as if she were driven at all times, not in competition with her husband, but by a need to prove to Peter that she could match any one of the Batemans and he more than the rest.
With such an excellent team of workers at her benches, Linney having elected to stay on after registering his ‘touch’, Hester concentrated much of her time on designing. Yet she let no one use her work-bench and took up her place there to continue making the small articles that were always her choice.
All three of her sons benefited greatly from her prosperity which had become firmly established during the first half of a decade that had passed since the exhibition, and neither did Linney’s wages fall short, he being entitled to the same bonuses as the Bateman brothers. Anne-Olympe received the same benefits as her husband, for Hester had never been able to understand why a woman should be penalized by her sex in the matter of pay.
She found her soaring financial status faintly amusing. It had no importance for her beyond the thriving of her business, for she had always known the true values of life and wealth had never been on her list. Yet inevitably she now had her own coach as did her sons and there were thoroughbred horses in her stables. Silk drapes adorned the windows of her home, and much of the replacement furniture was from Mr Chippendale’s shop in St Martin’s Lane. In the matter of jewellery she had sought Richard’s advice, for none could judge a precious stone better than he, and from him she had purchased a few beautiful and quite simple pieces that she wore on special occasions.
She chose to wear an emerald brooch and a velvet gown of the same hue on the Sunday evening when she felt a need to confide in James. They sat by the fire in the mansion after having had supper together. She had brought him a tincture made from boiled dandelion root for his minor digestive trouble and he enjoyed her consideration. Mary had merely slapped him on the back and told him to ride to hounds more often in the fresh air.
‘Peter and Anne-Olympe are more hostile to each other than ever.’ She lifted a hand, letting it drop into her lap again despairingly. ‘Jonathan never takes either side. Sometimes he seems to enjoy their sparring. He has a curious sense of humour. Who would ever have thought that a feud between his wife and his brother would have lasted so long?’
‘It’s not surprising if what you happen to believe should be true.’
‘That she is as drawn to Peter as he is to her? Oh yes, as I have said to you before, underneath all that open hostility there is a bond between them. She doesn’t recognize it, of that I’m sure, but it is always his approval that she seeks, no matter what show of indifference she puts on. In the same way she is completely loyal to Jonathan, who neglects her shamefully for his pleasures in town.’
James kept a tactful silence. It was well known in city circles that a certain married woman, prominent in society, was Jonathan’s mistress and there had been others before her. The young man had charm and money, a combination that opened any door. As if reading his thoughts, Hester leaned forward in her chair and tapped him sharply on the arm with her closed fan.
‘Don’t suppose I’m ignorant of Jonathan’s paramours! I have ears in my head too, you know, James. So you may speak freely to me as an old friend.’
‘In that case,’ he answered candidly, ‘it’s a pity that Anne-Olympe chose the wrong brother and that Peter didn’t wait a while before remarriage to see what was over the horizon.’
‘I agree, but he was much younger then and, as we know, the young never listen to advice. Added to that, we Batemans have always been a headstrong bunch.’
‘Even the other Ann in your family?’
Hester gazed pensively before her. ‘Even Ann in her own quiet way,’ she conceded. She would regret to the end of her days those heated moments when she had let a long-buried and never fully formed thought about Matthew Grant burst to the surface. Ann’s momentarily stricken face had confirmed the truth of it. Somehow that had severed a link, putting a longer distance between her and her daughter than stretched from Bunhill Row to York. How easy it was by a single unguarded phrase to alienate one’s own offspring. There was not even a grandchild to heal the breach, for Ann and Dick’s marriage seemed destined to be childless, just as there continued to be no sign that Peter and Sarah would have a family.
‘Is Joss back at work again?’ James enquired.
Hester broke out of her reverie. ‘Yes, he was only away a few days. Neither he nor Alice have any idea what ailed him, but he has lost weight and needs to regain it.’
‘I wish him well. No news of William, I suppose, now that the American colonies have finally rebelled?’
‘None. The only consolation with a son in a fighting force is that no news can be good news.’
‘I agree. The military authorities would notify you if anything fatal occurred.’ He saw her shudder and she suddenly hugged her arms. ‘Are you cold, my dear?’
She managed a bleak smile. ‘Not really. Perhaps someone walked across my grave. Let’s talk no more of death.’
‘Indeed not.’ He lifted himself up from his chair to boot a couple of the glowing logs into the leaping flames. ‘Shall we play backgammon?’ he suggested cheerfully. ‘You beat me soundly last time and I want revenge.’
The rosy light danced over her lifted expression and she clapped
her hands together in agreement. The rest of the evening passed in good form.
He walked her home to her door as he always did, holding a large umbrella over her, for it was raining a little. They exchanged a good-night kiss out of their fondness for each other, although there were still times when he would embrace her as heartily as if they were still as young in their bodies as they were in their minds.
‘Good night, James.’
‘Sleep well, Hester.’
She let herself into the house and closed the door behind her. A candle-lamp was always left on the side table in the hall for her on these evenings, for she saw no reason to keep the servants up late. Even as she reached for it, someone moved out of the shadows by the stairs and seized her about the waist from behind, clapping a hand over her mouth at the same time. She almost fainted as William’s voice whispered in her ear.
‘Don’t be afraid, Mother. I just don’t want anyone else in the house to know I’m here. When I release you, pick up the lamp and go into the parlour. I’ll follow and whatever you do, don’t cry out when you see me. I’m not as you last saw me.’
His hand left her mouth. As she released her cape he took if from her and she heard it fall across a chair. Obediently she picked up the lamp. He followed her quietly but she caught what she thought was the tap of a cane. When she reached the parlour she set down the lamp and then turned as he came from shutting the door after them.
She pressed fingertips to her mouth to keep back the cry he had feared. He was greatly changed, a scar gouged his forehead over the right eye from brow to hairline and it was not a cane that supported him, but a crutch, one leg seemingly useless. As for his clothes, they were tattered and filthy as if he had slept in them for months, a pervading odour coming from them suggestive of a ship’s hold. Yet his cheerful grin on his unshaven face was unchanged, the same mischief in his eyes as if surprising her had been no more than one of his boyhood pranks. She burst into tears of joy at their reunion, rushing forward with her arms outstretched. They hugged each other for several minutes, she unable to control her weeping and he also moved to a wetness of the eyes that he quickly wiped away when eventually she stood back from him.
The Silver Touch Page 35