The Silver Touch (13 page)

‘Forgive me, Hester. You were right to say all you did. It haunts me that I virtually abandoned you at the Heathcock for four months of our lives, which we should have spent together. It takes some men time to shake off bachelorhood and I was guilty of that. If I could have my time over again there would be no parting at the gates of the Fleet.’

‘I don’t hold that against you.’ Her hands smoothed his face and hair and throat and chest, starved of contact with him. ‘It was my decision too.’

They made up with love-making the rift that had been between them. Afterwards, everything was outwardly as it had been before. The cause of their quarrel was not raised again; he never talked about his work and the address meant nothing to her. His wages proved to be double what they had been before and her relief at being able to buy a few of the things she needed urgently for Joss and for themselves was marred by her feeling that it was in some way contaminated money. She knew from all he had told her that the goldsmithing world had its share of rogues, who falsified gold and silver content, dealt in stolen plate that was quickly melted down, found innumerable ways to dodge the duty of sixpence an ounce on silver and were up to all manner of other tricks that reputable craftsmen scorned. If John had not been the man he was she would have suspected him of having become part of these nefarious dealings, but however desperate she had inadvertently made him about money, she knew he would never resort to such measures.

She had her first inkling as to what his new work involved when she did the laundry. It was his habit to change his shirt every day and now as she plunged them into the suds it was not the odour of clean, honest sweat that rose from them before they were fully immersed, but a curious, almost acidy smell that she could not identify. When she asked him what new materials he was using, he brushed her question aside with some vague reply as he did every time she tried to discuss his work. She also noted there was a new kind of stain on his fingers that scrubbing would not remove.

Her worry never left her, which was why enlightenment came at an unexpected moment when she was buying vegetables in the market. By chance a clatter on the next stall caught her attention and she saw that a stack of cheap metal bowls ornamented with imitation gilding had slipped forward. That was it! Gilding! He had become a gilder: all the evidence immediately added up. Gilding was the most dreaded branch of the goldsmith’s trade for health reasons. She felt almost faint and dropped back on to the stall from nerveless fingers the bunch of leeks that she had intended to purchase. Turning away, Joss a heavy weight balanced on her hip, she moved as if in a daze to cover the long walk to John’s place of work.

She knew all about the gilding process, for until recently John had encouraged her interest in goldsmithing until there was little she had not learned about it. Thin plates of gold were melted and three or four times its weight of mercury was poured into the same crucible, producing an amalgam of butter-like substance. With the fingers it was smoothed over the workpiece to be gilded, which in turn was held over a charcoal fire until the mercury evaporated leaving the gold. Then it was cleaned and polished. It was in the fumes of the evaporating mercury that the terrible danger lay. It attacked the lungs with devastating results. Few gilders lived long and John had taken on this deadly work because she had driven him to it.

If she needed confirmation as to her correct deduction it was on the sign suspended over the doorway of his place of work.
Charles
Hardcastle
,
Burnisher
and
Gilder
. It was work almost every goldsmith contracted out, for the fumes spread wide. She sat on a wall to wait, keeping Joss satisfied with a baked crust she had carried wrapped in her pocket.

At midday the workers came out into the air to eat their noon pieces. It was a poor street and nobody around to object to their lolling about or sprawling on the ground to rest. She was filled with horror and pity. Many coughed as they came out into the air and some had a skeletal look as if their days were already numbered. There were some haggard-faced women among them. Recent recruits looked well enough, their time yet to come, and in the midst of them was John. He saw her at once and came to her, resigned that she had discovered him.

‘Not this!’ she exclaimed imploringly.

As if afraid the fumes might still be hanging about him, he made no attempt to touch her or their son. ‘Go home, Hester.’

‘Come with me! Don’t return to that hell-hole!’

‘We’ll talk in the evening.’ He turned away to rejoin his fellow workers and she had no choice but to do as he had bidden her.

She was out of sight by the time he went back into the workshop, his noon piece eaten and some fresh air in his lungs. There was probably no other method of covering metal with a thin film of gold than fire-gilding and it gave a pretty look to the insides of silver-caskets, boxes, cruets, cups and bowls. Not many people outside the trade knew the high cost of the ornamentation that was greatly in demand.

He picked up his leather helmet and put it over his face and head. It had a breathing tube that went over his shoulder to escape inhaling the worst of the fumes. He found it hot and uncomfortable to work in and it was his experience that the obnoxious vapour still leaked in. Yet he and his fellow gilders in this place were fortunate to be provided with this innovation; he had seen some pathetic home-made headgear in his time that gilders had struggled with, hoping to maintain their working lives. Therefore he could say he was better off in this workshop than he would have been in most other places in the gilding trade, although he did not think Hester would view it in that light.

She did not. In spite of her heartfelt persuasion that evening, he would not budge in his determination to go on working there. ‘The pay is good,’ he replied doggedly, ‘and we need the extra money.’

They were eating together and he noticed she appeared to have lost all her appetite, pushing the food around her plate with her fork. ‘The wages are only high because it is such dangerous work,’ she persisted.

‘I admit that.’ He helped himself to another slice of bread to eat with his meat. ‘It should do me no harm for a while.’

‘I’m sure every minute of every hour with those fumes is deadly!’

At that moment a crumb caught in his throat, making him cough. Hester, thinking the gilders’ malady was already upon him, dropped her fork with a clatter, white to the lips. He took a quick gulp of ale to wash the crumb away and, his breath recovered, made a promise out of compassion to settle the worst of her fears.

‘I’ll return to some minor goldsmiths’ workshop after six months of gilding if nothing better turns up in the meantime. By then we’ll have saved enough to tide us over for a while.’

She had to be content with that, for he would agree to nothing more. Luckily for her peace of mind, he was spared the gilding work after another month when Robin, fresh from registering his mark, his indentures at an end, called one evening with some good news.

‘I’m going to work for a well-established goldsmith, Master Barton, in Holborn, next door to the Cross Keys tavern. There’s a vacancy for a worker, not at the bench that I’ve been given, but with prospects for the right man. I’ve spoken for you. There was a favourable response. If you’re interested, be there tomorrow morning at seven o’clock.’

‘I’m interested indeed!’ John shook his hand appreciatively. ‘There’s only one possible snag. I met Master Barton and his wife and daughter several times at the Harwood Sunday dinners. He may have forgotten my name, but he’ll surely remember me face to face and recall that I’ve been banned.’

‘Have no fear. He does remember you already. If he had you on a blacklist he must have torn it up. He and his family no longer dine with the Harwoods. Masters Barton and Harwood fell out a while ago through rivalry over certain civic commissions.’

‘I’ll be at the Holborn workshop tomorrow morning and take my chance in any case. Thank you, my friend.’

On the first evening he came home from working in Holborn, she heard the difference in his step before he flung open the door, smiling and exuberant as a schoolboy home for the holidays. ‘Hester! Such splendid pieces are made there. As yet I’m only on routine work, but I’ll reach the major benches before long.’

She rushed to him and they hugged each other. ‘I’m so glad,’ she rejoiced.

It proved to be as he had anticipated. His work as an exceptional craftsman was recognized after a short time and a range of fine work was put to his creative talent. He was earning twenty-four shillings a week, which meant that a little could be put by again. Just when it seemed they were on the crest of a wave Hester found herself facing a new turn of events that reawakened old fears.

‘By the way,’ John said one evening, deliberately on a casual note. ‘Caroline was at the Barton place today. Apparently she visits quite often.’

Suddenly alert to every nuance in his voice, Hester continued to search for cotton thread of a certain colour in her sewing-box. ‘I thought the two families were not on good terms.’

‘The girls have remained staunch friends in spite of the differences between their fathers.’

‘Who told you that? Robin?’

‘No, I heard it from Caroline herself.’

Hester thought her heart stopped. ‘You’ve spoken to her?’

‘Yes, today, for the first time, although I have glimpsed her a couple of times through an open door. Then this morning she came to speak to Robin and happened to see me.’

The thread she wanted had come to light. ‘You haven’t mentioned seeing her before.’

‘It must have slipped my mind.’ He opened the newspaper, which he could now afford to buy once a week, and began to read, putting an end to the conversation. Hester found her hands were shaking too much to put the thread through the eye of her needle.

The day came when he was late home and the mutton stew she had prepared, which was one of his favourite dishes, had burned at the bottom of the pot. ‘I was delayed,’ he explained, washing his hands and face in the bowl of warm water she always had ready for him. ‘Caroline happened to come out of the Bartons’ residential doorway when I was making for home. We walked part of the way together. She had heard praise of my work in the Barton household and wanted to know more about the set of salvers I’m making.’

With supreme effort she held back a retort, biting the inside of her lip until it bled, and her hands tightened their grip of the ladle she was holding until the knuckles turned white. The enemy was moving in. Men were so gullible in such matters, unable to see when a combination of charm and flattery was leading them by the nose. What perfect timing on Caroline’s part, not only arranging a social departure to coincide with the home-going of the craftsmen, but in starting to pick up the threads of a relationship when a marriage was well into its second year and the first flush of romantic passion might have been expected to have eased off. Hester did not believe for one instant that a chance call into the workshop to see Robin and thus meeting John again had not been carefully planned. What more natural than that Master Barton’s daughter should have mentioned to Caroline that John was now working there. The danger was increased by everything being conducted gradually and without haste.

‘I hope the stew won’t taste burnt,’ was all she said with remarkable self-restraint. He appeared relieved that his explanation was not to be dissected and assured her that the stew was delicious. She tasted it and it was; no thanks to Caroline.

About a week later he brought home a little toy that Caroline had given him for Joss. It was a monkey on a stick. Joss played with it for hours, otherwise Hester would have thrown it on the fire. After that day John did not refer to Caroline again. Whenever he was late he gave no explanation beyond having had a task to finish. His reticence about Caroline, who was surely just as frequent in her visits to the Bartons as before, became far more alarming to Hester than anything he could have said. Once, unable to restrain herself any longer, she asked him straight out if he had seen her recently. She thought he looked taken aback, for she had caught him off guard.

‘Yes, she is well. We pass the time of day whenever we meet. Her father isn’t in good health. He had a slight seizure recently.’

It gave her a lead for another time. ‘Have you heard how Master Harwood is now?’

He did not look up from his newspaper. ‘He is recovered, but his daughter has doubts that he will ever be truly himself again.’

It seemed significant to her that this time he did not even speak Caroline’s name. Her only comfort was that his loving attitude towards her was unchanged, but even this thread of security seemed to be in danger when at All Hallows one Sunday the rector took as the theme of his sermon the Church’s determination to put an end to Fleet marriages, which he declared made a travesty of the marriage ceremony.

‘Fleet weddings are an abomination,’ he thundered from the pulpit. ‘Let them be abolished and every union already conducted there declared invalid!’

Hester was thoughtful on the way home. ‘Could Fleet marriages be declared invalid?’

John was carrying Joss on his shoulders, the two of them having fun together, and he answered her without much attention. ‘There have been reports on the subject in the newspapers for some time, but I can’t see it happening myself.’

‘But suppose it did,’ she persisted. ‘We wouldn’t be married any more.’