The Silver Touch (14 page)

He was laughing with Joss, who had pushed his tricorn hat forward over his eyes, and he had to tilt his head back to look at her, his eyes merry. ‘I’d be a bachelor again with all the women in London to choose from.’

‘Would you still want me?’ She knew it was a foolish question since he was not prepared to take it seriously, but it was an appeal from the heart for reassurance for all that.

‘Who else would put up with me?’ he joked. Then he broke into a jog as he play-acted being a horse for his young son’s pleasure.

She followed at an unaltered pace. ‘I know one who would,’ she said disconsolately, although he was too far ahead to hear her, ‘and gladly too.’

That night in bed she lay in his arms and said, ‘Let us be married again, John.’

He nuzzled the soft warmth of her neck. ‘No couple could be more man and wife than we, my love.’

‘Not if our marriage lines are declared null and void,’

He raised himself on an elbow, looking down into her face. ‘You’re not still worrying about that, are you? I dare say Fleet marriages will be abolished in time simply because the Church is making such strong objections, but it is hardly likely that past marriages will be affected. The Church is not going to turn thousands of children into bastards by the stroke of a pen. Far better to let those bigamous liaisons remain unpunished.’

‘I want to be married at St Botolph’s church over in Bishopsgate,’ she said, sweeping aside his argument. ‘My parents were married there.’

He groaned, falling back on the pillows. ‘Don’t ask me to go through all that ritual again. It’s totally unnecessary. If it really looks as if some move is going to be made against past Fleet marriages, there’ll be plenty of time to see about another ceremony then.’

‘What if abolishment should happen overnight?’

‘It won’t.’

‘It might.’ She moved restlessly. ‘I don’t feel really married any more.’

He refused to take her misgivings seriously. His tolerance became strained when she continued to bring up the subject at tactical moments.

‘This nonsense about us marrying again has to stop,’ he insisted. ‘Just consider the practical difficulties for a start. To marry at St Botolph’s, which is out of our parish, would mean my having to move into Bishopsgate since one or another of us has to reside there for the time during which the banns are called.’

‘You could stay with Robin. He lives in Bishopsgate.’

‘You’d turn me out, would you?’

‘It would only be necessary for you to sleep there.’

‘No.’

‘John —’

‘No! What’s behind all this?’

She pressed a hand across her forehead and closed her eyes, a quiver tugging at the corner of her mouth. ‘I should die if I lost you.’

‘Have you so little trust in me?’ He was wearied by the whole subject. ‘You can’t know me at all if you think I’m a man who would desert his woman and his child. Be sensible, Hester. Put away your foolish fancies.’

She struggled to do as he wished, but a yearning for a church marriage had taken such a hold on her that she could barely think of anything else.

Whatever he might have had on his mind was driven away completely when he arrived home one day to find that a prepaid letter had been delivered from Staffordshire. It was not in his grandfather’s hand. Anxiety rose in him as he broke the seal. Hester saw by the way his face became drawn as he read that something was seriously wrong. She went to stand close to him, putting her hand on his arm.

‘Is it your grandfather?’ she asked with compassion.

He nodded. ‘He’s dying. I must go to him.’

For two weeks John was away. He sent her a letter, which Robin read to her. The old man had died peacefully the day after he arrived. Now the funeral was over he was arranging the sale of his childhood home and its effects, which was a sad duty, being full of memories.

When he returned home it was to tell her that he had inherited everything. In spite of the broken-down condition of the property, its sale and that of the land had given them a nest egg for the future. He had arranged that a few pieces of furniture, which he knew had been in the Bateman family for two or three generations, should be stored until such time as he was able to buy a house large enough to accommodate them.

‘Now we can move at last,’ she exclaimed thankfully.

He shook his head. ‘Not quite yet. I’ve had plenty of time to think about the future since I heard the reading of my grandfather’s will. I have the means now to set up as a goldsmith’s outworker with my own small workshop.’

‘That would be wonderful, John! Think of it!’ She was thrilled that he should have shown this ambition. It made all their struggles worthwhile. ‘How soon will it be?’

‘I can’t say.’ He saw the disappointment in her expressive face and put an arm consolingly about her. ‘There’s no question of my rushing into it. Before I give up my present employment I must investigate to find out how much work I could expect to come my way.’

‘I understand.’

She could not help wishing he was less cautious. If it had been her decision she would have plunged in right away, confident that all would be well. In the past she would have argued and tried to sway him to a swifter decision, but she would never forget how her sharp tongue had driven him to put his health into jeopardy. Without her being aware of it at the time, that experience had tempered a change in her. She had learned a terrible lesson in that her strength of character was such that she could destroy this loving man if she did not sublimate it. Gradually, since that shattering experience, she had come to see that although his strong will was more than a match for hers, it was the basic gentleness of his nature that she had in her power to torment to some point of breakdown if she did not guard against this. For that reason her request for remarriage had been an appeal and not a demand. She did not want to hurt him ever again. To that end she was resolved to let him be the undisputed head of the household, the maker of decisions, and she would cosset him to the best of her ability to the end of her days. This present decision of his to wait a while for his workshop would try her patience, but she accepted it.

It had never been easy for her to be patient and this time it proved to be even harder than she had anticipated. Her longing to get Joss away to a healthier area became more acute now that it would have been possible any day if John willed it. She felt as if she were enclosed in dark shadows and looking towards a door standing open to sunshine that she could not reach. A strange sense of foreboding settled upon her and kept her in an unusually sombre mood that she could not shake off. It magnified all the difficulties and daily annoyances that came from living in a poor area and which previously she had taken in her stride. Sweeping away other people’s garbage from the landing outside her door aroused her anger whereas previously there had been resignation. Her backache from having to carry Joss along the filthy streets in the neighbourhood seemed to get worse. There was also the hazard of wash-days when she had to keep a watch on her clothes-line in case anything was stolen, for on the very first day in the house when she had turned her back on a pegged-out line every item had vanished.

She was hanging up washing in the rear yard, sighing that it was another wash-day in this thieving area, when she heard what she thought at first to be a rumble of thunder not far away. Surprised, for the day was bright and sunny, she looked up into an almost cloudless sky. Then there came a reverberating crash that made the cobbles shiver underfoot. She spun about to see that one of the huge timbers shoring up the neighbouring house had fallen away. A great crack had appeared in the wall, spilling bricks and plaster. From within came muffled screams.

‘Merciful God!’ She sprang for the back door through which she had just come. Joss was upstairs in their room in the middle of a mid-morning nap. Already the house was beginning to shake as its neighbour shifted, black dust billowing out like smoke around the beams. She pounded up the flight, meeting panic-stricken residents from the floor above, and hurled herself across the landing into the room. Joss had been awakened by the noise and sat crying in his little truckle bed. Cracks were leaping up all the walls. She snatched him up, half-choked by dust, and turned for the stairs. When she reached the bottom of the flight she saw that the front door appeared to have wedged while the back door still stood open. Even as she made for it a wall gave way. There was a rumble as if a volcano had discharged and as the beams descended she flung herself protectively over Joss. A wedge of plaster hit the back of her head and she blacked out on the pain of it. Rubble and plaster buried the two of them.

In the street people came running from all directions to the scene. The shored-up Tudor house had brought down the greater part of the neighbouring houses on both sides. Those who had escaped at the last minute staggered about in a stunned condition, some nursing injuries. Mrs Burleigh, who knew Hester was at home that day, sent two of her sons on errands, one to notify John and the other to the Heathcock. Then she rushed to give a helping hand to those beginning to claw aside rubble in the hope of finding survivors. It was not unusual for very old property to collapse in poor districts, often with a high loss of life. She hoped that would not be the outcome today.

Jack arrived first in his gig, the Burleigh boy with him, and used his whip to get through the crowds of gaping spectators. He hurled himself into the rescue work, which two beadles were trying to organize, using his powerful strength to heave and propel aside the fallen beams. John arrived soon afterwards and Mrs Burleigh ran to meet him.

‘I know she’s in there, Mr Bateman! I saw her at the window not ten minutes before.’

He nodded, too frantic for speech, and threw his coat aside to lend his weight and his efforts to burrowing through. People were thick as ants on the ruins of all three houses and an hour later there were sounds of distress from the families concerned as bodies were recovered. Rescuers took turns with others when they needed to rest, but neither John nor Jack let anyone take their places. It was almost evening when they got through to Hester. She must have flung herself half under the staircase, for what remained of it had kept the heavy timbers from crushing her. She looked dead when she was lifted out, her hair grey with dust and blood on her face and neck. Even as she was moved Joss, disturbed from a sleep of exhaustion, began to cry. John felt for her pulse as Jack reached to pull Joss out unharmed.

‘She’s alive!’ John croaked. ‘And Joss, too. Thanks be to God.’

He carried her to the gig and lifted her carefully into it. Jack handed Joss to him and then drove them to the Heathcock. A doctor was summoned while Martha and one of the waiting-maids bathed Hester clean and made her as comfortable as possible.

She recovered consciousness twelve hours later to find her head bandaged, her right arm in splints and Joss protesting noisily outside her door, angry at not being allowed in to see her. ‘Let Joss come in,’ she called weakly.

Martha brought him, keeping a restraining hand to stop him clambering up on the bed. ‘You’ll be well again in a few days,’ she said brusquely, ‘but you’ve lost all your possessions. Jack says you may stay here until your husband finds another home for you.’

She made it sound like a concession; Hester guessed that Jack was pleased enough to shelter her and her child under his roof for a little while.

It was six weeks before she and John set up home together again. As soon as she was fully recovered, except for her bound arm, she went house-hunting, sometimes with John at the week’s end and often on her own, for in return for a few pence any one of the waiting-maids was willing to look after Joss in off-duty hours. John was not unduly surprised when she found a house in the parish of St Botolph’s that she was eager for him to see. He was willing enough to consider it, for it was a good area for him with plenty of goldsmiths in the vicinity.

It proved to be a plain, unpretentious house at the end of a row at the junction of two commercial streets. To his surprise she took him past the front door to enter by a side gate. Crossing a small cobbled yard with a well, they reached the rear door. To his increased astonishment it entered directly into what had once been a carpenter’s workshop with stout benches and shelves and tool-racks still in place, the floor flagged and a blackened hearth in the corner. Immediately he tested the benches for strength and stability and grinned widely at his findings.

‘These are splendid.’ He turned to the window that faced the yard and stood with arms akimbo and feet apart, nodding with satisfaction. ‘Plenty of light, too.’

‘You like it then?’ she ventured. ‘You feel you could work here?’

He swung about to her, still grinning. ‘We need look no further for a house, if the rest of it is to your liking.’

‘Oh, it is. Come and see!’

The rest of the ground floor was taken up by the kitchen regions and the parlour that looked out on the street. Upstairs were three bedchambers, one little more than a boxroom. When he learned the rent from her he found it was well within the range he had allowed. ‘Then we can move in as soon as everything is signed,’ he said, when they were downstairs again. She went to take another look around the parlour and he leaned a shoulder against the jamb, watching her. ‘This is certainly a good location for business. Apart from the work I’ve had promised me, I should be able to gather some in from the goldsmiths in this neighbourhood after a while.’