The Silver Touch (4 page)

Jack did not notice her state of distraction, being occupied with his task. ‘The betrothal is not official yet. It can’t be until the lad has served out what time remains of his indentures and gains the Freedom of the Goldsmiths Company. In the meantime the young couple have an understanding. You’d better take the watch-chain to the Harwood workshop tomorrow morning before we get busy.’

She plucked absently at the wash-cloth she held, her words coming bitterly. ‘I wonder that Master Harwood should consider a man without means suitable as a husband for his daughter.’

Sensitivity was not a quality of Jack’s blunt nature and he continued to be oblivious to her tension as he clattered another chair. ‘Ah, it’s skill that is young Bateman’s fortune. The lad is a born goldsmith and will be the mainstay of the Harwood workshop in time to come. What better for a master craftsman without sons that he should train a future son-in-law into his own ways. It’s a unique chance to ensure the business remains sound, even when he himself is gone.’ Finally he realized how long Hester had been standing by the bar and looked across with a frown. ‘Ain’t you finished that cleaning yet?’

Hester, galvanized into action, rubbed away at the bar in a furious burst of energy as a silent outlet for her pent-up feelings. Later, as she prepared for bed, her optimism returned and she shook off determinedly the dismay that Jack’s information had caused her. What did her lack of education really matter? She could always keep her secret that she knew nothing of books or writing by talking of other things to hold John’s interest. Neither was it important that she could not play the lute or a harpsichord, for she had a sweet singing voice and was never out of tune. As for John’s prospects of a future governed by a father-in-law, she did not think that any man of initiative would take kindly to that. Surely John with his skills would be more than ready to make his own way and harvest his own successes once the Freedom was his, which was what she would have done in his place.

Finally, and most important of all, she refused to believe he had ever looked at Caroline Harwood as he had looked at her that day, staring as if she were Venus rising from the sea. Few women could have seen a man so transfixed.

Two

Ever since he had come to the workshop that morning John had been watching for Hester. Common sense told him she would not appear at too early an hour, but then common sense seemed to have abandoned him since that moment yesterday when he had stepped into the yard at the Heathcock Inn and seen her sketching on the steps, a total innocent in her disarray, her long hair holding all the hues of a late sunset against the warm red bricks behind her.

It was an image impossible to put out of his mind, the lowered scoop of neckline revealing the shadowed cleavage and the length of beautiful leg amid white frills with ankles he could have encircled with finger and thumb. Then, when she had looked up, the impact of startled eyes, caught breath and parted lips had touched some chord in him that seemed to arouse an instant rapport in her. Their conversation had paled before that other language of mind and body. He was as impatient as a madman to see her again.

His shirt, which had been clean that morning, was soiled already due to the grimy conditions of a goldsmith’s workshop where smelting, alloying and manufacture took place. The floor was swept meticulously every night, and the dust and dirt sieved afterwards to catch any
lemel
, the old French word given to the grains of precious metal that flew from the impact of a tool, or escaped the leather aprons of the craftsmen which were permanently attached to the work-benches and tied with tapes behind their waists. The dirt was then bagged and sold at the door to those who still thought it worthwhile to purchase the sweepings from a goldsmith’s floor.

Wherever possible the work-benches with their semi-circular cut-outs, which gave a convenient edge to work against, were placed under windows to catch the maximum amount of light; hanging candle-lamps gave extra illumination when needed. John’s work-place was at an end cut-out in a bench occupying a favourable position and his own tools were conveniently to hand, many of them on wall-racks. Communal apparatus, such as extra stakes and heads — the names given to cast-iron shapes over which the precious metals were beaten into the required forms — crucibles for melting, hammers and vices and many other tools, were racked or shelved and formed a strangely proud mural that ran the length of the long workshop on either side.

On the floor, as well as on the benches, were large elm tree stumps into which the stakes and heads were set for stability while a piece was worked on; they also had another use, the old wood having become worn through time, often over two or three or more generations of goldsmiths, into marvellously smooth indentations suitable for beating workpieces into shape. A good stump was as much an heirloom to be passed on to a goldsmith’s son as a set of tools. At the darkest end of the workshop were the charcoal hearths, their strategic position making it easier to see when an article was approaching red heat in soldering or annealing.

The working area occupied the whole of the ground floor with the Harwood living-quarters above. In all, Master Harwood employed thirty journeymen and three apprentices, in addition to half a dozen women engaged in filing, polishing and similar routine tasks. It was to be expected that apprenticeship in such a thriving workshop should be eagerly sought after and John had been aware of his good fortune from the first day.

He was engaged that morning on an interesting workpiece which he had begun three days ago. It was a magnificent tankard formed of thin sheets of silver soldered together while the mouldings of the spreading foot were most finely beaten. With a scroll handle and a domed cover, operated by a corkscrew thumbpiece, it would never hold ale for a poor man’s lips. Although usually two and a half days were allotted for the making of a tankard, this was an elaborate one that had involved many extra hours.

As John worked, he tried to rationalize his intense desire to see Hester again and bring it to a sensible level. He blamed it on the monastic rule that governed all apprenticeships, together with a ban on swearing, drunkenness, gambling and even marriage. Being young, strong, healthy and virile, was it any wonder that such a lovely sight as Hester had presented should have stirred him as it did? That was all there was to it.

If only there could have been a full relationship between himself and Caroline he would have been less susceptible to another girl’s appeal, for he was not by nature easy in his loyalties or commitments. As it was, he could number the kisses and embraces from Caroline on the fingers of one hand. She was no less eager than he, but since she had made it known to her father that they were in love, new restrictions on her movements had curtailed all chance meetings on the premises, which had been such a pleasure to them both. Instead, he was now invited to the upper regions of the Harwood establishment, previously a barred area, for dinner at the fashionable hour of two o’clock twice a month, on alternate Sundays, at which her parents always presided. Before the first invitation had been issued, Master Harwood had called him into the office.

‘I understand from Caroline that you and she have developed a sincere affection for each other.’

‘That is so, sir.’

‘Well, no more can be said on the matter until you have been admitted into the Goldsmiths Company at the end of your apprenticeship. Then you may make known to me your honourable intentions towards my daughter. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, sir. I look forward to that day.’

That had been the end of the interview. It had told him clearly that he was approved; no barriers would stand in his way.

After rising from the Sunday dinner table, he and Caroline would talk together in a corner of the room, able to forget to a degree that they were being observed, for they had much in common, her interests as wide as his. If they became too absorbed, her mother would interrupt by asking Caroline to play the harpsichord, particularly if there was other company present. In fine weather, there was occasionally a sedate walk, he and Caroline proceeding in front of her parents, which meant there could be no lingering behind their backs. He thought sometimes it would have been more agreeable for Caroline and him if she had kept their love a secret for a while longer, but she had always been close to her parents and could not hold back the joy of telling them.

When the Sunday afternoons were over, he always returned to the dank basement room below the workshop that he shared with the two other apprentices, Tom Nicholson and Robin Pomfret. It was here they slept on straw-filled wall-beds and ate the meagre victuals doled out to them three times a day from the household kitchen. He did not resent the conditions, because it was the lot common to most apprentices, and he and his companions were better off than those who actually had to sleep under their work-benches. Since they received little pay, cash was always a problem. Luckily there was plenty to do and see in London that was without charge. Unlike either Tom or Robin, who were a noisy, boisterous pair, he read a great deal. Whenever the small allowance came from his grandfather, he would put a few pence aside from that needed for shoe repairs and other necessities, and then comb the market stalls for any volumes of interest that could be picked up cheaply, plus some candles to read them by.

In the activity of the workshop, he did not hear Robin’s approach or know he was there until tapped on the shoulder. ‘There’s a young woman to see you, John. Says she has a watch-chain that can’t be handed over to anyone else.’

He nodded, straightening up from his work, and untied his leather apron to hook it forward against the workbench with slow deliberation to subdue the sudden churn of excitement in him. It would not be as yesterday. That had been a moment out of time. Today everything would be commonplace. He must prepare himself for that.

In the entrance hall Hester waited. At the far end, by an office door, a massive staircase led to the rooms of the Harwood residence above. She was impressed by the size of the establishment and its obvious prosperity. Brasswork had shone on the porticoed door and here inside there was a waxed sheen to the dark floorboards. From this place went an outflowing of handsome gold and silver items, all bearing the Harwood hallmark.

A gilt-framed looking-glass, with candle-sconces that would reflect the light at evening-time, was hanging on the wall near the staircase. By taking a few steps to the right, she was able to check her appearance in it. She was wearing a lace-trimmed cap with floating ribbons of primrose-yellow; her hair was dressed back smoothly in its customary style of glossy, well-brushed swathes high across the back of her head. Her dress was grey-striped calico and her apron, part of the fashion scene even among high-born ladies who had them made of silk and lace, had a pleated edge to it. She was looking her best and she waited neatly, the watch-chain wrapped in a piece of white linen in her hand.

A door opened and John came into the hall. A flat, guarded look across his face dissolved immediately at the sight of her. Any doubts she might have harboured about how it would be when they met again were completely banished. There was nothing to worry about. It was as she had believed in her heart it would be. He came hurrying towards her.

‘Miss Needham! You found this address without too much difficulty, I hope.’

‘Yes, it was easy.’ She glanced about her admiringly. ‘And what a grand place it is. You are fortunate to be working here.’

‘I am. Unlike some establishments this one is large enough to give me an extensive training in every branch of goldsmithing.’

Her glance flicked over his grimy attire. ‘What work do you like doing best?’

‘Anything in silver. It particularly appeals to me and the results can be as beautiful as anything in gold.’

His preference for silver seemed to send an echo ringing through her veins. ‘What do you make?’ she questioned keenly.

‘Salvers, punch-bowls, coffee-pots and tankards.’ He spread his hands to indicate the wide range. ‘Spoons and forks and all the rest of it. Orders come in all the time and there’s always work in plenty ahead of us here. I wish I could show you round the workshops, but that’s not permitted.’

She shook her head to show she was not disappointed. ‘It wouldn’t be safe to let strangers in among all those precious metals. Jack is equally vigilant over the keys to the wine cellar. That reminds me. He wants to know how long it will be before he gets his watch-chain back again.’ Carefully she unfolded the linen and held it out, the watch-chain gleaming in its folds.

He took it and examined it. ‘This won’t take long, although at the present time I have some other work on hand. A link has been lost, that’s all.’ Then, against all wisdom, he heard himself say: ‘I’ll return it personally. Just as soon as I can.’

Her heart pounded and her breath seemed to leave her. ‘I’ll tell him that.’ Then she added merrily: ‘Don’t expect to find me sketching again. That only happens rarely. I’m usually waiting at tables in the main taproom.’

‘I wouldn’t leave again without finding you there.’

Although her instincts told her that, it was still satisfying to hear him say it. She moved towards the door and he sprang in front of her to open it. No man had ever opened a door for her before, except by chance. She hesitated for a moment in the patch of sunlight, savouring the experience, her smile radiant. ‘Farewell until our next meeting, Mr Bateman.’

On her way home she no longer had the least doubt that she had fallen in love. What else was this extraordinary happiness that made her want to dance instead of walk, sing instead of talk? The confines of the tavern and the city streets beyond had never seemed more restraining. She would have liked to be back in the countryside, to throw her arms wide and run down a hillslope, which was the nearest any human being could come to the lovely flight of birds.

She did not expect to see him for several days. The repair would not be done until he had time and even then Master Harwood might set a priority on some other work. Just as she was beginning to expect his arrival, she was suddenly taken aback to see Jack’s fob-watch dangling on its chain from the broad expanse of his crimson waistcoat. ‘When did you get that back?’ she demanded in bewilderment.

‘Yesterday evening. Harwood brought it when he came in for a tankard of ale.’

She guessed it must have been when she was on duty serving in the private parlours, for the sight of Master Harwood would have alerted her. Telling herself it was only a temporary disappointment and that John would soon come anyway, she picked up four brimming tankards, two handles in each hand, and continued serving the thirsty customers.

Two weeks went by before John came to the Heathcock. He was wearing his one good coat of stout brown cloth, kept for his leisure hours, full-skirted with flapped pockets, his waistcoat a lighter shade, his knee-breeches black and his stockings white.

When delivery of the watch-chain had been taken from him, he had decided it was all for the best because it had saved him, at the last minute, from running uncharacteristically into folly. Nothing could come of furthering an acquaintance with Hester and the wild attraction he had felt for her had left unchanged his feelings for Caroline. Their last Sunday meeting had been an especially happy one with a few unsupervised minutes in which he had been able to kiss her, startling her with the pent-up violence of his mouth, but instantly she had melted against him, eyes closed and trembling ecstatically. Why then, when all was going well for him, and against plain logic and reasoning, had he allowed himself to be inexorably drawn back, in his best clothes, to the place where Hester was to be found? He refused to consider what the answer might be as he strolled into the main taproom.