The Silver Touch

by Rosalind Laker

  ‘I’m pleased to see you well, Hester.’

  A conventional beginning. She was thankful for that. Within a few shorts months there had been a change in him. He looked taller, if that were possible, and had filled out as if he had been better fed; the boyish looks hardened into that of a fully mature man. She put a guard on her voice out of fear of betraying herself.

  ‘I trust it is the same with you?’

  ‘Never better. Will you stroll a way with me? I should like to talk to you.’

  She nodded and they went down the steps together. As if from a distance she heard herself remarking on the mildness of the evening and how good the summer promised to be. In desperation she commented on the beautiful roses bordering the path they were following, which was one of several score that threaded the whole area, some leading to sheltered arbours and secluded gazebos. It was not for nothing that Cuper’s was also known as Cupid’s Gardens. He made brief replies to all she said. Although he kept giving her long glances she felt as though she were walking side by side with a stranger, the brief space between them as wide as the Thames. When a silence fell between them it was an awkward one. They broke it simultaneously.

  ‘How is your work progressing?’ she asked.

  ‘Why didn’t you reply to my letter?’

  She came to an abrupt halt and he stopped in turn to face her. ‘I have never received a letter from you,’ she exclaimed in astonishment.

  ‘Then what happens to the mail at the Heathcock?’ His surprise was equal to hers. ‘Do they throw it away?’

  She shook her head absently. ‘When did you write?’

  ‘A few weeks after we quarrelled, which incidentally happens to be something I have deeply regretted.’

  Turning her face away to hide whatever he might read there, she began to stroll on again. ‘I was equally guilty of losing my temper and I’m sorry for it. We should have accepted that there were matters that could never be bridged between us and parted amicably to remain friends.’

  ‘I could never have endured mere friendship with you,’ he declared swiftly.

  She blushed, feeling it rise up her neck and into her cheeks. Such talk belonged to their past association and not to the present chance meeting. She decided to ignore what he had said. ‘What was the reason for writing to me? Was it to express that unnecessary apology?’

  ‘Much more than that. I wanted you to know that the situation has changed between Caroline and me. I still attend the Harwood Sunday dinners twice a month. I had intended to withdraw from them, but Caroline wanted us to go on meeting as friends, which I appreciate. Otherwise these occasions hold no importance for either of us. I’m free of all obligations towards her. That is what I wanted you to know. That is why I wrote the letter.’

  She kept her head high, looking straight ahead. Her curiosity was sharply aroused. The fact that he was continuing to dine with the Harwoods led her to deduce that so far his master knew nothing about this change of feeling towards Caroline. What was more, Caroline obviously had no one else yet, or John would have been replaced at the Sunday table. It was an odd state of affairs. At least he had been frank with her, but as yet she was not prepared to give an inch. ‘How was that to interest me?’

  ‘Only in that I hoped you would agree to forget our quarrel and see me again. I’m putting the same request to you now.’

  Her pace did not change. She felt she had to keep walking to give herself time to think, to accept, to cope with all the sudden joy that had gushed into her heart. It was as if she were coming alive again after a long and terrible sleep. Like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, her wings were still tender, too vulnerable yet to allow a move in any direction. ‘Let us enjoy this walk for a little longer. There’s plenty of time to talk later.’

  The soft cadences in her voice gave him no doubt as to what her answer would be. He wanted to take her into his arms, but it was too soon yet.

  It was not by chance that he had chosen the particular direction they were following, for he knew that before long they would reach one of the secret corners where he could be quite alone with her. The music and the noise of merry-making faded away behind them, shut off by the trees. She did not draw back when he led the way from the path, holding aside branches for her, to reach a bower entwined with rambling roses, the scent fragrant in the still air. They stood looking at each other in the moonlight, her beautiful face as pale as the blossoms. He could sense a lovely trembling in her and he lifted his hands, letting them hover, not yet daring to touch her. This was for them as it had never been before.

  ‘Hester,’ he breathed, ‘every day away from you has been like a year. You are everything to me.’

  ‘As you are to me.’ Her lips were moist and slightly parted. She seemed scarcely to breathe in the electric atmosphere.

  He reached for her and she swayed against him, supple and pliant. ‘Is the past behind us then?’ he asked her.

  ‘All that made us sad. Not the happy times.’

  ‘My love!’ His mouth closed down over hers and instantly they were both ignited by an explosion of passion that no amount of kissing could assuage. Being in each other’s arms again after the long months of miserable separation propelled them irrevocably towards a point of no return for which she yearned as frantically as he did.

  She was weightless against him as he bore her down on to the dry grass. His eager hand loosened her ribbons and spread them wide as his kisses travelled from her lips to her eyes and temples and down her neck to the wonderful fullness of her breasts now revealed to him. Her back arched with the desire he aroused in her. He felt her shudder with sensual delight as his caresses defied the encumbering petticoats to travel up her silky thighs and discover the sweet, moist core of her. What he was exclaiming to her he did not know. It was an outpouring of love such as he had never uttered before. With a deep gasp he entered her, his passion-swept face above hers, and he held her tightly through her moment of pain before loving her with all the force and power of his whole heart and body. When her unleashed ecstasy broke upon him like a wave it completely matched his own, convulsive and abandoned.

  For a while afterwards they were beyond speech. It was as though in their union all their promises had been made, every vow taken. He was drunk with love for her and held her gathered to him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder. Some rose petals had caught in her hair and he brushed them away with his fingertips. All the wonderment of lovers was upon them and they kissed, smiled with velvet looks and kissed again.

  ‘If only we could stay here, away from the world forever,’ she whispered yearningly.

  He cupped her face tenderly in his hands. ‘I should like any place where I could be alone with you.’

  ‘There must be other havens,’ she breathed, feeling exultant and utterly shameless.

  He was deeply moved, such vistas of love-making with her filling his mind that his voice became choked. ‘Say you’ll be mine forever. Just as you were tonight.’

  ‘Always, John.’ Her tone was fervent, her expression rapt. ‘Until the day I die!’

  Before they left the glade he picked one of the deep pink roses and gave it to her. She held it as he escorted her home through the lamp-lit streets. Her fear that he might be sighted by Jack or Martha caused her to insist that he let her cover the last few yards to the Heathcock by herself. He waited until he saw her turn safely into the tavern before making his own way homewards. His thoughts ran over the evening at Cuper’s and all it had brought him; it seemed a lucky chance he had gone there out of restlessness with Tom and Robin, never suspecting what the outcome would be.

  He had a twinge of misgiving when he recalled his lack of precaution in making love to Hester. The tumult of passion had driven all practical matters from his mind. Fortunately it was always said that conception rarely occurred the first time. However he would be more careful on future occasions. She should never come to any harm through carelessness on his part.

  Hester pressed t
he rose between two pieces of drawing paper and set a weight on top before going to bed. To have put it in water would have been to keep it for only two or three days before the petals dropped away and she wanted to keep it forever.

  Her new happiness, reflected in her face and in her laughter, soon brought its own unforeseen penalties. Martha had been seeking an excuse for some time to curtail the extra half-day off that Jack had decreed. Hearing Hester singing as she worked gave the necessary opening.

  ‘I can hear there’s nothing the matter with you any longer.’ Martha smirked with satisfaction, knowing that Jack was within earshot and he had remarked only a few days previously that he thought Hester had never looked bonnier. ‘It’s back to the same hours as everyone else for you now, my girl.’

  Hester breathed deeply, fighting back an angry retort. She wished she could have retaliated by accusing Martha of tampering with John’s letter, for there was no one else likely to have interfered, but she had to hold her tongue. On no account must she let either Jack or Martha suspect that she was seeing John again. She cast a look in her brother’s direction, hoping he would rescind the change that Martha had made. He simply went on filling his clay pipe, tamping down the tobacco with care as if he had nothing else on his mind. He had heard and she knew it. Her extra liberty was at an end.

  As a result, her meetings with John were all too brief and had in any case to be arranged as far as possible away from the Heathcock, which in turn cut their time together still further. They snatched hours on the river banks, in parks and in the garden of a little tavern where neither of them was known. Nowhere were they able to be entirely alone. Then, as if some kindly quirk of fate had turned in their favour, her long-awaited half-day coincided with a Sunday when he did not have to attend a Harwood dinner. Through a girl whom Robin knew, John was able to arrange a lift out into the countryside with her father, who was a market stall-holder, and on Sundays he went to collect eggs and other produce.

  ‘How shall we get back?’ Hester asked when they were settled in the back of the empty wagon, a picnic basket covered with a checked napkin beside them.

  ‘Our driver always takes supper with a sister in the village before he starts his return journey. It’s there we’ll meet him in the early evening.’

  It was wonderful for Hester to be back in the countryside, which she had not seen since the day she had left her childhood home. The environs of the village of Hampstead were much like those she had once known and she was full of stories to tell John as they wandered through buttercup-carpeted meadows and shady woods. He helped her over stiles and led her across stepping stones when they met a stream. They settled for their picnic on a hillock under the side-spread of a great oak tree. She unpacked bread and cheese and slices of beef, pickle in a jar, seed cake and oranges and a flagon of ale, all of which the Heathcock cook had given her from the pantry.

  After they had eaten and repacked the basket John, already in his shirt-sleeves, stretched out and slept with his head in her lap. She watched over him with love, flicking away with a blade of grass any insect that threatened to settle on his face, utterly content and protective.

  Later they found a corner of a hayfield. The shimmering, sun-dried grasses were waist-high and hid them where they lay together, she naked to his nakedness in the summer heat. He made love to her slowly and tenderly, prolonging every delicious sensation until the same high passion swept through them like a great tide. Tears ran from the corner of her eyes out of love for him and he kissed them away.

  The sun was setting when they made their way back to the village and the cottage where their driver was downing a final tankard with his brother-in-law. The wagon was full of produce piled high, including three crates of clucking hens. Hester declined a seat beside the driver and sat with John at the back of the vehicle, their legs dangling over the passing road all the way back to the city, his arm about her waist, their heads together. It had been a perfect day, unspoilt even by a tiny private worry that had been troubling her for the past two weeks and more.

  There was a hitch to their next planned meeting. At the last minute she could not go due to the sickness of one of the waiting-maids. That proved to be only the beginning, for the next day several more members of the staff as well as Jack himself succumbed to the strange illness. It had been Hester’s suggestion to John that Robin or Tom, neither of whom were known to her brother and his wife, should be asked to act as messengers if ever she failed to keep an appointment or he was prevented from getting away. She had made the excuse that she did not want another letter lost on its way in or out of the tavern and thus saved herself once again from confessing to illiteracy. It was a relief to her when Robin, whom she had never met, made himself known to her in the taproom. She explained the situation.

  ‘I’ve no idea yet when I’ll be able to see John again.’

  ‘Never mind,’ he said obligingly. ‘I’ll look in at intervals until you’re able to let me know when it will be.’

  When she was finally able to get away from the Heathcock, she met John outside a hosier’s in Lombard Street. He flung out his arms exuberantly when he sighted her and she ran the last few yards, her little red heels tapping. Laughing with pleasure, he embraced her and she buried her face in his shoulder as if she had come home to refuge before she lifted her face to receive his ardent kiss, his mouth warm on hers.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said when they drew breath. ‘It was a worry to me that you might fall ill, too.’

  She was encouraged by his concern for her. ‘Could we sit and talk somewhere? I can’t stay long and I’ve something to tell you.’

  He patted his coat pocket jokingly. ‘My allowance from my grandfather came yesterday. We shall drink coffee grandly today while we talk.’

  Taking her by the elbow, he escorted her into the coffee-house next to the hosier’s where they followed a passage to mount the stairs into the large coffee-room, which was quite busy. It was divided into boxes by high partitions, which was the usual furnishings, for each trade and profession had adopted certain coffee-houses as individual centres in which to discuss business and privacy was welcome. This establishment, known as Lloyds, was a place of financial exchange and insurance matters. She was glad of the seclusion that the partition gave John and herself as they sat down opposite each other at the table. He ordered a pot of coffee from the waiter and it came almost at once. While she poured, he told her the news of his grandfather and his village.

  ‘Now,’ he said, when she had handed him his cup, ‘what is it you have to tell me?’

  She thought how unsuspectingly happy and carefree he looked, joyful at being with her again and proud to be treating her to coffee. Taking up her cup, she took a sip to sustain her before setting it down again. Then she drew a deep breath.

  ‘I’m going to have a baby.’

  There were a few terrible seconds of silence in which his whole face changed as if a smiling mask had been whipped off. In despair she watched shock and anger contort his expression, hollowing his cheeks and giving a hard brilliance to his eyes. ‘You can’t be!’

  His reaction was worse than she had feared. Somehow she found the strength to go on with what she had to say. ‘There’s no longer any doubt about it. At first I refused to believe it myself. I found all sorts of reasons as to why things were not as they should be.’ There was a kind of tragic innocence in the tremulous line of her mouth. ‘I hadn’t realized it was so easy to conceive the first time. It must have happened at Cuper’s Gardens.’

  There was a greyish tinge to his pallor and he shook his head vigorously as if refusing to accept this unbearable turn of events. ‘Perhaps you have been affected by the sickness at the tavern! Surely that is possible?’

  ‘My nausea has been in the mornings with no doubt about its origins. There were enough among the sick suffering similar symptoms for it to be thought I was going through a minor attack of the same malady. Otherwise my condition would almost certainly have been discovered.’<
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  He looked utterly bleak and drained, finally submitting himself to the situation. ‘Damnation! Of all the misfortunes that could have happened, this is the worst.’ He set his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands with a heartfelt groan.

  She stared at him. Even in her own distress she could understand fully his state of mind. His whole apprenticeship, his long years of hard work learning his craft, would be forfeit if it became public knowledge that he had made her pregnant. That was why she had not come looking for a speedy marriage, because for an apprentice to wed bore the same penalty. But she had expected him to say they should marry as soon as he gained his Freedom and she herself had been prepared to shield him from discovery as her baby’s father until that time. Now she was remembering for the first time that in all his love-talk there had never been any definite mention of marriage. He had used the words ‘always’ and ‘forever’ and she had put her own interpretation on them. How wrong she had been! This was then the outcome. It was a situation as old as time.

  ‘Very well,’ she said shakily, the muscles of her face feeling stiff and awkward as if her throat were trying to reject what she was about to say, ‘there are ways and means of ending this kind of trouble. Nobody need know. I have heard talk in the kitchen of a woman —’

  He did not seem to have heard her, his face still hidden as he uttered another groan. She pressed the back of her hand against her quivering lips to keep back the gulps of misery threatening to burst from her throat and slid from the seat as if propelled. In the general hubbub of the coffee-house he did not realize she had gone.

  Someone opened the door from outside as she reached it and she darted through to run away down the street, her heels flying. She sobbed as she ran, the huge tears pouring from her eyes, her ribs racked by choked breaths. Far worse than anything to be faced on her own in the future was that in the end he had not loved her enough to offer her a minimum of comfort when she had never needed it more.