Peter was fully prepared to have his own business when the time came. He knew without any false modesty that he was going to become an exceptional goldsmith. There was a kind of liquid power in his hands to which precious metals responded as if recognizing their own. Richard was a strict taskmaster and never praised, but Peter had come to recognize a low-key comment that told him a workpiece had been exceptionally well done. Deeply attached to his family, as all the Batemans were, even Letticia having had bouts of homesickness after her marriage in spite of the social whirl in which she had revelled until her present pregnancy, he had a dual reason now for wanting to return more often to Bunhill Row. He was in love with Elizabeth Beaver.
It was a source of amazement to him that he had known her from the first day of moving in from Nixon Square and yet had not noticed that over the years she was becoming an integral part of his life. A certain awareness came upon him, soon lost in the excitement of the day, when he had been ready to leave to take up his apprenticeship and she had come with the gift of a cravat, which she had sewn herself for him. Then she had stood with his mother and brothers and sisters to wave to him as his father drove him away in the gig. Some while afterwards she had suffered a long illness during which she nearly died. He had written to her several times and although she replied when she was better he did not see her, for she had been sent to stay with an aunt at Brighthelmstone in the sea air until such time as she was deemed fit to live inland again.
Her return home coincided with a visit of his to Bunhill Row. Joss fetched him in the gig one Saturday evening and as they approached their home she must have sighted them, for suddenly there she was, her bright face freckled from the seaside, her hair flying out like a golden banner and her muslin skirt billowing over her tossing petticoats as she ran to meet him. He stared at her, as once long ago she had stared at him, and was conscious of an awakening in him that must have had its beginnings in the shock of hearing she was ill or even before that, dating back to some time he could not remember. He sat forward in the passenger seat and sprang down before Joss had brought the gig to a halt.
‘Elizabeth! Is it really you? After all this time! Are you quite recovered?’
‘Completely!’ She put her hands into his which were outstretched to her and he clasped them hard.
‘Then you’re back to stay?’
She nodded joyously, her gaze absorbing him as if she had been long starved. ‘So whenever you come home now it will be like old times.’
His smile spread wider. ‘Even better, I believe. It’s wonderful to see you again.’ His words brought a marvellous bloom to her face and he saw that he had made this day a true homecoming for her as well as for himself.
They went hand in hand into his home. Hester, coming down the stairs, saw how they were looking at each other and smiled to herself. It was a development she had long foreseen and one that she welcomed whole-heartedly. Elizabeth was not, and never would be, another Alice. No retiring violet here, but a vivacious girl with a quick mind, who had shown the same courage with the boys in climbing trees and rough games simply to be near Peter. With her tenacity for life she would be ready to share his ambitions and encourage him, whatever the initial hardships.
Later that evening Peter held Elizabeth in his arms and kissed her for the first time. It was a moment of wonder for them both, a new discovery of what each held for the other. Even she, who had always loved him, trembled at the strength of tender feeling that had come upon them.
During the months that followed, Hester saw in Peter an enormous capacity to love the woman of his choice that was the same in Joss towards Alice. She did not think it would ever be like that for William or Jonathan, for their natures were entirely different. More and more her animosity towards William was growing. It was a torment to her, for she reminded herself constantly that he was her own flesh and blood, but her tongue became sharp with him as if on its own volition and at times she, who had never slapped her children, had to struggle not to strike him for some impudence. With John she discussed at length what apprenticeship he should take, for he was approaching his fourteenth birthday and as yet nothing had been arranged.
‘I’m afraid no master will keep him whatever trade it is,’ she admitted. ‘He’s too wild in his ways to conform for any length of time.’
‘I’ll talk to him.’
When she heard the outcome of the conversation, her glance of disbelief went from John to William and on to Ann who had been called in to speak on her brother’s behalf. ‘A goldsmith?’ she echoed incredulously. She returned her gaze to William. ‘But what interest have you ever shown? You are never in the workshop. It is Jonathan who spends some part of each day there.’
William gave her a straight look. ‘You’ve never wanted me there, Mother.’
She could not deny the truth of that. ‘And for what reason, pray? Did you ever try to work seriously, or resist the temptation to commit some tomfoolery?’
Ann intervened quickly. ‘William knows his record, Mother. It’s nothing to be proud of, but then I’m sure it’s not easy for everyone to work for his or her own family. I think William deserves his chance. He confided his hopes to me quite a while ago. This is not an aim that has arisen on impulse.’
Hester spread her hands questioningly. ‘Who would take him? Most masters investigate thoroughly the background of a prospect apprentice. William has gained a sorry reputation for himself in this neighbourhood with his pranks and his girl-chasing.’
She saw William turn crimson to his ears. He had not known that certain aspects of his behaviour in recent months had reached her ears. Ann spoke up again.
‘Richard will take him. Letticia has already put William’s case to him and he is prepared to give him a chance.’
Hester guessed that her son-in-law had not been easy to persuade and it was a measure of his affection for Letticia that he had agreed. ‘On a certain condition, I suppose?’
‘Yes. William must work hard and obey the rules.’
Hester turned to John. ‘What do you think?’
‘William should have his chance.’
She inclined her head in deference to his decision.
‘Then I agree.’ There was none of the excitement in her that she had known when first Joss and then Peter had been accepted as apprentices into workshops of repute. Something of her thoughts must have shown in her face, for William suddenly raised both clenched fists abruptly, like a pugilist in anticipated victory, and shouted out at them all defiantly: ‘I’ll be the best goldsmith ever known!’ Then he slammed out of the room before anyone could speak.
Letticia came to fetch him away to his apprenticeship in her coach. She combined the expedition with a chance to let her parents enjoy the sight of her baby daughter, whom they had not seen since the christening two months before. William, eager to get to the city, did not appreciate the lecture she gave him all the way there and tried to look attentive while shutting his ears to her words. His eyes sparkled when they entered the noise and bustle of the busy streets. Before long he would know every inch of London where fun was to be had.
The next day, in order to emphasize all she had said, Letticia took him to an exhibition of Mr Hogarth’s paintings, wanting him to see those that depicted in stages the rise of the good apprentice and the downfall of the bad one. William studied them. He did not say it to his sister, but he thought the bad apprentice had a far jollier time of it, in spite of a miserable demise, than the sanctimonious counterpart with his priggish expression when being beamed upon by his master.
‘Now do your best,’ Letticia cautioned when she relinquished him to the workshop. She had sponsored him mostly for their father’s sake, knowing the house would be more peaceful in her brother’s absence and hoping that in a new peacefulness John would have a better chance of rallying from the lung weakness that was steadily getting a heavier grip on him. What puzzled her most was her mother’s total inability to see or to accept that he was continuing to get weaker. It
made her desperately uneasy. If it had been any other woman she would have suspected her of slight insanity, but there was no one more alert and realistic than Hester. Why then was there the peculiar mental block as far as John’s condition was concerned?
It was a relief for Hester to have William away from home. Her conscience had troubled her greatly about the deterioration of her attitude towards him. Now that he was gone she hoped his visits would be infrequent. Her prayers were for him to do well and overcome the folly in his nature. Richard had rewarded Peter for achievement by letting him come home far more often than previously arranged; she wanted William to achieve the same success without being granted the same privileges. It puzzled both her and John that Richard should suddenly have become so lenient. John did not really approve and although she was inclined to agree with him, she could not help but be pleased that Peter and Elizabeth should have the bonus of extra time in which to see each other.
Another summer came and went. Richard, visiting with Letticia, gave John and Hester a report on William’s first year.
‘The boy has goldsmithing in him, there’s no doubt of that. When he’s at the bench he has no other thought in his head but the task in hand.’ There was a pause. ‘When he’s away from it, I’m afraid it’s another matter.’
John looked concerned. ‘Don’t be easy on him.’
‘I’m not. To date he has received more punishments in twelve months than I expect to mete out to an apprentice in seven years. What brings him most to heel is taking him off the work he likes.’
‘Pray continue to do that.’ John paused to turn his head aside, coughing with a handkerchief pressed to his mouth. Then, after a sip from the glass of madeira that Hester had served to him and to Richard, he recovered. ‘I want William to achieve his aim to be a better goldsmith than any of us.’
Richard raised his glass. ‘I drink to that. There is nothing better than to see promise fulfilled.’
Nobody ever mentioned John’s cough, which now troubled him by day as well as by night. Hester had forbidden it. ‘I don’t want him reminded of it because it’s nothing that can’t be overcome. I have a new syrup for him that is working wonders.’
She was always proved right, at least for a while. During the lapses Ann, who slept lightly, would hear Hester going downstairs to make camomile tea when, after a severe bout of coughing, John finally slept again. Then, putting on a robe, she would join her mother in the candlelight, knowing her company was welcome.
Joss was sitting in the comfort of his own home one evening when his wife summed up the situation in his parents’ house. They had been discussing how he had seen illness in his father’s face long before it had made itself manifest and had decided on that day to join the Bateman workshop when his apprenticeship was done.
‘I believe it was a revelation,’ Alice said thoughtfully, a point with which he agreed, for they were both of a strongly religious mind. ‘What I find strange is your mother’s curiously blinkered attitude towards your father’s condition. It’s as if she were fighting a private battle against it, shutting everyone else out, and the silencing of your father’s cough, for however brief a period, is a skirmish won. If anyone remarks on his looking tired, she is quick to say he has worked hard that day and only needs some rest. I have often wondered if consumption was diagnosed by the doctor when your father visited him some time ago after having had such a bad chill. True, John told us it was only a weak chest but I would not be surprised if your mother suspected that was not the full truth. I have never heard her refer to the cause of his poor health from that day to this.’
‘Maybe that is the only way she can bear what is happening to him,’ Joss said quietly, putting into words a long-held opinion. He saw surprise pass across his wife’s face to be followed by a rush of compassion. Slowly she turned her head to look long and deep into the dancing flames on the hearth. ‘Poor woman,’ she said reflectively, almost to herself. ‘How she must be suffering and how much worse it will be for her if things do not go well.’
The new year of 1760 came in on a snowstorm and the frosty weather lasted for several weeks. John dressed warmly and at Hester’s instigation always wrapped a muffler about his neck and chin when going between the house and the workshop or on expeditions out. The crisp, dry air suited him and he did not miss a day at the bench. It began to look as if somehow Hester had imbued her own strength into him and by sheer will had brought him to a better plane of health. In their own private world behind their bedchamber door there was a revival of intense passion on his part, neither of them realizing it sprang from the last flare of life and vigour before his lungs finally gave way to the disease that they had both struggled and fought to keep at bay.
The woods were losing the last azure tint of bluebells on the day when at noon John put down the tools he was using and signalled to Joss, who came to him, alarmed by his sudden pallor. Hester did not notice. She was doing some casing work, pouring molten silver from a crucible into the entry funnel of a wax pattern enclosed in clay. She was making candlesticks that day and when the casings hardened each had to be inverted and heated to allow the wax to run out, leaving a hollow replica within. It was hot and tiring work, for the investment could only be broken away by sudden immersion in cold water, which made the steam billow about her. Once John would have done it, but she and Joss shared all such tasks now, letting him do whatever workpieces suited his interest and his strength. It was as she turned, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, that she saw she was alone. It was not unusual for there to be comings and goings and, unperturbed, she reached for another crucible of molten silver just as Joss returned. He was in silhouette against the sun outside but she sensed immediately that something was wrong.
‘I saw Father into the house. He didn’t want me to tell you but I think he’s feeling extremely ill.’
It was as if a knell rang through her, but she kept herself under tight control as she whipped off her cap and apron. ‘Is he coughing?’
‘No.’ He guessed she lived with the dread of haemorrhages, although never by a word or a flicker of expression had she ever shown it. Even now, she was totally composed.
‘See to those casings for me,’ she said as she went out of the workshop.
She found John in the room where he did his accounts. He had dropped down into a large wing-chair and was hunched in it, his hands hanging limply over the ends of the chair arms. His eyes were closed in his blue-white face, but at the sound of her approach he opened them, the pupils tight with pain, and managed the smile he knew she wanted to see.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said reassuringly, keeping up the game of pretence between them. ‘Just a spasm.’
‘You’ll be all right as soon as it passes.’ She knelt down close by the chair and took one of his hands to cradle it against her breast as she gazed at him, anxiety glazed over by her carapace of calm.
‘Indeed I will.’
‘Don’t talk now, my darling. Rest yourself.’
Her advice came a fraction too late. His colour rose with the cough gathering in him and then a paroxysm of heaving and coughing seized him until she feared he would choke. Ann, hearing him, came at a run and was sent to fetch the syrup that was kept for bad attacks. It contained laudanum, a last resort when experience had shown that nothing else could ease him. When at last his racked body was granted some respite, Joss was called to help him up to bed where he fell into a deep sleep.
‘He’ll be back at the bench again in a few days,’ Hester said with an optimistic air as she went downstairs again with Joss, Ann having remained at her father’s bedside.
‘Don’t count on that, Mother. There’s a marked change in him. It’s been noticeable over the past two or three weeks.’
She tossed her head. ‘How can you say that?’ she challenged. ‘He’s worked a full day every day.’
‘Only because he’s driving himself. He’s a courageous man refusing to give in.’
Fiercely
she rounded on him. ‘And he won’t give in. Neither will I! Your father and I will continue to fight his illness and we shall conquer it. What has happened today is only a minor setback. By tomorrow he will be on an upward grade again.’
Joss opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. Maybe he had no right to try to undermine such faith in an ultimate recovery. Miracles happened. Who was he to offer doubt at such a time when everything might depend on his mother’s strength of will?
John was to remain bedridden for five weeks. Jonathan was always to pinpoint his father’s collapse as the starting point for his own real development as a goldsmith. By lucky chance for him the gap at the workbench coincided with a spell away from school for the teacher was ill and since there was no one else to take over, the pupils had been given an indefinite holiday. He was thirteen years old, strong and tall for his years with the promise of the Bateman good looks gathering across the bones of his face, but not yet disguising the self-satisfied set of the fleshy mouth or the evasiveness of his eyes if he was confronted with some question not to his liking. Joss, having found he could rely on Jonathan to do a task well, welcomed his freedom from school exactly when it was needed most and brought him into the workshop on the very morning after their father’s attack to work a full day as if he were an apprentice already. Jonathan seized the opportunity to learn whatever he could, knowing it would give him an advantage later on.
‘I’m going to be rich one day,’ he boasted to Ann as he waited while she mended a tear in a shirt he wanted to wear. ‘Then there’ll be no more patched shirts for me. I’ll have thoroughbreds in my stable and ride the fastest myself.’
The Silver Touch Page 26
