The Silver Touch

by Rosalind Laker

  He gave her one of the two gate-keys when they left the grounds together and he locked up again after them. Under the trees they kissed once more before they parted, she to get back into her home in the same manner in which she had left it, and he to return to London where he had his own secret way of getting back into his apprentice quarters after hours.

  At their third meeting he decided to tempt her into the house. It was a cold wet night, which was in his favour, and he led her towards it saying he had a surprise for her. Her eyes gleamed as he set a key in the lock of the mansion’s entrance and turned it. Entering swiftly, he pulled her in after him. To his astonishment, she rushed into the middle of the hall and laughed shrilly in triumph, throwing out her arms as if to the whole house.

  ‘I always wanted to come into this place! Now it is ours! Yours and mine, Will. A playground safe from all the gorgons in the world. Nobody shall ever find us here.’

  There were times when he felt some faculty was missing in her. When he expected questions she never asked them. She had shown no more curiosity as to how he had obtained keys to the gate than she had now about the greater achievement of getting into the mansion itself. What had become obvious, and about which he had no questioning doubts, was that she had become strongly attached to him. It was what he wanted more than he had ever wanted anything before. She haunted him when he was not with her. If he had not been absorbed daily in the work that meant so much to him, he believed he would have been unable to think of anything else but her elfin looks and slim, snake-like body that tantalized his own whenever he was near her.

  ‘I’ll show you over the place,’ he offered. ‘I’ve explored before.’

  ‘No!’ she exclaimed, her eyes glittering. ‘Give me the lantern. I want to see for myself.’

  He handed it over and ran with her to skid ahead and fling wide doors to let her go rushing through. The beam of light danced from the wildly tossing lantern to send their shadows shooting high to the ornamental ceilings and down across the floors again. She squealed with delight as they went from room to room and skipped ahead of him down to the basement kitchen where the copper pans on the walls blazed briefly in the lantern’s glow as she passed by. In the hall again, she raced ahead of him up the curving flight of stairs with such speed that in his own mind he compared her again to a will-o’-the-wisp with all its teasing elusiveness and he was darkly excited by the strangeness of her.

  Once she hid from him and he found himself alone. ‘Sarah! Where are you?’

  There was such silence in the mansion that he felt a sense of eeriness. He called her name again and when she did not answer he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. Suddenly she giggled at a distance from him and there was the bang of a door followed by the muffled clatter of footsteps as she took the servants’ staircase up to the attic. By the time he reached her in the cramped quarters under the eaves she had opened the shutters of a small window and released the latch to let the rain come pattering in.

  ‘Come away from there!’ he ordered in alarm.

  Deliberately she leaned out dangerously, mocking him. ‘Nobody tells me what to do in this house. Not even you, Will.’

  He seized her by the shoulders and flung her back into the room. Then he banged the window and shutters closed before he faced her in a fury. ‘If you want to be seen and put an end to our meetings, that’s one thing, but I’ll not let you risk your life again in that stupid manner.’

  She was in too buoyant a mood to be dashed by his rage. Mischievously she laughed, setting down the lantern on a chest of drawers as she came towards him. ‘I frightened you then, didn’t I? I wanted to test whether you really care about me.’

  ‘I care for you,’ he admitted huskily as she came close to him.

  She peered into his face as if trying to read what was there for her own satisfaction. ‘If that’s true, then you’re the only person in the world who does.’

  ‘I’m in love with you.’

  For a moment she looked as if she might faint under the impact of what he had said to her. Then, in a single movement, she wrapped her arms around his neck and strained her whole body against his. His control snapped. He bore her down on the nearest bed and her kissing and embrace was as frantic as his. He wrenched her skirts up to her narrow hips but as he thrust himself into her she screamed out in innocent terror and ignorance.

  ‘You’re hurting me! What are you doing?’ In panic she beat against him with her fists but he was beyond speech. Then abruptly her spine arched and she threw her arms back above her head, her mouth agape as she climaxed and he held her as the sweet violence of her body welded with his until he withdrew from her in the nick of time.

  It was a long while before she spoke afterwards. He cradled her to him, using gentle words and caresses such as he would have used beforehand if the situation had not rushed out of hand. She stirred in his arms.

  ‘Now we belong to each other for always, don’t we?’

  ‘We do,’ he agreed without hesitation, full of love for her.

  She linked her hands behind his neck, her face eager, her eyes aglow. ‘Make love to me again. This time I’ll know what to expect.’

  All through the winter and into early spring they continued with their secret meetings. She always became a little wild as soon as they entered the mansion and devised games to play amid the shrouded furniture and in the dark corners of the stately house. On occasions they chased each other in nakedness, two pale forms reflected in the gilt-framed looking-glasses as they darted by the Chippendale bed, only one of the many places where they made love. They picnicked in the kitchen, drinking wine from the cellar. She liked to dress up in the silken gowns she found in an old clothes press; once, for a joke, clad in a fashion worn half a century before, she set their picnic out on the long banqueting table. There they sat at either end until, unable to be apart for even that small amount of time, they moved to neighbouring chairs. The door into the tavern was a constant temptation, he wanting to order ale and bring it to her in the Esdaile room there, but it was too great a risk to take. Danger of discovery was also the reason why they never entered the library. He knew Ann to be too keen-eyed and sharp-witted and if she noticed anything out of place she would report it immediately.

  Inevitably their trysts were subject to increasing strain, for the constant danger of being sighted on their way to and from the mansion grounds often had their nerves in shreds before they reached each other, resulting in snappiness and bad temper. They quarrelled fiercely, revelling in the release of tension and exulted in making up again. At times they could not have been happier; at others the mansion became a prison to them particularly when, like all lovers, they wanted to emerge together into other company. It was not unusual for them to part in anger.

  ‘I’m never coming back!’ she would shriek before she ran out into the night to be first through the gate. Then he would regret his own heated words and wait out the whole week in anguish, certain that this time she meant what she had said. In some ways it was her unpredictability that held him. He never tired of her. She was always fresh and intriguing and ever evasive. Often he had to win her all over again, especially when she had suffered a dreary week of petty fault-finding and upbraidings that had taken toll on her belief that anyone could love her.

  William had long since discovered that it had been the rare excitement of attending a normal social event that had fired her bold behaviour at his brother’s wedding. It was a measure of her courage that she continued to meet him at all and he viewed her guardians as his enemies as well as hers, never underestimating their power. His ever-ready fear of losing her was also due to her lack of love-words. She listened but never gave back what he wanted to hear. The nearest she had ever come to saying she loved him had been after their first love-making when she had wanted to clarify that now they belonged to each other for always.

  ‘Tell me,’ he would urge in a situation completely reversed for him, for always in previous amorous encounters
he had been the one begged to declare love and he had told the woman concerned whatever lie had suited the occasion, ‘I want to hear you say that you love me.’ Sarah would tell neither a lie nor the truth.

  Ever fey, she would sigh, tease, sulk or otherwise remain at a distance from him however close their embrace. It was one of the many causes of their quarrels and in exasperation he would come close to hating her. But the following Saturday he would be at the mansion long before she was due, pacing the floor and eager for her coming. He had not had a second key to the mansion made for her, for the death of a fine horse was still on his conscience and he could never be sure that she would not smash some priceless vase in a temper if ever he should be prevented from getting there. As yet he had not failed her and he hoped to keep it that way.

  It was his constant need to be with her that brought about a change in him that was soon noticed by others. For the first time in his life he considered the consequences of following his own will, knowing that drunkenness or gambling or any such indulgence might hazard his chances of being free on a Saturday evening, for any master had the power to curtail liberty for a misdemeanour. As a result he devoted himself to work as never before and his standard of achievement advanced by leaps and bounds. Richard began to entrust some of the most intricate tasks to him and as his general behaviour continued to be beyond reproach he found himself allotted the gold-work that always held his special interest.

  Hester had received somewhat cynically Letticia’s first mention of an improvement in Will. She did not expect it to last but some while later, when Richard said to her that he could no longer fault her son in any way, she shook her head in wonderment.

  ‘So he has become a man of responsibility at last. I could not be better pleased, but what has brought about this change in him, do you think?’

  Richard shrugged his well-tailored shoulders. ‘The result and not the reason is enough for me.’

  To Letticia, she said, ‘In my experience it’s usually only a girl who can work miracles on a lad like William. I know him. He is probably in love for the first time. I hope and pray it endures long enough to set the mould for the rest of his life.’

  It struck Letticia that Hester, although she never interfered, had a curious insight into all their lives. Nothing ever slipped past her. Not for the first time Letticia considered her mother to be an exceptional woman in many ways. But she and Richard had not come to Bunhill Row that day to talk mainly of William. Elizabeth had become pregnant and Letticia, knowing their financial circumstances depended on Peter’s wages, had brought a large boxful of exquisitely made garments for the forthcoming infant, her own children having grown out of them.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything so pretty,’ Elizabeth exclaimed, taking out the little lace caps, the tucked and embroidered gowns and the fine shawls. There was even a pile of trim dresses that small boys wore until they were breeched which pleased her as much as the rest. ‘These will be most useful. Of course if we have a girl they’ll just be saved for next time.’

  She hoped for a boy, for she knew that Peter was like most men in wanting their first-born to be a son and she loved to please him in all things. Since their marriage she had experienced a love such as came to one woman in a million and she found it hard to believe there was a man anywhere to compare with her adored and adoring Peter.

  Letticia always found herself slightly irritated in their joint presence. They were both reticent people who did not in any way flaunt their deep feelings for each other, but the loving bond was there, emanating from them in a kind of ray that lit up the cracks in her own marriage. It had never been the same between Richard and herself as it was between these two and although she had everything she had ever wanted in a material sense, she and Richard had lapsed into a dullness of matrimony that she feared he enlivened with passing affairs of his own.

  She was bitterly ashamed of any jealousy she had felt towards Peter and his wife when early one cold morning Joss arrived while she and Richard were still at breakfast. Fully expecting to hear the good news of the baby’s birth, she rose from the table to meet him. Her smile faded immediately at the sight of his drawn expression.

  ‘Elizabeth is dying. The baby — a boy — was stillborn.’

  ‘I’ll come at once,’ she said faintly, stricken by what she had heard.

  By the time they reached Bunhill Row Elizabeth was dead and Peter had locked himself into the room with her. Hester refused to allow anyone to try to persuade him to come out.

  ‘He has to be there on his own with her for a while. Leave him. He has never denied her anything and he will not keep her from what has to be done.’

  They all looked askance at her, but she retained her dominance. Did she not know better than any of them what it meant to lose a perfect love? The only way Peter would find courage to go on was from Elizabeth herself, albeit her soul had flown. Wanting to ensure his privacy, she sent everyone back to Number 107 and remained on her own at her son’s home, closing doors and sitting on a bench outside the kitchen door to let the sounds of his terrible grief stay with him alone.

  All day she suffered his torment with him, shedding her own tears. At dusk, as she had expected, he came downstairs. The straightness of his shoulders seemed more poignant to her than his ravaged face.

  ‘I’m going to see Elizabeth’s mother,’ he said quietly. ‘The poor woman collapsed, didn’t she?’

  ‘It will comfort her and her husband to see you.’

  His leaving the house was a signal for Letticia to reappear with Ann and Alice. Hester was already on her sad way upstairs. She did not have to be told that there would be nothing more in Peter’s life than work from now on.

  St Luke’s was packed for the funeral. William knew that Sarah would be there, but sorrow over the occasion kept him from looking for her. It was not until the family mourners had gathered back at Peter’s home for tea and refreshment that he was able to spot her. She was with the Thornes and avoided his gaze, either out of fear of their noticing or displeasure with him, for it was a month since he had seen her. Then their evening had not been of the best, both of them quarrelsome, and she had roused his passion until they had made love while still fighting and, glorious though it had been, they had somehow parted in renewed animosity.

  As so often happened in the interim of their meetings, she had the pinched brow-beaten look that came from excess harassment by her guardians and he longed to kiss it away. Through a stroke of ill luck, about which she knew nothing yet, going home after their last meeting he had been set upon by footpads, a common hazard in the city streets. Although he had used his powerful fists to fight them off, giving them a taste of their own medicine, he had received a clout on the side of his face from a club that had given him a black eye and a cut cheek. It had led to some close questioning by Richard, who assumed he had been in a tavern brawl; rather than let the slightest suspicion of the truth arise, he had admitted to the accusation, which was why the normal Saturday freedom had been denied him.

  As the mourners were encouraged to help themselves from a table of food and accept a cup of tea, William took one and handed it to Sarah, who still refused to look at him, her lashes lowered.

  ‘Go away!’ she hissed in panic-stricken fury as he sat down on the vacant chair beside her.

  ‘Your guardians are talking on the other side of the room. Don’t be angry. I’ve been under curfew.’ He pushed a folded letter into the drawstring purse that dangled from her wrist. ‘That will explain everything.’

  He then left her, giving up his seat to someone else, and put distance between them as a precaution. Her relief that all was well again set up such a trembling reaction that her cup began to dance on its saucer. Quickly she lifted it to gulp the hot tea and steady her nerves. She loved him obsessively. It was as if all the love in her, which had been crushed down over the years to the point where twice she had been almost extinguished, had risen up and engulfed her at their first union and left her mad for him. He
r threats, her teasing and her frequent rages came from an inner part of her nature that she could not control. In the same way she could not voice what he wanted to hear; it was as if she crouched defensively inside herself, terrified to mention her loving in case it evaporated as everything else she had loved had gone from her in early childhood.

  These four past Saturdays she had thought she would lose her mind as she waited in the darkness and he did not come. She had thrown her arms over her head and rocked and wept as if demented, believing that he was staying away to punish her, adding to her life of punishments. Yet not once did she doubt he would return to her eventually. She had absorbed him into herself until he was the blood in her veins and the flesh on her bones and the pulse of her heart. Nothing could sever them.

  ‘More tea, Sarah?’

  She looked up to see Jonathan holding out his hand for her empty cup. ‘No thank you,’ she answered, rising from her chair. It was time she rejoined her guardians. Several times her aunt had glanced across at her.

  ‘It’s a long time since I’ve seen you,’ he said, taking her cup and putting it aside. ‘Now that I’m in London I’m out of touch with this neighbourhood. Are you well?’

  It was obvious he wanted to talk and she was willing to linger for a few minutes. She liked him, associating him mainly with the pleasure of her first meeting with William since it was he who had brought her the message to meet in the orchard. At seventeen he had gained the male Bateman length of limb combined with a virile leanness that she was more aware of than she would have been before her innocence was shattered. He did not have the open looks of his brothers, but the narrow eyes, long well-shaped nose and sensual, mobile lips were attractive in a foxy way.