The Silver Touch (8 page)

My dearest Hester,

Although I have no idea what your feelings might be for me after all this time, I am writing to tell you that nothing has changed with me except my circumstances. All that stood between us has gone. I love you now as I did then and long to see you again. Just let me know when and where I might meet you. If nothing else, allow me to give you my apologies in person for the distress I caused you through my angry words which have been much regretted.

John

Robin delivered it for him, simply handing it to a porter in order not to bring special attention to it from Jack or Martha Needham. In retrospect, John had made a guess that one or the other of them had spoken to Master Harwood about Hester’s association with him, probably directly after the quarrel when she had been seen to be upset. At least now he could be sure that Hester would know he still loved her in spite of everything, and he was certain she would write to him. Feeling more cheerful than he had done for a long time, he began to wait optimistically for her letter of reply.

Hester, who had watched daily for John in the desperate and gradually declining hope that he would come back to her, did not see the letter. If she had she would have passed it by, not being able to read her own name. Martha had found it when alone in the office as she sorted through the postal delivery that had come with the coach, John’s letter having been put with it. Without the least compunction, she broke the seal and read it through. Then she lighted a candle from the tinder-box and put a corner of the letter to the flame. It curled and burned right away, the last scrap almost scorching her fingers.

Three

Hester pined during the winter to a point where Jack, not normally observant, noticed that all was not well with her. Failing to get a satisfactory answer on several occasions, he questioned Martha.

‘What’s wrong with her? There’s no life in her any more.’

Martha, on her knees sorting wine bottles on a low shelf, grimaced to herself. She herself could drop from fatigue and Jack would barely notice but Hester, always Hester, could claim his attention. She had come to believe he saw the girl as the daughter they had never had. ‘She’s winter-sick, that’s all.’

‘Maybe she should see a physician.’

‘Nonsense!’ She rose to her feet, a bottle under each arm. No helping hand under her elbow from Jack, who had become more bull-like in his ale-ripened appearance and build and habits with every passing year, the agreeable looks that had once attracted her long since swilled away in a pint-pot. She thumped the bottles down on the bar, thinking it was as well he knew nothing of the part she had played in the cause of Hester’s loss of weight and shadowed eyes. ‘Winter-sickness touches every one of us at times. She’ll be better when the spring comes, you’ll see.’ Then, seeing he remained unconvinced, she added, ‘I’ll advise her to make up a herbal potion for herself. She’s skilled at that sort of thing. A syrup she made cured the linen-maid’s cough and cook’s rheumatic pains were much improved after some other concoction she devised.’

Jack continued to keep his eye on Hester. It seemed to him that she did improve when the spring came, but she lacked sparkle and remained far from her usual self. He came to the decision that Martha had worked her too hard over the years and it had finally taken a toll on her health. He pondered over which of his brothers or sisters would take her for a short holiday and dismissed each in turn, deciding that since he would never want to stay with any of them, he could not see that Hester would benefit either. Eventually he hit upon a solution. She should have more time off until she was herself again.

‘You shall have a full half-day off twice instead of once a month,’ he told her without consulting Martha. ‘Get out and enjoy yourself. I want to see some roses back in your cheeks.’

It was a measure of her low state that his kindness brought a swim of tears into her eyes. ‘Thank you, Jack.’

He took her face between his big hands, rumpling her hair and speaking to her as if she were still a child. ‘Cheer up, then! Let’s have a smile instead of those tears.’

She managed to smile for him and he was pleased, thinking her as good as cured from whatever had ailed her. For herself, the hollow ache inside her persisted unabated as it had done since she had finally forced herself to accept that John had made Caroline his choice and was never coming back to her.

Martha did her best to baulk Hester’s new liberty but Jack put his foot down. ‘She’s no good to you or herself or the Heathcock if she’s under par. Just let her be for a while. I believe that’s all she needs.’

Hester found the extra time to herself healing in its own way. On fine days she went to St James’s Park and sketched the birds that flew between the trees and hopped on the grass around her. For a while she was able to forget all else and at the end of the afternoon packed her drawings away in the same battered leather folder she had originally brought from home.

With an extra evening free as well, she saw more of the friends she had made over the years. They were mostly daughters of shopkeepers and merchants in the Strand area. With them and their beaux she began to attend the open-air dancing, which had been resumed with the milder weather, and she was never without an escort on these occasions. London boasted of over seventy pleasure gardens, some quite small, others spread over several acres, and the price of admission was within the means of most working people not weighed down by too many children or drunkenness in the family, which was the lot of many.

On any expedition beyond the tavern she wondered if she would see John. Large though London was, and it was said to be the most populous city in Europe, the chance remained that one day she might meet him face to face and she both longed for and dreaded such an encounter, knowing it would rip her to shreds all over again. There had been many weeks when she had wanted to die, all meaning gone from life, for she had loved him, and still loved him, with a passion that possessed her completely. Since she could not have him she wanted no one else, which was why men amorously inclined towards her met every time with total rebuff.

There were ten in the party on the June evening of the expedition to Cuper’s Gardens. It was one of the city’s oldest pleasure gardens and had much to offer in the way of entertainment with many booths for refreshments, a playhouse and a pavilion of sideshows. People from all walks of life went there, no class barriers existing in these public places, and it gave spice and excitement to the atmosphere, nobility and working folk rubbing shoulders together in the glow of coloured lanterns and leaping flares. Hester’s escort that evening was Alan Marshall, a friend’s brother, who was betrothed to a girl who lived in Cornwall, which meant she could enjoy his company in the knowledge that there would be no unwelcome tussles to fend off. They often paired up for these occasions, both missing someone else in their lives, his common knowledge and hers secret.

‘I feel like dancing this evening until I have holes in my shoes,’ she declared gaily as they arrived, music floating out to meet them.

‘Then let’s waste no time,’ Alan said with a smile, leading her ahead of the rest of the party along an illuminated path that led to a rotunda, which was one of several centres in the wooded and gladed spread of the garden where dancing took place.

It came into sight like a vast lantern, all doors and shutters folded back to make the rainbow lights outside one with the brilliance of the chandeliers suspended from the tent-like ceiling within. The liveliest of country dances was in full swing, the bows of the fiddlers flashing in unison as the merry music set the pace for those whirling around the floor. Alan took her by the hand to run her up the steps and into the maze of dancing couples. He was a good dancer and she was feather-light on her feet as they rotated together, the billowing of her skirt and her fluttering ribbons keeping time with his swirling coat-tails. In the next dance they parted to cross and counter-cross before linking hands again. Several times during the next hour they changed partners with others in their party. Then they were back together for a riotous square for eight with high arm movements which had her laughing with him when, her head flung back, she saw John looking down at her from the crowded gallery. The visual contact was no more than a second or two, for Alan was twirling her under his arm and when she looked again John was gone.

‘What’s wrong?’ Alan asked her as the final steps of the lively measure came to an end. All the laughter had gone from her. She looked taut and distracted.

‘I saw someone I used to know. If you don’t mind I’d like to go home.’

Thoroughly good-tempered, he was willing enough to oblige her, able to see she was in a state of distress. Then, as she turned with him to leave the rotunda, she saw that John had descended the flight from the gallery and was waiting in her path, a tall figure against the multi-coloured lights in the garden beyond. She reached out a hand and pressed Alan’s arm without taking her eyes from John’s gaze, which was fixed on her as if willing her to him.

‘Go back to the others, Alan. I thank you for bringing me here this evening. All is well now.’ She could not be entirely sure about that. This was simply a reunion that had to be between John and her on their own.

‘If you’re sure —’

She nodded and he fell back, watching from a distance. As she covered the remaining stretch of floor between John and herself, she felt as if she were walking on ice that was cracking all around her. When she reached him she might be plunged down into icy depths. She had to be prepared.

‘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.