Free The Silver Touch by Rosalind Laker Page A

of his thoughts. Even at the work-bench she was always at the back of his mind, ready to leap forward at the slightest reminder of her. Knowing her strength of pride and independence, he doubted whether she would consider letting him back into her life. There were times when he tried to be rational and think it was all the better for him that it was over. In the end, after several weeks of agonizing, he took a pen and wrote to her.
    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