The Silversmith's Wife _ Sophia Tobin by Sophia Tobin Read Free Book Online Page B

we’ll be striking the leopard’s head on that fine silver of yours.’ He watched Alban produce a coin from behind his youngest daughter’s ear. ‘How old are you now, cousin?’ he said.
    ‘Who knows?’ said Alban, and their laughter sent the little girl scurrying off to her mother. Alban took the seat offered to him.
    ‘We can register a maker’s mark for you, if you wish,’ said Jesse.
    Alban shook his head. ‘I work for you,’ he said. ‘Anything I make can bear your initials.’
    ‘Always in the shadows, cousin?’ said Jesse.
    ‘Always,’ said Alban.
    They had just finished eating when there was a knock at the street door. Jesse went to answer it, walking slowly, holding his arms a little wide of his body, as though he sought to fill whatever space he was in. The familiarity of his gait moved Alban; unlooked for, he seemed suddenly in the past. He heard Jesse open the front door and greet someone, his voice low and cheerful. Goldsmiths’ Hall was but a few steps away, and other silversmiths often knocked on the door in passing, sure of the welcome they would find at Jesse’s house.
    Agnes leaned forwards, and put her hand over Alban’s. ‘He is gladder than he can say that you are here,’ she said. ‘He does not wish to be the weak link in the chain.’ Alban nodded; he understood. To create silver of true beauty needed a network of craftsmen, for there were so many skills involved: raising, casting, chasing, engraving. Although well established, Jesse would not wish to fall behind, to lose his reputation as a craftsman of worth. Thinking on it, Alban saw Agnes’s eyes widen as Jesse came into the room.
    ‘My dear?’ she said. The children had been telling stories to each other, but their murmuring voices fell silent.
    In the dimness, Jesse’s face had a ghostly pallor. His eyes seemed blank smudges of darkness. ‘That was Ovick from the Hall,’ he said. ‘Pierre Renard’s dead. Someone did for him last night, in the middle of Berkeley Square.’
    Agnes murmured a prayer under her breath.
    ‘How?’ said Alban. The word broke from him before he could suppress it. Mindful of the little ones, Jesse turned his back to them and drew his finger across his throat.
    ‘It’s time for bed, my dears,’ said Agnes. As she ushered the children out, Jesse pulled across a chair, and sat down heavily, his shoulders sagging forwards. Only when the last of them had gone did he look up at Alban. ‘I cannot believe it,’ he said. ‘I was up that way last night. I went to deliver a commission to another shop.’
    ‘But you did not call on Renard?’ said Alban.
    Jesse shook his head. ‘No, no, but,’ he blinked, and shook his head again, ‘it does not matter. Forgive me; it is the shock of it all. And things have been so unsettled recently. We are relying on him for most of our work.’
    ‘There’s still a business there,’ said Alban. ‘There will still be work.’
    Jesse smiled, a little colour returning to his cheeks. ‘I’d forgotten, cousin,’ he said, ‘how placid you are. I bring you news of a murder and you look just as if I’d remarked on the weather. If only I had your sense of serenity.’
    Alban smiled uncertainly. He took the notion of his stillness as a compliment, but he also felt it to be wrong. He was far from calm. He had a thousand questions moving across his mind.
    ‘We will call upon them when it is decent to do so,’ said Jesse. ‘Though I may need to go to the West End sooner. Mallory has some repairs which need carrying out.’ He rubbed his eyes. ‘It is strange,’ he said, ‘how everything can change in an instant.’
    Agnes had slipped back into the room. ‘It’s late now,’ she said. ‘There will be enough time tomorrow to speak of all this.’ Alban saw from the expression on her face that she was concerned for Jesse.
    He did not respond to her touch on his shoulder. ‘Go up to the children,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Let us converse a little. It