Garlands of Gold

by Rosalind Laker

  As Saskia dressed again in readiness for her final duties of the day she resigned herself to Vrouw Gibbons’ fury at what would be considered her wilful folly in being late on the streets at night, especially since it was against the house rules and strictly forbidden. Even worse would be that she had caused Grinling to desert his guests, which was inexcusable in a host, especially when he could have detailed servants to look for her.

  With a sigh she reached for a fresh pair of stockings and fastened them with their ribbons above her knees before sliding her feet into house shoes. Then she stood and shook her skirts into place before smoothing down her apron. Taking a deep breath, hoping that her dismissal was not in the offing, she went to Vrouw Gibbons’ boudoir. There she sat waiting patiently as she did every night until her mistress came to bed. At first chance in the morning she would seek Grinling out and thank him for his kindness in saving her from what would have been a terrible happening if he had not come in the nick of time.

  When she heard the approaching tap of his mother’s heels, she rose from the chair, steeling herself for whatever was to come, certain it would be a searing tirade for her foolish behaviour that had caused Grinling to go looking for her. Then the door opened and to her surprise Vrouw Gibbons entered full of smiles.

  ‘What a delightful evening it has been, Saskia!’ the woman declared, flushed and happy. ‘It is wonderful that my dear son is safely home from his travels.’

  She talked only of the party and the gift of a fine Italian painting he had brought her. Saskia soon realized that in the general jollifications Vrouw Gibbons had not been aware of her son’s short absence. When finally Saskia left the room she felt that she had had a double escape from trouble that evening.

  Three

  Saskia did not get a chance to thank her rescuer until several days after the event, but she had heard him singing again. It was not only in the evenings when company had gathered, but now and again he was in full song or whistling musically as he went about the house. He and Robert were coming and going all the time, being invited to the homes of friends, meeting them in alehouses, making preparations for journeying to England and generally occupying every minute of their time. Twice she would have passed Robert, but she did not want to meet those vivid dark eyes and it was easy to make a detour with so many stairs and passageways in a Dutch house.

  It was frustrating for her to be under the same roof as Grinling and still miss the chance to speak to him on his own. She would look down from a gallery just in time to see him crossing the hall with Robert Harting on their way out. At other times he entered a room, closing the door after him before she could get there. More than once his mother descended on him with a swish of full skirts like a silken bat and the chance to thank him was lost once again.

  She had made up her mind to make him a pomander as a small gift of appreciation for his kindly act. The perfume of a pomander, quickly inhaled, counteracted any foul odours suddenly encountered. She believed Dutch towns to be cleaner than most in Europe, but nevertheless Rotterdam had plenty of pungent places and there would be many more in England.

  She had made a number of pomanders for Vrouw Gibbons, using pretty glass balls with outlets for the perfume, which were specially purchased. When they were filled she decorated them with ribbons as well as small silk flowers or other trimmings, making them a charming accessory to hang at a convenient length from the wrist.

  A few days later Saskia had time to go to the market place where she purchased a medium-sized orange from a fruit stall. Then at home again she set to work, making holes in it with a pin and inserting a clove into each one until the whole fruit was fully covered without a space anywhere. Then, using a receipt from her red leather book, she took a grain of civit and two of musk, which she ground up with a little rose water. Then she worked the resulting paste into the clove-studded orange and left it to dry on a table in her room where it began to emit a fine fragrance.

  It amazed Saskia that Vrouw Gibbons showed no distress over her son’s forthcoming departure, although his going away again might prove to be a permanent move. Then she began to suspect that his leaving was being used as a weapon against the woman’s own husband to persuade him to move back to England. A snatch of conversation inadvertently overheard just before a door closed confirmed Saskia’s opinion.

  ‘But Grinling will need an anchor in England,’ Vrouw Gibbons was saying to her husband, ‘and what better than we should be there to open a family home for him.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ he growled impatiently. ‘Grinling is a man now – not a boy. He will want his own place and total independence.’

  The door closed, but Saskia had heard enough to wonder if indeed her own time in Holland was strictly limited and travel to a foreign land awaited her. It all depended on whether Vrouw Gibbons had her way.

  Later that day the opportunity to speak to Grinling came at last. Saskia was on her way to see Nurse Bobbins and caught a glimpse of him entering his workshop. She darted after him.

  ‘May I speak to you for one moment, Master Grinling?’ she requested eagerly from the doorway.

  He grinned at her. ‘Of course. Come in.’

  She entered the workshop and stood gazing about her. It had a tiled floor and a window above a long workbench that gave plenty of light with a view of the rear courtyard. The walls were covered with rows of tools, either hanging from nails or on shelves, all as neat as if forming a pattern in themselves. There were many chisels and gouges in every size and other tools that she did not recognize. Some short planks of wood were stacked in a corner. He noticed her interest as he opened up a travelling toolbox on the bench in readiness to take down the tools from the walls and pack them away for his forthcoming departure for England.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted kindly, seeing how absorbed she was in looking at everything.

  ‘What a wonderful collection of tools!’ she exclaimed. ‘Are you taking them all with you?’

  ‘Yes. There are some I use most of the time and others I could not do without for various intricate tasks.’

  ‘You have had a splendid atelier in which to work at home whenever you wished,’ she said, still looking about her.

  ‘It started as a hobby room for me after my mother had become as tired of wood shavings and sawdust floating about the house as she was of binding up my cut fingers. So my father called in a wood carver to give me basic instructions and that really set me on the path I knew I wanted to follow.’ He folded his arms as he leaned back against the bench. ‘After I’ve left here I think you should have this room for making and mixing your beauty preparations.’

  ‘I should like it very much,’ she admitted, thinking how advantageous it would be to have space and shelves instead of trying to manage in the cramped quarters of her own small rooms, ‘but your mother may have other plans for it.’

  ‘I’ll speak to her about it later today.’ He moved away from the bench. ‘It’s most opportune that you’ve come here now, because I’ve made a little gift for you to compensate for not having anything from my travels on the day of my return.’ He opened a cupboard door and for a matter of seconds in the brightness of the sunshine pouring through the window she saw an oval wooden plaque, known as a portrait medallion, with her own face carved on it in profile. Almost immediately he thrust it out of sight, taking out instead a little round looking-glass surrounded by carved foliage inset with tiny flowers and berries. She was wide-eyed as he handed it to her.

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ she breathed. It reflected her awed and delighted face as she held it in front of her. ‘How very kind of you! I’ll keep it always.’

  ‘I had started it before I left for Italy,’ he said, pleased by her bright-eyed pleasure in his gift. ‘So it was simply a matter of a little more work and a final polishing.’

  ‘But how do you do that?’ she asked wonderingly. ‘The wood shines like silk.’

  ‘I use equisetum hyemale,’ he replied, his eyes amused.

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nbsp; ‘Whatever is that?’ she exclaimed in bewilderment.

  ‘You’ll know it better as “horsetail” perhaps?’

  ‘But that’s a weed! It’s called “scouring rush” as well, which is the best name for it, because I’ve used its stalks bound together for scouring pots. When I was at school my friends and I made whistles from the hollow stalks.’

  ‘That’s what it is.’

  ‘But perhaps it does not grow in England?’

  ‘Yes, it does. England has plenty of watersides and other damp places where it can be found just as it is in most of Europe, but it is also sold in markets as it is here in Holland, because it can be used for so many purposes.’

  She looked at him keenly. ‘I believe you have just divulged your own secret method of the finishing touch to me.’

  He laughed. ‘Maybe and maybe not. At least I can be sure that you are not going to set up in competition against me.’

  ‘Yes, you are right,’ she answered, amused. Then she added seriously, ‘I should not think anyone could compete with your skills.’

  He shook his head. ‘You would not say that if you had seen the wonderful carvings that I saw on my travels. But I hope for my work to reach the highest possible standards in the future. That is when I’ll have my own workshop with assistant carvers working for me. Naturally I don’t expect that to happen overnight.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I hope it comes about quickly for you.’ There were many questions that she wanted to ask him out of a natural curiosity, but most of all she would like to ask about the portrait medallion she had glimpsed in the cupboard. Did it mean that he found her pretty enough to want to capture her looks to keep for himself? Was it possible that he was as attracted to her just as she knew she was to him? But since he had chosen to keep that symbol of his admiration out of her sight she could not ask him about it.

  ‘I’ll certainly do my best.’ He saw that she had wandered over to his stack of planks. ‘I’m taking those woods too. They will get me started.’

  She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘Is there anything special about them?’

  He came across to her and tapped the planks in turn. ‘These are box wood. It’s from a tree that doesn’t grow very tall or very big, which means that two planks and sometimes several more have to be fastened together before work can be started on a task of any size.’ He indicated a paler wood. ‘That is called lime wood, but it is from the Linden tree, which I like to work on best of all. It is a very pale wood, but how that will be received in England I don’t know. Oak is that country’s favourite wood for carving of all kinds.’

  Turning away from the planks, he reached for a roll of thick paper on a shelf and began to unroll it into three separate sheets on to a clear space on the bench, putting small tools on the corners to keep them flat.

  ‘I remember that you wanted to see this Tintoretto etching that I brought home.’

  She stood by his side to gaze down at the spread scene, moving slowly to examine it from one end to the other. Christ was depicted on the cross, looking down on the grieving women huddled below, while one of the thieves was being raised up on another cross and the second thief was being nailed to a third. It was all amid busy crowds of spectators, including some in authority on horseback, seeming to be controlling all that was happening. The vitality of movement combined with the compassion and the torment revealed in the masterpiece seemed almost tangible from the force with which it had been created. She could not begin to guess how much more compelling the original painting would be.

  ‘It is magnificent,’ she breathed. ‘I can see why you were rooted to the spot when you saw this masterpiece in Venice.’ When they had studied it together a little longer, she noting every vibrant detail, she spoke again. ‘I’m very grateful that you have let me see this image of it.’

  He gave her one of his smiling glances as he began rolling up the etching again. ‘It was a pleasure.’

  As she stepped away from the workbench she remembered the reason why she was there. ‘This is the first chance I have had to thank you fully for coming to find me on the very night of your homecoming.’

  He raised his brows in surprise. ‘Didn’t you know? Robert was ahead of me in fetching his rapier as soon as Nurse Bobbins’ message was conveyed to us. He would have gone alone to search for you, not wanting me to leave my guests, but naturally I would not let him go alone when it was possible that your safe-keeping was at stake.’ His mouth spread into a wide grin. ‘I think he hoped for some sport. It would not have been the first time he and I used rapiers to end a troublesome incident. We had quite a few adventures on our travels.’

  She was taken aback by the news that Robert would have been the first to come for her. ‘I should express my appreciation to him too. Do you know where I could find him now?’

  ‘I think he’s in the library.’ He gave her a smiling glance. ‘I’ll tell you something else. It was Robert who nicked your assailant and I followed suit with the other rogue.’

  ‘I’m grateful to you both.’

  She left the workshop, but before going to the library she took a few minutes to show Nanny Bobbins the gift she had received. The old woman admired it, holding it between her wrinkled hands, and then she eyed the excited girl keenly.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten my warning?’

  Saskia laughed light-heartedly. ‘Indeed not! It’s just that I have never owned anything so beautiful before.’ Then she grimaced at what lay ahead of her. ‘Now I’m going to see Robert Harting in the library. I’ve only just heard that he would have set out alone to find me on that horrible night.’

  ‘Then it is right that you should express your thanks.’ Nanny Bobbins handed back the looking-glass, noticing with some misgivings that Saskia immediately held it close again as if against her heart.

  On her way to the library Saskia steeled herself for coming face to face with the Englishman again. When she reached it the door was open and Robert Harting was standing with his back towards her as he looked through a book that he had taken down from one of the shelves. He must have sensed her presence, because he glanced back sharply over his shoulder as she crossed the threshold.

  ‘How are you, juffrouw?’ he asked at once, his dark eyes boring into her just as at their first meeting. ‘I should have asked you before now, but I was advised not to remind you of an extremely unpleasant experience.’

  ‘That must have been Nanny Bobbins who instructed you.’

  A smile touched the corners of his handsome mouth. ‘You guessed correctly. I was also reassured that you were totally recovered from any fright you sustained.’

  ‘Again by Nanny Bobbins?’

  ‘Of course.’ He put the book back on the shelf and came across to her. Then he noticed the little looking-glass that she was holding. ‘What is that?’

  She displayed it proudly. ‘A gift from Master Grinling. Just look at those tiny flowers and berries and leaves! Isn’t it quite beautiful?’

  He thought to himself that its real beauty lay in the face it would reflect, but he duly admired the carved frame that was giving her so much pleasure. ‘Did you come specially to show this gift to me?’

  She was still unaware how she held it against her breasts as she came to the point of her visit. ‘No, that did not bring me here. I should have thanked you fully long before this moment for what you did for me the other evening, but it was not until a few minutes ago that I learned that you were ahead of Master Grinling when you both came to my rescue.’

  ‘Your rescue?’ he echoed with raised eyebrows. ‘That’s a grand way to describe finding you in the dark.’

  ‘But you did save me when I had never before needed such help.’

  He shrugged carelessly, dismissing the matter, and she wished he would not stare at her in such a way. It was as if he were absorbing her into himself with his fierce gaze. Yet she decided that in spite of her earlier misgivings this was an opportunity to speak of her concern for Grinling in the forthcoming cha
nge in his life.

  ‘Would you be offended if I made a suggestion as to how you could help Master Grinling when he goes to live in England?’

  ‘Not at all. Please sit down.’ Robert pushed a chair forward for her and when she was seated he swung another around for himself. ‘Tell me what you have in mind.’

  ‘I think from this moment on you should talk only English to him. Unless he has some command of the language he will be at such a disadvantage in a country where everything will be new to him.’

  To her surprise he smiled with a shake of his head, his eyes amused. ‘Do you think I haven’t tried that? Most of the time on our tour I refused to speak anything but English and, when necessary, Italian. Our tutor did the same, but although Grinling did his best he has a Dutch accent as thick as berries on a cherry tree and sometimes when he does speak English you would still suppose he was speaking his own tongue.’

  She was surprised. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘How could you?’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘But you must not worry about him. He can read English well, although he writes it phonetically, which is somewhat strange at times. Yet usually he can make his meaning clear.’

  She relaxed, sitting back. ‘You have reassured me. I didn’t want him to be cheated by some unscrupulous master when starting work in your country.’

  ‘Do you think we are all villains there?’

  ‘No, no,’ she said hastily, rising to her feet. ‘I was just concerned for him.’

  He left his chair to walk with her to the door, but blocked her leaving by stretching an arm across to hold on to it. They were close and he was looking down into her upturned face. ‘I’m sure he would be charmed by your interest.’

  Then, taking her totally by surprise, he leaned forward and for a startled moment she thought he was going to kiss her. But he was only pushing the door wider for her and she turned quickly to leave his presence. With all the dignity she could muster she made for the staircase, plagued by the terrible conviction that she had actually swayed towards him when she had thought a kiss imminent. She could feel her cheeks flushing hotly and placed the cool back of her hand against her face as she hurried away. He had been teasing her and she was furious with him for causing her such embarrassment.