Garlands of Gold

by Rosalind Laker

  He watched her go and heard the last rustle of her petticoats as she took a hasty turn in the stairs. Then he laughed, quite softly, before turning back into the library.

  In her room she shut the door swiftly behind her and went to the window, still holding the looking-glass to her like a small shield. Robert had played a subtle trick on her. Looking out unseeingly at the falling snow she reminded herself that men in any household, whatever their age, so often considered maids and other young servants to be fair game. Robert in his English arrogance had shown previously that he was more than aware of the social gap between them and for a moment or two he had taken advantage of her being on her own. She had no intention of complaining to Vrouw Gibbons, for there was nothing she could complain about in that slight encounter. He had not touched her or actually kissed her, and if she even hinted at her disquiet she would most surely be accused of coquettishness or otherwise enticing him in some way.

  She straightened her shoulders, able to see that she had her own way of retaliating! He should not receive a pomander from her when he left for England! When he saw her give one to Grinling he would know that it was his outrageous trick that had forfeited a gift.

  Yet in the morning Saskia reconsidered the situation. He had dealt with those rogues that had attacked her and she should be grateful enough to pardon the liberty he had taken with her. After all, nothing had happened that she could set down in black and white. Quite often in merry gatherings the youths she knew as friends from schooldays had sometimes managed the briefest of contact with her lips even as she had turned her face away with laughter. Now in the cold light of morning she decided that in acknowledgement of Robert Harting’s kind act she was obliged to make him a pomander too.

  Later that day Saskia took advantage of a free afternoon to meet a friend, Anna, and go skating with her. As they went through the market she was relieved to see that under a cloth protecting the fruit from the icy air there were still some oranges for sale. Ships coming in from all parts of the world kept Rotterdam well stocked with supplies and what were exotic fruits in other lands were common fare on Dutch tables. After purchasing an orange of the size that she wanted she put it in her pocket, promising herself that she would start work on it that same evening.

  ‘How long are you free today?’ Anna asked as they went along. She was a pretty girl, her round cheeks rosy in the cold air.

  ‘Two hours. Vrouw Gibbons is playing cards at another lady’s house this afternoon, but I must be back in good time before she returns.’

  ‘Is she still being an old harridan towards you?’ Anna asked pityingly. She worked in her father’s bakery and he was lenient in letting her have time off whenever she wanted it.

  ‘She is never easy to please these days,’ Saskia admitted, ‘but I’m content to work for her until such time when I’m ready for a change.’ Then she looked up blissfully as the pale winter sunshine broke through the clouds. ‘Let’s hurry! I want to skate before the sun disappears again.’

  Rotterdam lacked the many canals that were to be found in Amsterdam where important skating races and other winter sports took place annually on the ice, but there were still some good skating areas and local people took advantage of them. The girls arrived to find the ice quite busy and they gave a wave to those skaters whom they knew. Although there was a man hiring out skates they had their own and tied them on to their shoes with leather thongs. Then, hand in hand, they began to skim across the ice before parting to skate individually. In her enjoyment Saskia did not notice that someone else had joined a little group of spectators and was watching her.

  Yet Grinling did not watch for long. Instead, he hired a pair of skates and seconds later swept an arm about her waist to skate on with her.

  ‘I thought you needed a partner!’ he declared merrily. She laughed with pleasure at the surprise he had given her and felt again that special inner joy at his presence, which was increased still more by his embrace. Anna, passing them, raised her eyebrows in amused surprise.

  Grinling and Saskia talked as they skated, laughing helplessly when they both fell after swerving to avoid an unsteady skater. He looked merrily into her eyes as he helped her up and supported her briefly before they skated on again. When it was time for her to return to the Gibbons house Anna had tactfully disappeared, and Saskia was happy to have Grinling to herself as they walked home together. She asked him about his travels and he in his turn wanted to know more about her and how she of French descent had a Dutch name and came to be living in Holland. She answered him truthfully, only keeping back her late father’s name in case the family should be known to him.

  Vrouw Gibbons arrived home shortly after their return and as was usual she found Saskia waiting to attend her. The woman never knew of the afternoon her son and her personal maid had spent together.

  On the day Grinling and Robert were to sail for England they were in the hall on the point of departure when Saskia gave them each a pomander. Both realized the reason for the gifts and looked at her in understanding as they thanked her. Then she drew back behind the other domestic staff, who had gathered as bidden by Vrouw Gibbons to see the young men leave. All the travelling baggage had already been transported to the ship and only farewells were left to be said. Grinling had a few words for everyone. When he came to Saskia he gave her a warm smile as she bobbed a curtsy to him.

  ‘I wish you well,’ he said gently.

  ‘As I do you, mijnheer,’ she replied evenly, although the parting was tearing her heart to shreds and her voice no more than a choked whisper.

  He turned back to his parents for a final farewell. His mother was full of tears, which suggested to Saskia that the woman had given up hope of seeing him again in the near future. Then, just as Robert was leaving, he appeared to change his mind. The servants parted for him as he came over to Saskia.

  ‘I’ll do my best for Grinling,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Have no fear for him.’

  Saskia met his eyes. ‘I thank you, mijnheer.’

  Then he swung away and left the house, Grinling following him. Vrouw Gibbons hurried out in their wake to stand on the steps with her husband at her side and wave them on their way.

  Saskia, helping Nanny Bobbins back to her room, happened to notice as she glanced down one of the passages that the workshop door had been left open. As soon as the old woman was settled in her chair Saskia left her and hurried to the workshop. Swiftly she opened the cupboard that had held the portrait medallion carved with her image, but it was gone. Grinling had taken it with him! She felt her cheeks colour up with pleasure.

  The next day the workshop was swept and scrubbed and whitewashed until it no longer held the aroma of wood. But it was not for Saskia, even though Grinling had spoken on her behalf. Instead it became a room for Vrouw Gibbons’ seamstress and assistants when they came to make gowns for her out of her choice of her husband’s latest import of silks and brocades. So Saskia’s small apartment remained the only source of delicate aromas, the scents of rose water and oil of lavender, rosemary and musk wafting pleasantly into the house whenever her door was opened.

  Four

  Six months went by during which Vrouw Gibbons became increasingly ill-tempered and difficult to please. It was very clear both to Saskia and Nanny Bobbins that she was still not getting her own way about a move back home to England. Her husband had obviously dug in his heels, which was understandable in that it was generally known that a great deal of new business had come his way.

  In the meantime Grinling’s letters told that he had established himself in Yorkshire where he had been introduced to a number of important people in the local community, resulting in some commissions. Yet it was not what he wanted on a permanent basis, although it had provided a good insight into English customs and ways. He would soon move on to London where Robert was established already, having bought himself a house with monies invested by his late father before the flight into exile. As architects were in great demand he had plenty of work
to keep him busy. He was presently designing an elaborate terrace for a newly built house that had replaced some burned-out property.

  Grinling also mentioned his pleasure in that there were an amazing number of pretty girls in England, which made his mother roll up her eyes and express the hope to his father that he would not be too foolish. By now she had become more or less resigned to her husband’s obstinacy and life in the household had evened out again.

  Occasionally a letter came from Grinling to Nanny Bobbins. Saskia would read it for her as the old woman’s eyesight was deteriorating. Afterwards they would discuss it together, for he would tell what he had been carving and they tried to picture how each piece would look. Every time he sent greetings to Saskia, which made her blush with pleasure.

  She knew that he would have no idea how the short period of knowing him had set a pattern on her life. Although she could have had no shortage of beaux if she had wished it, sometimes having a liking for one or another of the young men that crossed her path, none measured up to the memory she had of Grinling. At least she knew he could not forget her when he had her carved image on the portrait medallion, which she liked to picture hanging on his workshop wall.

  Yet with the passing of time her memory of him might have faded if after being six months away he had not sent his parents a small oil painting of himself that a friend had done for him. It was a remarkable likeness and Saskia, looking into those smiling blue eyes again, felt the same deep pull on her heart.

  He was no longer in York, but had moved to Deptford, which was five miles downriver from London. It was the site of the Royal dockyard where ships for the Royal Navy were built as well as grand and elaborately decorated river-barges for the rich, many of whom lived in the great houses along the banks of the Thames. His work involved decorative carving for the vessels and he had recently finished a figurehead for a great ship that bore the likeness of a young lady he knew well.

  Saskia’s immediate thought was that he was telling her she was his inspiration and she hugged this secret joy to herself. He had written something similar to his mother in a letter that had come at the same time and immediately she drew an entirely different conclusion.

  ‘He has become involved with someone unsuitable!’ she exclaimed in dismay, shaking the letter at her husband, who was writing at his desk. ‘No respectable young woman would agree to being portrayed as a ship’s figurehead! The female ones are usually bare-breasted!’ She gave a deep groan of despair, clasping her forehead on the thought. ‘Who can this brazen girl be? How did she get her claws into him?’

  Her husband rested his quill pen and answered her patiently. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions, Bessie, my dear. If the young woman is not a passing fancy I’m sure that we shall hear more about her in future letters.’ He wanted an end to this interruption of his work.

  ‘She’s not a passing fancy! I feel it in my bones! It’s the thin edge of the wedge! In his next letter he will tell us that he is betrothed!’

  ‘Indeed? So you have the gift of foresight, my dear?’ he commented drily.

  She stamped her foot in her impatience. ‘Are you not concerned?’

  ‘No, I am not. You seem to have forgotten that Grinling is a man and no longer a boy. He has travelled and seen enough of the world to know the good from the bad. I choose to rely on his wise judgement.’

  She threw up her hands in despair. ‘Be sensible, James! People in love forget how to think properly. When you were courting me I was in such a whirl that I did not know whether I was on my head or my heels! You were the same!’

  ‘Er . . . not quite, my dear. I was thirty years old and knew my own mind.’

  She was pacing up and down, not listening. ‘We must go to England on a visit and see this young woman for ourselves.’ She was careful not to make him think she had anything permanent in mind. ‘We can stay with Cousin Henrietta in London. Just long enough to find out how serious the matter is and for you to put your foot down if the young woman is not suitable.’

  His patience had reached its limit. ‘From what I have observed so far in my lifetime,’ he stated sternly, ‘it is parental opposition that can draw a young couple in love even closer together. As for staying with Henrietta, that is out of the question. Her sojourn here with us lasted six months instead of six weeks and it seemed like for ever.’

  ‘But she had lost the love of her life and it was natural that she needed the comfort of family.’

  ‘The man had gone back to his wife!’ he exclaimed in exasperation, thumping his fist on the desk in emphasis. ‘She had no right to him in the first place.’ Then, seeing his wife was ready to continue the argument, he sat back in his chair in wearied resignation. ‘Oh, very well, Bessie,’ he said in a tired voice. ‘Leave me out of this matter, but go to England if you must. I can see that is what you want to do. All I ask is that you try not to alienate our son too much through your interference!’

  ‘As if I would!’ she exclaimed indignantly, but her eyes shone with triumph. With a soft swirl of her velvet skirt she swept out of the room and he heard her calling for Saskia.

  With a sigh he pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb for a minute or two, keeping his eyes closed for a short respite. He was very much aware that the scene with his wife had brought on a bout of the indigestion that plagued him at times. He knew he would have to retire before too long, for his health was not all it should be, but first of all he had to draw his elder son back into the fold. He needed to hand over the business to Dinely, who had settled down since his marriage, having an import business of his own in Antwerp, but that could be amalgamated into the Gibbons silk business.

  Yet James had always expected to retire in Holland. It was such a long time since he had left England when he had been intent on marrying Bessie and starting his own business. He was mentally and physically comfortable in this flat green land where windmills rotated with a hiss of sails to their own steady rhythm and sturdy wooden bridges, deceptively delicate in design, crossed canals that rippled iridescently with the colours of the sky. Most of all he liked the people and he and Bessie had many good friends. Moreover there were almost none of the sharp divisions of class so prevalent in his own country The Dutch could be formal enough when occasions demanded, but otherwise they had an ease of manner that he much admired. He would have run his household more on Dutch lines if Bessie would have tolerated it, but she never forgot that she had distant aristocratic cousins in England and, figuratively speaking, had taken on their mantle.

  After adjusting his spectacles, the ribbons of which had slipped slightly at the back of his periwig, he dipped his quill pen into the inkwell and carried on with his work.

  When Saskia had a few minutes to spare during the packing for Vrouw Gibbons, which had had to be commenced immediately, she ran to break the news to Nanny Bobbins.

  ‘I’m going to England!’ she exclaimed delightedly, the thought of seeing Grinling again having eliminated all her previous doubts about leaving her own country. ‘Have you heard? Vrouw Gibbons plans to visit her son.’

  ‘Yes, she was here to tell me about it and to see if I have finished the lace collar for one of the new silk gowns that now she will be taking with her. Fortunately I have.’

  ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing him,’ Saskia’s voice throbbed with excitement.

  The old woman regarded her fondly. ‘I’m sure he will be pleased to see you. But you must remember that he is living another life now and, according to his mother, has written about a young woman he admires.’

  ‘I know,’ Saskia answered blissfully. ‘She is the one who inspired the figurehead.’

  Just for a moment the thought crossed the old woman’s mind that Saskia imagined the young woman in question to be herself, but he had been far too long away to have held an image of her in his mind. Unknown to her Saskia was remembering the portrait medallion and her conviction remained unchanged.

  Before departure Vrouw Gibbons gave Saskia strict
instructions. ‘We shall talk only in English from the moment we step on board the vessel that will be taking us to England. There you shall speak of me as “Mistress Gibbons” and address me as “madam” in the English way.’

  The crossing of the North Sea to England was quite smooth, but Vrouw Gibbons kept to her bunk in the cabin the whole time, which allowed Saskia to wander freely on board during the day unless needed to produce a lavender-scented handkerchief, a cup of weak tea or to perform some other small task. When they landed in the port of Harwich on a bright sunny morning a four-horse coach, which was Cousin Henrietta’s own equipage, was waiting for them.

  Saskia enjoyed every moment of the journey to London, interested to see that everything was so different from her own country and she marvelled that a stretch of sea could create such a contrast. Instead of a flat horizon there were gentle undulating hills. Although the coach took them across bridges over flowing rivers there were no canals that she could see, and even the thatched roofs in England were all of a yellowish hue whereas those in Holland were as sleek and dark as the fur of a cat. There were windmills, but nothing like the number she was used to seeing at home where sometimes there were as many as six or seven in a row and, according to Mistress Gibbons, the English ones ground corn for flour and were not regulating the water level as so many did at home.

  Nobody wore clogs, although many of the ragged children, who ran begging to the coach whenever it stopped, were barefoot. She thought how the poorest Dutch fathers would carve clogs for their offspring, and that could have been done here, for there were plenty of suitable lumps of wood to be gathered from under the trees that frequently shaded the road to London. In fact everything was as beautifully green here as in the Dutch countryside and people seemed to share the same love of flowers, for even the humblest cottage had some blossoms by its door.