A door led into a tiny kitchen and Mistress Gibbons swept through it, even her skirts seeming to rustle with disapproval, and her cousin followed her with Saskia close behind. There was an open hearth where a small cauldron was suspended over some cold ashes on the hearth and an ancient table stood against the wall with a few shelves above it on which was some assorted crockery, a couple of tankards and several knives, forks and spoons sticking upright in a jar.
Saskia, looking out of the kitchen window, saw there was a pump nearby and the back door, which stood open, had a porch to it. At the end of a grassy patch was a stable with one stall that housed Grinling’s horse and she guessed that a door at the side of it led to a privy.
Upstairs there was just one large attic bedroom taking up the whole space under the eaves. His mother climbed the flight of stairs just high enough to be able to see into the room that had a small-paned window looking towards the road and another that faced the stables behind the cottage. There was a single bed, a chair and a cupboard as well as a stack of woods, some partly carved, which he said he was preparing for a future project. A finished carving, propped against the wall, was of the stoning of St Stephen, which Bessie herself would not have wanted, but she supposed there was always a market for religious themes. Most of all she was aghast that he should be occupying such miserable premises.
‘You don’t sleep in this ramshackle place, do you?’ she demanded in disbelief.
He helped her descend again. ‘Only if I have been working here until very late, otherwise I’m at my lodgings near the docks.’
‘Nevertheless I still want Saskia to include sketches of this place. Its wretched state will enable your father to see how you are living without a proper home for you to enjoy whenever you are at leisure. Now let us see what you have been making.’
Henrietta opened her mouth, about to remind her cousin that he was for ever welcome at her house whenever he was free from work, but she closed it again, for Bessie would not listen in her present disagreeable mood.
The most important commissioned piece Grinling had to show them was a recently finished overmantel enhanced dramatically by a decorative carving of fish, dolphins, lobsters, oysters and other sea-creatures with a ship in full sail at the top in a handsome swirl of waves, all of which were fashioned in pale lime wood and seemed almost luminous against the much darker oak of the design’s setting.
At the sight of it his mother’s attitude changed completely and she threw up her hands in delight. ‘That would make the perfect gift for me to take back to your father!’ she exclaimed, going forward to examine it closely. ‘I must take him something he will like very much to compensate for my absence. Naturally I’ll reimburse you, Grinling. We can get it shipped home and it can be installed in his office where he receives the East India shipowners and the captains of the silk-bearing vessels and all other businessmen.’
Grinling shook his head firmly. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mother, but I cannot let it go. It is a specially commissioned piece.’
‘So who is the person that is so important that he or she comes before your own parents?’ his mother demanded dangerously.
‘Robert Harting commissioned it.’
Involuntarily Saskia jerked up her chin. She had not heard Robert’s name for a long time, and had not realized until this moment that the memory of her encounter with him in the library was still very vivid in her mind. In contrast Mistress Gibbons received her son’s information with a happy smile and a flick of her gloved hand.
‘Oh, he is an agreeable young man. He will stand aside to allow you to please me.’
‘No, Mother,’ Grinling replied on a sterner note. ‘It’s been designed for a new house that Robert is building for a gentleman, who is as much involved in shipping as my father. It is as I told you in one of my letters. Robert is getting plenty of work.’
‘Then if this gentleman’s house is still being built you could carve another for him,’ Mistress Gibbons insisted, still with a smile on her lips. ‘I simply must have this one for your father.’
Grinling gave a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. ‘Have you no idea how long it takes to carve a piece like this, Mother? Even when several carvers are involved? Remember that I have been working on it by myself. The measurements were fixed in Robert’s architectural plan for the house before a single brick was laid! That’s how it has to be when a special feature with such intricate carving in this size is required. It is to be collected in a day or two as the grand drawing room where it is to be installed has been ready long since, the building of the house having taken as long as the carving itself.’
She regarded him coolly, thinking that he had turned out to be as stubborn as his father. She hated to be crossed in anything, which lay at the root of many clashes she had had with her husband throughout the turbulent years of their marriage.
‘Are you saying that Robert’s wishes come before those of your own mother, who bore you in the midst of indescribable physical suffering?’
‘In this case, yes.’
Her eyes flashed, but although she pursed her lips in suppressed fury she said no more on the subject. Once again she had recognized that intractable Gibbons streak of pig-headedness that she had failed to crush out of his father and she would not humiliate herself any further. With a show of indifference that hid her burning anger she looked at some religious portrait medallions of the saints that he had taken from a shelf to show Cousin Henrietta.
‘Are these portrait medallions a Catholic commission?’ she asked coldly, being fiercely Protestant to the core.
‘Yes,’ he replied easily. ‘They’re for a cardinal who lives in one of the grand mansions along the river.’
‘They are quite splendid!’ Cousin Henrietta enthused, her admiration genuine. She was afraid she was sounding too effusive, but it was only because she was embarrassed by her cousin’s attitude towards Grinling. She thought Bessie should be grateful for such a fine and talented son, a blessing that had been denied her in her childless marriage. But she had a god-daughter, whom she loved dearly and who filled the gap in her life whenever she came to stay.
‘And what is that?’ Mistress Gibbons was asking as she pointed to the large rectangular piece of wood on the bench that was in the process of being carved from the reverse side.
‘It is another of the religious carvings that I’m presently working on in the hope of a sale one day.’
Mistress Gibbons was no longer interested. She was too annoyed with him for being so stubborn and denying her wish.
‘We’ll go now,’ she said crisply, ‘or else we shall have little time for shopping.’ Then she seemed to remember that Saskia was present and turned to her. ‘You have brought all you need for your sketching?’
‘Yes, madam. I shall start work straight away.’
‘Good. Then do your best, but you must not chatter and disturb my son’s concentration in any way. We shall pass by here later this afternoon for you to ride back with us, but on other days you must walk. Be sure to make a very detailed drawing of the overmantel,’ she said before adding on a hint of sarcasm, ‘however long it may take.’
It was a veiled barb directed at her son for what she saw as an excuse for refusing her what she had wanted so much. As she and her cousin left the cottage he saw them to the coach before returning to Saskia with a mischievous grin.
‘I have drawings in plenty of everything I carve,’ he said, lapsing into Dutch, ‘and could have given my mother all she wanted, but I thought that I’d do you a good turn by giving you an excuse to get away on your own sometimes. It cannot be easy to be at someone’s beck and call every minute of the day.’
He is, she thought, the dearest of men in every way. ‘Yet that is what I am paid for and your mother is very good to me. However,’ she admitted honestly, ‘it will be wonderful to have the chance to draw and to be out for a while by myself without a strict time limit.’
She could have added that most marvellous of
all was the prospect of being alone with him and she saw his kindly intervention as yet another sign of the depth of his feelings towards her. She wondered how soon she might ask him about the portrait medallion of herself and decided that she must be patient.
‘I want you to see what I’m working on now before you start your sketching,’ he said, crossing to the workbench where he unfastened the reversed carving. He lifted it and as he turned it around for her to see she recognized it instantly with a little gasp of mingled surprise and admiration. It was the Tintoretto etching transformed into a relief carving, fully three-dimensional and pulsating with its original drama and astonishing beauty.
‘That is wonderful!’ she breathed.
‘It is not finished yet and I don’t get a lot of time to work on it with all my other commitments, so I do what I can whenever I have a spare hour or two.’
‘I’m so pleased you have shown it to me.’
‘I remember how fascinated you were by the etching, which was why I wanted you to see this work.’ He replaced it on the bench. ‘Now where are you going to start your sketching?’
She glanced up from taking a drawing pad, charcoal and writing-sticks from the basket she carried. ‘As it is such a pleasant day I thought I’d start by sketching the cottage outside from across the lane.’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ll take a chair across for you.’
When she was settled he went back indoors. The afternoon sun shone full on him through the window as he worked on the Tintoretto carving and she caught glimpses of him whenever she glanced up from her sketching pad. She did not spare the cottage in her drawing, making the thatch as ragged as it was, the weeds thick around the walls and the fallen bricks on a corner showed its need of repair. Yet all the time she thought what a wise choice he had made in selecting this south-facing cottage as his workshop, for she could see that its enlarged window would not only capture the maximum amount of light, but would catch whatever sun there was at various times of the day to assist him immeasurably in his intricate work.
It was not such a quiet site as might have been expected in the countryside, for although the cottage lay well back from the road it was on a route in and out of London and traffic of every kind passed along it. There were private equipages with coachmen in livery, public vehicles with noisy passengers, and riders on horseback and people on foot, including pedlars, some of whom left the road to try to persuade her to buy some trinket from their trays. Local farming folk also went by, sometimes with a herd of cows or a flock of sheep. Although she glanced up from her sketching now and again she did not see the approach of a man on horseback as he rode across the grass in her direction.
Robert Harting thought with satisfaction that his time of waiting was over at last. He had been unable to forget her, even though he was never short of female company. He had been on the point of returning to Rotterdam specially to see her, but Grinling had dissuaded him.
‘You’ll make no progress if you do that. Saskia doesn’t know you except as a friend of mine. She will not have forgotten that you were first to reach her on the night of the assault on her or that you had that short conversation with her in the library, but that would be the end of it. I’m certain it would never occur to her to see more into such a short acquaintance. I admit that the few occasions when I talked to her I thought her an intelligent girl and that means that she would have no illusions about the difficulties of an association with you. She would most certainly know you were attempting to seduce her.’
‘What makes you think that should be the limit of what I would desire from her?’
Grinling had narrowed his eyes and drawn a deep breath. ‘Do you mean that with time you would consider a more serious move?’
Robert shrugged. ‘All I can say is that I have not been able to put her from my mind.’
Grinling gave a deep sigh, shaking his head. ‘Then the advice I give you is to be patient. Sooner or later my mother will be unable to stay away any longer from attempting to interfere in my life, whether it is where I work, what I eat or even whom I bed if she can possibly find out! And when she comes you can wager that she will bring Saskia with her.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Simply because she has never gone anywhere without a personal maid in tow and it will be the same when she comes to England.’
Now, as Robert brought his horse to a standstill, his gaze was fixed on the girl seated with her sketch pad. She made a picture herself in her blue-grey gown, her apron as white as the Nordland lace cap that she wore on her neatly dressed, wheat-bronze hair. He knew of a very tranquil painting by a Delft artist, named Vermeer, which was of a young woman standing in rays of sunshine pouring in through a window. Now he thought how perfectly that artist’s brush would have captured the similar scene of beauty with the girl who sat on a chair ahead of him now, her lace-capped head bowed over her task.
He dismounted and began to lead his horse the rest of the way towards her. She was so absorbed in her task that she was taken by surprise when his shadow fell across her work.
Startled, she looked up. Even though he was standing against the sun she knew him instantly, every nerve becoming tense. His masculine presence seemed to overwhelm her as it had that day in the library.
‘Master Harting,’ she said almost inaudibly.
‘Good day to you, Juffrouw Saskia,’ he said in Dutch, doffing his hat as he bowed to her. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you again.’
She answered firmly in English. ‘I’m instructed to speak only the language of this kingdom while I am here.’
He thought her Dutch accent charming and, as he looked down into her lovely, upturned face as he had done once before, he knew she still had that extraordinary power to dazzle him with her unusual beauty.
‘Grinling told me you would be coming here to make some sketches for his mother,’ he said, speaking in English as she had directed. ‘May I see what you have done?’
But Grinling had sighted him and came to the door to wave them in. ‘It’s time the artist has a rest from work,’ he called out, ‘and I’ve an excellent bottle of wine here that we can share.’
But it was too late. The Rushmere coach had come into view along the road. In any case, Saskia thought, she would have not dared to risk even a sip of wine in case it lingered on her breath, for then his mother would most surely have barred her from coming to the cottage again. So she put her drawing materials back in the basket and went to stand ready at the roadside.
‘It is Robert, I do declare!’ Mistress Gibbons exclaimed as the coach drew up and he forestalled the coachman by opening the door. They did not alight, but when greetings had been exchanged Mistress Henrietta issued an invitation for him to join Grinling in dining with them that evening. He accepted at once, often being invited with Grinling to what was always a pleasant evening with plenty of intellectual and stimulating conversation, for Mistress Henrietta was an excellent hostess and knew how to gather guests that would enjoy one another’s company.
Saskia had taken her seat in the coach and did not look in Robert’s direction. As the equipage rolled forward on its way the two ladies returned Grinling’s wave as he collected Saskia’s chair and went back indoors with it, Robert following him.
‘Let me see what you have drawn this afternoon, Saskia,’ Mistress Gibbons said, holding out her hand.
‘It’s not finished yet,’ Saskia said as she produced her sketch pad.
The drawing was carefully studied by both women and Mistress Gibbons gave an approving nod. ‘You have captured the cottage’s dilapidated state most accurately.’ She turned to look at her cousin. ‘This sketch alone should shame James into the realization that he must buy a fine house that Grinling could use until such time as he and I come home again.’
Cousin Henrietta made no reply. She believed that if there should be such a house Grinling would still prefer his cottage workshop and wish to be left alone to make his own way in the world.
; That evening quite a number of guests came to dine and Saskia judged by the laughter and lively buzz of conversation that the evening was a success. Yet when Mistress Gibbons came to bed she was in a dangerous mood. Not a word was said, but Saskia guessed that she had spoken to Robert about the overmantel and had failed to persuade him that it should be hers.
A week later Mistress Gibbons found a house in Deptford to replace the property she had lost in the Great Fire and which would be ideal for her and her husband’s comfort in their old age. It was in the same pleasant residential area as Rushmere House with a formal garden and graced by trees. She was bitterly disappointed when Grinling refused to take up residence there.
‘No, Mother,’ he said sternly. ‘When I move I intend to be in the heart of the city and its commerce. Not in a fancy house away from everything.’
Yet the house would not be left empty, for it was owned by one of Cousin Henrietta’s widowed friends, who had her own plans to move nearer her daughter living in the county of Berkshire, but was willing to remain as a tenant until such time as the new owner wished to move in.
Bessie Gibbons had not informed her husband of her intention to purchase. The deal went through and contracts were signed. Saskia had been instructed to make a drawing of the exterior of the house. Some interior redecoration had to be carried out, but when Bessie returned to Holland she knew that she could rely on Henrietta and Grinling to see that it was all done satisfactorily. In the meantime she would continue to enjoy her visit, her pleasure increased now that she had a house that James would like as soon as he saw Saskia’s drawing of it, for her mind was made up that before long he should return to their homeland with her.
Five
Saskia did not go every day to sketch, for there were times when she had to be on hand to perform various duties for Mistress Gibbons and most days Grinling was busy at the workshops of the Royal docks. Fortunately Bessie Gibbons was taking such savage satisfaction in gathering drawings of her son’s working conditions that she spared Saskia for her sketching more than she might otherwise have done. She did not really care for the drawings the girl made at the workshops of the Royal docks, for they showed Grinling as just one carver amongst many others as if he had no special talent to make him stand out from the rest.
Garlands of Gold Page 8
