Garlands of Gold

by Rosalind Laker

  ‘Saskia! You could not have come at a better time!’ He picked her up and swung her around joyously before setting her on her feet again.

  ‘What has happened?’ she asked, laughing with him.

  ‘John Evelyn was here! Did you see him?’

  ‘Yes. He was going past the cottage, but whatever you were doing caught his eye.’

  ‘He said that as he glanced through my window he happened to see me at work on my Tintoretto carving. He recognized the subject matter instantly, having seen the original painting in Venice just as I did. He seemed extremely impressed, saying he had never thought to see that masterpiece come alive in wood.’

  ‘What a fine compliment!’

  ‘And there’s more to tell. He holds some position of importance at Court and is going to arrange for me to show my carving to the King! He is certain that His Majesty will want to purchase it!’

  As she exclaimed with delighted surprise he in his own mind was recalling how surprised John Evelyn had looked when hearing that the purchase price would be a hundred pounds. It was a tremendous sum at any time, but even more audacious for work done by an unknown carver working in poor conditions. Yet Grinling was resolved that his work should never be undervalued. He knew the quality of it and for a long time had believed that it was only a question of time before his skills were truly appreciated and fetched the price they deserved. Now that conviction showed every sign of coming to fruition.

  ‘How long will it be before you go to the Palace of Whitehall?’ she was asking eagerly.

  ‘According to Master Evelyn it should only be a matter of two or three weeks.’

  ‘What an exciting day that will be!’

  ‘It will indeed, but I ask a favour of you, Saskia. Do not mention this matter when you go back to Rushmere House. I should like to choose my own moment to speak of it.’

  She nodded. ‘Of course I’ll respect your wishes.’

  On her way home she rejoiced that from a distance she had viewed a meeting that showed every sign of being a turning point in Grinling’s life.

  Seven

  It was at the ball at Rushmere House a week later when Saskia saw Grinling again. He was much on her mind as she dressed Elizabeth’s hair for the evening, drawing it back from her face in the new turn of fashion that was banishing curls from the sides of the face to fall down the nape of the neck. The trouble was that Elizabeth was so excited and nervous that she fidgeted and fussed. It was the first social occasion since her arrival, for her godmother had not wanted to present her officially before she had a wardrobe that would encompass everything to which she would be invited.

  ‘Are you sure I should change my hairstyle this evening?’ Elizabeth asked anxiously for the third time. ‘I do so want to look my very best.’

  ‘So you shall,’ Saskia reassured her. ‘You have a lovely neck and the beautiful earrings that Mistress Rushmere has given you will enhance it. Now if you could sit still for a few more moments I’ll fasten these little flowers in your hair.’

  When that was done and Elizabeth was ready to go downstairs she did look very pretty in her pink silk gown, its overskirt drawn back to show the rose-patterned underskirt. Saskia took the fan, which lay ready, and handed it to her.

  ‘I hope this will be the happiest evening of your life so far,’ Saskia said sincerely.

  ‘Thank you, dear Saskia! You have done your best for me.’

  She left the room in a swirl of silk and Saskia followed after her. Her attendance duties for the evening, which she would share with Martha, were the same as she had carried out so often in the past for Mistress Gibbons’ lady guests. She had to be on hand for any of them wanting replacement hairpins or feeling faint or needing guidance to the room where the close-stool was to be found. She had just returned to the ballroom from such an errand, passing Martha who was standing nearby, when Grinling arrived. He looked very fine in a blue silk coat, his cravat a fall of lace and in honour of the formality of the occasion he was wearing a fine curling wig that flowed over his broad shoulders. He had already greeted his hostess and was searching the room with an eager gaze.

  For a few blissful seconds Saskia thought he was looking for her. Then everything seemed to crash about her as she saw him sight Elizabeth, who turned as if sensing his arrival and there passed between them a look of such intense joy that it was almost tangible.

  A dance had just finished and Saskia, gripped by shock, all colour draining painfully from her face, watched as he strode swiftly across the shining floor to take Elizabeth’s hand into his. The girl’s expression was radiant and their eyes held even as he bowed low to her and put her hand to his lips.

  Saskia in her wretchedness saw that he did not release it afterwards. Instead they kept their clasped fingers hidden by the folds of her skirt and his coat. As they gazed at each other, smiling and speaking softly, not wanting their private conversation overheard, it was easy to guess that he was caressing her palm, conveying all the secret messages that the touch of lovers can pass to each other in total understanding. There flashed through Saskia’s mind the packet of letters tied with pink ribbons that she had unpacked from Elizabeth’s travelling box upon her arrival at Rushmere House and the inner glow in Elizabeth’s eyes that she had not recognized as love. Then this evening there was the girl’s trembling excitement when getting ready, understandable now since she was soon to meet the man who loved her and whom she loved in return.

  Saskia was unaware that she was standing as if turned to ice until suddenly Robert spoke softly in her ear. ‘Do you want them to see how devastated you are? Where is your pride, Saskia? He was never for you.’

  ‘How did they meet?’ she asked brokenly, somehow absorbing his advice and trying to conceal the anguish she was feeling.

  ‘On her last visit about a year ago when she was here with her stepmother.’ He put his hand on her arm and drew her away until they were by a window and out of the earshot of others. ‘They have written to each other ever since.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ she whispered, feeling that her whole life had shattered.

  ‘They loved each other on sight,’ Robert continued, not sparing her. ‘Grinling has already gained her godmother’s consent to the marriage. He told me that he knew instantly when he first set eyes on Elizabeth that he had met the woman he would marry. It can happen like that more often than most people realize.’

  She lowered her head and spoke in a choked voice. ‘I’ll love him till the end of my days.’

  He showed no sympathy. ‘You probably will, but you can slot the memory away and get on with your life.’

  Her head shot up. ‘You are heartless!’ she exclaimed furiously.

  He looked amused, enraging her still further, and took her firmly by the wrist. ‘Come along and dance with me.’

  ‘No!’ she protested, aghast. ‘I mustn’t mix with the guests!’ She was fearful of breaking down in tears and desperate to get away to the solitude of her own room.

  He continued to be merciless. ‘What do you have to lose? Surely you won’t remain in this house to wait on someone betrothed to the man you wanted for yourself?’

  He had not relinquished his grip and, ignoring her hissing protest, he proceeded to draw her relentlessly towards the dancing. Although she hung back she was helpless in his grasp, betrayed by her shoes sliding on the polished floor. Then abruptly he swept her into the parading measure being danced to a merry tune struck up by the orchestra and they followed the couples ahead around the floor. Yet the truth of his cruel words had knifed her through. She could not stay on in Rushmere House to witness the joyous celebrations of the betrothal, the preparation of a trousseau and then, hardest of all, preparing the bride for her wedding night.

  Grinling and Elizabeth were several couples ahead in the dance and Mistress Rushmere beamed on them as they passed her, but she snapped her fan shut in outrage, her face colouring up, as she saw her god-daughter’s personal maid go dancing by. She did not know that Saski
a’s hand was still being held in a vice-like hold and it was either to dance or make an exhibition of herself by sitting down on the floor and being skimmed along.

  At the end of the measure Robert did release her and she fled away out of the ballroom, only to meet Martha, who had been watching all that had taken place.

  ‘You’ll be getting the boot tomorrow for prancing about the floor, Saskia,’ she sneered.

  Saskia knew that would be the outcome, but as she intended to go by her own will the jeer meant nothing to her. Upstairs she did not take refuge in her room as she had originally intended. Instead she went to sit and wait stoically in Elizabeth’s boudoir, having reminded herself that her duties must be carried out until her departure tomorrow. She was beyond weeping, the wound she had suffered was too deep for the release of tears. Those would come when the shock of losing Grinling for ever gave way inevitably to despair.

  When the guests had departed Elizabeth came to bed in a whirlwind of joyous excitement, totally unaware of anything else that had happened that evening.

  ‘Grinling proposed to me!’ she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she thrust her hand forward to display the very fine ruby and gold ring. ‘We stole away on our own into the library and he went down on one knee! He told me he had adored me from the moment we first met, and he has been so afraid that my stepmother would pressure me into marrying the suitor who wanted me. But I would never have done that! Then we returned to the ballroom and my godmother asked Sir Arthur to announce our betrothal after the supper dance.’ She flung out her arms. ‘Oh, I’m so happy, Saskia! I hope so much that you will know such joy one day!’

  Saskia thought to herself as she helped the girl to undress that her chance of such happiness had crumbled away for ever this evening, for she would never love another man as much as she still loved Grinling.

  Elizabeth chatted on excitedly. ‘He told me some good news about his career. The King has agreed to see an example of his work! Isn’t that wonderful?’

  Saskia agreed that it was indeed a stroke of good fortune for him. She also knew now why he had asked her not to say anything about this showing of his Tintoretto carving to the King. He had wanted Elizabeth to be the first to know.

  When eventually Elizabeth, still ecstatic, was in bed Saskia was able to go to her own room, but not to sleep. Instead, moving like an automaton, she packed her clothes and belongings into a travelling bag ready for her departure. She had her hooded cape lying in readiness on a chair when she answered Mistress Rushmere’s summons next morning and found her alone in her boudoir.

  She was not yet dressed and sitting in a filmy robe before her dressing table, but she put aside a hand-mirror as Saskia entered. ‘Now this is about yesterday evening, Saskia,’ she began sternly. ‘You should not have allowed Master Harting to take you on to the ballroom floor—’

  ‘I know, madam,’ Saskia said quickly, ‘and I offer my sincere apologies. May I hope that you are not too angry to give me a letter of recommendation for another post?’

  Mistress Rushmere’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Yes, I am more than angry with you! In fact I am furious! Quite a number of my guests recognized you and expressed their shock. But,’ she added, holding up a hand to stem any reply from Saskia, ‘I also absolve you from most of the blame. Master Harting explained to me that he was responsible for bringing you against your will on to the ballroom floor. I told him it was a silly caper unbefitting for a gentleman and I believe he took my reprimand to heart.’

  Saskia could have replied that, as she had told him in her anger, she did not believe he had a heart. ‘Yet it is right that I should accept my part in the folly and leave,’ she replied.

  The woman gasped with exasperation and thumped her fists on her lap. ‘Leave? Indeed not! My god-daughter will need your assistance in many things more than ever now that she is betrothed! She has come to rely on you and with her marriage ahead she would not want a stranger to take over from you at this time. Now go along and find her. You can also send Martha in to me.’

  As Saskia left the room she saw Martha slipping away and realized the woman had been listening at the door.

  ‘Did you not hear, Martha?’ she questioned crisply, causing the woman to pause and turn to face her. ‘Mistress Henrietta requires your presence.’

  The woman glared, but went with a swish of her petticoats to obey the summons. She was not surprised that some people in the company had recognized Saskia, although normally servants were faceless for guests, becoming only helpful hands. It was the Dutch girl’s beauty that was memorable. She had seen how both men and women gave her a second look. As for that Master Harting, his heavy-lidded, handsome eyes followed Saskia relentlessly whenever she was present. It could only be that he had seduction in mind. That should bring the wretched girl crashing down from her high and mighty attitude.

  Jealousy and envy made Martha bite her lip as she went into Mistress Rushmere’s boudoir.

  Eight

  It was a fine sunny day when Grinling arrived at the Palace of Whitehall with his Tintoretto carving wrapped in linen and weighing heavily under his arm. He had been to London many times and, in the company of friends, had enjoyed its alehouses and theatres and its pleasure gardens where there was music and dancing. He had often gazed at the palace from various vantage points, for it covered an area the size of a small town and was said to be the largest building in the world, but today he had the authority to enter, knowing that John Evelyn would be waiting for him.

  He was not in the least nervous, secure in the knowledge that indeed his carving was fit for a king, and he looked forward to displaying it. He had decided to move to London as soon as he and Elizabeth were married. Through Robert’s introduction he had met the great actor, Thomas Betterton, who had commissioned him to carry out an exceptional amount of work for the new London theatre that was to be known as the Dorset Garden Theatre. He believed his future was assured and royal acceptance of his work would be an open door to many choice commissions.

  John Evelyn greeted him in the grand reception hall. ‘Good day to you, Master Gibbons! You are in good time as I expected. There are two very distinguished gentlemen on business in the Palace this morning and I’m hoping that after you have been received by His Majesty that I may present you to them. They are Master Christopher Wren and Master Samuel Pepys!’

  Grinling’s optimism soared. The former could give him enough splendid work for churches and palaces to last the rest of his life and the latter was highly influential in naval and court circles. ‘I’d be honoured to meet them,’ he said.

  It was quite a long walk to the royal apartments. They followed seemingly endless enfilades that took them through many fine rooms of gracious proportions as well as innumerable anterooms. On the way they met Master Wren and then Master Pepys, both of whom were bound for the royal apartment. Grinling was presented to each in turn and Sir John was quick to divulge the purpose of Grinling’s visit. Both gentlemen expressed polite interest and the four of them proceeded together to the King’s apartment.

  There the double doors were flanked by two soldiers in the scarlet coats, shining breastplates and plumed helmets of the trusted First Guards, a regiment that the King had raised abroad during his exile. As the doors were opened wide John Evelyn led the way into the royal presence.

  Charles was not alone in the crimson and gold room. There were several gentlemen present, some with a fashionably tall cane that was an elegant accessory and all heavily bewigged as was Charles himself, his strong features accentuated by his eyebrows and lashes, which were as black as soot. When young he had been known as ‘the black boy’, many coaching inns and alehouses taking that nickname for their swinging inn signs, all because of his jet-dark hair and olive skin.

  Grinling and John Evelyn bowed low. Then both straightened up as the King came towards them, more than six feet tall and with a smile full of the charm that made him so irresistible to women. Scurrying around his feet were several of the little spaniels
of whom he was very fond.

  ‘I bid you welcome, gentlemen,’ he said genially.

  ‘I thank you, sire,’ John Evelyn replied, bowing low. ‘Pray allow me to present the talented woodcarver, Master Grinling Gibbons.’

  Now Grinling bowed deeply. ‘I’m greatly honoured, sire.’

  Charles knew all about him, having previously been primed by John Evelyn. He also knew the price of the carving, which had already set him against it, however good it might prove to be. His demanding mistresses and his own extravagance had made an impact on the royal coffers and there were hostile murmurs against his lavish spending by a number of government ministers. Yet he had been intrigued by John Evelyn’s lavish praise of the young Dutchman’s extraordinary talent, which had made him curious to see this Tintoretto copy in wood. Sir John, drawing back to allow Grinling to stand alone to present his work, noticed with satisfaction that both Wren and Pepys were among the gentlemen that had come forward to view what was about to be displayed.

  ‘So show me your work, Master Gibbons,’ the King said, lowering his tall frame into a chair with its back to one of the many windows. ‘The light will show it up well if you stand before me.’

  Grinling whipped off the linen covering and the carving was revealed in all its glory. The King’s face did not change expression as he studied the work of art, but inwardly he marvelled at the carver’s exceptional skills that had replicated so wonderfully the passion and power of such a great masterpiece into the beauty of wood. Several of the courtiers voiced their praise and there was a spontaneous patter of applause.

  Charles put his fingertips together as he continued to scrutinize the carving. He felt intense regret that he had to decide against purchasing it, but apart from the price there were those who would say that his leaning towards Catholicism was revealed yet again in the buying of such a piece more fit for a Roman Catholic church than a secular palace. As a Protestant king he had to be wary and keep whatever his private religious inclinations were to himself. He was aware of silence in the room as everyone waited for his decision, but he had a perfect way by which to get out of this tricky situation.