Garlands of Gold

by Rosalind Laker

  ‘I should like the Queen to see this splendid carving,’ he said, rising to his feet. If his wife bought it, which he fully expected since she was of the Catholic faith and deeply devout, he would be absolved from any accusation of further extravagance. ‘She would know how and where such a carving should be displayed for it to have full honour.’

  It was a dismissal with promise, although John Evelyn would have preferred the King to be the outright purchaser. As he and Grinling bowed themselves out of the room he had the uncomfortable feeling that Wren would not be following up any passing interest in what had been shown, which probably meant that he had more than enough carvers to work for him and preferred to deal with those whom he already knew. As for Pepys, although he had viewed the carving, he had returned to continue talking deeply with one of the gentlemen, who in his turn had shown no interest in the exhibit at all.

  It was a brisk walk along another route through the palace, passing through one gilded doorway after another, to reach Queen Catherine’s apartment. She received them graciously, having been informed in advance of a remarkable carving being brought to the palace that morning. She was small and her face quite plain, her hair drawn back from her face into curls falling from the back of her head, and her gown was of yellow patterned silk. As it had been with the King, she was not alone. There were several ladies present, including Madame de Bordes d’Assigny, a Frenchwoman, who was Queen Catherine’s most favoured lady-in-waiting. At the arrival of John Evelyn and Grinling she had moved to stand by the royal chair.

  The carving had been carried in by a footman, who now rested it on a table in order that the queen, seated in her chair, could study it at the right height. Catherine smiled in high approval of the work.

  ‘It is a very handsome carving, Master Gibbons,’ she said, her Portuguese accent very pronounced, ‘and you have treated the subject matter most powerfully and reverently. I think it is a beautiful masterpiece in itself.’

  ‘I thank you, your Majesty,’ Grinling replied, well pleased.

  ‘But, madam,’ the Frenchwoman intervened with a frown, always liking to emphasize her own importance among the queen’s ladies, ‘it is not to be compared in any way to the original.’

  Catherine glanced up at her in surprise. ‘Have you been to Venice?’

  ‘No, but I have seen an etching of the masterpiece and this carving has neither the strength nor the purity that guided Tintoretto’s hand.’

  ‘The only difference,’ John Evelyn said firmly, ‘is that between wood and paint. Nothing more.’

  Yet Catherine had turned her head to look again, more critically this time, at the carving while Madame de Bordes d’Assigny continued to point out what she saw as defects and inaccuracies, complaining that nothing was exactly as Tintoretto had painted the scene.

  John Evelyn breathed deeply in annoyance. This wretched woman knew no more about art than a toad! How could she when her only expertise was in choosing for the Queen the best of fripperies from France. Yet he saw that Catherine had taken notice of what had been said as she turned with a smile that encompassed both Grinling and himself.

  ‘I thank you, gentlemen, for bringing this work of art for me to see. It has given me great pleasure. I bid you good day.’

  Outside the apartment doors John Evelyn thumped his tall cane in angry frustration, fluttering its ribbons. ‘How dare that woman influence the Queen in such a manner! I could see that Her Majesty wanted it! She would have bought it if she had been allowed to make up her own mind without that detestable woman interfering!’ He drew in a deep breath to calm himself. ‘But don’t despair, Master Gibbons. Your day will come.’

  Grinling had no intention of despairing, although naturally he was intensely disappointed that he had not sold his carving to either the King or the Queen. Yet he considered it to be their loss that they had not acquired his work of art when they had had the chance. It was an attitude he was to maintain all his life. He truly believed, and with every right, that there was not a carver anywhere who could match the skills in his fingers. It was to his advantage that his self-confidence was such that setbacks did not daunt him, for he foresaw a time not too far ahead when people would clamour for his work.

  In the meantime he had his marriage to look forward to and the thought of possessing Elizabeth made him almost dizzy with desire and love. Yet before the wedding took place he must find a house in London where there would be a room with plenty of light for his workshop. The problem of housing was acute. So many residences had been destroyed in the Great Fire that it was a sellers’ market with exorbitant prices being asked for quite humble dwellings and there was constant competition to buy from plans before even a brick was laid.

  A while ago Grinling had already started carving the proscenium arch for Mr Betterton’s theatre and had finished other decorative carvings that the actor had also commissioned for the auditorium and foyer. To carve flamboyantly for the playhouse was an entirely new experience. It was a complete contrast to the diminutive scale of much of his carving, a skill that seemed to be beyond the ability of even the best carvers that he had met. But this new venture for the theatre appealed to his sense of fun and it had been a great joy to him at his first meeting with Elizabeth to discover that in spite of her outwardly reserved appearance she shared his merry sense of humour. So he had known from the start that they would never be without a personal joy in each other to enhance their lives together.

  He whistled cheerfully the next day as he put the Tintoretto in a cupboard. The right purchaser would come along one day.

  Three weeks later he received the news that his parents were coming for the wedding. His mother hinted that she and his father were most likely to stay on indefinitely in the recently purchased house as he had not been well again. Grinling read with interest that his elder brother, Dinely, had returned to Rotterdam at their father’s request.

  Fortunately – his mother wrote – Dinely has made up his differences with your father and is willing to amalgamate his business with ours. He is already here arranging matters, which is a great joy to me as you will realize.

  It had been Dinely’s refusal to follow in their father’s footsteps into the drapery business that had resulted in the rift within the family, and Grinling believed it was also the reason why his parents had been more tolerant towards his choice of career than they might otherwise have been. He knew that neither his father nor his mother could have endured having both sons estranged from them, especially with their daughter so far away across the sea. He could excuse his mother’s maternal interference at times, for he was aware that being the youngest of her offspring he was also her favourite child, but he did not intend to let her start dictating to him as to where he and Elizabeth should make their first home together.

  With time running out and any good available property well beyond anything he could afford he rented a suite of rooms on the top floor at La Belle Sauvage, a large coaching inn on Ludgate Hill in the heart of London where there was already a workshop next to the stables, which he had rented after moving out of the cottage. He had already found that travellers and regular customers at the inn with money in their pockets had taken an interest in the work of a carver on the premises. Several commissions had resulted from their calling in out of curiosity to see what he was producing. Elizabeth, wanting only to be with him, happily accepted the prospect of living in an inn for the time being, especially as there was a certain prestige in occupying the suite normally kept for travellers of rank and importance. In addition, the prospect of being in London with all its entertainments and many shops was thrilling for her, for after the dull and repressive years she had endured she longed for excitement and London was there to oblige her.

  When she went to see her future home, chaperoned by Mistress Henrietta, she was amazed to find that the rooms were larger than she had expected and finely decorated, the chandeliers of crystal. But it was the views from the windows that appealed to her most of all. Some looked down
into the courtyard where there was such a coming and going of coaches and riders and passengers, a cheerful din arising from it all. But she liked best the windows that gave her the sights and sounds of the busy street stretching up Ludgate Hill. London was in her blood and she had never known that it had been waiting for her.

  Nine

  During the dark hours of one long night Saskia shed her tears. When morning came it was as if she had condensed a lifetime of grief into those heartbreaking hours. Leaving her bed, she went to look at her tired face and red-rimmed eyes in the looking-glass. She was resolved that from now on there should be no more tears. She had to get on with her life, no matter that it was as if the sun had gone from it. Her love for Grinling had somehow enslaved her, filling her with useless yearnings. Now she was resolved never to let that happen again, even though the love she had felt for him would linger all her life through. It was time now to follow an idea that had been in her head ever since she had first seen the contents of the chest that her mother had bequeathed her.

  She bathed her eyes and applied a touch of her own cosmetics to hide the effects of her weeping. Fortunately Elizabeth did not notice anything amiss, except to ask with concern if Saskia had caught a cold.

  ‘No,’ Saskia replied in what sounded to her ears as an unnaturally bright tone. ‘I think some dust blew into my eyes when I was out yesterday.’

  Elizabeth accepted the harmless little deception without question. She was to choose the design and fabric for her wedding gown that morning and although the marriage date was still three months ahead she could think of nothing else. She would have married Grinling on the day he had proposed if that had been possible, but her godmother wanted to give James Gibbons plenty of time to organize his business affairs in Rotterdam before he and his wife journeyed to England for the wedding.

  At a suitable moment Saskia broached the subject to Elizabeth of leaving her service. Since Mistress Rushmere had refused to consider it Saskia felt that her only chance of release was to speak to Elizabeth herself.

  ‘Why?’ Elizabeth asked in distress. ‘Have you wearied of attending me? Or is it that you don’t want to live in London after my betrothed and I are married?’

  ‘The truth is that I want to make a different life for myself,’ Saskia answered frankly. ‘I believe I have the means to make a living from the sale of my cosmetics.’ She did not add that she no longer wanted to be at anyone else’s beck and call, for that would have been hurtful to Elizabeth, who had tried never to be too demanding.

  The girl looked bewildered. ‘How shall I manage without you?’

  ‘Very well indeed,’ Saskia replied confidently. ‘If you and Mistress Henrietta will permit it I know of someone I think would be suitable to take my place. I would train her right up to your wedding day and then she could take over from me.’

  ‘Very well,’ Elizabeth agreed with great reluctance. ‘I can see that your mind is made up. But the girl you choose must be pleasant by nature. Where shall you live?’

  ‘I hope to find accommodation at a reasonable rent and I shall start selling at a stall in one of the markets.’

  ‘None of the ladies who presently buy your products would ever purchase anything from a market stall!’ Elizabeth declared.

  ‘I’m aware of that. If they are agreeable I shall continue to call on them at home for orders, but I must have another outlet through which I can increase my sales.’

  Elizabeth tapped a finger thoughtfully against her cheek. ‘Why not have Grinling’s cottage after he moves out?’ she suggested, wanting to help in any way possible this girl whom she thought of as a friend more than servant. ‘It stood empty for a long time before Grinling rented it as a temporary workshop and I’m sure the landlord would be glad of another reliable tenant to follow on.’

  Saskia had drawn in her breath delightedly, her thoughts racing ahead. ‘It faces the road into London and coaches and other traffic pass that way all the time. I could have a display of my wares at the roadside!’ She gasped again as another thought struck her. ‘I could even have my own herb garden there!’

  ‘You would be a pretty sight for travellers,’ Elizabeth endorsed, clapping her hands together. ‘I’ll ask Grinling to get everything arranged for you without delay.’

  After Elizabeth had spoken persuasively to Mistress Henrietta on Saskia’s behalf it was agreed that she could leave, but it was stipulated that it must not be until after the wedding. The woman made her displeasure very obvious.

  ‘You have disappointed me, Saskia,’ she said sharply. ‘I had hoped you would be a loyal servant to Elizabeth until the end of your days.’ It did not occur to her that anyone born into the position of servant might wish for more in life. ‘Do you have anyone already in mind that you could train?’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ Saskia replied. ‘Her name is Lucy Townsend. She is the daughter of a ribbon-seller from whom I have bought items on your behalf. I have observed her several times in the ribbon shop. She is fifteen years old, quick and willing as well as being artistic in blending colours. Her mother is most anxious to put her into elevated service with a good family.’

  ‘Then you may bring her here and Elizabeth shall decide if she is agreeable.’

  Luckily the interview went well. Lucy, pixie-faced and slim as a stem, was a naturally smiling person, which pleased Elizabeth, who liked conviviality at all times after the unhappiness she had known in the past. Saskia forced herself to accept that it was why Elizabeth would be the perfect partner for Grinling with his good-tempered nature and enjoyment of life.

  ‘I want to learn everything,’ Lucy said eagerly to Saskia as soon as they were on their own again. ‘I aim to be the best lady’s maid in the land!’

  ‘That’s a splendid ambition,’ Saskia said approvingly.

  She started the girl’s training by giving her a leather-bound book in which to write down all the beauty tips that she collected. Saskia only withheld the secrets of her own special preparations, remembering her mother’s insistence that such precious knowledge should only be handed down to a daughter or a responsible daughter-in-law. There were plenty of aids known to all personal maids, such as little bags of oatmeal softening water for the face and the belief, although neither Saskia nor Diane had held to it, that dew gathered on the first day of May guaranteed a good complexion.

  As the days went by Saskia saw that Lucy took a pride in each new entry, which reminded her of her own eagerness in the early days. It was not important that Lucy wrote phonetically, much as Grinling still did, for she was as quick to learn as Saskia had hoped she would be and her nimble fingers soon became adept at dressing hair. Fortunately Martha, whose jealousy had poisoned her relationship with Saskia, was more agreeably disposed towards the young newcomer, seeing no rivalry in her.

  Yet Martha’s bitter dislike of Saskia grew increasingly towards unremitting hatred that was frequently exacerbated all unwittingly by Mistress Henrietta saying irritably that Saskia had carried out various tasks more efficiently and why did Martha not follow the French girl’s beauty receipts exactly instead of making her own concoctions? The final straw came when the colouring of Mistress Henrietta’s hair went awry. Quite uncharacteristically she shrieked her outrage at Martha and sent her to fetch Saskia to put matters right again.

  As a result Martha began to fear dismissal, and she blamed Saskia entirely. She began to watch and wait for some opportunity for revenge that would also put herself in a better light with her employer, but nothing seemed to present itself. She did not realize that much of Henrietta Rushmere’s impatience with her was that the woman bitterly regretted assigning Saskia to Elizabeth, certain that the Dutch girl would never have thought of leaving if she had remained with her.

  A few days before Grinling moved the last of his carvings, tools and materials into the workshop situated at courtyard level below his new London address, Saskia went to measure the cottage windows for curtains in what was to be her new home. The landlord, a local farmer, had a
ccepted her tenancy. Most importantly of all she wanted the portrait medallion of herself and planned to ask Grinling for it at the first opportunity. She was sure that Elizabeth would not want the likeness of a former servant on display and she did not want it to be disposed of elsewhere.

  As she approached the cottage from along the road she saw there was a horse and cart outside and Grinling was helping the carter load up a variety of wooden planks for transport to the new workshop. He greeted her over his shoulder as he shoved a last plank on board before turning towards her.

  ‘If you have come to help with the loading up for the city you are too late,’ he teased, pulling down his rolled up shirtsleeves and then picking up his coat where it lay on the grass verge. Behind him the carter had taken the reins and was already driving away.

  ‘I’ve come to ask a favour from you,’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘What could that be?’ he asked cheerily, guiding her into the cottage.

  The walls were now bare of his many tools and the racks had been removed. The two old chairs were still there and she sat down on one, guessing that he was leaving them for her tenancy as well as the ancient table and cupboard. Elizabeth had already promised her that he would also leave his wooden-slatted bed and had persuaded her godmother to give Saskia a feather bed from Rushmere House’s well-stocked linen closet. There was evidence of the flagstone floor having been swept, although a few wood shavings had been overlooked in one of the corners.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I’m hoping that you will let me have a carving that you will not want to have in your new home.’