‘I do not know what that would be. So, Saskia, enlighten me,’ he answered amicably, folding his arms as he stood leaning against the only remaining workbench, which at her request he had left in place. The sunshine through the window panes rimmed him with light and cast his shadow across the stone-flagged floor.
‘It’s the portrait medallion of me that you carved in your workshop before you came to England. I saw it when you opened a cupboard door the day I was in there.’
‘Ah,’ he said slowly with a nod of understanding. There was a long pause before he spoke again. ‘That was a commissioned piece and I enjoyed doing it, but I made it as a gift.’
‘You don’t have it?’ she asked incredulously. ‘Then who—?’
Her voice trailed away as comprehension dawned. He saw that she had guessed the answer to her half-spoken question. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Robert has it.’
She bowed her head, hating Robert for having torn away her final belief that Grinling had always cared for her enough to keep her likeness, even though it had never been love.
Grinling crossed the floor to put his fingertips under her chin and raise it to look down into her expressive eyes. ‘Put away the past, Saskia,’ he said gently. ‘You are about to make a new beginning in this cottage. Let it open the world wide for you.’
She nodded. Then, unable to stop herself, she sprang swiftly up from the chair and clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder. His arms hovered about her before enclosing her for a few moments just because she was young and lovely and in distress that he loved someone else. Then he released her.
He spoke her name, but without looking at him she sped away through the door and made for the road, her cloak flowing out behind her. She knew in her heart that in those few moments of embrace he had only felt pity for her. Pity! She wanted to scream out at the pain of her heart exploding within her.
Preparations for the wedding went ahead. Numbness had settled on Saskia, for it was the only way she could deal with all the joyous happenings and the general excitement in the house as the day drew near.
When the wedding morning dawned Lucy would have liked to be the one to dress the bride’s hair, but Saskia did everything for Elizabeth, determined that the girl should be as beautiful as a bride deserved to be on her special day. She did not see it as a task, but as her own marriage gift to bring joy to Grinling.
Leaving Lucy to assist the bride into the coach Saskia went ahead to the church to await Elizabeth’s arrival. She saw that Robert stood at Grinling’s side as his swordsman, but she kept out of his view. Then Elizabeth arrived and Saskia knelt to arrange the folds of the silver and blue brocade bridal gown.
‘I thank you, dear Saskia,’ Elizabeth whispered before she turned to go gracefully up the aisle on the arm of Mistress Henrietta’s friend, Sir Arthur Garner. Elizabeth was so radiantly happy that she dazzled, her face a joy to see beneath the circlet of roses on her fair head.
That night after the music and the feasting there was the usual riotous ceremony of escorting the groom to the bride, the male guests well inebriated. Elizabeth, clad in a white nightgown, her hair brushed flowing to her shoulders, sat upright in bed against the lace-trimmed pillows while Saskia and Lucy folded the bed clothes neatly across her. Then at the sound of the approaching commotion Elizabeth was seized by total panic. She clutched Saskia’s hand in both her own.
‘I’m afraid!’
Saskia thought to herself how eagerly she would have been awaiting Grinling’s arms, but she managed to smile reassuringly. ‘I arranged with the menservants that none of the guests are to be allowed in. It will only be your bridegroom coming to you with a heart full of love.’
She was aware of Lucy looking curiously at her, for her voice had trembled, but Elizabeth had not noticed, reassured by Saskia’s words. She became serene as she folded her hands in front of her on the sheet, her wedding band gleaming gold on her finger.
It was as Saskia had promised. Although Grinling was thrust by many hands into the room as though catapulted, his dressing-robe billowing back from his nightshirt, none of the guests managed to follow him. Saskia glimpsed his adoring smile at his bride in the few seconds before she and Lucy slipped through a door into the dressing room and away from the bridal chamber.
In her room a candle-lamp showed everything ready and packed for her departure. She had fulfilled her duty by staying until after the wedding and seeing the bride to bed. Elizabeth had been told that it would be Lucy who would attend her in the morning.
While Saskia put on her cloak for departure and gathered a last few things into her purse, Lucy went downstairs to summon the strong-shouldered lad waiting with a handcart to move Saskia’s possessions to her new home, including the iron-bound chest.
When she went downstairs chandeliers and candelabra glowed everywhere. All the servants were still about, for the merriment would continue until dawn, and there would be much to clear up afterwards. They all bade her a jocular farewell, for bottles had been opened in the kitchen too.
Outside there was a full moon and a sky full of stars, the air mild after the sunny wedding day. There was little need of the lantern that swung at the front of the handcart as its wheels bumped along the rough surface of the dusty road. When the cottage was reached Saskia was pleased to see that the roof had been partly re-thatched to make it watertight and the lopsided shutters had been straightened. When she turned the key in the new lock on the door she entered to the smell of fresh whitewash and scrubbed floors. The landlord had kept his word to Grinling that he would make the place more habitable for his new tenant.
When she had lit a candle and paid the lad she bolted the door after him. Throwing back her head with a smile on her lips, she hugged her arms with satisfaction. She had her own home at last and, most precious of all, her independence with none ever to bid her come and go again. Grinling had advised her to let the world into her life and that was how it should be from now on.
Ten
It took a few days for Saskia to get the cottage exactly as she wanted it to be within the limits of her purse. Prior to moving in, and in addition to making curtains for the windows, she had gone to a market place and bought the crockery, cutlery and cooking utensils that she would need as well as two rugs, one for the flagstones and the other for the wooden floor of the bedchamber upstairs. Before leaving the market she bought a selection of all the available plants and seedlings that she needed for her herb garden and three clumps of different lavenders, which she hoped would grow well. Then, having hired the same lad that had moved her belongings from Rushmere House, she had her purchases transported to the cottage.
She had already prepared the ground for her herb garden and did all her planting that same day, putting in mint and rosemary, rue and tansy and others that she would be using in time to come. Soon she would plant more. An elderberry tree near the stable would supply her with the berries that she would need for one of her dyes. Then, sitting back on her heels, she smiled with pleasure at the neat rows she had created before rising to fetch water from the pump and give the herbs a good shower.
When all was in order in the cottage she scrubbed anew the table in the kitchen and set out all the items she needed to make up a good stock of her products. She would have liked to work by the window as Grinling had done, but her ingredients would have dried up if exposed to too much sun. Last of all she hung Grinling’s looking-glass with its foliaged frame on the wall facing the entrance where it could be seen and admired by anyone entering the cottage. She associated it with the happiness she had experienced on the day he had given it to her or else it would have been too painful ever to look at her reflection in it again.
She was mixing some face powders and had filled some of the ordinary pots she had purchased with some of her creams when her landlord, Ted Robinson, came to see her at the end of her first week to collect his rent. He was a broad-built and large-bellied, stern-looking man with heavy jowls. His sharp eyes took in everything
.
‘I wanted to see for myself what you’re doing to the old place, mistress,’ he said, ‘but in future my wife will call weekly for the money. She will also sell you eggs, butter, cheese and a chicken now and again from our farm if you should wish to buy.’
‘That could be very helpful to me,’ Saskia replied.
‘My son, George, is my right hand on the farm, but I have a youngster, Joe, who can run errands for you and perform chores for a bit of money. He’s fourteen, but ain’t much for farm work. Master Gibbons found him helpful from time to time.’ Then he turned to leave. ‘I wish you well, mistress. Good day to you.’
Mistress Robinson called the next day, bringing a house-warming gift of a dozen eggs, which she set down on the kitchen table. She was almost as rotund as her husband, but much shorter, her pretty face round and dimpled and heavily freckled, her hair under its frilled cap was brown brindled with grey. Her smile was partly toothless, but wide and welcoming.
‘I’m Kate,’ she announced, dispensing with all formality, ‘and I’m glad to know you’re going to be living here. My great-grandma lived under this roof once, not that I remember her.’
‘Now it has become a home again,’ Saskia replied, interested to know something of the cottage’s history. ‘My name is Saskia.’
Kate’s eyes widened. ‘That ain’t an English name and you speak in a pretty way.’
‘I’m from Holland.’
Kate clapped her hands together in surprise. ‘I knew from what Ted told me that you were a foreigner, but I didn’t know that you came from the same country as Master Gibbons. Your speech is easy to understand, but I was often befuddled trying to grasp what he was saying to me. Sometimes I thought he was talking in his own language.’ All the time she had been speaking her eyes were taking in everything around her, including the little containers on a shelf. ‘You’ve some nice knick-knacks there.’
‘They contain my products.’
‘Ted told me you make lotions to beautify. I could do with something for my hands. They get so rough and dry with all I have to do.’ She displayed her scarred, calloused hands.
Immediately Saskia turned to the shelf where she selected a pot and then handed it to Kate. ‘Accept this salve with my good wishes. Rub it into your hands at night. It will help.’
Kate was shyly delighted. She took off the lid to examine and smell the contents and then took some on a fingertip to rub it into the back of her hand. ‘I thank you!’
She stayed a little longer to chat, telling Saskia about the farm, how long she and Ted had been married, and that after having George no other babies had survived more than a few weeks until Joe was born twelve years later. ‘There’s a row of five little crosses in the churchyard,’ she said sadly, ‘but I go every Sunday after church to talk to my babies.’
Saskia put a compassionate hand on the woman’s arm and there was no need for words. Kate smiled at her and it was the birth of friendship.
Grinling had recommended a potter, named Rufus, who was a young man with a small pottery of his own and was as ambitious as Saskia was herself. He was eager to make the containers she would need, each well glazed with a simple and colourful design, for she intended to keep the pretty little pots in the chest for a more expensive range later on. Meanwhile she was having a display stall made for the roadside with a green and white striped canvas awning that would give shade on sunny days as well as protection from the rain when the weather changed. It had all been a severe drain on her savings, but she considered it to be a sound investment.
She was busy mixing a carmine rouge when there came a hearty knock on the door. Expecting to see Rufus with the first delivery of his pots, she opened it wide to find Robert looming in front of her, seeming to fill the narrow doorway.
‘I’ve come to wish you well with your new venture,’ he announced.
‘That is very kind of you, Master Harting,’ she replied, wishing he had not come.
‘I’m sure you are very busy,’ he said, seeing she was wiping her pink-stained fingers with a cloth, ‘but I trust you can spare me five minutes.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she replied as politeness demanded.
Then, as he entered, he produced from behind his back a nosegay set in lace and tied with flowing ribbons, which he presented to her. In his other hand he held a bottle and she recognized it as being that of a very special French wine known as champagne, although she had never tasted it.
She inhaled the perfume of the blossoms. ‘These are lovely flowers,’ she said appreciatively, not denying him the thanks he deserved. ‘I’ll get a jar to put them in.’
As she went into the kitchen to take a glass jar from a shelf he followed her, glancing around.
‘Everything looks very different from the last time I was here,’ he commented, clearly taking a professional interest in the renovations that had been carried out.
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Remember that Grinling used it solely as a workshop, but now it is my home.’ Taking a ladle from a hook on the wall, she scooped some water from a bucket into the jar and put the nosegay in it, thinking how beautiful it looked. Then she saw that he was about to open the champagne. ‘I haven’t any wine glasses.’
‘That’s not important today. It is the occasion that matters.’
She produced two of the thick glasses that she did possess. He took them from her and she carried the nosegay into the main room where she set it down on the cupboard and arranged its pastel-hued ribbons around the base of the jar. Then she turned to watch Robert pour the sparkling wine. It was like liquid sunshine.
‘My mother told me once that it is a royal wine in France,’ she said, taking a glass from him as she settled herself in one of the chairs, ‘because King Louis XIV never drinks anything else.’
‘Clearly a man of excellent taste,’ Robert replied easily, still standing. ‘As a matter of fact I bought this champagne when I was in France a while ago and I’ve been keeping it for a special occasion.’
‘You were there?’ she exclaimed, unaware that there was a note of yearning in her voice, for she had always wanted to visit the land of her mother’s birth.
‘Yes, I’ll tell you why in a moment, but first we must have a toast.’ He held his glass out towards her. ‘May success be yours.’
‘I echo that toast to you in return,’ she replied, inclining her head as he sat down opposite her, crossing one long leg over the other. As she sipped the champagne it ran golden down her throat. Momentarily she closed her eyes blissfully. ‘No wonder the Sun King enjoys this wine so much.’
‘When do you intend to start selling your wares?’ he asked.
‘Next Saturday and I shall be ready at dawn, because that is one of the busiest days for traffic into town. Market days are always busy too, but nobody would have time to look at my stall in the early morning. I know from the time when I was sketching here that the farm women and girls are usually in charge of geese or goats or helping their men with cows or sheep and having no time to think of anything else. There would be no trade either with the women selling butter and eggs and other home produce, because they ride by in wagons, all wanting to get to market ahead of their competitors.’
‘But they will return by the same route with money in their pockets from the sales they have made,’ he said with amusement, foreseeing her strategy.
She gave a nod, her eyes dancing. ‘That is when I shall have my stall displaying its full glory for them. My two chairs set by the stall will tempt those who are wearied to rest as they choose from my products.’
He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Where did you learn to be such an astute saleswoman?’
She laughed. ‘I grew up in a houseful of women, which taught me a great deal. I know that every female, whatever her age or circumstances, wishes to look younger or more beautiful and most of them want to be more attractive to the opposite sex. Even the loveliest of women can be discontented with their appearance, aiming always for an even higher level o
f beauty.’ She watched as he topped up her glass and then his own. ‘Now tell me why you were in France.’
He was pleased with the effect that the champagne was having on her, because for the first time that deep-rooted hostility towards him was melting away from the violet depths of her very expressive eyes.
‘You will remember that Grinling and I have both been involved in work for the actor, Thomas Betterton, in the building of his new London theatre?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Naturally Thomas Betterton wants his playhouse to be the best in London, although personally I doubt that it will ever rival Drury Lane Theatre. Nevertheless his playhouse is going to be the most advanced in its productions and the most innovative. For the first time in this country there is to be movable scenery instead of tapestry backcloths that are normally used. Some while ago the King heard about one of the theatres in Paris where this new kind of scenery had been successfully installed. Always interested in anything to do with the stage, he discussed it with Thomas Betterton, who took me with him to look into the mechanics of this movable scenery.’
She regarded him in amazement. ‘If the scenery can be changed constantly it will make any production more realistic.’
‘That’s right. A scene can switch from a forest to a palace or to any other setting required in a matter of minutes. Actors can enter or exit through side settings known as slats. I have enjoyed overcoming some minor matters in ensuring that everything can be moved swiftly and easily. Meanwhile Grinling has finished the decorative carvings for the proscenium arch as well as some other decoration and that is now all in place.’
‘I remember him telling me about it,’ she said quietly.
He topped up her glass again. ‘You promised some time ago that you would let me take you to the opening night and I said you should have the next best seat to the King’s.’
‘Is that invitation still valid?’ she asked with a boldness that she later blamed on the champagne.
Garlands of Gold Page 13
