Garlands of Gold

by Rosalind Laker

  ‘Has Robert shown any sign of mending his ways?’

  ‘Grinling says he has, but then they are virtually lifelong friends. Grinling would always defend him.’ Elizabeth sat back in her chair and regarded Saskia with intense interest. ‘Now you have Robert’s attentions. He could scarcely take his eyes from you the day you both came to dine.’ Then she tilted her head enquiringly at Saskia. ‘Have you not been stirred by his male magnetism that seems to arouse so many women?’

  ‘Only enough to make sure I keep my distance. Fortunately I think there must be somebody new on Robert’s horizon, because quite abruptly he has cancelled two arrangements he had made with me.’

  ‘Are you disappointed?’

  Saskia smiled reassuringly, for Elizabeth looked so concerned. ‘Not in the least! I’m grateful for the kindnesses he has shown me, but that is all. But what I do need from you is his London address.’

  She explained about the gift she was preparing for him and Elizabeth wrote the address down. Just as she handed it over a coach stopped to allow a middle-aged woman and her two young daughters to alight and come across the grass to the stall. Elizabeth made a quick departure, not wanting her presence to interfere with business.

  Saskia kept the stall closed every Monday afternoon, for that enabled her to visit the ladies that still wanted her products. She had not expected to continue to supply her former employer, but Mistress Henrietta’s early alliance with Martha’s own beauty preparations soon came to an end, resulting in Saskia receiving an order to deliver all the products previously used. She never saw Mistress Henrietta, but Martha was usually there to receive the items, a sneer on her face as if accepting poisonous substances. Once when Martha was out the housekeeper confided that the woman savagely resented Mistress Henrietta’s conviction that nobody could make beauty preparations like Saskia.

  ‘Martha is a vicious woman as I know to my cost,’ the housekeeper continued, ‘and she really hates you, so always be on your guard.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning,’ Saskia replied, although she could not think of any way that Martha could harm her.

  By now Saskia rode well, her lessons having come to an end for a while, and when she delivered to her ladies she had two saddlebags containing her wares. It was rarely that she returned with any of the extra products she took with her and always with a list of what was wanted next time. She had employed Ted Robinson’s younger son, Joe, to groom Acorn and keep her fed and watered as well as exercised when she herself did not have time to ride while in attendance at her stall.

  It was Joe whom she sent to deliver her gift to Robert. The pots, which had been made by Rufus, all had striped blue and white lids and were neatly labelled as were the flasks containing a choice of fragrances, and she had covered the box in fine white paper. She hoped that the care she had taken with the presentation would show him how much his generosity had been appreciated.

  Joe returned to say that he had handed the box in to a servant. ‘The fellow said that Master Harting is out of London on a building project in York at the present time, but the box will be kept for his return.’

  ‘Thank you, Joe,’ she said.

  Her days at her stall were not without problems. Until now the weather had been kind to her, the occasional light shower not deterring customers in any way, but then with the arrival of June the weather became unseasonably wet. Downpours were so heavy that it was pointless to open her stall, for coaches did not stop and people hurried by with their heads down.

  Then when the sunshine did return other hazards awaited her. One morning a herd of goats started to eat the stall’s canvas apron, making a hole on one side and leaving it ragged before she and the goatherd managed to drive them away. At this time gypsies were on the move, passing from one country fair to another, and their children came running up to swarm about the stall, their hands shooting out to grab whatever they could before bolting off again. She overcame this by getting a tightly webbed fishing-net and throwing it over her goods to secure them as soon as she saw caravans approaching. Although the majority of her customers were honest there were some people, respectably dressed and well able to afford her modest prices, who were not above slipping a pot into the pocket of an apron or a coat.

  She began considering how much better it would be if she could turn the cottage into a shop. Then she would have most of her wares securely on shelves behind her and a counter would block unlawful access. It meant waiting until the end of summer as by then she hoped to have made enough money not to have to draw on her savings.

  Unexpectedly one day Martha arrived at the stall and showed immense satisfaction when she conveyed the message that Mistress Henrietta wanted Saskia to call on her without delay. It was a command.

  ‘Don’t expect to be treated like a visitor,’ Martha said acidly. ‘Rushmere House has not become as lax towards the social rank of its guests as a certain apartment in La Belle Sauvage. I happen to know that there is trouble in the air for you. You must realize that being as busy as you are with your stall also means that you are rushing through the preparation of your beauty products. They have been very poor recently. Mistress Henrietta has only to make her displeasure known and all the ladies in her circle will stop buying from you.’

  Saskia looked the woman directly in the eyes. ‘What have you been mixing in my products?’

  It was a guess, but she was certain that it had hit home, even though Martha appeared unfazed by the question. ‘What an absurd accusation!’ she replied scornfully, tossing her head as she left again.

  Saskia knew that Mistress Henrietta had never forgiven her for leaving Elizabeth’s employ, but she had no qualms when she presented herself at Rushmere Hall when she was on her next Monday afternoon circuit. There was no sign of Martha and it was a young housemaid who took her up to the boudoir, even though she knew the way so well.

  She entered the room with a curtsy and Mistress Henrietta flicked her closed fan in the direction of a chair. To her amazement, no sooner was she seated when the woman spoke in a whisper.

  ‘I know that Martha listens at keyholes, so make sure that she is not in the corridor.’

  Saskia rose to her feet again and looked out of the door, but the corridor was empty. She returned to her seat. ‘There’s nobody there.’

  ‘Good. Now I believe you know why I have sent for you.’

  ‘Yes, I understand that my products have not been pleasing you recently.’

  ‘But I’m sure you can guess as well as I what has been happening to them after they leave you.’

  Saskia had not expected the woman to be so perceptive. ‘I’m making no accusations, madam.’

  ‘But I am! You are the first to know that I am going to get rid of Martha. I should never have transferred you to Elizabeth, but I did it out of the goodness of my heart. Now I want you to come back to me. I’ll treble your previous salary and give you better accommodation with a special room where you can make your lovely products, and I’ll put no restrictions on your selling to other ladies that like to buy from you.’

  Saskia was shaking her head. ‘No, madam. You are making a most generous offer, but I never want to return to service. I enjoy having my own home and my own business. In fact I intend turning my cottage into a shop. I have already spoken to my landlord and he is agreeable.’

  Mistress Rushmere stared at her in outraged disbelief, unable to comprehend how this young woman could refuse such an offer. ‘You have not given yourself time to think over my proposal. I shall withhold my dismissal of Martha to give you time to reconsider the hasty decision you have made.’ She held up a hand as Saskia began to repeat her refusal. ‘Not another word! Go now! I shall expect a different attitude when next you call on me.’

  All the way home Saskia seethed inwardly at the woman’s arrogance, even though she had been in England long enough now to know how class distinctions set people far apart through birth, fortune, trade or service. Her wide open Dutch attitude was that the good in people ma
ttered, not their station in life. It made her exasperated with her new countrymen and -women on many occasions. Naturally there were social differences in her own country, but she had never been so much aware of the gaps between them as in England. She was thankful that Elizabeth saw no barriers between them in the friendship that they shared. It was probably Elizabeth’s clear mind that had been one of many reasons why Grinling, a true Dutchman despite his English parentage, had fallen in love with her.

  After several weeks Saskia received a formal letter of thanks from Robert for her gift. He apologized for the delay in his reply, explaining that he had just returned briefly to London and that was only for a matter of days before he left again. Although she knew from what was said by Elizabeth and Grinling that during the short time he had called on them, his visits and hers had never coincided. Then as Elizabeth’s time for being brought to bed drew near she wanted Saskia to call in and see her as often as possible.

  As for Mistress Henrietta, she had finally accepted that Saskia would never return to her. The result was that Martha had been ignominiously replaced by a smiling Swiss woman, named Dorli. According to Elizabeth the newcomer also had to face being constantly compared to Saskia, but fortunately the woman had supreme confidence in her own skills and so Mistress Henrietta’s often cruel comments bounced off her, leaving no resentment. She even welcomed having Saskia’s products supplied for her as it saved her a great deal of time-consuming work. There was no news of Martha, although Mistress Henrietta had been gracious enough to give her a character reference to help her get other employment, for as she said to her god-daughter it was no fault of Martha’s that she had been unable to compete with Saskia’s exceptional skills.

  By now summer had waned and Saskia went ahead with her plans to make the cottage into a shop. The same carpenter that had repaired the stable did the work for her cheaply and efficiently, reusing some of the timber of the stall. She made a special trip into the city to order a swinging sign to set up above the shop door. The result was a double-sided sign displaying a flask of perfume and one of her decorated French pots.

  On the eve of the shop’s opening she took a last look around before going upstairs. The counter was waxed and well polished and the rows of shelves on the wall behind her held displays of her wares, interspersed with some of the lovely French pots, which would not be for sale. Somehow she had at the back of her mind the vision of a truly elegant shop where she could preside and all her beauty products would be in pots and flasks as lovely as those in the chest that was stored upstairs. Was it a dream that her mother had had for her? She often wondered about it. But until then she would not part with any of those in the collection.

  On the shop’s opening day Saskia wondered at first if Robert happened to be in London would he call on her as he had done on the first day she had had the stall, but he did not appear. She was busy all day, for the cottage with its new sign, standing alone as it did in the countryside, caught the attention of all who passed by. Previous customers came to see what else she had to sell and to congratulate her on her venture. Other grander folk, who had not halted their fine coaches for a wayside stall, now alighted out of curiosity to see what was for sale.

  As Saskia locked up for the night she did not see Robert come riding up in the darkness outside. He had been at his London residence for a few days before he had to return to York on the morrow where he was still engaged in the building of a fine mansion of his own design. He had been determined to stay away from Saskia, still angered by her rejection of him, and yet he had felt compelled to come and see what she had done to the cottage. At least, that was what he had told himself, but in his heart he knew that he hoped for a glimpse of her.

  Now he reined in and watched the cottage where her lamp showed that she was on her way upstairs to bed. When he had seen her draw the curtains across her window he rode on into the city, his rage increased as he thought of her discarding her clothes and how eagerly he would have bedded her if such a chance had come his way. As soon as he found another woman with enough beauty, charm and sexual appeal to banish Saskia from his mind he would wed her.

  In the bedchamber Saskia had undressed and had slipped a robe over her night shift to sit down and brush her hair. Afterwards she crossed the room to adjust the arrangement of some of her favourite little French pots on the chest of drawers as she did sometimes for her own amusement, for it always gave her pleasure to handle them. Now she brought forward one with a painted scene of two lovers meeting on a bridge and then she set back two others that were equally delightful. Over past weeks she had recounted every piece in the chest and had carefully listed each one in a sequence of pages at the back of her book of receipts. She thought with a smile that she was like an old miser relishing his money, although with her it was the beauty of the pots that gave her delight.

  Suddenly hearing a sound that puzzled her, she went to the front window and looked out. The landscape was illumined by a full moon and she could see nothing that was untoward. She supposed it was a fox on the prowl or some other creature of the night that she had heard, but she was still not wholly satisfied and took up her candle-lamp to go downstairs to check that both the front and back doors were securely fastened. Only then, finding all was well, she was reassured and went back upstairs to bed. She was soon asleep.

  Yet concealed in the deeper darkness of some trees, a rough-clad man, unshaven and sharp-eyed, had seen her come to the window and had held his breath for a few moments as he silently cursed the emptied gin bottle that he had thrown aside. He had not expected it to smash against some obstacle in the darkness. Then as the minutes passed he relaxed again. The candle in the upper room had been extinguished. Yet he was still tense as he fingered the coins in his pocket, which would be doubled when his assignment was done. The donor was an upper-class maidservant that had sought him out in one of the taverns that he frequented, although on whose recommendation he did not know. He would wait another hour and then he would carry out his task.

  Thirteen

  Saskia awoke coughing and choking from the smoke billowing about the room. Tired from her busy day she had been in a deep sleep, but now, realizing in horror what was happening, she sprang from her bed. Grabbing her robe from its peg, she thrust her arms into it before darting to the head of the stairs. There she stopped, terror-stricken and drew back. There was no escape that way, for the flight was already a furnace, the flames greedily leaping up each wooden tread. She thought in despair of Grinling’s looking-glass. There was no way that she could get to it. All she could save was the strongbox in her room. As she seized it and hurled it through the open rear window she heard Acorn whinnying in the stable, frightened by the proximity of fire and smoke, and to her horror she saw that the stable roof was already alight.

  Swinging round to the wash bowl on its stand in the corner, she snatched up a towel and dipped it deep into the ewer of water to soak it as a cover for her head and to shield her face. Then darting once more to the rear window she looked down to judge her chances of escape that way. Cascading sparks and the crackling of straw overhead told her that the thatch was burning fiercely. There was the flat porch roof over the back door. If she could lower herself to get a foothold on to it she should be able to lessen a fall.

  Then as she put her foot over the window sill somebody was shouting to her. She recognized Ted Robinson’s voice.

  ‘We’re here! George and me will catch you!’

  ‘Get Acorn out of the stable!’ she shrieked, clutching the windowsill with both hands.

  ‘Joe is seeing to her!’ Ted Robinson shouted back in his deep voice. ‘You get yourself ready now to jump.’

  Not daring to look down, she found a foothold on the porch roof below, but almost in the same instant she slipped. She crashed against the porch roof and screamed as she fell, but Ted and George staved off the worst of her landing. Then Ted snatched her up in his arms and ran with her away from the burning straws being thrown wide like a wild fireworks di
splay from the flaming thatch.

  George shouted to her. ‘Anybody else in the cottage?’

  ‘No,’ she cried, still clutching at Ted as he lowered her to the grass well out of range of the sparks.

  ‘Do you think you’ve broken any bones?’ Ted asked, his big red face hovering anxiously over hers.

  She shook her head, aware of pain, but it seemed to be all through her and she could not locate the source. ‘Has Acorn suffered burns?’ she asked fearfully, drawing breath between coughing.

  George answered, adding his face to his father’s over hers. ‘No. Joe was quick to lead her out of danger. Folk are coming from everywhere, bringing buckets with them, to see what they can do to help.’

  ‘Take some deep breaths, girl,’ Ted said, propping her up a little with his arms, almost causing her to pass out with pain.

  As she tried to obey him she saw that people were moving around everywhere, the flames illumining their concerned faces as they trampled unknowingly over her herb garden. Some had formed a chain filling buckets from the nearby stream and she could hear the pump handle being worked hard. Yet she feared their task was hopeless, for the fire had gained such a hold. Amid the shouting and the crackle of flames she heard Kate’s voice calling.

  ‘Ted! George! Where are you?’

  ‘Over here!’ Ted answered, getting up from his knees at Saskia’s side. Kate came panting up with a blanket in her arms, clearly having run most of the way from the farm.

  ‘Wrap the girl up in this blanket,’ she instructed her husband, ‘and bring her home! Now!’

  Effortlessly, he carried Saskia in his arms all the way, telling her jovially that she weighed much less than his prize pig in a vain attempt to take her mind off the scene they had left. Kate kept a few paces ahead, clicking her tongue at what she thought of as his nonsense. She carried the foreign-looking strongbox and wondered what it held.

  At the farmhouse Ted left Saskia in his wife’s care and then returned to the site of the fire. Although there was nothing to be done to save the cottage, which now resembled a giant bonfire, there was the need to be sure that sparks did not ignite anywhere else. All knew that the Great Fire of London had been started by a fire in a baker’s shop and the speed by which it had spread was still fresh in everyone’s minds. When dawn came nothing remained of the cottage except smouldering ashes and blackened timber. Ted and George and the last of the watchers finally dispersed.