‘That’s wonderful!’ she exclaimed, glad for him. ‘I wish you well there.’
‘It’s all due to you,’ he said appreciatively.
She shrugged. ‘It was bound to happen for you sooner or later. I’ve heard praise for your work from different sources. I’m only sorry, as I am sure you are, that this chance had to be achieved through a deception.’
‘But there was none,’ he said.
She looked at him in cool surprise. ‘How can you say that when we are only posing as a married couple?’
He had decided that the time had come to tell her the truth. ‘But it is not a pose, Saskia.’
She looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘The Reverend Walburton was still ordained when he married us at the Fleet prison. What I paid him settled his debts and afterwards his bishop was merciful and restored him to his parish in Berkshire.’
All colour drained from her face and in distress she pressed her fingers against her cheeks. Her voice came in a whisper. ‘You tricked me.’
‘Not in the way that you imagine. I have wanted you for my wife ever since I first saw you on that day of my return to Rotterdam with Grinling from abroad. He has known my feelings for you ever since that time.’
She sat motionless, her head bowed, and he could not see her face. Dropping down to one knee beside her, he would have taken her hands into his, but she snatched them away and her expression as she jerked her head towards him was one of total fury.
‘You are the one who has always stood between Grinling and me!’ she accused fiercely, her eyes flashing. ‘Not Elizabeth! Not then! If you had never told him he might have looked at me in a different light. We both know that out of the binding loyalty of friendship he would never have vied with you over me.’
‘I cannot deny that,’ he said, rising to his feet again. ‘He did think you were a lovely girl.’
She gasped, hearing no hint of remorse in his voice. ‘This is beyond endurance! I cannot stay in this room with you for another second!’
She threw herself up out of her chair, her silken skirts swirling about her, but when she would have flown past him he caught her by the shoulders and jerked her to a halt.
‘Not before we have settled how we are going to spend the rest of our lives together!’ he declared firmly.
‘That is easily answered!’ she retorted. ‘I’ll stay long enough for you to establish yourself with Master Wren and then I’ll go back to Holland! I’ll find some way to be free! Then you and I need never meet again.’
‘Do you really suppose that I’d allow that to happen?’ he demanded on a note of angry disbelief that she should have thought it possible. ‘You are legally my wife and therefore you have become a British subject. Dutch laws would no longer apply in your favour.’
She gave a sharp cry. ‘You have taken away my freedom and my country!’
‘Don’t be so dramatic!’ he replied impatiently on the brink of anger. ‘I have no intention of restricting you in any way. You can continue to sell your products and if you need financial aid in getting a shop you shall have it.’
‘No! I want it to be through my own enterprise! Not a means by which you can entrap me still further!’
His jaw tightened and a vein throbbed in his temple. ‘Stop turning me into a jailer and listen to me, Saskia!’ he demanded dangerously. ‘As soon as there is peace again between our two countries you can visit Holland as often as you wish. All I ask is that you will always come back to me.’
All the fight seemed to drain from her and her whole frame sagged, causing her to clasp the back of a chair as if for support. She turned her anguished face to him. ‘Is that all you will expect of me?’
He shook his head, his deep gaze fixed on her. ‘No. I hope in time you will be a true wife to me.’
She straightened up and her eyes blazed. ‘Not unless you are planning rape!’
He caught his breath in such a great surge of rage that his whole face flamed as if speech would have choked him. She backed away from him, fearful that she had goaded him beyond restraint. There was no sound in the room except the crackle of burning logs in the fireplace and her frightened breathing. Yet, after a few tense seconds during which they faced each other as if on the brink of an abyss, he turned away from her to fling the double doors wide and stride from the room, leaving them open behind him.
She stood trembling from the shock of all that had taken place. It was in such moments of high tension and savage words that violence could occur and an end put to love. She believed she had ruthlessly murdered whatever tender feelings he had had for her. Somehow all the anger she had felt initially at the revelation of his tricking her into a legal marriage seemed to fade before the much greater harm that she had done to whatever future they would have together. She had the feeling that she had ripped both their lives into shreds.
Slowly she went out into the hall and paused at the centre of the wide marble floor, her shadow thrown in all directions by the crystal chandelier suspended overhead. A streak of light under the study door showed her where he had gone, perhaps to put her from his mind in the absorption of work. Momentarily she wondered whether she should go to him and try to heal in some measure the searing rift between them for both their sakes, but the harm that had been done needed the solace of time before such a move could be made and even then might prove impossible to mend.
It was in the early hours of the morning that she heard him go to bed in the neighbouring room. She had found it impossible to sleep. Dawn came before she finally dozed.
Nineteen
Robert was gone from the house when Saskia came downstairs, his place at the table cleared away. Ever since his return they had had breakfast together. She made no comment, determined not to give the servants any cause for gossip, but she wondered where he had gone so early when his appointment with Master Wren was not until mid-morning.
She aimed to spend the morning going to two different markets. Although Joe drove her when the distance was too far to walk she always left the carriage to go on foot into markets and side streets and alleys in her search for unusual and beautiful items for her collection. She also dressed inconspicuously, not wanting her purse snatched in dubious areas.
In the first market, looking with interest at the goods on the stalls of what others would consider rubbish, she found a tiny glass bowl, covered with dirt, which in its better days would once have held finger-rings. It would be perfect for presenting one of her products that did not need a lid. After paying for it she put it into the basket she had brought with her and covered it with a patterned cloth.
She had no luck in the second market, but went down a narrow alleyway where she had never been before and found a little curiosity shop. The proprietor’s name was above the door. William Jenkins. Looking through the small grimy panes of the shop window, she was amazed at the variety of second-hand goods on display. Everything from painted masks to wooden toys, spades, gardening forks and tools of every kind, jugs and chamber pots and worn-out rugs. She entered to the smell of dust and dirt and a foul aroma of tobacco smoke that came from the long-stemmed clay pipe being smoked by the old man behind the counter, his spectacles tied on by a faded ribbon around his bedraggled grey wig. Yet he moved with an unexpected sprightliness at her entrance, getting quickly to his feet. She guessed that this was William Jenkins.
‘What ’ave you brought me?’ he asked without preamble. ‘A pendant? A ring? Your ’usband’s watch?’
She realized that he thought she had come to pawn something. ‘Nothing,’ she replied. ‘I’m on a quest for anything small and antique and still beautiful.’
‘What’s it for?’
‘I need containers for the cosmetics I make for the face.’
He gave a hoarse chuckle. ‘You don’t need paint on that visage of yours.’
‘But I’m in business. I produce my powders and balms for other people too.’
He frowned at her warningly. ‘I don’t
give no special prices for those in trade. It’s the same prices for all.’
She doubted that was true, but shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m going to look around. You may not have anything suitable.’
‘Oh, I will, madam! You take your time and ’ave a good look and I’ll see what I can find for you.’
He dived behind a ragged curtain into the back of the shop. She heard him rattling around in there while she looked along the crowded shelves where festoons of cobwebs showed how long some of the items had been undisturbed. But she was rewarded in her search with a little pink-tinted flask, the stopper intact. She had put it on the counter ready to be paid for when the old man returned, holding a collection of items by an arm across his chest. He set them down one by one on the counter. Most of them were worthless rubbish, but there was one of silver with a screw lid, but black through lack of polish, There was another of Indian origin studded with semi-precious stones, which looked as if it were gold, and also a little china box, so charmingly painted with a primitive portrait of the King that she could not resist it. These three objects she set aside with the flask she had found.
‘Well?’ the old man prompted as she lingered over some of the other items on the counter, discarding in turn those that were cracked or otherwise damaged.
She stood back to gesture towards those she had chosen. ‘What is your price for these?’
He made a great show of pursing his lips and shaking his head as if she had given him a difficult task in estimating what he should charge her. Then he asked her far too much, but after some bartering they reached a figure agreeable to them both.
He made some attempt to wrap her purchases individually, but the paper he found was filthy and so instead she laid each purchase carefully in her basket and covered them with the cloth . . .
‘Call in again from time to time, madam,’ he invited. ‘I get pretty things brought into me now and again from folk in urgent need of money.’
‘I will do that,’ she said.
They bade each other good day and then she left. Outside it was snowing slightly. It was now late morning and she was eager to get home with her purchases. Joe was waiting for her, but as they were not far from La Belle Sauvage she decided to call first on Elizabeth, whose time was drawing near for the birth of a second child.
The warmth of the inn was welcome after the cold outside. Saskia found her friend in the early stages of labour, but not yet ready for bed.
‘A message has been sent to Grinling,’ Elizabeth said, her cheeks very flushed as she paced up and down, finding it impossible to sit comfortably. ‘I do hope he can get home in time, but Robert said it is at least a five-hour ride away.’
‘Robert was here?’ Saskia questioned in surprise.
Elizabeth paused in her pacing with a little grimace as she experienced another wave of pain. ‘Yes. About half an hour ago. He expected Grinling to have arrived and came to bring us the good news that Master Wren has given him a special assignment. Isn’t it wonderful! Now we are hoping that Grinling will have the same good fortune one day.’
Saskia felt a curious pang that she had not been the first to be told the good news. Then she reminded herself that there was no longer any unity between Robert and her to make him want to bring word to her before anyone else.
Later at home when she had washed her purchases she placed them in the glass-fronted cupboard in the music room with those she had already collected. All the time she was listening for Robert’s return, wanting to congratulate him and to hear what assignment had been given to him.
He did not come home and she dined alone. It was four o’clock next morning when she heard him kicking snow off his boots before entering the house. His unsteady tread on the stairs was a clear indication that he had been drinking and he crashed open the door of his bedchamber as he entered. Then his great bed creaked as he threw himself across it and afterwards there was no further sound.
Surprisingly he joined her for breakfast, although he came late when she had almost finished. She had heard the servants taking cans of hot water for his bath, but thought the effect of the drink he had consumed during the night hours would have kept him in bed much longer. He looked strained and pale, which indicated that he had a severe headache, but he nodded appreciatively when she congratulated him on winning an assignment from Master Wren.
‘It’s beyond anything I expected,’ he answered almost in awe. ‘I am to be one of his team in building the new cathedral!’
‘Again I congratulate you, Robert!’ she exclaimed with delight. ‘What an honour!’
He sat back in his chair. ‘There is only one snag. It is that nobody knows, not even Master Wren himself, when the building will commence. So far no date has been fixed, the reason being that the King has rejected two of Master Wren’s designs. It seems that the clergy are clinging to old-fashioned ideas instead of accepting Master Wren’s new and exciting plans. They want the cathedral to be rebuilt much as it was before. Unfortunately it appears that they are influencing the King towards their way of thinking.’
‘But he also rejected Master Wren’s plans for the vast area destroyed by the Great Fire. Why was that?’
‘My guess is that the King lacked control of the necessary funds, because he is not a man without foresight. Instead of the wide avenues and fine open plazas that Wren visualized for London, the rebuilding is taking place mostly along the same old routes as before. Worst of all, rogue builders are taking greater advantage all the time and a deal of bad housing is going up. Only last week another new house collapsed through poor foundations and I fully expect that state of affairs to go on happening in the years ahead. Fortunately so far nobody has been killed, although there have been casualties.’
‘I remember that was your concern a while ago. So what shall your tasks be until the rebuilding of St Paul’s commences?’
‘Today I’m going with him to look over some sites where the burned-out churches are to be rebuilt. He wants to hear any suggestions I have to offer, but the final decision will always be his.’
‘So you have an interesting time ahead of you.’
‘Indeed I do.’ He glanced at the clock and pushed back his chair. ‘I must go. I’m meeting Master Wren at the ruins of St James’ Church just off Piccadilly.’
As he made for the door she half rose from her chair. ‘Robert! Please tell me about your day when you come home this evening.’
He paused, raising an eyebrow in surprise at her request. ‘Yes, Saskia. I’ll do that.’
She sank back in her chair and after a few minutes she heard the front door close after him. Since they had to live together she must at least share his life and his interests as much as possible.
Later that morning a messenger brought the news that Elizabeth had given birth to a daughter. Saskia was mixing a dye at the time, but she stopped work to let Joan continue with the mixing while she wrote a congratulatory note to send back to her friend by the messenger.
As she returned to her work her thoughts drifted. When she was growing up in Holland she had always supposed she would marry a fellow countryman and have lots of children. Being an only child had probably made her long for a family more than most girls of her age, for she had envied her friends with brothers and sisters. She had also deeply missed having a father, aware to this day of a gap in her life. Once, after her mother had inadvertently revealed the location of her father’s house on the far side of the city, she had gone to look at it. She had stayed long enough to see three of her half-sisters come out to play with a ball along the street. One had the same colour hair as her own. Once the ball had bounced to her feet and she had picked it up to throw it back to them. Later she had seen two of her half-brothers come home from school. Both were tall and fair. Neither of them had looked in her direction. When they had entered the house she turned away, wishing that she could have spoken to them.
She had never lost hope for a family of her own one day until Robert had played that devastating trick
on her. Now that dream had to be put aside with others that had faded away with time.
That evening Robert clearly took pleasure in relating to her all he had done and she was caught up in his enthusiasm and examined with interest some sketches and plans that he had brought home with him. Yet she could see that his mind was not really focused on her. It was clear that he would have gained the same satisfaction in relating everything to a perfect stranger. She felt a chill descend on her. Was it an early sign that his love for her was fading? She could scarcely blame him if it was, for she had done nothing to sustain it.
They settled to a routine whereby they each dealt individually with the events of their working days. She continued to hold her weekly consultancies and the clients that had placed regular orders did not always continue attending, for their cosmetics were delivered by Joe in the smart little carriage, but wearing a green livery. His white attire had served its purpose, but had not been practical wear. Yet the chairs on a Wednesday afternoon were never empty as new clients came out of curiosity or through recommendation. Her success continued to grow.
Twenty
Once again Saskia went to congratulate Elizabeth on the birth of a fine baby and was delighted that she was asked to be godmother. The choice of names had been left to her, but between them they had decided on Alice.
‘She is like a beautiful rose,’ Saskia declared, looking down into the face of her godchild, whom she held in her arms.
‘I think I’m going to have a whole garden of roses before my childbearing days are over,’ Elizabeth replied, laughing. ‘In the days of my innocence I had never supposed that babies could be conceived so quickly. In fact, like most girls, I did not know how they were conceived at all! I thought it happened through kissing and that was why girls had to be chaperoned!’
‘I was aware early on in my life as to what was entailed,’ Saskia said, amused. ‘My mother was very plain speaking and full of warnings as to what could happen to me if I did not keep young men at bay.’
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