Elizabeth, now mother to eight children and expecting a ninth, was delighted with the news of her friend’s good fortune. Her pride in her own offspring was matched only by her pride in Grinling’s successful career. Not only were his wonderful carvings now at Windsor Castle, but also in Hampton Court palace and many great houses, the demand for his work unceasing. He was also working on the carvings for the choir stalls in St Paul’s, incorporating the faces of his youngest children. The cathedral itself was beginning to take shape gloriously in a way the clergy had not anticipated but were trying to come to terms with now that it was too late for any change.
Recently Grinling had carved a cover for the stone font in the Church of All Hallows by the Tower where the Harting children had been christened. It was a dainty mound of flowers and delicate foliage with cherubs reaching up to the dove that seemed to have just alighted at the top of it. His own offspring had been fascinated by it as the cherubs here, as in the St Paul’s choir stall carvings, had the likenesses of their younger siblings. It always gave him immense pleasure to see their young faces emerge from under his chisel.
When some premises had become vacant in Bow Street he had transferred his workshop there from La Belle Sauvage. It was three times the size of his previous workshop and he was well pleased with it, quite apart from being closer to his home. There he engaged in a new venture by accepting commissions to sculpt marble statues and busts of well-known people, even though wood would always remain his favourite medium.
As Elizabeth had foreseen he did at times trail wood shavings home with him and now there was often marble dust clinging to his clothes from his sculpting too, even though he wore a leather apron in the workshop. Elizabeth was more tolerant now than in the past, for the housekeeper always saw that the trail of his homecoming was swept up immediately.
Royal recognition had come to him when he had been commissioned by the late king to carve what had become known as the Cosimo panel, which was free standing, much as an individual painting was often displayed on an easel-like frame. It had been sent as a gift from King Charles to Cosimo III de’ Medici, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and was extraordinarily magnificent, full of symbolic tributes to the importance of the giver and the receiver. It had taken its rightful place among the glories of Florence.
Soon afterwards Charles II had awarded Grinling a pension of one hundred pounds a year, which was a generous sum, in acknowledgement of his splendid restoration of some valuable old carvings at Windsor Castle. Another important milestone in Grinling’s life had been the carving of the reredos for Wren at the newly rebuilt St James’ Church in Piccadilly.
Saskia gave birth to another daughter, who was named Prudence. She was a frail little thing, but received such loving care that by the time she was two she had caught up with stronger children of her own age. Mary and Prudence had plenty of playmates at the Gibbons’ house. She was always excited to be there with them, for Elizabeth had an ‘open house’ for children, often playing with them as if she were a child herself until she grew tired and left a nursemaid in charge. Frequent pregnancies had finally taken their toll on her, although the prospect of another new baby always filled her with joy.
There was violent weather one morning when Saskia was ready to take Mary and Prudence to play at the Gibbons’ house. During the night there had been wind of almost hurricane force accompanied by a tremendous downfall of rain, which had slashed ceaselessly at the windows. Robert and the children had slept undisturbed throughout the night, but Saskia had found it impossible to sleep and, when looking out of the nursery window, had seen one of the swaying trees, uprooted by the wind, go crashing down across the lawn.
Now that morning had come Robert had inspected the tree and given orders for the gardeners to saw it up as soon as possible. He also toured the attic, but could not find a leak anywhere. Satisfied, he then went off to his office in his coach, the rain dancing into fountains on its roof.
‘It is raining so hard that I think it would be best to stay at home today,’ Saskia said to her daughters, but both Mary and Prudence looked so crestfallen that later she relented when the rain seemed to ease, even though the wind did not appear to have lessened.
It whipped their cloaks about them as they darted into the waiting coach. Everywhere people were keeping close to walls, not only for shelter under the overhanging upper stories of houses, but because tiles were flying from roofs and tufts of thatch were whirling about in the air. The central gutters of the streets flowed like rivers, flooding areas where rubbish blocked escape, and the coach wheels threw up fans of spray all the way.
There was a rumble of thunder and a distant flash of lightning as Elizabeth welcomed them with open arms as she always did, and her younger children came running to greet the new arrivals. When all of the young ones had darted upstairs to the nursery playroom Elizabeth drew Saskia into the drawing room.
‘What a night!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was so frightened. To me the whole house seemed to sway with the wind’s buffeting, but Grinling just slept through it all.’
‘So did Robert,’ Saskia replied with a smile.
‘We lost some tiles from the roof. I heard them go crashing down in the night and the rain is leaking through into buckets that have been placed in the attic. But no repairs can be done today. A man could be blown away with the tiles in this wind!’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Saskia agreed.
‘We need more than a cup of tea this morning,’ Elizabeth declared, letting her hands rise and fall expressively. ‘We shall have some sherry-wine.’
A decanter had been placed ready on a side table with two glasses and Elizabeth went across to it. It was so unusual for Elizabeth to touch alcohol, for mostly she only had a little wine when dining, that Saskia realized the extent of how upset her friend had been by the tempest of the night. Then as the sherry-wine was poured into the two glasses Saskia saw how her friend’s hands were shaking.
‘The worst of the weather is over now, Elizabeth,’ she said reassuringly. ‘This wind will soon drop.’ Then when a glass had been handed to her she raised it. ‘Let’s drink to sunny days ahead.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Elizabeth declared, sitting down on the yellow silk-upholstered sofa. ‘After last night and today summer cannot come soon enough for me!’
It was at that moment that a tremendous explosion of sound shook the whole house. Elizabeth screamed in alarm. Saskia’s immediate thought was that lightning had struck the roof, but a second later she saw to her horror that an enormous crack had appeared in the wall opposite her. She sprang to her feet, Elizabeth doing the same and screaming again when she saw what happened.
‘We must all get out of this house! Now!’ Saskia cried, giving Elizabeth a push as a shower of plaster descended from the ceiling and cracks flew across it. ‘I’ll fetch the children!’
Then she was ahead of Elizabeth, who was cumbersome in her pregnancy, and made for the stairs. The panic-stricken servants were already running outside, not stopping to help. Upstairs Saskia was met by the terrified children and the ashen-faced nursemaid, who had appeared at a run with a toddler in her arms.
‘Downstairs and outside!’ Saskia ordered brusquely. ‘At once, children! Hurry!’
Elizabeth had come to the foot of the flight and was on her way up to hasten their descent, calling reassuringly to them. Then Mary realized that one of the children was missing and jerked at the nursemaid’s sleeve when she would have rushed past. ‘Where’s Alan?’
The young woman answered frantically over her shoulder as she hurried on down the stairs. ‘I thought he was here! He must still be playing with his wooden farm animals!’
The children were being shepherded out of the house by some people that had rushed to the rescue. Elizabeth had immediately missed her four-year-old son and, shrieking hysterically, she would have rushed up the stairs to help in the search.
‘Get outside!’ Saskia ordered fiercely. ‘I’m fetching him!’
Alan was a child who
was content with his own company and often wandered off from the other children. She found him asleep on the floor in the midst of his farm animals. He opened his eyes wide in surprise as she snatched him up in her arms, but then he smiled, patting her cheek as he recognized her. As she ran with him, making for the stairs, plaster was falling everywhere. A great piece had landed across the flight near the bottom stair, blocking the way, and two of the menservants, who had returned at Elizabeth’s screaming plea, attempted to pull it aside with all their strength, intent on making a space to go past. As soon as Saskia was within range she threw Alan into his mother’s arms. Then as Elizabeth ran with him out of the house she met Grinling, who had come rushing to the scene, white-faced with shock. Then Saskia saw as if in slow motion a whole wall descending between her and liberty, shutting out the light. Her last thought was one of thankfulness that all the children were safe. Then a brick struck her across the head and blackness melted her far away.
For three days and nights the search went on to find her in the rubble. Robert, haggard with grief and loss of sleep, refused to rest, continuing by lamplight all through the long nights. Grinling searched constantly with him, only taking a break when Robert pushed him away. There were plenty of volunteers assisting, but still Saskia’s body could not be found. Now and again Elizabeth came to watch, tears running down her face. Grinling had moved her and the family, including Mary and Prudence for the time being, into temporary accommodation in a furnished house nearby.
It was dawn on the fourth day when Robert, heaving aside a heavy piece of brickwork, saw a gleam of bronze in the dust. It was a strand of Saskia’s hair! Grinling, who had come early to help again, saw how frantically Robert had begun hurling rubble aside.
‘She’s here!’ he shouted as Grinling joined him in his task.
It took time to extract her from the ruins, for she had been wedged under part of the collapsed staircase, which had also saved her from being crushed. As she was lifted free there was a spontaneous cheer from volunteers and spectators alike, but when there appeared to be no life left in her a hush fell and several men removed their hats. But Robert had felt a faint pulse in her neck and in a choked voice he gasped, ‘She is alive!’
Now cheering did break out as Robert carried her across the street to Grinling’s new accommodation where she was laid on a bed. One of the doctors, who also lived on Bow Street, had already arrived to attend her. Both her legs were broken and her face and whole body purple with bruises, but he was most concerned for her dehydration, wanting spoonfuls of water to be given to her constantly.
‘I trust that she will pull through,’ he said gravely to Robert after her limbs had been set in splints and he was about to depart. ‘We have a battle to save her on our hands. I shall call back later.’
Saskia remained unconscious for two more days. Then she opened her eyes just as Grinling, visiting the sickroom, was leaning towards her. A most loving expression suffused her emaciated face as she focused on him.
‘My dear Grinling,’ she whispered before closing her eyes again.
He withdrew instantly, letting Robert take his place, but the swift look they exchanged shared the knowledge each had never mentioned to the other. It was that Saskia had never given quite all her love to the one who had married her. Robert felt no jealousy, for a youthful dream had no substance and what he shared with Saskia had roots that would be lifelong.
Over twenty years had gone by since the Gibbons’ house had collapsed. It was one of several that went down that night, some with fatal casualties, including a passer-by who had been struck down by flying rubble from the Gibbons’ house. But Grinling and Elizabeth never moved from Bow Street, he buying a well-built house on the opposite side of the street, for he liked having his workshop close at hand. Now Robert, celebrating his retirement, was taking Saskia on a grand tour of all she had long wanted to see, their family grown and well established, all married with children.
Saskia had been so happy that they had gone first to France, giving her the chance to view Paris, the city that was her mother’s birthplace. From there they had gone to Holland where they had visited Grinling’s brother, Dinely, and his wife, who were living in his late parents’ home. Saskia had found it strange to be in the old house again and her gaze had lingered on the staircase from which she had first seen Robert staring up at her with his fierce, demanding gaze.
‘It was at that moment I knew I had found the woman I wanted for my wife,’ he had told her once on a wedding anniversary. ‘I could not take my eyes from you.’
She remembered so well. ‘You were staking your claim to me, although I was too naive to realize it at the time.’
‘That is true,’ he had replied with a smile.
From Holland they travelled on to Milan, Rome and Pisa, but lingered for three months in Florence where they had taken an apartment. Now at last they were in Venice and had gone first to see Tintoretto’s great masterpiece of the Crucifixion in the Scoular Grande di San Rocco that had long ago inspired Grinling’s splendid carving. She could imagine how he had stood before it, gazing and gazing as she and Robert had done.
There were other wonderful places to visit, but they had made a return visit to view the masterpiece one afternoon before taking a gondola back to the palace on the Grand Canal where they were staying at the invitation of one of Robert’s retired clients and his wife. A letter from England was waiting for Robert and he broke the seal to open and read it. Immediately his face became grave. Saskia, who had removed her hat, tossed it aside in alarm and darted to him, her first thought for their children.
‘What has happened?’
He lowered the letter and looked at her with great sadness. ‘This letter has been sent by a special messenger to tell us that Grinling died four weeks ago.’
She threw herself into his arms and he held her in their shared grief. Elizabeth had borne him twelve children, but two years ago she had died and the zest had gone from his life. In that same year he had been granted the honour of being appointed Master Carpenter of the King’s Works. Success and rewards had come to him throughout the reigns of Charles II, William and Mary, then Anne, and lastly from the present King George.
As Saskia stood with Robert’s arm still about her shoulders memories swept over her as she reviewed Grinling’s life. He, a young Dutchman, had come to England and made it his home, even though he never lost his strong Dutch accent and had continued to write phonetically all his life, letting others decipher his meaning. Throughout his years he had beautified so many of England’s great houses and palaces as richly as if he had garlanded them with gold. She and Robert had seen him standing with Wren when in the midst of a great gathering of people they had watched the esteemed architect’s son place the Cross at the very top of the great dome of St Paul’s Cathedral as the final act in its rebuilding. Then they had gone into the light-filled, gloriously designed cathedral for a service of Thanksgiving and the choir had sung joyously from the stalls that Grinling had carved so magnificently.
‘It is time for us to go home,’ Saskia said quietly when the letter had been read a second time.
Robert nodded. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow.’
Later in London, when Saskia had come to terms with the loss that she and Robert both suffered, they went to St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden to visit Grinling’s last resting place. She had brought with her a small circular wreath of flowers, such as those he had loved to carve, which was like the gift he had given her of a little looking-glass all those years ago. She laid it by his name.
As she came out into the sunshine again, her hand in the crook of Robert’s arm, she considered once more how Grinling alone had swept decorative wood carving into the realms of high art. She thought it doubtful that his like would ever come again.
Table of Contents
Recent Titles by Rosalind Laker from Severn House
Garlands of Gold
Copyright
Dedication
Author
’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Garlands of Gold Page 28
