Garlands of Gold

by Rosalind Laker

  ‘Now look at yourself, Saskia.’

  The girl laughed in her joy, springing up to regard her reflection in a Florentine looking-glass on the wall, turning one way and then the other. ‘It’s the loveliest cap in all the world!’ she exclaimed delightedly. ‘Thank you a million times! I’ll treasure it all my life!’

  Then she spun around to take the old woman’s soft hands into her own and kiss her on both cheeks. Nanny Bobbins, looking at the lovely young face framed in the lace, thought that she had never before seen such glowing joy in anyone’s eyes. Gifts had not featured in this young woman’s life, except from her foster mother in a sweetmeat-filled clog on St Nicholaes’ Day and something useful, such as woollen stockings, on her natal days. As for Diane Marchand, she had never disclosed the secret of the wooden chest, which Nurse Bobbins now resented since being told by Saskia what it contained, but it did explain why the Frenchwoman had been so parsimonious towards her daughter, choosing instead to add to the hoarded contents of the chest that she had added to whenever she found something suitable. Saskia had made a full inventory of every item and brought some of the prettiest ones downstairs to show her, including some of Chinese and Japanese origins that must have come with ships of the East India Company in its earlier days. She had let the old nurse choose the one she liked best in memory of Diane and this now had a place of honour on a shelf.

  As Saskia turned again to the mirror there came the thump of a fist on the door. ‘That will be Master Grinling!’ she exclaimed, making a move to leave the room, but Nanny Bobbins shook her head.

  ‘Don’t go.’ Then as the knock came again she called out, ‘Come in, you wicked lad!’

  Immediately Grinling entered, exclaiming his greeting as he crossed the room swiftly to half lift her frail frame from the chair and give her a smacking kiss on each cheek. She protested with pleasure, flapping her hands at him, and as he set her back in her chair Saskia could see that she was as happy as if her own son had come home to her.

  ‘Why am I a wicked lad?’ he demanded, grinning widely at her as he stood back with his legs set apart and his hands resting on his hips. ‘What are you accusing me of now?’

  ‘Nothing that I know about,’ she replied tartly, hiding her smile, ‘but I doubt that you have kept to all my good advice on drinking, gambling and avoiding bad company during your travels in those nasty foreign lands.’

  He raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. ‘Would I ever disregard your wise words?’

  ‘You always have done!’ she retorted, clearly enjoying this sparring with him.

  ‘You seem to have forgotten that I was there to study the arts and crafts of great masters just as Robert, being an architect, was there to study the marvellous Palladian buildings and other handsome architecture.’ Then his tone sobered and his whole face shone with enthusiasm for what he had seen. ‘There were carvings and sculptures in the churches and palaces that took my breath away, particularly in Florence and Rome, while in Venice it was Tintoretto’s painting of the Crucifixion that kept me rooted to the spot! I lost all count of time as I stood gazing at it. I’ve brought an engraving of the Tintoretto masterpiece home with me and you can wonder at it yourself. All that I saw made my hands ache to start working again.’

  ‘So you’re ready to settle down, are you?’

  ‘Yes, but not here. Robert is leaving for England in a few days’ time and I’m going too. Since the Great Fire devastated such a vast area of London there will be work in plenty for newly trained architects like Robert and skilled craftsmen such as I.’

  Nurse Bobbins gave a nod. ‘You will not be the only young Dutch craftsman seeking his fortune there. I have heard of lads from the potteries taking the same step.’

  ‘Yes, I was told that and those of other trades are going too.’

  ‘Like a flock of migrant birds,’ Nurse Bobbins commented crisply. ‘I hope they never forget that it was their homeland that trained them and gave them the necessary skills. What are your friend’s plans?’

  ‘Robert wants to get back to England now without delay. There should be work to be had with the best of all English architects, Master Christopher Wren, who has been given the privileged task of drawing up the plans for the rebuilding of St Paul’s Cathedral, which was destroyed in the Great Fire. He will also be responsible for the rest of the burned-out churches – eighty-seven of them! – that are still in ashes. But London will not be my first place of call, because I intend to go north to Yorkshire where I shall follow up some introductions that our tutor from the tour had promised me. I’ll tell you more later.’ He dived into one of his deep pockets and then handed her a little velvet-covered box. ‘Here’s a small gift for you from Venice.’

  From it the old nurse took out a crystal brooch set in silver and she exclaimed in delighted surprise that he had found something so pretty for her in a city that he said had more canals than Amsterdam. She thanked him, her pleasure mirrored on her wrinkled face, but as Saskia fastened the brooch on for her the old woman scolded him for his extravagance. He laughed, turning to make his way towards the door.

  ‘I’ll bring Robert in to see you later, but I wanted to be the first to greet you.’ Then he gave Saskia an apologetic grin. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t have anything for you from abroad.’

  She supposed he felt embarrassed through having given a gift to one person in the room and not to the other. She answered him happily. ‘There is no need, mijnheer, because before you came into the room I had just received the gift of this lovely cap that I am wearing. Nanny Bobbins made it for me.’

  He paused to study her appraisingly as she spun around for him to see the back of it where she knew the pattern of the lace would show up against the rich hue of her hair.

  ‘Very pretty,’ he said approvingly, throwing a dancing glance at the old nurse that told her it was not the cap he was admiring.

  She clicked her tongue at him in annoyance. ‘Be off with you now, boy. You can bring your stiff-necked friend to see me later.’

  When he had gone Saskia removed the cap and held it carefully. ‘There’ll be feasting and celebrating this evening when Vrouw Gibbons comes back home to find that the travellers have returned. For days she has been overseeing preparations for his homecoming. So after I’ve helped her change her gown and made her ready I’ll take the opportunity to visit Vrouw van Beek for an hour or two. She can see my new cap at church on Sunday. How I shall love wearing it!’

  ‘Take care when you go out. The streets can be dangerous at night.’

  Saskia smiled, because the old nurse gave her the same warning every time she ventured out after dark. ‘Have no fear for me. I shall not be late home.’

  She spent two hours at her old home where she washed and dressed her former foster mother’s hair while they exchanged news. Yet she did not mention the possibility of going to England one day in the future until they were having supper together as they had done so many times in the past. Cornelia van Beek showed no surprise.

  ‘Yes, your mother was always sure that the time would come sooner or later,’ she said with a nod, ‘but you have no need to worry about it. Mistress Seymour told me more than once that you did very well during your English lessons with her.’

  ‘She was an excellent teacher. But I don’t know how Master Grinling will manage if he does go to England as he intends. Nanny Bobbins told me that he has hardly any knowledge of the language. That is because English was never used in the home when he was growing up and naturally only Dutch was spoken by his contemporaries throughout both his schooldays and his span of apprenticeship.’

  ‘But you said he travelled with an English friend. Surely he has learned something of the language from him?’

  ‘I doubt it. I’ve been told that Master Harting has been in Holland so long that he speaks Dutch fluently himself and, according to Nanny Bobbins, it is how they always converse. But they should talk English all the time.’

  ‘Why don’t you suggest it?’

&n
bsp; Saskia threw up her hands expressively. ‘I wouldn’t dare! The Englishman would glower at me for my impudence! As Mistress Seymour once said to me, some people have an ear for languages and others don’t.’

  ‘I suppose that is true. Fortunately I’ve never been required to use anything except my mother tongue.’

  Saskia glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s getting late and I must go. Nurse Bobbins will start worrying about me.’

  Cornelia van Beek was slightly jealous of the old nurse of whom Saskia seemed to be very fond, even though she knew the girl loved her like a second mother. ‘But Mistress Seymour wants to see you before you leave and I promised the two old sisters on the third floor that you would call in to have a few words with them.’

  The elderly women were all so glad to see her, for her visits were mostly fleeting with little time to spare. Now they seized the chance to chat with her and Mistress Seymour poured wine, which gave a party atmosphere. Others came from their rooms to see her too, bringing more wine.

  Cornelia van Beek was enjoying having Saskia under her roof so much that she indulged a little heavily in the wine, which was why she misread the clock, still thinking it was earlier than it was when Saskia departed.

  Saskia had never before been so late getting back to the Gibbons’ house. There had been a thaw and the snow was grey and wet, leaving the cobbles slippery and making her fearful of falling. Twice she skidded. She was desperately anxious to get home, not because she feared attack and it was most unlikely that the family celebrations would be over yet, but if it happened that Vrouw Gibbons had had need of her she knew her absence would put her into terrible trouble.

  At first there were people about, but as she went into the quieter streets she was very much aware of being on her own. She had nothing of value on her that anyone would wish to steal, but it would be a great nuisance if she should have grabbed from her the cotton bag she was carrying with the cosmetic items she had taken for beautifying her former foster mother. She increased her pace, taking comfort from the fact that in her dark-blue cloak she would be virtually invisible in the darkness.

  Here and there lighted windows threw golden patches across the wet snow and the occasional wall lantern gave a fitful glow. When some drunken seamen spilled out of a tavern just ahead of her she darted to the other side of the street in alarm. A backward glance over her shoulder showed her that they were busily engaged in fisticuffs, others shouting and urging them on. The city was always full of seamen from the ships that often filled the great harbour and they liked to drink and enjoy themselves after long months at sea.

  She was only two streets away from the Gibbons’ house when out of a passageway a burly man suddenly loomed up before her, blocking her way. Another fellow also emerged and was tying the cords of his trousers after relieving himself, the sound of another man doing the same in the darkness of the passage behind them. She would have darted past, but the first man sidestepped swiftly with arms outstretched while the other man rubbed his hands together as he anticipated some sport.

  ‘Where are you going in such a hurry, girl?’ the first one asked jovially, his speech slurred by alcohol as he waved the bottle he was holding.

  ‘Home!’ she replied fiercely. ‘Now let me pass!’

  ‘That’s a lie for a start!’ his companion declared aggressively, his mood having changed in a second, and he gripped her arm. ‘You’ve a customer waiting somewhere who you think will pay you more than me and my shipmates.’ He patted his pocket, lowering his head towards her like a great bull. ‘Listen to me, girl. There’ll be no limit if you give value for money, but a knife’s blade where you least want it if you don’t!’

  She gasped, terrified that she would faint with fright. ‘Let me go!’ She struggled to get her arm free, but his grip only tightened on her. That was when the third man appeared in the entrance to the passageway.

  ‘Bring her in here,’ he growled. ‘I’m more than ready.’

  Screaming, she hit out wildly, but this third man clamped his calloused hand over her mouth and his foul stench of sweat and ale filled her nostrils as he lifted her effortlessly into the dark passageway. There he thudded her back against the wall, causing her to hit her head hard. Her frantic struggles had no effect on his powerful strength. He let his breeches fall, intent on taking her swiftly. Totally panic-stricken, she tried to claw his face, but he grabbed her wrists in one hand while with the other he threw up her skirts. Then almost in the same instant he uttered a terrible roar, falling back from her as a flashing rapier pierced his ribs.

  She shrieked hysterically, not knowing what was happening, for the darkness of the passageway seemed full of men and she feared that she was to be seized again by some rival gang from another ship ready to have their dreadful sport with her. Then there was a whiff of the fine perfume that gentlemen used as the swordsman, whoever he was, spun her about and the flat of his hand thrust her with such force towards the opening of the passageway that she fell through it to land sprawling in the mud-wet snow.

  Without hesitation and still gripped by terror she scrambled up and set off at a run in the direction of the Gibbons’ house, sobbing as she went. On and on she ran until at last she threw herself through the entrance and slammed the door shut behind her, shooting home the bolts and leaning her forehead against the wooden panel. Her breathing was fast and she was shaking from head to foot. Then the inner door to the hallway opened and Nanny Bobbins’ anxious voice penetrated her consciousness that she was safe.

  ‘Oh, my dear child! I have been so worried about you.’ Then as Saskia turned towards her the old woman’s wrinkled face registered shock and dismay at the state of her. ‘Merciful God! Whatever has happened to you?’

  ‘I was attacked,’ Saskia cried huskily, a shudder passing through her. ‘Three men ambushed me!’

  ‘Were you—?’ In her distress the old woman was unable to utter what she needed to know.

  Saskia shook her head and her voice was tremulous. ‘I was not raped, although I pray that I’ll never come as close to such horror ever again.’ Then she gagged on the memory of the seaman’s rough hands on her body.

  The old woman hobbled forward and put a comforting arm about her. ‘Thank Heaven that you were spared such violation! I came down to the hall bench to wait for the first sight of your return. You’ve never been this late back before. Come to my room now. I’ll make you a cup of that delicious tea that Mistress Gibbons gave me on my seventy-fifth natal day. It will help to settle your distress.’

  Over the cup of tea, the leaves of which had been spooned carefully from a tortoiseshell caddy into a blue and white Delft teapot, Saskia told how and why she had stayed late at Vrouw van Beek’s house and what had followed.

  ‘I do not know who intervened to save me from rape,’ she concluded, ‘but I’ll be eternally grateful.’

  Nanny Bobbins, sitting back in her chair with her teacup, gave a satisfied smile. ‘It was Grinling. He went to look for you.’

  Saskia stared at her in astonishment, unaware that tears were still flowing down her cheeks. ‘How did that happen?’

  The old woman nodded. ‘I became increasingly concerned when you failed to return. So then I told one of the servants, who was serving wine to the gathering – and goodness knows how many of Grinling’s and Robert’s friends have turned up to welcome them home! – to say that I wished to speak to him. He came out into the hall to hear what I wanted and when I told him how anxious I was about you he did not hesitate. He said the servants were busy waiting on the guests and he would go himself and look for you immediately.’

  ‘He left his own party to search for me!’

  There came a tap on the door at that moment and Nurse Bobbins indicated that Saskia should move to a high-backed wing chair where her dishevelled appearance could not be seen from the doorway. When this was done the old woman bid whoever it was to enter.

  It was one of the maidservants that put her head round the door. ‘Master Gibbons
wanted you to know that he has followed Juffrouw Marchand safely home.’ Then she saw Saskia’s hand resting on the chair arm. ‘Oh, you know already, nurse.’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid of her catching cold from being out so late. I was about to ring for you. Prepare a hot bath in my bedchamber and take towels and a robe in there for her.’

  It was not until Saskia undressed in Nanny Bobbins’ bedchamber that she saw that the seaman’s blood had splashed across her skirt and soaked into her petticoats, making a crimson stain. For a few moments she almost vomited. Then the sensation passed and thankfully she slipped into the warm water of the hip-bath. There she bent her knees to slide completely under the water to wash away entirely from her whole self the horror of the seaman’s greedy hands and scratching fingernails. Emerging again, water streaming from her hair, she let her thoughts dwell on Grinling’s timely intervention in rescuing her and for the first time since she was attacked a smile touched briefly the corners of her mouth and she closed her eyes in gratitude.

  In her robe she went back to the old nurse’s parlour to push all she had been wearing into the fire roaring in the tall Delft-tiled stove. Then, after a final comforting embrace from Nanny Bobbins, she made sure there was nobody to see her as she flitted across the hall to go upstairs. Then at the head of the first flight she paused to listen for a few moments. Grinling was singing and was most probably accompanying himself on the lute that was being played. Many times Nanny Bobbins had spoken of how well he sang and also of his other musical talents. Now he was in full and glorious voice. She listened with quiet joy until the song ended to cheering and applause. This was followed by the tinkling notes of the clavichord and she guessed that Vrouw Gibbons was playing, which she did well, often entertaining guests with her music.