As she closed the door of the room behind her she smiled, thinking also that with so much room in such a bed long-married lovers could expand their girths as the years went by and never lack for space.
She soon found the bedchamber that had been made ready for her and her wicker basket had been placed on a side table in the adjoining dressing room where there was a hip bath painted with posies of flowers. She guessed that she had been given the most important guest room, which would have been at Elizabeth’s instigation, and was sure that the previous caretaker would have occupied less grand accommodation.
She glanced about admiringly at the aqua-hued walls, the fine oak furniture and the four-poster hung with brocade drapery. She was going to enjoy being the sole occupant of this fine house.
Best of all there was a Dutch painting in this room too. It had been uncovered during the preparation of this accommodation for her. It showed a courtyard that could have been found anywhere in Holland and a housewife was sweeping up some fallen leaves. A passageway behind her led to the street with the glimpse of passers-by. It was such a simple subject, but Saskia felt a wave of homesickness engulf her as never before. Immediately she crossed the room to put up her hand and touch the painting with her fingertips.
‘I haven’t forgotten you, my homeland,’ she whispered.
That night she had a dream that she was back in Holland, but it faded as soon as she awoke and could not be recalled.
Fourteen
Forty-eight hours after Saskia had taken up her caretaker’s duties Elizabeth gave birth to a fine son. She had endured a hard labour, but the joy in her baby melted all memory of it away. Grinling was as proud as the proverbial peacock, picking him up out of his cradle at any opportunity, and showing him off to every visitor. He had even taken the baby downstairs to the tavern, wanting all there to see his handsome son.
‘How is he to be named?’ Saskia asked on her first visit to see the baby. She felt sympathy for the little one, for at her arrival Grinling had snatched him up from sleep to put him protesting noisily into her arms while declaring that his son had smiled at her. Now the baby was sleeping in his cradle again and Grinling had gone back to his workshop, leaving Saskia seated by his wife’s bedside as they talked peacefully together.
‘He is to be baptized James after Grinling’s father,’ Elizabeth replied, resting luxuriously against an abundance of lace-edged pillows, ‘which should meet with my mother-in-law’s approval and will most certainly delight my dear father-in-law.’
‘Have they seen their new grandson yet?’
‘No, they’re coming up from Deptford tomorrow and bringing Godmother Henrietta with them.’ Elizabeth glanced blissfully across at the crib. Then her eyes twinkled mischievously as she turned back to Saskia. ‘Nothing ever really pleases my mother-in-law, but even she will not be able to find any fault with him!’
‘That’s true!’ Saskia replied as they laughed together.
‘Now tell me how you like living in Robert’s house?’ Elizabeth asked, enjoying her friend’s company.
‘I have every comfort there,’ Saskia answered, ‘and from my bedchamber window I have a splendid view of the knot garden with all its formal squares and twirls. There is also a splendid herb garden, but it is of almost no advantage to me in this wintertime, but I should have loved to gather from it in the spring.’
‘If Robert is still out of town perhaps you will still be there.’
‘That would suit me very well, but I think it most unlikely.’
‘Who knows? At least I’m glad you are comfortable in your new abode,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I told Lucy to be sure to choose a pleasant room for you. It’s a very grand residence for a bachelor living alone, but Grinling says that an architect has to look prosperous if he wants the big commissions. How do you pass your time?’
‘My duties are so light that I have started to make my own beauty products again. I want to build up a good stock in readiness for selling again. It will have to be a hired market stall in the city this time.’
‘But you will still have the ladies you have served before?’
‘But they will think I have deserted them as I’m not fit yet to ride any distance.’
‘Where is Acorn now? Is she back here in the tavern stables?’
‘No, I couldn’t bear to part with her and I’ll go on renting her until such time that I can purchase her. She is being stabled at the Robinsons’ farm and Joe is looking after her.’
By this time Saskia felt she had stayed talking long enough, not wanting to tire Elizabeth, but she had to stay a little longer as there was some especially good news for her to hear.
‘Grinling has been made a member of the Drapers’ Company!’ Elizabeth exclaimed joyfully. ‘It is a great honour. There are no guilds for woodcarvers, but as his father is a draper he is eligible to join.’
‘That is splendid news,’ Saskia endorsed. She knew that all these great trade companies were particular about who joins their esteemed ranks and it would take Grinling further up the social scale.
Before leaving the inn Saskia went to congratulate Grinling in his workshop. He looked extremely pleased and thanked her in Dutch, for they always spoke their own language when alone. ‘I’ve had three commissions already from members,’ he said. ‘So I think it will be good for business apart from the honour bestowed upon me.’
Then he noticed that she had glanced in the direction of a new project he was working on and watched as she went across to it, wonder on her face.
‘This is lovely, Grinling,’ she breathed. It was a garland carved out of his beloved lime wood, abundant in flowers and fruit, strings of beans, flowers, pods of peas, oranges and grapes all nestling in thick foliage. She realized that the carved decoration on the little mirror lost in the fire had been the simple forerunner of this marvellous tribute to nature that had come from his hands.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
She turned to him, her eyes shining. ‘It’s superb!’
He laughed with pleasure at her praise. ‘I have it in mind to use such garlands when the right commission comes along. In the meantime I have plenty of other work in hand.’
Baby James was baptized on a cold and windy day at Aldgate Church, but was cocooned in shawls and suffered no ill effects. For the first important occasion in his life he wore the same long, lace-trimmed robe that his father had once worn for his baptism. There were many guests present, including Saskia, whom Mistress Gibbons only acknowledged with a nod. It was obvious that she disapproved of her former maid associating socially with her son and his wife. Yet since everyone present was linked to trade in some way Saskia did not see how, as a maker of beauty products, she should be treated differently from anyone else. Even Henrietta’s fortune had come through trade and she had already chatted to Saskia. James Gibbons was also equally amiable and crossed the room specially to speak to her.
‘I trust I find you well, Saskia?’ he inquired. ‘It was truly unfortunate that you should lose so much in that fire. I hope that from now on all will go well with you.’
‘I believe that I shall soon be on my way up again,’ she declared confidently.
‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ he replied, ‘and you are being caretaker to Robert’s property in the meantime?’
‘Yes. The chance was most opportune.’
She had known that Robert would not be at the baptism, for she had been told at the start of becoming his caretaker that she would always be notified should he have to return to London on business at any time. He had sent his gift to the baby, which was a dozen bottles of good French wine to be put down until young James came of age. Her own gift was a garment she had made and embroidered herself since coming to Robert’s house and which should fit the Gibbons heir when he was six months old.
Next morning Saskia was up early as usual, a robe over her night shift as she went downstairs with a candle-lamp. Outside it was still winter dark, but it was always cosy and warm in the kit
chen. She stirred the glowing embers on the hearth into flames and added logs to heat the water in the cauldron suspended there. Then she went to drag a circular wooden tub from the storeroom as she did every morning for her daily bathing, for she was not going to haul cans of hot water upstairs to her dressing room, no matter that the hip bath there was the handsomest she had ever seen.
When the water was hot enough she poured it into the tub and then stepped into it and stood soaping herself with some new soap she had made. Then, using a jug, she doused herself several times.
She had just reached for a towel before stepping out of the tub when a chill draught from the door leading from the hall made her spin round in alarm. Robert, wearing a crimson dressing-robe, stood in the doorway, his surprise equal to hers, but without the hot rise of angry embarrassment that seared her through. He spoke at once.
‘A thousand pardons, Saskia! Believe me, I truly thought that you were still abed!’
‘Go away!’ she hissed.
‘Yes, of course. I came down for some shaving water. Is there any left in the cauldron?’
‘No!’ She did not want him walking around her to reach it. ‘I’ll bring some up to you.’
‘Thank you. Please accept my sincere apologies again for my intrusion.’
He closed the door as he went and she was faced with having him in the house, which was not what she wanted at all. She hoped he would not be staying long.
When she was dressed and ready for the day more hot water was ready and she filled a brass water-can and took it upstairs where she knocked on Robert’s dressing room door. He opened it and was dressed, but still in his shirtsleeves. Taking the can from her with a word of thanks he set it down by the wash stand.
‘What time did you get here last night?’ she asked coldly.
‘About one o’clock in the morning. I knew you would be sleeping and I kept as quiet as possible in order not to wake you.’
‘I was told when I had agreed to come here that I should always be notified when to expect you.’
‘In normal circumstances you would have been informed. It was my original intention to come for the baptism and to stay a few days afterwards in order to settle a business matter. Then unexpectedly in Yorkshire I had a crisis on my hands, which needed my presence. It was only yesterday that the problem was finally resolved and that was when I made the decision to try to get to the christening of my godson.’ He spread his hands expressively. ‘But after all the heavy rain recently there were floods everywhere and diversions were lengthy. The final straw was when my coach slid off the muddy road into a ditch, smashing a wheel. That is when I hired a horse from the nearest tavern and rode the rest of the way.’
‘So now you will be staying for those few days originally planned?’
‘It depends on the outcome of the business matter.’
She nodded. ‘Breakfast will be ready when you come downstairs.’
He caught her wrist as she passed him, bringing her to a halt. ‘You’ll take your breakfast and all meals with me. You shall not play the servant.’
She gave him a long cool look. ‘Very well.’
As she went back downstairs she thought what a strange relationship she shared with him. He had a flair for sparking wariness in her and then, just like the turn of a card, she found herself feeling quite agreeable towards him. Yet always she sensed his determination to slice away all she would always feel for Grinling, not knowing that she had come to terms with that impossible love by tucking it away in her heart. Every instinct told her that it was and always would be an insurmountable barrier between them.
Over breakfast they talked quite companionably, he wanting to know what plans she had made for the future. She replied that she would rent a market stall just as soon as she had enough products to sell and would take a room she could afford. Then she asked him about his work in Yorkshire.
He described the house he had designed and it sounded as if it were a very grand mansion that was taking shape under his supervision. Then he talked descriptively of York that had not changed in some parts since its days as a Viking settlement as well as its importance in Tudor times. She listened avidly as he described the great Minster with its glorious stained-glass windows, its arches and carved stonework.
‘Do you think the new St Paul’s Cathedral will compare with the Minster?’ she asked.
‘Having seen some of Wren’s work elsewhere I’m sure it will be a Holy jewel in the crown of London for ever more. It is a great pity that some of Master Wren’s other plans for wide streets and squares throughout the burned down areas were rejected. He would have made the city beautiful beyond compare.’
‘You feel very strongly about it,’ she commented.
‘Indeed I do. I fear that a great many badly built habitations are going up in areas beyond his jurisdiction, but the need for housing is desperate.’
They sat talking over the breakfast table long after both of them had finished eating. Now and again she had the feeling that he was eyeing her speculatively, even while talking on some mundane plane, and it puzzled her as to the reason. The trouble with this man was that she could never tell what he was thinking and it was as if all his soul were hidden behind those penetrating and calculating black-lashed eyes.
When he left the house later that morning it was to visit Grinling and Elizabeth. He had said that he would be out all day and not to prepare any meals for him, but she went to market to buy bread and some vegetables as well as a few other items she might need for herself. It was late in the evening when he returned to find her reading a book by the fire in the library.
‘What have you found to read?’ he asked, sitting down in the leather wing chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. She handed the book to him, unaware how the firelight was illumining her face and creating red-gold lights in her hair. His gaze lingered on her for a few moments before he glanced at the title and read it aloud. ‘Ancient Greek Architecture and Statuary’.
‘I’m finding it very interesting,’ she said. ‘You have quite a number of books about Greece on these shelves.’
‘I visited Greece with my father when I was still a boy, and all I saw made a great impression on me. I believe it was then that I made the decision to be an architect one day.’
‘Was that your father’s profession?’
He shook his head. ‘No, my late father was what is known as a country gentleman, and he became one of the King’s cavaliers immediately when the call came. After defeat at the Battle of Worcester he escaped to the Continent, taking me out of school to go with him. But he had suffered wounds during the battle and never quite recovered his health again. He died shortly after I had completed my apprenticeship in Amsterdam. It was then that I went to Italy with Grinling.’
‘What of your mother?’
‘She died at my birth.’
‘That was a sad loss for you,’ she said sympathetically. ‘I never knew my father and when I was young I envied my friends who had fathers to take them skating and to fairs and all else.’ She did not want to bore him with her reminiscences and gestured towards the library shelves. ‘I should like to publish a book one day. But before that can come about – and how one gets a book published I do not know – I aim to have a little shop in which to sell my wares.’
His interest had sharpened. ‘What would your book be about?’
‘How my products can improve and even restore women’s beauty. I have a record book where I have written down countless receipts that I learned from my mother, including many that were handed down to her from her mother, and others that are of my own invention. Most of them are herbal and none contain anything at all harmful. I’ve looked at books on the subject that appear sometimes in a tattered state on stalls or pristine in bookshops. Not only is it alarming to read some of the ingredients that are included in lotions and other products for the face, but without exception all of the books I have looked at combine the subject of beauty with household hints and medical
advice of a frightening nature. I believe that such a book as mine would be welcomed by women if ever it could come into print, even though my mother always told me to keep the secrets of my products to myself.’
‘Maybe she meant until the time was right,’ he suggested, but then paused briefly on a frown as he glanced around the room. ‘Is there any wine here?’
‘No. Only in the cellar.’
‘I’ll fetch a bottle.’ He returned quite quickly with a dusty bottle and two glasses. After pouring the ruby-red wine he handed a glass to her and then sat down again in the wing chair. As he sat back comfortably against the padded leather, he raised his glass ceremoniously to her before putting it to his lips. ‘Now,’ he began, ‘getting a book published privately can be a costly business unless it is done by the subscription method.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You would call on all your clients and ask them for a subscription towards the publishing of your work. In return their names would be printed in a list of donors and it is usual to give a complimentary copy to each person. People like to see their names in print. If I wished it I could publish a book on architecture by the same means.’
She smiled, shaking her head to dismiss his suggestion. ‘I’m able to see how it would work with architecture or with any other such subject, but – being a man – you’re not able to see the barrier that would make my book impossible to publish by that method.’
He looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘None of the ladies that I deal with in my work would want the world to know that they rely on cosmetic artifices to remain beautiful.’
‘But paint and powder on women’s faces are so obvious!’ he exclaimed on a laugh.
‘Only when cosmetics are used crudely. My products are made to enhance.’
He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Do you really believe a book such as yours would be sought after?’
‘I’m sure of it, but it is just a dream of mine. At the present time I have far more practical matters on my mind. As soon as I leave here I have first of all to make a living with a market stall. Then with time I should be able to rent a small shop.’ Her eyes began to twinkle. ‘Who knows? I might gain royal patronage from the Queen herself one day.’
Garlands of Gold Page 18