Garlands of Gold

by Rosalind Laker

  ‘I’m glad we did not have the kind of conventional portraits normal to this country,’ she said. ‘All your ancestors in the portrait gallery gaze out into the distance, whereas you and I will be looking at each other for ever and ever.’ Then she added softly, ‘I hope our descendants will always refer to us as the lovers.’

  He smiled at her fanciful notion. ‘I’m sure they will,’ he endorsed, putting his arms around her and lowering his head to kiss her. Then, as they looked back at the portraits again, he said thoughtfully, ‘Something is missing that would truly compliment Ryker’s work and would also ensure that these portraits were never moved from their present position.’

  She raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Whatever could that be?’

  He gestured towards the portraits. ‘A while ago when I visited Petworth House in Sussex to discuss some building work with the Duke of Somerset, who owns it, I was shown into a large room where Grinling had recently completed what was most surely some of his greatest work. His foliage carvings were more abundant and intricate than anything he has ever done before, even surpassing what he has already done for those great houses in Herefordshire and elsewhere. He had garlanded the doors and the wainscoting and also surrounded important ancestral portraits with his decorative carving like second enhancing frames, every small detail perfectly executed. In fact,’ he added, glancing up and around the spacious room, ‘we could make this our Grinling Gibbons salon with festoons around our portraits and all else in a similar way.’ He looked back at her. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ she declared, her eyes shining. ‘Let’s ask him as soon as we return to London, because it is a commission that will take a great deal of time and we cannot expect him to give us priority when he has so many orders to fill.’

  He smiled at her. ‘What does time matter? When the carvings are installed we’ll still have the rest of our lives in which to enjoy them.’

  If Robert had needed further proof that he had replaced Grinling in her heart he saw it in her obvious joy at the forthcoming beautification of an already finely proportioned room. There was no lingering sign in her eyes or her voice that a constant reminder of a man she had once loved would be painful to her. Yet he knew her well enough to guess that not even he could entirely banish the nostalgic affection that she most surely still felt for her fellow countryman. But, most important of all in his view, it was no longer a threat to their marriage.

  He was right in his supposition, for at his mention of garlands surrounding their portraits she had remembered vividly the garland that had encircled the little looking-glass that had reflected her face daily before it had been destroyed in the fire.

  They stayed a few days at the Hall, even though the November weather was cold and damp, for crackling log fires welcomed them back after they had been walking or riding. Then they returned to the noise and hubbub of London.

  Good news awaited them. Grinling’s work had been recognized at last by Wren, who as the royal architect embarking on a great task had just been knighted by the King. So it was Sir Christopher Wren who had commissioned Grinling to carve the choir stalls for the new cathedral. It was to be a colossal amount of work and Grinling was overjoyed at being entrusted with this tremendous commission. Yet he promised Robert and Saskia that he would do the carving for their country home since it would be a very long time before the cathedral reached the stage when his choir stalls could be set in place.

  Elizabeth, blooming as she always did in pregnancy, began to talk about moving to a house of their own, thinking how much she would like a room garlanded with her husband’s work such had been ordered by Robert and Saskia. He had recently made her an exquisite carving for her natal day. It was a bowl of flowers, all carved out of one piece of lime wood and so delicately and realistically executed that the blossoms and their foliage quivered on their stems at the slightest vibration.

  ‘There are so many fine new properties going up,’ she said to Saskia, ‘but Grinling is too busy to view anything. It is time we had a flower garden for the children to play in and I’m tired of all the stairs I have to climb at La Belle Sauvage, especially when I have little Alice in my arms and James by the hand.’

  ‘Should you like me to go viewing with you?’ Saskia asked.

  Elizabeth looked grateful. ‘Yes, indeed. Then if we find a property which I really like, I can persuade Grinling to spare an hour or two to view it.’

  The viewing period did not last long. Elizabeth was too near her time to have much energy for going up steps and stairs and in and out of rooms and basements. She soon gave up and a month later gave birth to a second son, named Charles. Then she was too occupied to think of moving, which was a relief to Grinling, who found living and working at the inn highly convenient. There was a small room at the inn that he used for private meetings with clients, and it was very agreeable after a commission had been settled to seal it on the spot by having the best of wine served, usually by the innkeeper himself.

  Saskia continued to keep a lookout for any house that she thought would please Elizabeth, but mostly when on foot she was in busy commercial areas in her search for more items to add to her collection. At the same time Saskia always considered the size and location of any empty shop she happened to see, but as yet there had been none of any consequence in the right fashionable area.

  She was in a market near Piccadilly one morning when she found a pretty little pot in a rose colour, which she thought was extremely old. She had developed an awareness of value and rarity, always making sure that she paid a fair price, often adding a coin or two if she felt the seller was ignorant of the true value of his wares. She would not cheat anyone with whom she dealt.

  It was as she was turning away from the stall that a woman at her side gave her a hefty thrust with an elbow, causing the little pot to leap out of her hands and smash on the cobbles. She turned swiftly to face the woman, expecting some apology, but it was her old enemy, Martha, smirking at her, triumph in her eyes.

  ‘What a pity, Mistress!’ she exclaimed mockingly. ‘You’ve broken your dainty purchase.’

  Saskia had seen immediately that the woman was shabbily dressed, something that would not have been allowed by a respectable employer. ‘I’ll find another to take its place,’ Saskia replied quietly. ‘How are you, Martha?’

  ‘What do you care?’ the woman hissed in reply. ‘But I tell you that nothing has gone well for me since you connived to get me tossed out of work.’

  For a moment Saskia stared at her in astonishment. ‘Indeed I did not! However can you imagine anything so foolish?’ She was outraged by the accusation. ‘I heard when you lost your employment with Mistress Henrietta, but I can assure you that it was nothing to do with me!’

  ‘Liar! It was your wagging tongue that brought me misfortune by passing on false information about me to young Mistress Gibbons, who in turn fed her godmother with your lies.’

  Saskia gasped. ‘You are totally mistaken! I have never spoken ill of you to anyone!’

  ‘I choose to think differently!’

  ‘I deeply regret that you are not prepared to listen to me,’ Saskia replied with quiet fury, ‘but I have told you the truth. Now I bid you good day.’

  She walked quickly away, making for the place where Joe was waiting for her with the carriage. The encounter had upset her deeply. She knew well enough that Martha had been jealous of her when they were both in Mistress Henrietta’s employ, but she had never suspected that the woman’s bitterness would fester into such terrible hatred.

  The following day she discussed the encounter with Elizabeth, who nodded her head sagely. ‘I’ve never discussed her with Godmother Henrietta, but I was always able to see that the spiteful creature was envious of you. After all, there you were! Young, pretty and talented! Poor Martha knew she could not match you in any way. I fear some people have no generosity of spirit in their natures and sadly she was eaten up by jealousy.’

  ‘But why should she think I was
in any way responsible for her downfall?’

  ‘I blame my godmother for always singing your praises to the unfortunate woman and making comparisons between you both, Martha always the failure. It was no wonder that Martha sought comfort by helping herself too liberally to anything alcoholic that she could swig secretly from a cupboard. It was that offence that made my godmother get rid of her, not anything said by me.’

  ‘I do remember the smell of wine on her breath sometimes before I left the household, but I never suspected I was the cause.’

  ‘She probably had a weakness in that direction already.’

  ‘What employment did Martha get next?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, although I know Godmother Henrietta did not give her a good reference, because she judged the secret drinking of the household wines to be akin to thieving, which it was of course.’ Elizabeth shrugged. ‘So perhaps Martha never found work as a personal maid again.’

  ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that!’ Saskia exclaimed, full of compassion. ‘Then I can understand how she must be blaming me for her ill fortune. I could see from her clothing that she has been reduced to hard times. Why have you never told me this before?’

  ‘Because I know how soft-hearted you are where other people’s troubles are concerned, and I did not want to upset you.’

  But the thought of Martha’s misfortune stayed with Saskia and she felt responsible for the woman’s plight, no matter that she had been the innocent cause. Yet even if they should ever meet again she knew any offer of help would be thrown back at her, for Martha had her pride as well as her hatred.

  Twenty-Three

  It was springtime again before Grinling found time to measure up at Harting Hall. He brought Elizabeth and the children with him at Robert and Saskia’s invitation, for they thought that Elizabeth would enjoy a change of scene. It did delight her and also three-year-old James and two-year-old Alice, who were noisy, happy and exuberant with so much space, indoors and out, in which to play. Baby Charles enjoyed himself too, crawling about on the lawn and then taking his first tottering steps. Saskia yearned anew for children of her own to fill the house with young life and laughter. Twice she had believed herself to be pregnant only to find that it was yet another false hope.

  Neither Robert nor Grinling could stay long at the Hall, business compelling them back to London, but their wives remained with the children for another two weeks. Then Saskia also had to return for her consultation afternoon and Elizabeth, who had become secretly homesick for London, having long since taken to city life as the proverbial duck to water, was eager to be with Grinling again. Then Saskia inadvertently delayed the planned early morning departure by a violent attack of sickness. Pale-faced and exhausted, she nevertheless embraced her friend with joy.

  ‘I really think I might be pregnant this time!’ she declared, her eyes shining.

  Elizabeth, who was equally certain of being in the same condition again herself, rejoiced with her. ‘I’m so happy for you, Saskia!’

  As the days went by there was no mistaking the fact that Saskia was pregnant. Robert would have fussed over her if she had allowed it, but she declared she was too busy to make an invalid of herself and that Elizabeth was a perfect example of how pregnancy could be taken in one’s stride.

  ‘Babies pop out of her like peas from a pod,’ Saskia declared, ‘and it will be the same for me.’

  She lost all interest in having a shop, her thoughts filled with the joyous prospect of starting a family at last, and yet she wanted to continue supplying her products that had benefited so many women in keeping them away from harmful substances. Then something Robert had once said came back to her. A book! Why not publish all she had written down in her red book over the years? She remembered saying that no woman would wish to support a subscription book that gave away the fact that she used beauty aids, but now she believed differently. Her products were in such demand that she was sure that her ladies would pore over every receipt, hassling their personal maids into making this or that cream or fragrance.

  Saskia made her announcement at her next consultation afternoon, explaining exactly what the book would contain. ‘All my beauty receipts will be in this subscription book. Nothing will be omitted. Some of the very best were given to me by my late mother, who once told me never to reveal my secrets, but I know that now I am drawing my consultations to a close she would agree that the time has come for them to be shared. If any of you here wish to become a subscriber your name will be listed in the book and a copy delivered to you on the day of publication. There is pen and paper on the side table for anyone who wishes to subscribe.’

  As she had expected there was an immediate hubbub of voices, but also several women were already out of their chairs to hurry across to the table and see what they would be expected to pay in advance and in every case they set their names down. Others hesitated, for a book on beauty treatments was very different from subscribing to a book on flowers or wild birds or embroidery. Some of the women present had to wait and get permission from their husbands, but all wanted the book, for as far as anyone knew there had never before been a volume devoted entirely to such a fascinating subject as beauty. There were plenty of medical aid books, which usually included ways to soften chapped hands, cure rashes and the care of toenails, but nothing to enhance eyes or lips or cast lights into a pretty arrangement of curls.

  There were fifteen names on the list when everyone had gone, but at the following consultation afternoon twenty extra names were added and finally fifteen more, which was well over the amount needed and would ensure a good quality leather binding. The subscription money flowed in and everything was arranged. Elizabeth, Mistress Henrietta and even Mistress Gibbons had sent in their names too.

  Saskia had already arranged everything with a publisher, who was pleased enough to go ahead with a subscription book, which was to be bound in green leather. She had written an introduction, which he approved, and he edited her entries, grouping fragrances together, face creams in another section and so forth.

  She also had a special section of the table decorations for all occasions from banquets to buffets, ideas of her own which she had set down ever since Vrouw Gibbons had inspired her interest in artistic presentation. The chapter was to be on the theme of the beautiful hostess with a table to match her perfection. She knew her ladies would love it.

  The day came when Saskia held her last consultation afternoon, for she was now into her fifth month of pregnancy and wanted to be free of outside obligations. Orders had still come in, but she knew she could entrust Joan to carry them out efficiently. Champagne was served instead of tea and while some departed in a merry mood at the end of the afternoon there were others who deeply regretted the end of these occasions, having enjoyed chatting together as much as listening to whatever Saskia had to say to them.

  The publisher had promised prompt delivery and kept his word. On publication day some of the copies were delivered by Joe in his best livery with bunches of green ribbons on his shoulders and several times a presented book was snatched from his hands before he had time to bow. The rest were delivered by well-dressed young men specially hired, all with bunches of green ribbons on their shoulders. The publisher filled his window with copies and as the word spread he sold out and the book immediately went into reprint. It was the first of many reprints.

  In spite of her optimism Saskia had a lengthy labour before giving birth to a son, but her happiness in starting her family at last had already wiped out all memory of the pain.

  ‘Next time a daughter,’ she declared blissfully to Robert as he sat on the edge of the bed, unable to take his eyes from his son as he stroked with a careful fingertip the baby’s wispy black hair.

  The baptism of young Richard Harting took place three weeks later at All Hallows Church by the Tower with Grinling and Elizabeth as two of the godparents. The baby wore a long robe trimmed with some of Nurse Bobbins’ exquisite lace and also he wore the little Nordland lace cap that
had been made by her skilful old hands far away in Holland. He blinked when Elizabeth as his godmother removed it, for one of the tie-ribbons had stroked his face, and he gazed up wonderingly when she handed him to the vicar at the font. Then he bawled lustily at the chill of the holy water until a soft cloth dried his head again.

  As the weeks went by Saskia radiated happiness as she watched her son thrive and grow. With the certainty of most mothers she knew that no child had ever been so alert and advanced in every way. When he was sleeping she often went into the workroom to assist Joan in mixing or stirring or weighing up ingredients, for orders had increased again as personal maids had failed to produce exactly the same effect from the beauty aids as when they had been made by Saskia. She always experienced a sense of peace as she worked and sometimes used it as an escape from tension in the house. Her relationship with Robert was highly passionate and deeply loving, but they both held strong views and their arguments often developed into quarrels that invariably ended in fierce love-making. Recently he had begun to object to the fragrances that wafted from the workroom. Everything came to a climax one evening when he arrived home after a difficult day that had been full of unexpected problems, his nerves on edge, and the perfumes drifting through the house gave him an outlet for his anger.

  ‘Our home has the stench of a bawdy house!’ he exclaimed furiously, throwing off his hat and cloak. ‘One could expect to find whores draping themselves on the stairs!’

  Saskia, who had come into the hall to meet him, frowned sharply in annoyance at his words. ‘Today we have been dealing with a lot of orders that have come in for fragrances, but Joan has opened the windows in the workroom and they should soon blow away.’