by Linda Finlay
‘Don’t worry, nobody ever comes down here and if they did they’d be dead meat.’
A muffled reply was followed by more guttural laughter.
Eliza shivered and fled to her room.
27
‘Good morning, Mademoiselle,’ Monsieur Farrant greeted Eliza the next day. She’d spent a sleepless night mulling things over, eventually coming to the conclusion that she could no longer stay.
‘Monsieur Farrant …’ she began but he held up his hand.
‘I have the most wonderful surprise for you, Eliza,’ he said, smiling effusively. ‘Monsieur Farrant, he think it is high time he teach his star pupil how to make the perfume, non?’
‘Oh,’ she said, all thought of leaving evaporating like scent in an open bottle.
‘As you know, I have already made my perfumes for this season. That is good for the people who wish to call into the perfumery and buy from the shelf, as it were. Monsieur Farrant, he has such a good reputation they trust his judgement, non?’
Eliza stared at the smirking man all plumped up with his own importance, and nearly laughed out loud.
‘However, the real satisfaction comes from creating a fragrance to a client’s specific requirements. Before you can begin, though, you need to ask some questions, non?’
‘Indeed, Monsieur,’ she replied, thinking of the little green bottle she’d hidden in her grampy’s box. Having asked what she liked, Amos had cleverly created a smell that encapsulated the very essence of the moors.
‘Your thoughts are elsewhere, Mademoiselle?’ Farrant asked, frowning. She shook her head. ‘Well in that case, perhaps you can tell me what questions you would ask the client?’
‘First I’d ask them what things they like. Then, how they want the perfume to smell, whether it is to be worn for daytime or evening and, probably more importantly, what they don’t like,’ she said.
‘What they don’t like?’ he asked, arching an immaculate eyebrow.
‘Yes, that’s really important, isn’t it? I mean, if you don’t like the smell of someone you could never mar …’ Realizing what she was about to say, she stumbled to a halt. Monsieur Farrant grinned and leaned closer, his own peculiar scent wafting her way.
‘Luckily, we will not have that trouble, non?’ Before she had time to answer, he pointed to one of the stills. ‘In there I have already placed the geraniums, or cranesbills as they are sometimes known.’
‘Why cranesbills?’ she asked, fascinated despite his close proximity.
He picked up a flower and held it out to her. ‘See, these little black seed heads here, they resemble the bill of the crane, non?’ Never having seen a crane, Eliza had to take his word for it, but she nodded anyway. Monsieur Farrant lined up a collection of bottles on the counter in front of them.
‘Before we begin blending we take this geranium oil and smell deeply of its aroma.’ Eliza looked over at the still. Following her glance, Monsieur Farrant frowned. ‘Time, it is money, Mademoiselle, and we cannot just sit here like the tailor’s dummies while the apparatus does its work. We will be using that distillation another time, non?’
Eliza stared at him in surprise. How many flowers did he have?
‘Although it will be reminiscent of its originating material, the extraction process may have captured a different layer of its scent. No two distillations will ever be the same, Eliza, you need to remember that. Now, tell me, what do we mean by blending?’
Eliza frowned, trying to recall his notes precisely. ‘Blending is the building-up of a scent drop by drop. You choose what you wish to use for the notes, top, middle and base, and harmonize until they become a symphony,’ she said.
‘That is very good,’ Monsieur Farrant grinned. ‘The perfumer, however, he uses his experience and passion too. He listens to his heart, smells with his nose then mixes the ingredients and sees how they react together, non?’
‘Yes, that is it exactly,’ she agreed.
Monsieur wagged his finger. ‘But the Master Perfumer, he adds another thing. He sprinkles in the je ne sais quoi, non?’
Eliza stared at the bottles in front of them. ‘Which one is that?’ she asked.
To her surprise he rocked with mirth, laughing so much he nearly fell off his stool. ‘Oh, Eliza, you are very sweet and innocent. We will make a good couple, non?’
‘We will make good perfume together,’ she said, quickly changing the subject.
‘Ah, ma petite, you are so keen to please me, non?’
She smiled as sweetly as she could manage. ‘So what are you going to use with the geranium?’
‘The client in question, she is wishing a perfume for the evening so it needs to be enticing and long-lasting. First we will try this.’ Eliza watched as he took his pipette and counted drops of bergamot into a tube-shaped container, jotting down the figure on his notepad beside him. ‘Always write down what you use as you go along. You think you will remember but it is easy to get absorbed in the process. To find you have created a fine fragrance but cannot recreate it because you don’t know the exact proportions of each component you used would be frustrating, non? It is no good composing the symphony if you cannot perform the encore, oui?’ She bit down a sigh, remembering Amos telling her the selfsame thing.
Unaware of her turmoil, Monsieur showed her how to blend the different oils he’d selected for his fragrance then lined up more bottles in front of her.
‘Now you have a go,’ he said.
Her spirits lifted but it wasn’t nearly as easy as he’d made it look. Time after time she tried mixing the oils in varying proportions, only for him inhale, grimace and shake his head.
Eliza worked hard and it was only the blossoming flowers that made her realize spring had turned to early summer. As Monsieur continued to impart his wisdom, Eliza concentrated, trying to absorb all the information as well as meeting his meticulous standards. Although she missed Amos terribly, she couldn’t deny she was benefiting from the undivided attention. As her nose became attuned to which smells worked well together and in what quantities, her art of blending improved.
She was fascinated by the use of fixatives such as ambergris from the sperm whale, civet from the cat, castoreum from the beaver and musk from the male deer. All of these added their own particular fragrant element as well as making the scent last.
Encouraged by Monsieur Farrant to clear her nose, she took to taking a stroll around the perfume garden at lunch time and in the late afternoons. Always hidden in her pocket was the little black bottle and whenever she could, she would compare its evocative smell to that of the flowers.
‘Remember not to go further than the hothouse, Eliza,’ Farrant repeatedly warned, green eyes boring into her so that she wondered if he knew of her earlier visit to the forbidden building at the bottom of the garden.
‘Of course, Monsieur. Now that I have learned how to make perfume, may I have Fay’s address?’ she asked, for her conscience had been pricking her.
‘Ah, ma petite, always you worry. As your tutor and intended, I have taken it upon myself to keep your guardian up to date on our progress.’
‘You mean you’ve told her you intend to mar …’ She stuttered to a halt, unwilling to voice the word.
‘Marry? Non. It would be incorrect to do so without formally asking her permission. I tell her you have the makings of the fine perfumer, with a little more tuition from the Master, of course.’ As he puffed out his chest, she shook her head at his own sense of importance. Still, if he’d already written to Fay letting her know how she was doing then that was good,
for even after all this time the fact the woman had wanted her gone from the hobble still hurt and she would find it hard to put pen to paper.
If it hadn’t been for Monsieur’s insistence that they promenade around the town each Sunday, Eliza would have been almost happy. Whilst he maintained strict professionalism in the laboratory, as soon as she climbed into his carriage he snapped into solicitous-follower mode, which made her cringe. Finally, she could bear it no longer.
‘I know you are a busy man, Monsieur, so if you didn’t wish to waste your valuable time on these outings, I would understand,’ she said. There was a pause whilst he smiled and waved grandly to a little group gathered on the corner. Once he was sure they’d seen him, he leaned forward, almost overpowering her with his scent.
‘We are not in the laboratory now so it is Charles, non? Eliza, you have the makings of a fine wife.’
She gulped. ‘I do?’
‘Oui. Alas, though, you will have to be patient for tomorrow I leave for France,’ he announced.
Mistaking her sigh of relief, he smiled and took her hand. ‘I know you will miss me, ma petite. Remember I told you exciting things were happing in the perfume world? Well, a French parfumier has now perfected the use of a synthetic substance that will revolutionize the way we make perfume. Can you imagine every batch smelling the same? I simply have to go and find out more about this, for Monsieur Farrant cannot afford to get behind the times, non?’
But Eliza hardly heard. Her heart was soaring at the news that he was going away.
‘How long will you be in France?’ she asked.
‘Ah, you are upset we part, non? Although I lock the perfumery, you can access the laboratory and perfume garden.’
‘Does that mean I can pick any of the flowers and try the still myself?’ she asked, thinking of the little black bottle.
‘Mais oui. You can gather the flowers from wherever you wish. Just remember what I said about not going past the hothouse, yes?’ She nodded. ‘Monsieur has more notes for you to study so you will not have time to pine for him.’
She smiled sweetly. Freedom beckoned and she intended to make the most of it.
‘Now your appearance, it needs updating. I will have Mrs Buttons call and measure you for some new outfits. Those are …’ He wrinkled his nose and she smiled.
It was true her dresses had become tighter as she’d filled out. She’d also grown taller and more of her boots were on show, which, from the way he was frowning down at her feet, evidently displeased him intensely.
‘You are a fine-looking woman, Eliza, but if you are to be my wife you need to have more class, more finesse. I shall add in my note to the sewing lady that you also require hats and trimmings, oui?’
More finesse indeed. Just the notion made Eliza cringe, but the thought of seeing that motherly lady again outweighed his petty niggles.
‘That would be most kind, Mons— Charles,’ she amended. ‘I wonder if she’ll be able to have them ready for when you return,’ she said, trying another ploy to discover how long he’d be away.
‘There will be plenty of time for that, ma petite. Alas, this mission may necessitate my being away for some time.’ Her heart soared even higher only to plummet when he added, ‘However, do not distress yourself. As soon as I return, we will begin making plans for our future, non?’
‘Look, I really feel it’s time we …’ she began, but he was already striding away. As soon as he returned from France, she’d have it out with him, for this charade had gone on for too long and he must be made to realize she had no intention of marrying him.
That evening, beside herself with excitement, she felt too restless to stay in her room. Having eaten the supper that had been left for her, she took herself out to the perfume garden. It was a beautiful evening and the scent from the flowers was intoxicating, though she still couldn’t match any of them to the black bottle. She decided to widen her search using Monsieur’s absence to explore the nearby fields. The chiming from the church clock roused her from her reverie, reminding her it was time she was in her room. Running back across the courtyard, she heard the sound of men’s laughter drifting down from an open window. Looking up, she saw Monsieur Farrant making merry with a group of lads. Obviously he was having a party before he left.
Next morning, Eliza woke with a sense of anticipation. This turned to delight when she heard the crunch of carriage wheels on the drive and knew Monsieur Farrant was leaving. Looking out of the window, she saw the sun was cracking the flags, as her grampy used to say, and hurriedly dressed in her work clothes. She would have preferred to wear her cotton skirt and top but was worried the staff might report back to Monsieur when he returned. Although they didn’t bother her these days, she’d heard them gossiping about her having come here to snare the boss and make a good marriage. Then they’d lowered their voices and she’d been unable to make out what else they were saying. She just heard the loud guffaws that ensued shortly afterwards.
Still, it wasn’t a day for worrying, she thought, placing her bottle in a basket. Letting herself out of the side gate she’d seen the staff using, she headed for the fields. Luxuriating in her unaccustomed freedom, she ambled leisurely, picking a plant here, plucking a bloom there. It was only when her foot began to ache that she realized she’d wandered further than she intended. She was about to go back when her attention was caught by a bright blue flower beside the river. Turning to take a better look, she didn’t notice the old tree stump sticking out of the bank, and caught her foot in its root. She went sprawling, hitting the earth with a thud. Stunned, she lay there, her breath coming in little gasps. As she struggled to get up an agonizing pain shot through her good foot.
Ominous clouds were gathering in the previously clear sky and, knowing she couldn’t stay in the open field, she began crawling towards the nearest building. It took an age, the sharp stones and thistles making her cry out in pain. Eyes fixed determinedly on the sprawl of outbuildings ahead, she was inching slowly forward when, seemingly from nowhere, a shadow hovered above. As it towered over her, blocking out the light, she froze in fright.
28
‘You all right?’ a male voice asked.
Hearing the concern in his voice, she looked up and found herself staring into the worried face of a young man. He had eyes the bright blue of cornflowers and his strong jaw spoke of determination.
‘Yes, I’m just dandy,’ she gasped, not sure if she was breathless from the fall or the way he was looking at her.
‘Sorry, that was a stupid question. I’m James Cary and I work in the tannery over there,’ he said, pointing to the buildings she’d been making for. ‘You can probably smell it,’ he added with a grin.
‘Not half,’ she grimaced.
‘Let’s get you to the workshop before it rains, then we can see what damage you’ve done,’ he said, putting out his hand and helping her to her feet. She wobbled woozily for a moment and for the first time since she’d left the moors wished she had a stick with her. But, as if she weighed little more than thistledown, James swept her up and hurried across the field. The warmth of his strong arms penetrated the material of her dress. It was a pleasant sensation and made her feel safe, but she had no time to dwell on the thought, for no sooner had they reached shelter than the heavens opened.
‘Just made it,’ he said, setting her onto a chair. ‘Now let’s have a look at that ankle. I’ll need to remove your boot before your ankle swells, otherwise you’ll never get it off.’ He gave a sharp tug and she gripped the chair arms, trying not to cry out as a sharp pain shot right up her leg. Although his hands were
calloused, they were surprisingly gentle as he felt along her foot. ‘No bones broken, just a wrench, I think.’
‘I’d hate to think how much it’d be hurting if I had broken it,’ she muttered.
He patted her shoulder, making her skin tingle so that she felt bereft when he took his hand away and went over to the fire. She watched as he poured something into a mug.
‘Here, drink this. It’s good for shock,’ he said, handing it to her then perching on an upturned box. As the sweet tea revived her, she became more aware of the way he was staring at her than the pain in her foot.
‘Gosh, I must look a sight,’ she gabbled, grimacing down at her torn dress and pushing her straggling hair back into its net.
‘Well, apart from a few smudges of earth, you look fine to me,’ he grinned. ‘Here, use this to wipe your cheeks and hands.’ He untied the red and white scarf from around his neck and held it out to her. She rubbed her face and hands, frowning when she saw the dirty marks left on the cloth.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll wash it, then bring it back,’ she offered.
He stared at her with those cornflower-blue eyes, then smiled. ‘I was going to say there’s no need, then realized it’d be a good excuse to see you again …?’
‘Eliza,’ she said, smiling back. As their gaze held she felt her face growing warm and looked quickly away.
In the ensuing silence, she sipped the rest of her tea and stared out over the yard beyond. The rain had stopped but the wind was freshening, blowing that unpleasant smell their way. She wrinkled her nose.
‘’Tis the finest oak bark tannery around and that be the hides you can smell. I’m apprenticed here and hope to be a trained currier one day.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked, curious to know more about this attractive man, who, unlike Monsieur Farrant, seemed interested in her and not the least bit concerned she wasn’t looking immaculate.