by Linda Finlay
‘’Tis someone who dresses and finishes the leather after it’s been tanned. Of course they give me all the menial tasks to do at the moment, but I’m a fast learner,’ he said, flashing his easy grin. ‘What about you?’
‘I’m apprenticed to the perfumer, Monsieur Farrant.’ His eyes widened in amazement but she was too concerned to notice. ‘Which reminds me, I must be making tracks,’ she said, getting to her feet then wincing as a sharp pain shot up her leg. ‘How will I get back? I’ll never be able to walk all that way,’ she cried.
‘Don’t worry, Eliza. I’ve an idea,’ James said. He went over to the nearby shed, then returned trundling a little wooden cart. ‘Hop on,’ he grinned.
‘You couldn’t possibly push me all the way back,’ she gasped.
‘Doth the lady dare to challenge the strength of James Cary?’ he quipped, flexing his arms so that she could see the muscles rippling through the coarse material of his shirt. ‘Besides, do you have any choice?’
‘I guess not.’
‘Wait a moment,’ James said, running outside and talking to a burly man with a ginger beard. He returned directly.
‘Right, that’s cleared. Guv says I can borrow the cart and take you back as long as I make up the time this evening.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Eliza asked.
‘Do I mind taking the prettiest girl I’ve ever met for a ride on the cart? Hmm, hard question,’ he grinned, helping her up.
To the whistles and shouts of ‘Go, Jimmy, go,’ from his workmates who’d gathered to watch, he pushed her out of the yard. Steam was rising from the rapidly drying ground and the river chuckled as they made their way back towards the fields. When they came to the spot where she’d tripped, Eliza remembered her basket and gave a groan.
‘Something wrong?’ James asked, grinning at her over the handles.
‘I was gathering flowers and dropped my basket when I fell. Oh, there it is.’ She pointed to where it still lay beside the stump. He bent and retrieved it, then shrugged.
‘No flowers, though,’ he said, handing it to her.
As their fingers touched she felt a tingle up her arm and looked away. Must be the effect of the shock, she thought. However, James’s gaze was still upon her but thoughts of Duncan flashed through her mind and she turned slightly away.
As if he sensed her mood, James began singing a song, adding silly words here and there until they became so ridiculous, she had to laugh. He grinned and let go of the cart. To her surprise she saw they’d already arrived back at the house.
‘My lady,’ he said, holding out his hand to help her down. She hesitated then took hold of it, trying to ignore the funny sensation that again tingled through her.
‘Thank you, my good man,’ she quipped.
‘Will you be all right?’ he asked, holding out her boot and staring down at her ankle.
‘Yes, and thank you for bringing me home.’
‘Erm, I, er … that is, I finish work around seven most evenings and wondered if you’d care to go for a walk? We could pick more flowers for your basket,’ he added, the words coming out in a rush.
‘I’d like that. Better give it a few days for my ankle to recover.’
‘Right, Saturday evening it is, then. I’ll meet you here?’
She frowned. ‘Can we make it by that big oak?’
He followed the direction she was pointing and nodded.
‘Till Saturday then, Eliza,’ he said, doffing his cap, then snatching up the handles of the cart and running back the way they’d come.
Although she was limping as she made her way towards the little gate, she couldn’t help smiling. What a nice, easy-going man he was, and such a contrast to Monsieur Farrant with his pernickety ways. Catching sight of herself in the glass in the closet, she gasped at her bedraggled state yet, curiously, her eyes were shining like the little stoppers on Monsieur’s perfume bottles.
Next morning she answered the knock at her door to find Mrs Buttons, tape around her neck, material under her arm and sewing box in hand, hovering on the step.
‘Morning, ducks. Oh, what you done to your foot?’ she asked, staring at Eliza’s bare feet.
‘Wrenched my ankle,’ she grimaced. ‘Are you coming in?’
‘Better had, ducks, Monsieur Farrant sent me a note detailing what he wants me to make. Right posh costumes, they are, and a toque, no less.’
‘A what?’
‘One of them hats that stand right up in the air.’ Mrs Buttons sniffed. ‘Surprised you’d want to wear something like that, but then you’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you?’
‘Sorry?’ Eliza frowned.
‘Getting hitched to the boss,’ Mrs Buttons said, spreading out a length of rich-coloured material across the bed. It reminded Eliza of raspberries. Then she realized what the woman had said.
‘Look, Mrs Buttons, when Monsieur made his proposal in the perfumery before Christmas I was too stunned to say anything, let alone refuse. Why, even the constable looked shocked.’
‘The constable, you say?’ the dressmaker’s eyes flashed with interest. ‘Well, ’tis none of my business, I’m sure,’ she sniffed, snatching her tape from her neck. ‘My, my, we have grown, ducks,’ she commented, jotting down measurements in her little book. Then she stood back appraisingly. ‘You know, you look much prettier in that little blouse and skirt. More natural, like.’
Eliza stared down at her green cotton skirt, which was looking the worse for wear, and sighed.
‘I prefer wearing clothes like this but the skirt’s really too tight now. Anyway, Monsieur insists I wear all that fitted stuff,’ she pouted.
‘Well, I guess that’s the price you pay for elevating your status, as they say.’
‘Look, Mrs Buttons, I have no intention of marrying him. It’s in my interest to finish my apprenticeship, then I’ll disappear.’
‘I guess you know what you’re doing. Just be careful, eh? Can you sew, ducks?’
Eliza nodded.
‘Well, happen we might have a little of this left over here.’ She winked and tapped the side of her nose with her finger. Then noticing the torn work dress hanging on the door, she added, ‘I’ve still got a bit of that material so I’ll take it away and mend it.’
They were interrupted by Mimi coming into the room, tray in hand. When she saw Eliza, the little maid gasped.
‘Sorry, miss, I thought you’d be in the laboratory. I just came to take your breakfast tray and leave this,’ she said, putting down the lunch tray and snatching up the remains of Eliza’s breakfast.
‘That’s all right, Mimi,’ she said, but the girl hurried out without responding.
‘What was all that about?’ Mrs Buttons asked, lifting the cloth, sniffing, then wrinkling her nose. ‘Blimey, what’s that stuff when it’s at home?’
Eliza laughed. ‘Hazelette. Cook makes it for Monsieur and is probably trying to use up what’s left.’
‘Yes, but why are you having trays sent to your room?’ the woman persisted.
‘Monsieur doesn’t want me mixing with the staff. Mind you, they don’t want to mix with me either,’ she muttered.
‘Don’t tell me you eats all your meals in here?’ Mrs Buttons asked, raising her eyebrows in disbelief.
‘I don’t mind,’ Eliza answered. ‘Besides, I have Monsieur’s notes to study.’
‘Well, it don’t seem right to me,’ the woman sniffed, gathering up her things. ‘I’ll drop your dress in later then be back when these are finished, ducks.’ And
with another frown, she left.
Eliza spent the rest of the day resting her foot and reading her notes. Then she got out Fay’s receipt book and flicked through the pages. The flower illustrations were beautiful and so lifelike Eliza could almost smell their fragrance. She took out the little black bottle and inhaled its lingering scent, but even now she couldn’t identify what it was. It certainly was something she’d never encountered before. By contrast, no sooner had she taken the top off the little green bottle than she was transported back to the moors. Compared to Monsieur Farrant’s complex perfumes, the smell in both bottles was more natural. As she sat reflecting, the sun glinted on the jewel stopper of the black bottle, reminding her of James’s bright blue eyes. She sighed, thinking how good it would be to see him again.
On Saturday, James was waiting by the oak and smiled warmly as she approached.
‘How’s the ankle?’ he asked.
‘A bit weak but it doesn’t hurt half as much. As you can see, I was able to get my boots on.’
‘Want to walk or would you rather sit?’
‘Let’s do both. I’d love to search for flowers, if you don’t mind.’
‘Whatever the lady wishes,’ he quipped. ‘Is this collecting a hobby or does it have something to do with your perfume making?’
‘A bit of both,’ she answered, not ready to share her secret with him.
‘You like your work?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes, I love all the different smells, and Monsieur Farrant has taught me how to blend them to make the most beautiful fragrances. Although I still prefer the simple ones. Monsieur’s in France at the moment learning about some synthetic stuff they’ve discovered.’
James grimaced. ‘Don’t know much about that kind of thing, working with leather and oak bark. Still, I guess we have the creative side of things in common.’ He turned and smiled at her. ‘You’re looking really nice this evening. Not as formal as the other day, or as dirty,’ he teased.
‘I don’t know what you must have thought of me. I couldn’t believe it when I got back to my room and saw how dishevelled I was. Oh, I nearly forgot,’ Eliza said, delving into her basket and drawing out his kerchief. ‘All the dirty marks have come out.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking it and staring at it solemnly.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
‘I guess I’ll just have to rely on my natural charm to entice you to walk out with me in future.’ Looking at his serious expression her heart soared.
The next few weeks were the happiest she had ever spent. Mrs Buttons appeared with her new ‘walking out’ dress and the formidable hat, which Eliza vowed she’d never wear. She did manage to persuade her to remove the flamboyant gold bow, which she hid in her box in case Monsieur should ask any questions. Then the woman handed her a length of leftover material.
‘Make yourself another skirt, ducks. Best not tell Monsieur, though,’ she said, tapping the side of her nose with her finger, as was her way. ‘What he don’t know won’t hurt him, and I’m sure your young follower will appreciate you looking all natural and pretty, like. Besides, it’s healthier you walking out with someone like him, rather than … well, you know,’ she said, giving a wink, then disappearing before Eliza could ask her how she knew about James.
The staff began speaking to her again and Eliza had a feeling Mrs Buttons was behind that for soon after the woman had left Mimi had been sent to invite her to join them for her meals in the dining room. After the initial embarrassment, it wasn’t long before their former friendliness was restored. Only Bertram remained aloof.
‘I don’t know what Monsieur will say when he finds out,’ he muttered.
‘Well, he won’t know if you don’t tell him, will he?’ Mrs Symms snapped.
‘But it is my duty to inform him what goes on in his absence.’
‘What, like you having hands like a blinking octopus,’ Mimi piped up.
Bertram glowered, then rose to his feet and walked stiff-backed out of the room, their laughter following after him.
As the heat of summer cooled and the leaves on the trees turned glorious gold and russet, Eliza continued walking out with James. Although she enjoyed his company immensely, whenever he tried to turn the conversation to the future, she changed the subject, saying they both had their apprenticeships to think of. After Duncan’s abandonment and Amos disappearing without telling her, she wasn’t about to trust another man again anytime soon.
One evening she was humming happily as she let herself in through the little gate before curfew when Bertram appeared.
‘Monsieur Farrant has returned and wishes to see you in the parlour,’ he announced.
Her previous good mood vanished like the morning mist. She looked down at her new cotton skirt and grimaced. There was no time to change into her formal work wear or put her hair up.
‘Good evening, Monsieur Farrant,’ she said, entering the room.
He was stood staring out of the window but turned on hearing her voice.
‘Is it?’ he hissed, green eyes glittering.
29
Clearly Monsieur Farrant was in a foul temper. Perhaps his trip to France hadn’t gone well, Eliza thought, as he threw the letter opener he’d been toying with down on the table with a clatter.
‘Before I left, I gave strict instructions on how you were to spend your time, Mademoiselle. Yet now I return to find out you have been mixing with all sorts. What do you have to say for yourself?’ he demanded, his shiny moustache quivering as he enunciated every syllable.
‘Is it so bad that I joined the others in the dining room?’ she asked, assuming Bertram had carried out his threat.
‘You mixed with the staff as well?’ he exclaimed, his eyes narrowing. ‘This is too much.’
‘Really, Monsieur, I can’t believe that eating with the …’ she began, but he moved closer until he was inches from her face, his peculiar smell wafting literally up her nose.
‘That is bad enough, certainement, but to hear I have been cuckolded is more than Monsieur’s pride can bear,’ he hissed.
‘Cuckolded?’ she laughed. ‘Surely a man can only be cuckolded if he’s married?’ Silence hung heavy in the air as Monsieur Farrant reflected on her words. Then a gleam sparked in his eye.
‘That is the literal meaning, of course. However, we have an understanding, do we not?’
‘As I was trying to tell you before you left, I never agreed …’
‘Oh, but you did, Mademoiselle,’ he insisted, his voice ominously low. ‘And on Saturday we will see the jeweller and choose the largest betrothal ring he has.’
‘There really is no need,’ she cried, but he held up his hand to silence her.
‘Oh, but there is, and then we shall hold a big party to celebrate. We will invite the whole of Follytown and everyone will see that you belong to me.’
‘Belong?’ she started, but he was in full flood.
‘I have even set the date for our wedding. We are to be married on the 19th of February next year.’
‘But that will be my birthday,’ she cried.
Monsieur Farrant grinned. ‘Exactement. You will be seventeen so it will be appropriate, non?’
Stunned into silence, Eliza could only stand there gaping at him.
‘You cannot believe your luck? I understand, for it would be a lesser man than Charles Farrant who would take on a …’ He pointed to her foot. ‘No other man would risk the siring of another crip—’
‘That is a despicable thing to say,’ she cried, her voice returning at last
.
‘Non, Monsieur, he speak the truth. He also knows that when we marry he can expect the rest of the Beaumont woman’s receipts.’
‘But …’ she began, but he held up his hand to silence her.
‘Which, despite your denial, I know you have. Monsieur Farrant is far from stupid, Mademoiselle. Now I have things to do. You will go to your room and reflect upon your good fortune. My proposal is a generous one, but in return I expect you to act and dress like a lady.’ He waved his hand at her dress, curling his lip in disgust. Then a gleam appeared in his eyes. ‘Ah, I do believe Saturday is tomorrow, non?’
Her heart sank to her boots. ‘I’m sure you will be busy after your time away,’ she ventured. He shook his head.
‘I will see you in the main hall at ten of the clock. You will wear the new outfit I ordered. It is one befitting the betrothed of Monsieur Farrant, Master Perfumer – and the toque will add the finishing touch, non?’ he said, giving a mocking bow.
Back in her room, Eliza paced the floor. What should she do? The very idea of marrying the man made her stomach churn. He was old – why, he must well into his thirties – and had that peculiar smell. And frighteningly, there had been something quite cruel in his demeanour tonight. Things were moving too fast, she thought, snatching up the toque from the dresser and glaring at its ostentatious points. Never would she wear such a ridiculous thing on her head, she thought, scrunching it in half then and twisting it round and round in her hands.
She looked down at the misshapen mess and sighed, for that was the least of her problems, wasn’t it? By this time tomorrow, if Monsieur Farrant had his way, it would be a ring on her finger she’d be wearing. She could not, would not contemplate such a thing. Married women had to … With her insides heaving, she ran outside to the privy.
Feeling better and clearer headed, she made her way back across the courtyard. She would leave this wretched place. The sound of ribald laughter nearby clarified her thoughts. If Monsieur Farrant was having one of his house parties this would be the time to make her escape. Back in her room, she quickly gathered her precious things into a bundle. Throwing her cloak around her shoulders she made her way back outside and was heading towards the staff gate when she saw the glow of a lantern flickering its way down the garden. A light didn’t move by itself did it, she thought, dodging back into the shadows. Squinting into the dark, she could just make out the shape of two figures heading towards the forbidden building. As others joined them, more laughter ensued. What was going on, Eliza wondered. All went quiet, but her curiosity was piqued. Using the bushes as cover, she made her way to the perfume garden, past the hothouse and onto the building that rose ominously out of the shadows.