Garlands of Gold (33 page)

So the purchase of a shop was postponed until a better location could be found. Saskia was disappointed, but she had seen the wisdom of Robert’s advice. In the meantime she continued to search out small treasures for her collection, which brought her into contact with people in all walks of life. Some, such as old Will in the curiosity shop, had become very friendly, always on the watch for something that would please her. Sensibly he always saved any spare glass or porcelain stoppers for her as often the little bottles she collected were missing them and she was able to match them up or at least top them suitably.

As her collection had grown so had her respect for her mother increased beyond all bounds, for by the very nature of Diane’s employment she would have had little leisure time in which to search for what she wanted, and yet she had achieved it so magnificently. For that reason alone Saskia never let heavy rain, snow or fierce winds deter her from going out on her search, always remembering that her mother must have done the same.

Twenty-Two

G
rinling and Elizabeth held a party for friends to celebrate the completion of their joint portraits by a prominent English artist. At an arranged moment a draped cloth, which was covering it, was removed and there was a burst of spontaneous applause from all present. The painting was quite large and showed them sitting side by side. Elizabeth was sumptuously gowned, her lips curved in her attractive, impish smile, and she was holding up for view the necklace of pearls that Grinling had given her from the proceeds of his first important sale. He, grandly wigged, was clad in a rich blue silk coat with diamond buttons, a well-fitted waistcoat and fashionably full cut breeches, his triumphant smile revealing his happiness in his marriage and in his success.

Recently he had installed for the first time his beautiful lime wood foliage carvings at Holme Lacy House, which was a grand house in Herefordshire, and also at another fine mansion in Hertfordshire. Already he was receiving enquiries from those who had seen the carvings in situ.

His likeness on canvas also showed something that Saskia had not really noticed over the passing of time. He had become quite portly from good living and fine wine. He looked every inch of what he was, a prosperous craftsman moving in gentlemen’s circles, who was able to command whatever price he wanted for his wonderful work.

She and Robert had almost decided to commission the same artist to paint their portraits, but then one day he came home with the news that he had seen the work of a Dutch artist living in London and thought he was the one they should choose.

‘He came to England as a young man and over the years has established himself as a fine portrait painter.’

Saskia was delighted with this news. ‘He will know exactly what I want in our marriage portraits,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘When can I see some of his work?’

‘I’ll take you to his studio tomorrow.’

It was a successful visit. Saskia liked the artist’s work. Johan Rykers, originally from Amsterdam, was in his early sixties, a tall, gaunt-faced man with remarkably alert blue eyes. He bowed low to Saskia when she announced her decision.

‘I look forward to sitting for you, Master Rykers,’ she said, ‘and I hope you will be patient when my husband is only able to spare a short time now and again.’

‘It will be an honour to portray you and your husband,
mejuffrouw
,’ he answered courteously, ‘and I have had to paint busy men before now, so do not concern yourself. It will be a particular pleasure to paint a pair of marriage portraits again. The last time was for a young couple of your nationality and mine, who had eloped here to England in order to be married.’

‘I hope there was a happy ending for them,’ Saskia said sincerely.

He nodded. ‘I’m glad to say that her father relented and they returned to Holland with their portraits.’

Before leaving his studio, appointments were made for the first sittings. Now Saskia gave thought to what she would wear and, equally important, what Robert should wear too. Eventually she had a new gown of cream silk made for her, which was embroidered with roses. It was an appropriate choice, for the artist painted her looking over her shoulder, her hand lifted gracefully as if to accept the red rose that Robert, handsome in ruby velvet, was handing to her in his portrait. They were looking into each other’s eyes just as she had wished.

They went down to Sussex with the paintings, wanting them to be at Harting Hall. There the portraits in gilded frames were hung side by side in the grand drawing room. As the servant, who had secured the paintings, left the room they stepped back a pace, hand in hand, to regard their likenesses in these new surroundings.

‘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.’