Garlands of Gold (37 page)

‘We had both been employed as personal maids to different ladies in the same household.’

‘But you were not on good terms?’

‘People who work together do not always like each other, but we kept to our own spheres and never once was there quarrelling between us.’

The questioning continued. She was asked what she had sold at the cottage and she had to describe the sound she had heard on the night of the fire. Then she was asked why she thought the two prisoners had plotted her murder.

‘I do not believe that Martha did!’ Saskia declared vehemently, her voice ringing with her conviction. ‘Nothing could ever convince me that she intended my death!’

The prosecuting lawyer raised an eyebrow in an actor’s show of surprise. ‘That is a strange reply, madam. Both the accused knew you were on your own with no help within half a mile. It was sheer chance that the farmer and his sons caught sight of the flames as they searched for some lost sheep. Your cottage was doomed from the moment a burning torch was hurled into the thatch.’

‘Martha was not present to see what happened and most surely believed that the smoke would awaken me. It was my shop that she wanted to destroy, knowing what a setback it would be for me, but that is all. I believe that implicitly! May I be allowed to plea for leniency in her case?’

There was no reply to her urgently expressed request and she was told that she could step down from the witness box. She was trembling from the tension of her interrogation as she seated herself beside Robert, who took her hand into both of his. Then the judge was addressing Martha.

‘You are fortunate that a reliable witness has spoken so strongly in your defence, seeming to believe that you are not beyond redemption or else you would have been hanged for your crime. I commute the sentence to transportation for life to the American colonies.’

Saskia released a pent-up sigh of intense relief, unaware that she had been holding her breath in suspense and not caring that Martha did not glance in her direction as she was led away down into the cells.

Walter Thornberry was less fortunate. As he had already confessed to the crime the judge took up the black cap and placed it on his periwigged head. Then in a sonorous tone he sentenced the prisoner to be hanged.

‘What will it be like for Martha in the colonies?’ Saskia asked Robert as they rode home after having a short conversation with Ted before they departed.

‘With her skills as a lady’s maid she will probably be snapped up by a governor’s wife,’ he replied. ‘She might even get a husband eventually. Women are in short supply.’

Privately he did not believe that the woman had not intended Saskia’s demise. There had been cruelty as well as bitterness in the set of her mouth, but he would never express his doubts, wanting his wife to have peace of mind.

Twenty-Six

I
t was as if a shadow had fallen over the land when Charles II died after a short illness. His nickname of the ‘Merry Monarch’ had suited him so well, for he had enjoyed life to the full. His brother, James, succeeded him, but clashed with both Parliament and the established Church, his arrogance causing allegiance to him to fall away. The result was a bloodless invasion by William of Orange, for England’s army and navy were quick to give him support and James fled the country. Saskia was overjoyed that a Dutchman and his wife, Mary, daughter of the exiled king, were to become joint monarchs to rule together the land that now meant as much to her as her homeland.

‘A Dutch king on the Throne!’ she exclaimed joyfully.

‘And his English queen,’ Robert pointed out, amused by her excitement.

Having long since become a respected figure on the London scene Robert received an invitation for Saskia and himself to be present at Whitehall Palace when the oaths of allegiance were to be made to the royal couple. Saskia had a new gown for the occasion in sea-green silk with a pearl-studded ivory underskirt, pearls entwined in her hair.

There were many splendidly dressed people in the great hall when they arrived and they chatted with those whom they knew. Then a fanfare of trumpets announced the arrival of the royal couple.

It was an occasion that Saskia was never to forget. Rubens’ beautifully painted ceiling, spread widely overhead, adding to the splendour of the scene as everyone present bowed or curtsied at the diamond-sparkling entrance of the new king and queen in their crowns. It was said that Mary loathed her husband and it was a known fact that she had wept all through the marriage service some years before, but her smile and her dignity matched his impressive presence as they went up the carpeted steps of the dais to sit side by side on thrones of equal height under a canopy of crimson velvet. Saskia was in a trance of happiness.

Saskia had never been back to Holland, for those closest to her had gone, Nurse Bobbins long since and her foster mother struck down a few years later by a sudden illness. Yet she cherished the happy memories of her early years there and was sure that one day she would visit her beloved homeland again.

Her family was growing up. Richard was fourteen, which was the age for intelligent scholars to become students at Oxford University and he was doing well there. The twins would both have been six, but tragically Sarah had died of the sweating sickness in spite of nursing by day and night. Saskia had been devastated, becoming ill herself in her grief, and even after her recovery there was an ache in her heart that could never be erased. Then, as if fate had taken pity on her, she found she was pregnant again.

Elizabeth, now mother to eight children and expecting a ninth, was delighted with the news of her friend’s good fortune. Her pride in her own offspring was matched only by her pride in Grinling’s successful career. Not only were his wonderful carvings now at Windsor Castle, but also in Hampton Court palace and many great houses, the demand for his work unceasing. He was also working on the carvings for the choir stalls in St Paul’s, incorporating the faces of his youngest children. The cathedral itself was beginning to take shape gloriously in a way the clergy had not anticipated but were trying to come to terms with now that it was too late for any change.

Recently Grinling had carved a cover for the stone font in the Church of All Hallows by the Tower where the Harting children had been christened. It was a dainty mound of flowers and delicate foliage with cherubs reaching up to the dove that seemed to have just alighted at the top of it. His own offspring had been fascinated by it as the cherubs here, as in the St Paul’s choir stall carvings, had the likenesses of their younger siblings. It always gave him immense pleasure to see their young faces emerge from under his chisel.

When some premises had become vacant in Bow Street he had transferred his workshop there from
La Belle Sauvage
. It was three times the size of his previous workshop and he was well pleased with it, quite apart from being closer to his home. There he engaged in a new venture by accepting commissions to sculpt marble statues and busts of well-known people, even though wood would always remain his favourite medium.

As Elizabeth had foreseen he did at times trail wood shavings home with him and now there was often marble dust clinging to his clothes from his sculpting too, even though he wore a leather apron in the workshop. Elizabeth was more tolerant now than in the past, for the housekeeper always saw that the trail of his homecoming was swept up immediately.

Royal recognition had come to him when he had been commissioned by the late king to carve what had become known as the Cosimo panel, which was free standing, much as an individual painting was often displayed on an easel-like frame. It had been sent as a gift from King Charles to Cosimo III de’ Medici, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, and was extraordinarily magnificent, full of symbolic tributes to the importance of the giver and the receiver. It had taken its rightful place among the glories of Florence.

Soon afterwards Charles II had awarded Grinling a pension of one hundred pounds a year, which was a generous sum, in acknowledgement of his splendid restoration of some valuable old carvings at Windsor Castle. Another important milestone in Grinling’s life had been the carving of the reredos for Wren at the newly rebuilt St James’ Church in Piccadilly.

Saskia gave birth to another daughter, who was named Prudence. She was a frail little thing, but received such loving care that by the time she was two she had caught up with stronger children of her own age. Mary and Prudence had plenty of playmates at the Gibbons’ house. She was always excited to be there with them, for Elizabeth had an ‘open house’ for children, often playing with them as if she were a child herself until she grew tired and left a nursemaid in charge. Frequent pregnancies had finally taken their toll on her, although the prospect of another new baby always filled her with joy.

There was violent weather one morning when Saskia was ready to take Mary and Prudence to play at the Gibbons’ house. During the night there had been wind of almost hurricane force accompanied by a tremendous downfall of rain, which had slashed ceaselessly at the windows. Robert and the children had slept undisturbed throughout the night, but Saskia had found it impossible to sleep and, when looking out of the nursery window, had seen one of the swaying trees, uprooted by the wind, go crashing down across the lawn.

Now that morning had come Robert had inspected the tree and given orders for the gardeners to saw it up as soon as possible. He also toured the attic, but could not find a leak anywhere. Satisfied, he then went off to his office in his coach, the rain dancing into fountains on its roof.

‘It is raining so hard that I think it would be best to stay at home today,’ Saskia said to her daughters, but both Mary and Prudence looked so crestfallen that later she relented when the rain seemed to ease, even though the wind did not appear to have lessened.

It whipped their cloaks about them as they darted into the waiting coach. Everywhere people were keeping close to walls, not only for shelter under the overhanging upper stories of houses, but because tiles were flying from roofs and tufts of thatch were whirling about in the air. The central gutters of the streets flowed like rivers, flooding areas where rubbish blocked escape, and the coach wheels threw up fans of spray all the way.

There was a rumble of thunder and a distant flash of lightning as Elizabeth welcomed them with open arms as she always did, and her younger children came running to greet the new arrivals. When all of the young ones had darted upstairs to the nursery playroom Elizabeth drew Saskia into the drawing room.

‘What a night!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was so frightened. To me the whole house seemed to sway with the wind’s buffeting, but Grinling just slept through it all.’

‘So did Robert,’ Saskia replied with a smile.

‘We lost some tiles from the roof. I heard them go crashing down in the night and the rain is leaking through into buckets that have been placed in the attic. But no repairs can be done today. A man could be blown away with the tiles in this wind!’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Saskia agreed.

‘We need more than a cup of tea this morning,’ Elizabeth declared, letting her hands rise and fall expressively. ‘We shall have some sherry-wine.’

A decanter had been placed ready on a side table with two glasses and Elizabeth went across to it. It was so unusual for Elizabeth to touch alcohol, for mostly she only had a little wine when dining, that Saskia realized the extent of how upset her friend had been by the tempest of the night. Then as the sherry-wine was poured into the two glasses Saskia saw how her friend’s hands were shaking.

‘The worst of the weather is over now, Elizabeth,’ she said reassuringly. ‘This wind will soon drop.’ Then when a glass had been handed to her she raised it. ‘Let’s drink to sunny days ahead.’

‘Oh, yes!’ Elizabeth declared, sitting down on the yellow silk-upholstered sofa. ‘After last night and today summer cannot come soon enough for me!’

It was at that moment that a tremendous explosion of sound shook the whole house. Elizabeth screamed in alarm. Saskia’s immediate thought was that lightning had struck the roof, but a second later she saw to her horror that an enormous crack had appeared in the wall opposite her. She sprang to her feet, Elizabeth doing the same and screaming again when she saw what happened.

‘We must all get out of this house! Now!’ Saskia cried, giving Elizabeth a push as a shower of plaster descended from the ceiling and cracks flew across it. ‘I’ll fetch the children!’

Then she was ahead of Elizabeth, who was cumbersome in her pregnancy, and made for the stairs. The panic-stricken servants were already running outside, not stopping to help. Upstairs Saskia was met by the terrified children and the ashen-faced nursemaid, who had appeared at a run with a toddler in her arms.

‘Downstairs and outside!’ Saskia ordered brusquely. ‘At once, children! Hurry!’

Elizabeth had come to the foot of the flight and was on her way up to hasten their descent, calling reassuringly to them. Then Mary realized that one of the children was missing and jerked at the nursemaid’s sleeve when she would have rushed past. ‘Where’s Alan?’

The young woman answered frantically over her shoulder as she hurried on down the stairs. ‘I thought he was here! He must still be playing with his wooden farm animals!’

The children were being shepherded out of the house by some people that had rushed to the rescue. Elizabeth had immediately missed her four-year-old son and, shrieking hysterically, she would have rushed up the stairs to help in the search.