Garlands of Gold (15 page)

Her head shot up. ‘You are heartless!’ she exclaimed furiously.

He looked amused, enraging her still further, and took her firmly by the wrist. ‘Come along and dance with me.’

‘No!’ she protested, aghast. ‘I mustn’t mix with the guests!’ She was fearful of breaking down in tears and desperate to get away to the solitude of her own room.

He continued to be merciless. ‘What do you have to lose? Surely you won’t remain in this house to wait on someone betrothed to the man you wanted for yourself?’

He had not relinquished his grip and, ignoring her hissing protest, he proceeded to draw her relentlessly towards the dancing. Although she hung back she was helpless in his grasp, betrayed by her shoes sliding on the polished floor. Then abruptly he swept her into the parading measure being danced to a merry tune struck up by the orchestra and they followed the couples ahead around the floor. Yet the truth of his cruel words had knifed her through. She could not stay on in Rushmere House to witness the joyous celebrations of the betrothal, the preparation of a trousseau and then, hardest of all, preparing the bride for her wedding night.

Grinling and Elizabeth were several couples ahead in the dance and Mistress Rushmere beamed on them as they passed her, but she snapped her fan shut in outrage, her face colouring up, as she saw her god-daughter’s personal maid go dancing by. She did not know that Saskia’s hand was still being held in a vice-like hold and it was either to dance or make an exhibition of herself by sitting down on the floor and being skimmed along.

At the end of the measure Robert did release her and she fled away out of the ballroom, only to meet Martha, who had been watching all that had taken place.

‘You’ll be getting the boot tomorrow for prancing about the floor, Saskia,’ she sneered.

Saskia knew that would be the outcome, but as she intended to go by her own will the jeer meant nothing to her. Upstairs she did not take refuge in her room as she had originally intended. Instead she went to sit and wait stoically in Elizabeth’s boudoir, having reminded herself that her duties must be carried out until her departure tomorrow. She was beyond weeping, the wound she had suffered was too deep for the release of tears. Those would come when the shock of losing Grinling for ever gave way inevitably to despair.

When the guests had departed Elizabeth came to bed in a whirlwind of joyous excitement, totally unaware of anything else that had happened that evening.

‘Grinling proposed to me!’ she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she thrust her hand forward to display the very fine ruby and gold ring. ‘We stole away on our own into the library and he went down on one knee! He told me he had adored me from the moment we first met, and he has been so afraid that my stepmother would pressure me into marrying the suitor who wanted me. But I would never have done that! Then we returned to the ballroom and my godmother asked Sir Arthur to announce our betrothal after the supper dance.’ She flung out her arms. ‘Oh, I’m so happy, Saskia! I hope so much that you will know such joy one day!’

Saskia thought to herself as she helped the girl to undress that her chance of such happiness had crumbled away for ever this evening, for she would never love another man as much as she still loved Grinling.

Elizabeth chatted on excitedly. ‘He told me some good news about his career. The King has agreed to see an example of his work! Isn’t that wonderful?’

Saskia agreed that it was indeed a stroke of good fortune for him. She also knew now why he had asked her not to say anything about this showing of his Tintoretto carving to the King. He had wanted Elizabeth to be the first to know.

When eventually Elizabeth, still ecstatic, was in bed Saskia was able to go to her own room, but not to sleep. Instead, moving like an automaton, she packed her clothes and belongings into a travelling bag ready for her departure. She had her hooded cape lying in readiness on a chair when she answered Mistress Rushmere’s summons next morning and found her alone in her boudoir.

She was not yet dressed and sitting in a filmy robe before her dressing table, but she put aside a hand-mirror as Saskia entered. ‘Now this is about yesterday evening, Saskia,’ she began sternly. ‘You should not have allowed Master Harting to take you on to the ballroom floor—’

‘I know, madam,’ Saskia said quickly, ‘and I offer my sincere apologies. May I hope that you are not too angry to give me a letter of recommendation for another post?’

Mistress Rushmere’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Yes, I am more than angry with you! In fact I am furious! Quite a number of my guests recognized you and expressed their shock. But,’ she added, holding up a hand to stem any reply from Saskia, ‘I also absolve you from most of the blame. Master Harting explained to me that he was responsible for bringing you against your will on to the ballroom floor. I told him it was a silly caper unbefitting for a gentleman and I believe he took my reprimand to heart.’

Saskia could have replied that, as she had told him in her anger, she did not believe he had a heart. ‘Yet it is right that I should accept my part in the folly and leave,’ she replied.

The woman gasped with exasperation and thumped her fists on her lap. ‘Leave? Indeed not! My god-daughter will need your assistance in many things more than ever now that she is betrothed! She has come to rely on you and with her marriage ahead she would not want a stranger to take over from you at this time. Now go along and find her. You can also send Martha in to me.’

As Saskia left the room she saw Martha slipping away and realized the woman had been listening at the door.

‘Did you not hear, Martha?’ she questioned crisply, causing the woman to pause and turn to face her. ‘Mistress Henrietta requires your presence.’

The woman glared, but went with a swish of her petticoats to obey the summons. She was not surprised that some people in the company had recognized Saskia, although normally servants were faceless for guests, becoming only helpful hands. It was the Dutch girl’s beauty that was memorable. She had seen how both men and women gave her a second look. As for that Master Harting, his heavy-lidded, handsome eyes followed Saskia relentlessly whenever she was present. It could only be that he had seduction in mind. That should bring the wretched girl crashing down from her high and mighty attitude.

Jealousy and envy made Martha bite her lip as she went into Mistress Rushmere’s boudoir.

Eight

I
t was a fine sunny day when Grinling arrived at the Palace of Whitehall with his Tintoretto carving wrapped in linen and weighing heavily under his arm. He had been to London many times and, in the company of friends, had enjoyed its alehouses and theatres and its pleasure gardens where there was music and dancing. He had often gazed at the palace from various vantage points, for it covered an area the size of a small town and was said to be the largest building in the world, but today he had the authority to enter, knowing that John Evelyn would be waiting for him.

He was not in the least nervous, secure in the knowledge that indeed his carving was fit for a king, and he looked forward to displaying it. He had decided to move to London as soon as he and Elizabeth were married. Through Robert’s introduction he had met the great actor, Thomas Betterton, who had commissioned him to carry out an exceptional amount of work for the new London theatre that was to be known as the Dorset Garden Theatre. He believed his future was assured and royal acceptance of his work would be an open door to many choice commissions.

John Evelyn greeted him in the grand reception hall. ‘Good day to you, Master Gibbons! You are in good time as I expected. There are two very distinguished gentlemen on business in the Palace this morning and I’m hoping that after you have been received by His Majesty that I may present you to them. They are Master Christopher Wren and Master Samuel Pepys!’

Grinling’s optimism soared. The former could give him enough splendid work for churches and palaces to last the rest of his life and the latter was highly influential in naval and court circles. ‘I’d be honoured to meet them,’ he said.

It was quite a long walk to the royal apartments. They followed seemingly endless enfilades that took them through many fine rooms of gracious proportions as well as innumerable anterooms. On the way they met Master Wren and then Master Pepys, both of whom were bound for the royal apartment. Grinling was presented to each in turn and Sir John was quick to divulge the purpose of Grinling’s visit. Both gentlemen expressed polite interest and the four of them proceeded together to the King’s apartment.

There the double doors were flanked by two soldiers in the scarlet coats, shining breastplates and plumed helmets of the trusted First Guards, a regiment that the King had raised abroad during his exile. As the doors were opened wide John Evelyn led the way into the royal presence.

Charles was not alone in the crimson and gold room. There were several gentlemen present, some with a fashionably tall cane that was an elegant accessory and all heavily bewigged as was Charles himself, his strong features accentuated by his eyebrows and lashes, which were as black as soot. When young he had been known as ‘the black boy’, many coaching inns and alehouses taking that nickname for their swinging inn signs, all because of his jet-dark hair and olive skin.

Grinling and John Evelyn bowed low. Then both straightened up as the King came towards them, more than six feet tall and with a smile full of the charm that made him so irresistible to women. Scurrying around his feet were several of the little spaniels of whom he was very fond.

‘I bid you welcome, gentlemen,’ he said genially.

‘I thank you, sire,’ John Evelyn replied, bowing low. ‘Pray allow me to present the talented woodcarver, Master Grinling Gibbons.’

Now Grinling bowed deeply. ‘I’m greatly honoured, sire.’

Charles knew all about him, having previously been primed by John Evelyn. He also knew the price of the carving, which had already set him against it, however good it might prove to be. His demanding mistresses and his own extravagance had made an impact on the royal coffers and there were hostile murmurs against his lavish spending by a number of government ministers. Yet he had been intrigued by John Evelyn’s lavish praise of the young Dutchman’s extraordinary talent, which had made him curious to see this Tintoretto copy in wood. Sir John, drawing back to allow Grinling to stand alone to present his work, noticed with satisfaction that both Wren and Pepys were among the gentlemen that had come forward to view what was about to be displayed.

‘So show me your work, Master Gibbons,’ the King said, lowering his tall frame into a chair with its back to one of the many windows. ‘The light will show it up well if you stand before me.’

Grinling whipped off the linen covering and the carving was revealed in all its glory. The King’s face did not change expression as he studied the work of art, but inwardly he marvelled at the carver’s exceptional skills that had replicated so wonderfully the passion and power of such a great masterpiece into the beauty of wood. Several of the courtiers voiced their praise and there was a spontaneous patter of applause.

Charles put his fingertips together as he continued to scrutinize the carving. He felt intense regret that he had to decide against purchasing it, but apart from the price there were those who would say that his leaning towards Catholicism was revealed yet again in the buying of such a piece more fit for a Roman Catholic church than a secular palace. As a Protestant king he had to be wary and keep whatever his private religious inclinations were to himself. He was aware of silence in the room as everyone waited for his decision, but he had a perfect way by which to get out of this tricky situation.

‘I should like the Queen to see this splendid carving,’ he said, rising to his feet. If his wife bought it, which he fully expected since she was of the Catholic faith and deeply devout, he would be absolved from any accusation of further extravagance. ‘She would know how and where such a carving should be displayed for it to have full honour.’

It was a dismissal with promise, although John Evelyn would have preferred the King to be the outright purchaser. As he and Grinling bowed themselves out of the room he had the uncomfortable feeling that Wren would not be following up any passing interest in what had been shown, which probably meant that he had more than enough carvers to work for him and preferred to deal with those whom he already knew. As for Pepys, although he had viewed the carving, he had returned to continue talking deeply with one of the gentlemen, who in his turn had shown no interest in the exhibit at all.

It was a brisk walk along another route through the palace, passing through one gilded doorway after another, to reach Queen Catherine’s apartment. She received them graciously, having been informed in advance of a remarkable carving being brought to the palace that morning. She was small and her face quite plain, her hair drawn back from her face into curls falling from the back of her head, and her gown was of yellow patterned silk. As it had been with the King, she was not alone. There were several ladies present, including Madame de Bordes d’Assigny, a Frenchwoman, who was Queen Catherine’s most favoured lady-in-waiting. At the arrival of John Evelyn and Grinling she had moved to stand by the royal chair.

The carving had been carried in by a footman, who now rested it on a table in order that the queen, seated in her chair, could study it at the right height. Catherine smiled in high approval of the work.

‘It is a very handsome carving, Master Gibbons,’ she said, her Portuguese accent very pronounced, ‘and you have treated the subject matter most powerfully and reverently. I think it is a beautiful masterpiece in itself.’