Garlands of Gold (2 page)

‘Yes, of course. Vrouw van Beek has kindly offered to pack up your belongings and we can send for them tomorrow. Now put on your clogs without any more delay.’

Taking off her indoor shoes, Saskia thrust them into the pocket of her cloak and turned to the rack by the door where she had left her clogs earlier in the day. She had been taught from a young age that no considerate person wore footwear indoors that would soil floors and when she was washing the tiles she was glad of it. Impulsively she turned and flung her arms about her foster mother in a loving hug. When she was a toddler she had begun to call the woman
Mama
, thinking she had two mothers, one of whom tucked her into bed at night, told her stories and sang to her, and also one whom she rarely saw and was usually irritable. But Diane, ever possessive, had soon put a stop to that, not knowing that the bond remained.

‘I’ll be back to see you whenever I can, dear Foster Mother!’ Saskia declared emotionally, suddenly feeling wrenched apart by this unexpected break with the woman and her childhood home that were both dear to her. ‘I’ll still dress your hair when I come and buff your fingernails till they shine just as you like them.’

Cornelia van Beek doubted that Diane would allow it now she was getting the girl under her complete control at last. Yet the woman was ill, which was why after many requests her employer was finally allowing her to have her daughter’s assistance. Nobody could begrudge the unfortunate Frenchwoman that blessing.

‘We’ll have to wait and see what spare time you have,’ she answered. There were tears in her eyes at this abrupt parting from the child whom she had long since come to think of as her own. How empty the house was going to be without her lively presence. ‘From what your mother has told me in the past,’ she continued, ‘I believe Vrouw Gibbons to be a very demanding English lady. You may find yourself running after her all the time with not a minute to spare.’

‘I’ll always find time to come back and see you!’

Diane had struggled to her feet. ‘We must go now,’ she insisted. ‘Come, Saskia.’

Cornelia van Beek cupped the girl’s face in both hands and kissed her on the brow. ‘Farewell, dear child. May life ever be good to you.’

After a final embrace Saskia turned to her mother, giving her a supporting arm, and together they bowed their hooded heads against the driving rain as they left the house. Cornelia van Beek stood in the candlelit doorway to watch them go, tears running down her face as fast as she dried them away with the edge of her apron. She had known the parting would come one day, but had never anticipated that it would be so abrupt. There would be the promised visits from the girl from time to time, but nothing would ever be the same again. She returned Saskia’s last wave before they turned a corner out of sight.

More than once on their way, in spite of the shortage of time, Diane drew her daughter into the shelter of a doorway or under a lintel, needing a short rest before carrying on again. As she began gasping for breath, leaning her weight on her daughter’s arm, Saskia became even more concerned.

‘I can see that you are far from well, Mama,’ Saskia said anxiously. ‘Vrouw Gibbons has been working you too hard, but from now on you’ll have me to take on all the tedious chores.’

Diane nodded, but could not speak.

As they continued slowly on their way they met a section of the Night Watch marching along to take up their posts of duty. They maintained law and order in the city, which was like any other in having its full share of crime. Saskia found the fully armed and disciplined men a comforting sight, for no villain would dare to appear while they were in the vicinity.

Soon the Gibbons’ seven-storied house came into sight. Built of red brick with sandstone ornamentation, it had an imposing entrance with twin flights of steps leading from the street, the handrails delicately fashioned. Yet it was no wider than the average Dutch house as it stood nudging sides with its neighbours, for the old tax on the width of a building was restrictive. Yet Saskia knew that just as with Vrouw van Beek’s home and most others it would be a labyrinth of rooms, some of them mezzanine, and would stretch back deeply to a courtyard or a garden at its rear. She also knew from all she had been told that Heer James Gibbons, a draper, and his wife, Bessie, were originally from England and he had become extremely prosperous dealing in exotic silks imported by the East India Company. They had three children, a married daughter and an elder son, both of whom lived away, and a younger son with the unusual Christian name of Grinling, which had been his mother’s maiden name.

Grinling was born in Holland and when he had shown no inclination to follow his father into the drapery business his exceptional skill at carving had resulted in his being apprenticed in Amsterdam to the renowned sculptor and woodcarver, Artus Quellen, who was responsible for statues and other grand decoration of the Town Hall presently being built there. Then, his apprenticeship at an end, Grinling had set off on a trip to Italy accompanied by a friend, who had been a fellow apprentice in Amsterdam, but had trained to be an architect. With them, as was customary, was a middle-aged tutor, whose duties included instructing them in the arts, taking them to see all the important historical sights and, most importantly, keeping them out of trouble.

‘Follow me,’ Diane said, going ahead down a narrow paved passageway incorporated into the side of the house to reach a doorway. There they entered a small hall where they changed their footwear, Saskia putting on her indoor shoes again. A delicious aroma of meat roasting on a spit drifted from the kitchen, but Diane turned instead to a flight of narrow stairs.

‘Avoid going through the kitchen whenever you can,’ she advised, holding on to the newel post while attempting to regain her breath and gather some strength before mounting the flight. ‘There is always such a hot, greasy atmosphere when cooking is taking place and the smell can cling to your clothes. You must also remember that as a lady’s maid you are a step above all the rest of the staff, even the housekeeper, because you alone will be privy to my lady’s secrets in this or any other house in which you are employed.’

Saskia nodded. She had been instructed in all these matters by her mother many times before and had them written down in the early pages of her red leather book. She could only suppose that her memory was being refreshed now that all she had been taught was about to be put into practice at last. Putting her arm about her mother’s waist Saskia supported her as they made slow progress up the stairs.

On the second floor Diane had her own small parlour and adjoining it was a bedchamber where a truckle bed had already been placed at the foot of her four-poster bed. It was there that her daughter would sleep. She sank down on to a chair to rest until she could draw breath again more easily and resume her responsibilities once more.

Saskia was dazzled by everything in her mother’s abode, for it was the first time she had ever been there. She began examining it all with delight. There were some pretty little ornaments and the chairs, although worn, were upholstered in yellow silk while the bed-drapery, far from new, was wonderfully woven with a pattern of flowers and trimmed with gilt tassels. On a side table was her mother’s Spanish strongbox, which she knew had been a gift from her Dutch father to Diane in the early days of their love affair. It was finely designed and had an intricate lock. Saskia supposed that he had picked it up somewhere on his travels. Without doubt her mother had expected it to hold love letters, but those never came. She had never seen it open, but supposed that Diane kept her savings in it. Fascinated, she traced her finger along the curlicues of its border pattern.

Then Diane ended abruptly her daughter’s exploration of the room. ‘Take off that damp cap now and tidy your hair,’ she said sharply, rising to her feet. ‘I’ll find another one for you and also an apron to wear.’

The apron and the cap were both lace-edged and the girl felt as elegant as any lady as she regarded herself in a mirror. Diane had changed out of her mud-splashed skirts and also replaced her rain-soaked cap with a fresh one of linen that she had taken from a drawer. Now she looked her daughter critically up and down before giving a brusque nod.

‘You’ll do for now,’ she said crisply, always sparing with praise. ‘Remember that you must address our employer as
Mevrouw
Gibbons at all times.’

Turning abruptly on her heel, she led the way out of the room.

It was only a short distance along a corridor to Vrouw Gibbons’ boudoir and there they entered into a flow of candlelight.

A mildly pretty woman in her late forties, her face bare of any cosmetics at the present time, was seated in readiness at her toilet-table, a silk robe over her petticoats, and her hair already unpinned. As an infant she had been baptized Elizabeth, but her late father had always called her Bessie and that pet name had stayed with her. As an adult she liked to think she had the same regal grace as England’s good Queen Bess, who had reigned in England over a century ago, although she knew from the portraits she had seen of the royal lady that she herself was far more comely.

With some surprise she viewed Saskia’s reflection in her oval mirror, not having expected to see a girl on the brink of beauty. Diane’s daughter was taller than average with a narrow waist, a taut and well-shaped young bosom, thick-lashed green eyes that were bright and sparkling, the cheekbones high and the chin determined, all with a vivacious look about her. She also had a creamy complexion and showing under the cap was gleaming hair full of reddish-gold lights that any woman would envy. Her mouth, full-lipped and well shaped, hinted at a passionate nature. Bessie Gibbons hoped it would not mean tantrums or, much worse, prove attractive to Grinling when he came home again from his travels. Young men were so susceptible and, from what she had observed, he was no different from all the rest. Neither was his English friend, Robert Harting, who was presently travelling with him.

‘Good evening, Saskia,’ she said in Dutch, inclining her head. ‘So you are going to do your best to please me at all times.’

Saskia bobbed a curtsy. ‘Yes,
mevrouw
,’ she replied.

‘Now I know that you and your mother speak French when you are together,’ Vrouw Gibbons continued, ‘but here in this house we speak only Dutch. My husband, Heer Gibbons, has always considered it our duty to be true Dutch citizens in every way ever since he and I made Holland our home not long after we were married.’ Her voice flattened tonelessly. ‘Perhaps never to return permanently to our roots.’

Saskia’s immediate thought was that this Englishwoman suffered from bouts of homesickness, although Holland had been her place of abode for many years and she had even lived for some time with her English parents in Amsterdam before marrying James Gibbons. Yet for Saskia it was easy to recognize the signs, for there were times when she had seen Diane suffering despairing bouts of yearning for her homeland. Vrouw Gibbons obviously needed cheering up and nothing pleased a woman more than a complete change of coiffure that suited her. In her notebook Saskia had made many little drawings of coiffures that she had tried on herself as well as on Vrouw van Beek, all of them her own original variations on the current mode of a wide look to a coiffure with the back of the neck left exposed.

‘I know how my mother usually dresses your hair,
mevrouw
, but if you would allow me,’ she said, ignoring an anxious gesture from Diane, ‘I should like to give you a completely new hairstyle this evening, but one that is also in fashion.’

The woman raised her eyebrows, taken aback by this show of initiative, but intrigued at the same time. ‘Very well. But remember it is not for a grand occasion. Heer Gibbons and I are just dining at home with two close friends. Now let me see how you can apply cosmetics discreetly.’

All the little pots and powders needed were lined up on the toilet table in front of her. Saskia knew them all, for she had mixed the contents herself. Immediately she began to work, applying a delicate amount of cream to the woman’s upturned face. Then a little colour was added to her fair eyebrows and lashes, followed by the softest bloom to her cheeks and a rosy hue to her lips. Finally powder was carefully applied, being pressed to her face by a pad without clouds of it flying about in the air. Now it was time for the woman’s hair to be dressed.

Vrouw Gibbons indicated a wooden box that was on the toilet table. ‘Some of my daily hair combs and ornaments are in there. Use whatever you need.’

Saskia paused before lifting the lid. It was exquisitely carved with a design of cherubs and ribbons, unlike anything she had ever seen before. ‘This is beautiful!’ she exclaimed, forgetting the golden rule never to comment on an employer’s possessions without invitation.

‘That is one of my son’s apprentice pieces,’ Vrouw Gibbons said casually, her thoughts centred on herself and her appearance at the present time, and then added almost automatically, ‘He is extremely talented.’

‘Yes, indeed! How proud you must be of him,
mevrouw
! These carved ribbons are so delicate that it looks as though the bows could be untied.’ Then Saskia heard her mother’s warning little cough in the background, reminding her not to make any more such comments. Hastily she raised the lid of the velvet lined box and took stock of the contents. Then she set to work, brushing the woman’s hair until it fell smoothly down her back. Carefully she divided the hair into three strands, twisting the centre one into a coil high on the back of the woman’s head, exposing her neck as was fashionable. Then, taking two strings of tiny glass beads from the box, she began arranging the side hair into short loops layered over the ears, intertwining the beads at the same time. She worked swiftly and silently while watched by Vrouw Gibbons in the mirror and by her mother from a chair at the back of the room. When she had fastened the loops invisibly with a skilful use of hairpins the result was both charming and flattering with the necessary width to the coiffure and a discreet sparkle from the beads.