Garlands of Gold (18 page)

Grinling had recommended a potter, named Rufus, who was a young man with a small pottery of his own and was as ambitious as Saskia was herself. He was eager to make the containers she would need, each well glazed with a simple and colourful design, for she intended to keep the pretty little pots in the chest for a more expensive range later on. Meanwhile she was having a display stall made for the roadside with a green and white striped canvas awning that would give shade on sunny days as well as protection from the rain when the weather changed. It had all been a severe drain on her savings, but she considered it to be a sound investment.

She was busy mixing a carmine rouge when there came a hearty knock on the door. Expecting to see Rufus with the first delivery of his pots, she opened it wide to find Robert looming in front of her, seeming to fill the narrow doorway.

‘I’ve come to wish you well with your new venture,’ he announced.

‘That is very kind of you, Master Harting,’ she replied, wishing he had not come.

‘I’m sure you are very busy,’ he said, seeing she was wiping her pink-stained fingers with a cloth, ‘but I trust you can spare me five minutes.’

‘Yes, of course,’ she replied as politeness demanded.

Then, as he entered, he produced from behind his back a nosegay set in lace and tied with flowing ribbons, which he presented to her. In his other hand he held a bottle and she recognized it as being that of a very special French wine known as champagne, although she had never tasted it.

She inhaled the perfume of the blossoms. ‘These are lovely flowers,’ she said appreciatively, not denying him the thanks he deserved. ‘I’ll get a jar to put them in.’

As she went into the kitchen to take a glass jar from a shelf he followed her, glancing around.

‘Everything looks very different from the last time I was here,’ he commented, clearly taking a professional interest in the renovations that had been carried out.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Remember that Grinling used it solely as a workshop, but now it is my home.’ Taking a ladle from a hook on the wall, she scooped some water from a bucket into the jar and put the nosegay in it, thinking how beautiful it looked. Then she saw that he was about to open the champagne. ‘I haven’t any wine glasses.’

‘That’s not important today. It is the occasion that matters.’

She produced two of the thick glasses that she did possess. He took them from her and she carried the nosegay into the main room where she set it down on the cupboard and arranged its pastel-hued ribbons around the base of the jar. Then she turned to watch Robert pour the sparkling wine. It was like liquid sunshine.

‘My mother told me once that it is a royal wine in France,’ she said, taking a glass from him as she settled herself in one of the chairs, ‘because King Louis XIV never drinks anything else.’

‘Clearly a man of excellent taste,’ Robert replied easily, still standing. ‘As a matter of fact I bought this champagne when I was in France a while ago and I’ve been keeping it for a special occasion.’

‘You were there?’ she exclaimed, unaware that there was a note of yearning in her voice, for she had always wanted to visit the land of her mother’s birth.

‘Yes, I’ll tell you why in a moment, but first we must have a toast.’ He held his glass out towards her. ‘May success be yours.’

‘I echo that toast to you in return,’ she replied, inclining her head as he sat down opposite her, crossing one long leg over the other. As she sipped the champagne it ran golden down her throat. Momentarily she closed her eyes blissfully. ‘No wonder the Sun King enjoys this wine so much.’

‘When do you intend to start selling your wares?’ he asked.

‘Next Saturday and I shall be ready at dawn, because that is one of the busiest days for traffic into town. Market days are always busy too, but nobody would have time to look at my stall in the early morning. I know from the time when I was sketching here that the farm women and girls are usually in charge of geese or goats or helping their men with cows or sheep and having no time to think of anything else. There would be no trade either with the women selling butter and eggs and other home produce, because they ride by in wagons, all wanting to get to market ahead of their competitors.’

‘But they will return by the same route with money in their pockets from the sales they have made,’ he said with amusement, foreseeing her strategy.

She gave a nod, her eyes dancing. ‘That is when I shall have my stall displaying its full glory for them. My two chairs set by the stall will tempt those who are wearied to rest as they choose from my products.’

He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Where did you learn to be such an astute saleswoman?’

She laughed. ‘I grew up in a houseful of women, which taught me a great deal. I know that every female, whatever her age or circumstances, wishes to look younger or more beautiful and most of them want to be more attractive to the opposite sex. Even the loveliest of women can be discontented with their appearance, aiming always for an even higher level of beauty.’ She watched as he topped up her glass and then his own. ‘Now tell me why you were in France.’

He was pleased with the effect that the champagne was having on her, because for the first time that deep-rooted hostility towards him was melting away from the violet depths of her very expressive eyes.

‘You will remember that Grinling and I have both been involved in work for the actor, Thomas Betterton, in the building of his new London theatre?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Naturally Thomas Betterton wants his playhouse to be the best in London, although personally I doubt that it will ever rival Drury Lane Theatre. Nevertheless his playhouse is going to be the most advanced in its productions and the most innovative. For the first time in this country there is to be movable scenery instead of tapestry backcloths that are normally used. Some while ago the King heard about one of the theatres in Paris where this new kind of scenery had been successfully installed. Always interested in anything to do with the stage, he discussed it with Thomas Betterton, who took me with him to look into the mechanics of this movable scenery.’

She regarded him in amazement. ‘If the scenery can be changed constantly it will make any production more realistic.’

‘That’s right. A scene can switch from a forest to a palace or to any other setting required in a matter of minutes. Actors can enter or exit through side settings known as
slats
. I have enjoyed overcoming some minor matters in ensuring that everything can be moved swiftly and easily. Meanwhile Grinling has finished the decorative carvings for the proscenium arch as well as some other decoration and that is now all in place.’

‘I remember him telling me about it,’ she said quietly.

He topped up her glass again. ‘You promised some time ago that you would let me take you to the opening night and I said you should have the next best seat to the King’s.’

‘Is that invitation still valid?’ she asked with a boldness that she later blamed on the champagne.

‘Indeed it is! I shall come for you next Saturday and you will get your chance to see the King as well as the play.’

‘Then I shall postpone the opening of my stall until the next market day,’ she said eagerly. ‘I don’t want to put off customers by closing early when they are still prepared to buy.’

‘That is sensible.’

‘What is the play called?’

‘
The Empress of Morocco
.’

Robert left soon afterwards and she returned to her interrupted work, but she felt a little dizzy from the champagne and soon abandoned her task. Instead she went upstairs to decide which of her two silk gowns she should wear for such a grand occasion. Having made her choice, she decided she would also wear her mother’s ruby pendant, which she kept for special occasions in its original place in the Spanish strongbox.

Then there came a knocking again on the door downstairs before it was opened.

‘You here, Mistress Marchand?’ a young man’s voice called. It was Rufus with his pots.

‘Yes!’ she answered, tidying a strand of hair as she came downstairs. A tall, thin young man with shoulder-length straw-coloured hair greeted her with a grin.

‘Good day, mistress. I’m here with the first lot of pots as promised.’

She looked in the box he had set down on the table. ‘These are splendid!’ she exclaimed, taking up one and then another.

‘You like the colours?’ he inquired anxiously.

‘Yes! They could not be better. When shall you deliver again?’

‘At the end of the week.’

‘Good.’ She fetched her purse and paid him.

After he had gone she washed every pot, not because they were not clean, but because she was always fastidious in preparing her products.

She went through the same procedure two days later when a glass merchant delivered the little bottles she had ordered for her rose waters and perfumes. He had a well-stocked shop and was willing to let her have as many as she wanted at a discount.

When the day came for the visit to the Dorset Garden Theatre Saskia’s feelings were mixed. She was looking forward immensely to the play and to seeing Grinling’s work, but it was almost certain that he would be there with Elizabeth and she had not seen them since their wedding day.

Robert came for her in a coach. It was a recent purchase with a pair of fine horses and his coachman was in grey livery. It was indicative of his rising financial status as a result of the increasing demand for his work. Yet privately he was not satisfied. He wanted commissions from Wren, who could give him the kind of work that would allow him to give full vent to his imagination and his skills. But that pious gentleman still considered him too wild a fellow to be taken seriously. At a recent social gathering Wren had tapped him on the shoulder and given him some solemn advice. ‘You need a good wife to steady your ways, Robert. Come and see me when you have achieved that goal.’

Now, as Saskia came out of her cottage, wearing a sea-green gown, a lace shawl about her shoulders and the glow of a ruby pendant at her cleavage, he knew very well whom he would marry if it were possible, but she was still lost in a girlish infatuation with Grinling.

They chatted easily all the way into the city, she wanting to know which of his scenery designs had pleased him best and how the actors and actresses had taken to such an innovation. In turn he asked her how she was progressing in building up her stock and she also told him of the advance orders she had already received and that she believed Mistress Henrietta had forgiven her for leaving to start work on her own.

‘How do you know that?’ he asked with interest.

‘Because she sent her personal maid to ask me to continue making for her all the preparations that had suited her so well.’

Saskia did not add what an unpleasant interview that had been. Martha had been in a savage rage in her humiliation at the errand she had been given and had flounced in and out of the cottage, slamming the door after her with such force that Saskia had feared for its hinges. But she did not want to think of that this evening. Ahead of her lay some exciting hours and now she had fully prepared herself for seeing Grinling again, determined that Elizabeth should never suspect her feelings for him.

There was a large crowd streaming into the theatre when she and Robert arrived, but a footman had been instructed to watch out for them and they were escorted to their box, she glancing at the carved cornices and the abundance of ornamentation that was surely from Grinling’s hand. As they entered their box Saskia saw at once that Robert had kept the promise he had made that day in the coffee house, for the garlands of fresh flowers decorating the neighbouring box showed that it was for the King. She turned to him excitedly.

‘Thank you, Robert!’ She did not realize that it was the first time she had ever used his Christian name, but he noted it while at the same time realizing that it was only a very small step forward in their relationship.

She sat down in the chair that the footman had placed for her and studied the carved, highly gilded proscenium arch that she knew to be Grinling’s work. A pair of bare-breasted goddesses, representing comedy and tragedy, held back looped drapery to reveal a central armorial shield flanked by cherubs and all surrounded by flowers, foliage and fruit. She saw that it was not his best work, with none of his delicate carving, but it was perfect for a theatre and gave dramatic pleasure to the eye.

She looked down into the auditorium, the buzz of voices rising like a cloud. The seats were filling up very quickly and there was a brilliant sparkle from the jewels worn by both men and women. In the cheaper seats the noise was quite raucous and when the King suddenly appeared in the Royal box the cheer that came from that quarter drowned the applause from the rest of the audience rising to its feet to honour his presence.

He was not alone, having several people with him, including one of his beautiful mistresses with a fine white bosom rising from her low-cut gown. Saskia had a splendid view of him, for the wall between the boxes was low, and she stood applauding him enthusiastically. She had long admired him for his mercy towards his treacherous enemies when he had returned home from exile. He had pardoned all of them, only signing a death certificate for each of those responsible for the beheading of his father.