Free Garlands of Gold by Rosalind Laker

pleasure.
    The next day the workshop was swept and scrubbed and whitewashed until it no longer held the aroma of wood. But it was not for Saskia, even though Grinling had spoken on her behalf. Instead it became a room for Vrouw Gibbons’ seamstress and assistants when they came to make gowns for her out of her choice of her husband’s latest import of silks and brocades. So Saskia’s small apartment remained the only source of delicate aromas, the scents of rose water and oil of lavender, rosemary and musk wafting pleasantly into the house whenever her door was opened.

Four
    S ix months went by during which Vrouw Gibbons became increasingly ill-tempered and difficult to please. It was very clear both to Saskia and Nanny Bobbins that she was still not getting her own way about a move back home to England. Her husband had obviously dug in his heels, which was understandable in that it was generally known that a great deal of new business had come his way.
    In the meantime Grinling’s letters told that he had established himself in Yorkshire where he had been introduced to a number of important people in the local community, resulting in some commissions. Yet it was not what he wanted on a permanent basis, although it had provided a good insight into English customs and ways. He would soon move on to London where Robert was established already, having bought himself a house with monies invested by his late father before the flight into exile. As architects were in great demand he had plenty of work to keep him busy. He was presently designing an elaborate terrace for a newly built house that had replaced some burned-out property.
    Grinling also mentioned his pleasure in that there were an amazing number of pretty girls in England, which made his mother roll up her eyes and express the hope to his father that he would not be too foolish. By now she had become more or less resigned to her husband’s obstinacy and life in the household had evened out again.
    Occasionally a letter came from Grinling to Nanny Bobbins. Saskia would read it for her as the old woman’s eyesight was deteriorating. Afterwards they would discuss it together, for he would tell what he had been carving and they tried to picture how each piece would look. Every time he sent greetings to Saskia, which made her blush with pleasure.
    She knew that he would have no idea how the short period of knowing him had set a pattern on her life. Although she could have had no shortage of beaux if she had wished it, sometimes having a liking for one or another of the young men that crossed her path, none measured up to the memory she had of Grinling. At least she knew he could not forget her when he had her carved image on the portrait medallion, which she liked to picture hanging on his workshop wall.
    Yet with the passing of time her memory of him might have faded if after being six months away he had not sent his parents a small oil painting of himself that a friend had done for him. It was a remarkable likeness and Saskia, looking into those smiling blue eyes again, felt the same deep pull on her heart.
    He was no longer in York, but had moved to Deptford, which was five miles downriver from London. It was the site of the Royal dockyard where ships for the Royal Navy were built as well as grand and elaborately decorated river-barges for the rich, many of whom lived in the great houses along the banks of the Thames. His work involved decorative carving for the vessels and he had recently finished a figurehead for a great ship that bore the likeness of a young lady he knew well.
    Saskia’s immediate thought was that he was telling her she was his inspiration and she hugged this secret joy to herself. He had written something similar to his mother in a letter that had come at the same time and immediately she drew an entirely different conclusion.
    ‘He has become involved with someone unsuitable!’ she exclaimed in dismay, shaking the letter at her husband, who