Free Garlands of Gold by Rosalind Laker Page B

he liked the people and he and Bessie had many good friends. Moreover there were almost none of the sharp divisions of class so prevalent in his own country The Dutch could be formal enough when occasions demanded, but otherwise they had an ease of manner that he much admired. He would have run his household more on Dutch lines if Bessie would have tolerated it, but she never forgot that she had distant aristocratic cousins in England and, figuratively speaking, had taken on their mantle.
    After adjusting his spectacles, the ribbons of which had slipped slightly at the back of his periwig, he dipped his quill pen into the inkwell and carried on with his work.
    When Saskia had a few minutes to spare during the packing for Vrouw Gibbons, which had had to be commenced immediately, she ran to break the news to Nanny Bobbins.
    ‘I’m going to England!’ she exclaimed delightedly, the thought of seeing Grinling again having eliminated all her previous doubts about leaving her own country. ‘Have you heard? Vrouw Gibbons plans to visit her son.’
    ‘Yes, she was here to tell me about it and to see if I have finished the lace collar for one of the new silk gowns that now she will be taking with her. Fortunately I have.’
    ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing him,’ Saskia’s voice throbbed with excitement.
    The old woman regarded her fondly. ‘I’m sure he will be pleased to see you. But you must remember that he is living another life now and, according to his mother, has written about a young woman he admires.’
    ‘I know,’ Saskia answered blissfully. ‘She is the one who inspired the figurehead.’
    Just for a moment the thought crossed the old woman’s mind that Saskia imagined the young woman in question to be herself, but he had been far too long away to have held an image of her in his mind. Unknown to her Saskia was remembering the portrait medallion and her conviction remained unchanged.
    Before departure Vrouw Gibbons gave Saskia strict instructions. ‘We shall talk only in English from the moment we step on board the vessel that will be taking us to England. There you shall speak of me as “Mistress Gibbons” and address me as “madam” in the English way.’
    The crossing of the North Sea to England was quite smooth, but Vrouw Gibbons kept to her bunk in the cabin the whole time, which allowed Saskia to wander freely on board during the day unless needed to produce a lavender-scented handkerchief, a cup of weak tea or to perform some other small task. When they landed in the port of Harwich on a bright sunny morning a four-horse coach, which was Cousin Henrietta’s own equipage, was waiting for them.
    Saskia enjoyed every moment of the journey to London, interested to see that everything was so different from her own country and she marvelled that a stretch of sea could create such a contrast. Instead of a flat horizon there were gentle undulating hills. Although the coach took them across bridges over flowing rivers there were no canals that she could see, and even the thatched roofs in England were all of a yellowish hue whereas those in Holland were as sleek and dark as the fur of a cat. There were windmills, but nothing like the number she was used to seeing at home where sometimes there were as many as six or seven in a row and, according to Mistress Gibbons, the English ones ground corn for flour and were not regulating the water level as so many did at home.
    Nobody wore clogs, although many of the ragged children, who ran begging to the coach whenever it stopped, were barefoot. She thought how the poorest Dutch fathers would carve clogs for their offspring, and that could have been done here, for there were plenty of suitable lumps of wood to be gathered from under the trees that frequently shaded the road to London. In fact everything was as beautifully green here as in the Dutch countryside and people seemed to share the same love of flowers, for even the humblest cottage had some blossoms