Authors: Rosalind Laker
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General
Garlands of Gold (38 page)
‘Get outside!’ Saskia ordered fiercely. ‘I’m fetching him!’
Alan was a child who was content with his own company and often wandered off from the other children. She found him asleep on the floor in the midst of his farm animals. He opened his eyes wide in surprise as she snatched him up in her arms, but then he smiled, patting her cheek as he recognized her. As she ran with him, making for the stairs, plaster was falling everywhere. A great piece had landed across the flight near the bottom stair, blocking the way, and two of the menservants, who had returned at Elizabeth’s screaming plea, attempted to pull it aside with all their strength, intent on making a space to go past. As soon as Saskia was within range she threw Alan into his mother’s arms. Then as Elizabeth ran with him out of the house she met Grinling, who had come rushing to the scene, white-faced with shock. Then Saskia saw as if in slow motion a whole wall descending between her and liberty, shutting out the light. Her last thought was one of thankfulness that all the children were safe. Then a brick struck her across the head and blackness melted her far away.
For three days and nights the search went on to find her in the rubble. Robert, haggard with grief and loss of sleep, refused to rest, continuing by lamplight all through the long nights. Grinling searched constantly with him, only taking a break when Robert pushed him away. There were plenty of volunteers assisting, but still Saskia’s body could not be found. Now and again Elizabeth came to watch, tears running down her face. Grinling had moved her and the family, including Mary and Prudence for the time being, into temporary accommodation in a furnished house nearby.
It was dawn on the fourth day when Robert, heaving aside a heavy piece of brickwork, saw a gleam of bronze in the dust. It was a strand of Saskia’s hair! Grinling, who had come early to help again, saw how frantically Robert had begun hurling rubble aside.
‘She’s here!’ he shouted as Grinling joined him in his task.
It took time to extract her from the ruins, for she had been wedged under part of the collapsed staircase, which had also saved her from being crushed. As she was lifted free there was a spontaneous cheer from volunteers and spectators alike, but when there appeared to be no life left in her a hush fell and several men removed their hats. But Robert had felt a faint pulse in her neck and in a choked voice he gasped, ‘She is alive!’
Now cheering did break out as Robert carried her across the street to Grinling’s new accommodation where she was laid on a bed. One of the doctors, who also lived on Bow Street, had already arrived to attend her. Both her legs were broken and her face and whole body purple with bruises, but he was most concerned for her dehydration, wanting spoonfuls of water to be given to her constantly.
‘I trust that she will pull through,’ he said gravely to Robert after her limbs had been set in splints and he was about to depart. ‘We have a battle to save her on our hands. I shall call back later.’
Saskia remained unconscious for two more days. Then she opened her eyes just as Grinling, visiting the sickroom, was leaning towards her. A most loving expression suffused her emaciated face as she focused on him.
‘My dear Grinling,’ she whispered before closing her eyes again.
He withdrew instantly, letting Robert take his place, but the swift look they exchanged shared the knowledge each had never mentioned to the other. It was that Saskia had never given quite all her love to the one who had married her. Robert felt no jealousy, for a youthful dream had no substance and what he shared with Saskia had roots that would be lifelong.
Over twenty years had gone by since the Gibbons’ house had collapsed. It was one of several that went down that night, some with fatal casualties, including a passer-by who had been struck down by flying rubble from the Gibbons’ house. But Grinling and Elizabeth never moved from Bow Street, he buying a well-built house on the opposite side of the street, for he liked having his workshop close at hand. Now Robert, celebrating his retirement, was taking Saskia on a grand tour of all she had long wanted to see, their family grown and well established, all married with children.
Saskia had been so happy that they had gone first to France, giving her the chance to view Paris, the city that was her mother’s birthplace. From there they had gone to Holland where they had visited Grinling’s brother, Dinely, and his wife, who were living in his late parents’ home. Saskia had found it strange to be in the old house again and her gaze had lingered on the staircase from which she had first seen Robert staring up at her with his fierce, demanding gaze.
‘It was at that moment I knew I had found the woman I wanted for my wife,’ he had told her once on a wedding anniversary. ‘I could not take my eyes from you.’
She remembered so well. ‘You were staking your claim to me, although I was too naive to realize it at the time.’
‘That is true,’ he had replied with a smile.
From Holland they travelled on to Milan, Rome and Pisa, but lingered for three months in Florence where they had taken an apartment. Now at last they were in Venice and had gone first to see Tintoretto’s great masterpiece of the Crucifixion in the Scoular Grande di San Rocco that had long ago inspired Grinling’s splendid carving. She could imagine how he had stood before it, gazing and gazing as she and Robert had done.
There were other wonderful places to visit, but they had made a return visit to view the masterpiece one afternoon before taking a gondola back to the palace on the Grand Canal where they were staying at the invitation of one of Robert’s retired clients and his wife. A letter from England was waiting for Robert and he broke the seal to open and read it. Immediately his face became grave. Saskia, who had removed her hat, tossed it aside in alarm and darted to him, her first thought for their children.
‘What has happened?’
He lowered the letter and looked at her with great sadness. ‘This letter has been sent by a special messenger to tell us that Grinling died four weeks ago.’
She threw herself into his arms and he held her in their shared grief. Elizabeth had borne him twelve children, but two years ago she had died and the zest had gone from his life. In that same year he had been granted the honour of being appointed Master Carpenter of the King’s Works. Success and rewards had come to him throughout the reigns of Charles II, William and Mary, then Anne, and lastly from the present King George.
As Saskia stood with Robert’s arm still about her shoulders memories swept over her as she reviewed Grinling’s life. He, a young Dutchman, had come to England and made it his home, even though he never lost his strong Dutch accent and had continued to write phonetically all his life, letting others decipher his meaning. Throughout his years he had beautified so many of England’s great houses and palaces as richly as if he had garlanded them with gold. She and Robert had seen him standing with Wren when in the midst of a great gathering of people they had watched the esteemed architect’s son place the Cross at the very top of the great dome of St Paul’s Cathedral as the final act in its rebuilding. Then they had gone into the light-filled, gloriously designed cathedral for a service of Thanksgiving and the choir had sung joyously from the stalls that Grinling had carved so magnificently.
‘It is time for us to go home,’ Saskia said quietly when the letter had been read a second time.
Robert nodded. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow.’
Later in London, when Saskia had come to terms with the loss that she and Robert both suffered, they went to St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden to visit Grinling’s last resting place. She had brought with her a small circular wreath of flowers, such as those he had loved to carve, which was like the gift he had given her of a little looking-glass all those years ago. She laid it by his name.
As she came out into the sunshine again, her hand in the crook of Robert’s arm, she considered once more how Grinling alone had swept decorative wood carving into the realms of high art. She thought it doubtful that his like would ever come again.
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