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she did several drawings of the house, all of which pleased both Vrouw Gibbons and her husband, he having one framed for his office wall at his business premises.
    As the weeks went by Saskia’s red leather-bound book contained more and more fresh entries as she continued to experiment. Yet she was beginning to know Vrouw Gibbons’ every turn of mood and how to cope when the woman was tired or irritable. Vrouw Gibbons particularly liked a face mask that Saskia had devised from rose petals and was unaware that resting on the bed while it dried did her as much good as the refreshing effect on her features by the mask itself. She was totally unaware that new cosmetic methods were being tried out on her all the time, always with Saskia’s aim for improvement and reliance on pure ingredients. All that mattered to Bessie Gibbons was that she was always well satisfied with her appearance after Saskia’s ministrations.

Two
    A lthough at first Saskia had not been aware that her relationship with her employer had started off on an uncertain footing, she had soon realized as time went by that there was something about her that the Englishwoman resented. Yet she could not think how or why she was failing in some way. Then one day she was enlightened as to the cause by the elderly Dutch nurse, who had stayed on in the house as one of the family after caring for the Gibbons children and then acting as lady’s maid to Bessie Gibbons until her bones had started to creak. That was when, to her relief, Diane had replaced her. The Gibbons children when young had called her Nanny Bobbins, because she was like many of her fellow countrywomen in being an expert lacemaker and whenever she had a spare moment bobbins were forever dancing under her fingers. She was still known by her nickname to everybody in the house.
    Fiercely proud of her birthplace in the province of Nord-Holland, Nanny Bobbins wore a plain starched cap for weekday wear, but always the stiffly starched lace cap of the region for churchgoing and festival days. It had lappets at the side, which were pinned up to give a square silhouette. In a land of beautiful regional caps it was one of the simplest designs, but most becoming, even for Nanny Bobbins’ withered old face, and she was presently making one for Saskia, a friendship having sprung up between them. One of the reasons why Saskia liked going to the nurse’s room, quite apart from her enjoyment of the old woman’s company, was that on display were many of Grinling’s very early pieces of carving from when he was a young boy. She loved looking at them and wished she could have a glimpse of his home workshop, which was a room near the kitchen quarters, but kept locked in his absence.
    Nanny Bobbins’ downstairs accommodation was off one of the many passageways that veined the tall house. She had been moved there from an upstairs room after her unsteady balance had caused her to fall on the stairs. One afternoon Saskia, coming there to mend a petticoat in her company, put down her sewing basket after entering to pick up one of Grinling’s carvings that she particularly admired. It was a full-blown rose so finely fashioned in pale lime wood that there was even a tiny dewdrop on one of the petals. She cupped it in her hands as she studied it anew.
    ‘How does he manage to give wood the fragility of flowers?’ she said in awe.
    ‘That is the young master’s God-given gift,’ the old woman replied, glancing up over her spectacles as Saskia replaced it. ‘But you had better watch out that you don’t get kicked out when he comes home.’ There was a warning note in her voice. ‘His mother might decide to get rid of you if you start praising his work too much to his face. It’s bad enough for Vrouw Gibbons that she has you flitting around her like a summer’s morning while she looks in her mirror and sees the wrinkles deepen and her waist thickening.’
    Saskia retorted indignantly. ‘You’re mistaken! I’ve no