A Family For Christmas (26 page)

As ever, Amos greeted her enthusiastically the
next morning. There was an array of jars and tubes set out on the table.

‘First we need to know the quantity of each
essence that Monsieur has used in his blend. We make a careful note in this,' he said,
pointing to the notepad alongside.

‘Can't we just remember?' she
asked, eager to get on with the actual task.

He shook his head. ‘It's easy to
forget and sometimes you can get distracted by other things,' he said, gazing at her so
intently her heart leaped. He cleared his throat and pointed to the bottles.

‘Now it is vital we count out the exact
number of drops or the end result will not match Monsieur's sample here.' Amos
tapped the bottle containing the new scent. ‘Pencil at the ready,' he quipped,
filling his pipette from one of the tubes. As he counted out drops from each one she diligently
wrote down the numbers. ‘Right, now we need to study the formula I have written down
here.'

Heads bent close, they competed to see who could
work out the answer first.

‘Twenty,' laughed Eliza.

‘Ah, but you forgot to divide as well and
the answer's 8.51,' Amos pointed out jubilantly, writing it down.

‘Clever clogs,' she giggled, nudging
his arm so that his writing shot across the page.

‘Why, you little minx,' he cried, grabbing her arm
and pulling her closer.

‘So this is how you spend your time in my
absence?' Monsieur Farrant's icy tones cut the air, freezing them into silence.

‘Sorry, Monsieur, we were just working out
the calculation for …' Amos began.

‘I have been observing for some moments so
I know what you have been doing. Eliza, go to your room and spend the rest of the day studying
your notes. We will have the big test first thing tomorrow and I trust you will know all the
answers or …' He left his words hanging in the air.

‘Please, Monsieur Far—' she
began, but he held up his hand and glared until she left the room.

‘Welcome home,' she muttered under
her breath.

Crossing the courtyard from the main house to her
room, she noticed a weak February sun breaking through the clouds and had a sudden yen to walk
round the perfume garden. After that encounter, she needed some fresh air and she was keen to
see what flowers were emerging. Then she remembered Monsieur's glassy glare, his veiled
threat and thought better of it. She hoped Amos wasn't in trouble. Still, she'd find
out what Monsieur had said tomorrow. Knowing her friend, though, he'd be sure to turn it
into a joke.

However, when she entered the laboratory next
morning, there was no sign of Amos. Monsieur Farrant was waiting and she braced herself ready
for him to fire his questions at her. She'd been studying until her candle guttered and
hoped her memory wouldn't fail her.

‘Ah, Mademoiselle Eliza, you are looking très
élégant this morning. How have you been in my absence?'

Eliza blinked, in surprise. ‘I've
been fine, Monsieur, thank you. Studying and working hard. Amos has taught me so much,'
she said, looking around the room in case he was hidden by one of the stills. ‘Is he not
here yet?'

‘Alas, he has gone,' Monsieur Farrant
cried, throwing up his hands in despair.

‘Gone? But he was here
yesterday.'

‘Oui, I come home and he tell me he has got
himself another position. He has left me completely in the lurch. After all I taught him. You
will not leave me, will you?' he beseeched.

‘Er, no, of course not,' she replied.
‘But Amos has been working so hard teaching me how to bottle your new perfumes and many
other things. I can't believe he has just walked out,' she cried, hating the thought
that her dear friend was no longer here.

‘Probably he steal my receipts too,'
Monsieur cried. ‘Dear Eliza, I shall need you more than ever now.'

Her heart sank like a pebble in a pond. How could
she stay here without Amos? The staff ignored her and Monsieur Farrant's mood changes were
impossible. Why, he still hadn't showed her how to make perfume.

‘Monsieur Farrant, I have learned how to
source ingredients, about smell, the origins of perfume and chemistry. Now, Amos has taught me
about blending and the calculations required for bottling perfume, but when can I make some from
scratch?'

‘My dear Eliza, over the next few weeks we
will be working very closely together.' He gave his charming
smile. ‘Without Amos you will become my number two,
non?'

‘So we can make some today, then?'
she persisted.

He sighed. ‘Amos leaving has thrown me into
turmoil. To think he has been plotting and planning to leave behind my back. It is more than I
can bear.'

‘That really doesn't sound like Amos,
Monsieur. He diligently worked on your perfumes whilst you were away.' She was about to
say more but remembered how Amos had insisted she leave him alone in the laboratory. Surely he
hadn't really been planning anything?

Suddenly Monsieur gave a growl, stormed over to
the counter where Amos had worked and tore his notebooks into shreds. Then he yanked open the
drawer and rifled through it. Holding up a little green bottle, he frowned, undid the lid and
inhaled.

‘Traitor,' he cried, marching over to
the sink and pouring out the contents. As the fragrance of heather and sweet peas wafted her
way, Eliza could have wept. So, that was why Amos had wanted her out of the way. The dear man
had been creating that fragrance especially for her, for hadn't he asked what smells she
liked? And hadn't he promised they would celebrate their special days together? Tears
welled, for today was 19 February, her sixteenth birthday, and Amos had gone.

‘To make perfume one must be in the
creative state, not an emotional one,' Monsieur Farrant stated, giving her an unfathomable
look. ‘I have things I must attend to so you will please occupy yourself for the
day.'

‘May I take a walk in the garden?'
she suggested.

He nodded and waved her away.

‘Thank you, Monsieur,' she said, snatching up the
little green bottle and secreting it in her pocket.

Although the garden was her favourite place,
Eliza hardly noticed the perfume wafting from the daffodils, narcissus and grape hyacinths,
their vibrant colours a stark contrast to her dark thoughts.

She couldn't believe Amos would have left
without telling her. It didn't make sense. He'd been so excited about Monsieur
Farrant's new perfumes and happy to share all he'd learned with her. Surely if
he'd found a new position, he would have said something? And, if he knew he wasn't
going to be here today why hadn't he given her that perfume before he left?

Eliza knew she couldn't leave things
hanging in the air like this. She'd go to his lodgings and find out what had really
happened. Although she didn't know the address, Mimi did. But the maid was forbidden to
speak to her. It was hopeless, she thought, stamping her feet so that red-hot pain shot through
her twisted one.

‘Happy birthday, Eliza,' she
muttered, thinking back to last year when Fay had given her the little picture she'd
painted and Duncan had repaired her grampy's box. Even Rose had iced her name in wobbly
letters on her cake. Well, there wouldn't be one this year for, along with the other
staff, Cook ignored her completely.

Preoccupied by her thoughts, she'd paid
little attention to where she was going and found herself standing beside the hothouse where
Dawkins was working. She waved, but he studiously bent over his plants. Sighing, she continued
her walk and after a while the outline of the other outhouse loomed before her. Remembering
Monsieur
Farrant's orders, she turned to
retrace her steps. A man's raucous laughter stopped her in her tracks. Then,
Monsieur's gleeful voice carried clearly on the breeze.

‘Don't worry, nobody ever comes down
here and if they did they'd be dead meat.'

A muffled reply was followed by more guttural
laughter.

Eliza shivered and fled to her room.

‘Good morning, Mademoiselle,'
Monsieur Farrant greeted Eliza the next day. She'd spent a sleepless night mulling things
over, eventually coming to the conclusion that she could no longer stay.

‘Monsieur Farrant …' she began
but he held up his hand.

‘I have the most wonderful surprise for
you, Eliza,' he said, smiling effusively. ‘Monsieur Farrant, he think it is high
time he teach his star pupil how to make the perfume, non?'

‘Oh,' she said, all thought of
leaving evaporating like scent in an open bottle.

‘As you know, I have already made my
perfumes for this season. That is good for the people who wish to call into the perfumery and
buy from the shelf, as it were. Monsieur Farrant, he has such a good reputation they trust his
judgement, non?'

Eliza stared at the smirking man all plumped up
with his own importance, and nearly laughed out loud.

‘However, the real satisfaction comes from
creating a fragrance to a client's specific requirements. Before you can begin, though,
you need to ask some questions, non?'

‘Indeed, Monsieur,' she replied,
thinking of the little green bottle she'd hidden in her grampy's box. Having asked
what she liked, Amos had cleverly created a smell that encapsulated the very essence of the
moors.

‘Your thoughts are elsewhere, Mademoiselle?' Farrant
asked, frowning. She shook her head. ‘Well in that case, perhaps you can tell me what
questions you would ask the client?'

‘First I'd ask them what things they
like. Then, how they want the perfume to smell, whether it is to be worn for daytime or evening
and, probably more importantly, what they don't like,' she said.

‘What they don't like?' he
asked, arching an immaculate eyebrow.

‘Yes, that's really important,
isn't it? I mean, if you don't like the smell of someone you could never mar
…' Realizing what she was about to say, she stumbled to a halt. Monsieur Farrant
grinned and leaned closer, his own peculiar scent wafting her way.

‘Luckily, we will not have that trouble,
non?' Before she had time to answer, he pointed to one of the stills. ‘In there I
have already placed the geraniums, or cranesbills as they are sometimes known.'

‘Why cranesbills?' she asked,
fascinated despite his close proximity.

He picked up a flower and held it out to her.
‘See, these little black seed heads here, they resemble the bill of the crane, non?'
Never having seen a crane, Eliza had to take his word for it, but she nodded anyway. Monsieur
Farrant lined up a collection of bottles on the counter in front of them.

‘Before we begin blending we take this
geranium oil and smell deeply of its aroma.' Eliza looked over at the still. Following her
glance, Monsieur Farrant frowned. ‘Time, it is money, Mademoiselle, and we cannot just sit
here like the tailor's dummies while the
apparatus does its work. We will be using that distillation another time, non?'

Eliza stared at him in surprise. How many flowers
did he have?

‘Although it will be reminiscent of its
originating material, the extraction process may have captured a different layer of its scent.
No two distillations will ever be the same, Eliza, you need to remember that. Now, tell me, what
do we mean by blending?'

Eliza frowned, trying to recall his notes
precisely. ‘Blending is the building-up of a scent drop by drop. You choose what you wish
to use for the notes, top, middle and base, and harmonize until they become a symphony,'
she said.

‘That is very good,' Monsieur Farrant
grinned. ‘The perfumer, however, he uses his experience and passion too. He listens to his
heart, smells with his nose then mixes the ingredients and sees how they react together,
non?'

‘Yes, that is it exactly,' she
agreed.

Monsieur wagged his finger. ‘But the Master
Perfumer, he adds another thing. He sprinkles in the je ne sais quoi, non?'

Eliza stared at the bottles in front of them.
‘Which one is that?' she asked.

To her surprise he rocked with mirth, laughing so
much he nearly fell off his stool. ‘Oh, Eliza, you are very sweet and innocent. We will
make a good couple, non?'

‘We will make good perfume together,'
she said, quickly changing the subject.

‘Ah, ma petite, you are so keen to please
me, non?'

She smiled as sweetly as she could manage. ‘So what are you
going to use with the geranium?'

‘The client in question, she is wishing a
perfume for the evening so it needs to be enticing and long-lasting. First we will try
this.' Eliza watched as he took his pipette and counted drops of bergamot into a
tube-shaped container, jotting down the figure on his notepad beside him. ‘Always write
down what you use as you go along. You think you will remember but it is easy to get absorbed in
the process. To find you have created a fine fragrance but cannot recreate it because you
don't know the exact proportions of each component you used would be frustrating, non? It
is no good composing the symphony if you cannot perform the encore, oui?' She bit down a
sigh, remembering Amos telling her the selfsame thing.

Unaware of her turmoil, Monsieur showed her how
to blend the different oils he'd selected for his fragrance then lined up more bottles in
front of her.

‘Now you have a go,' he said.

Her spirits lifted but it wasn't nearly as
easy as he'd made it look. Time after time she tried mixing the oils in varying
proportions, only for him inhale, grimace and shake his head.

Eliza worked hard and it was only the blossoming
flowers that made her realize spring had turned to early summer. As Monsieur continued to impart
his wisdom, Eliza concentrated, trying to absorb all the information as well as meeting his
meticulous standards. Although she missed Amos terribly, she couldn't deny she was
benefiting from the undivided attention. As her nose became attuned to
which smells worked well together and in what quantities, her art
of blending improved.

She was fascinated by the use of fixatives such
as ambergris from the sperm whale, civet from the cat, castoreum from the beaver and musk from
the male deer. All of these added their own particular fragrant element as well as making the
scent last.

Encouraged by Monsieur Farrant to clear her nose,
she took to taking a stroll around the perfume garden at lunch time and in the late afternoons.
Always hidden in her pocket was the little black bottle and whenever she could, she would
compare its evocative smell to that of the flowers.

‘Remember not to go further than the
hothouse, Eliza,' Farrant repeatedly warned, green eyes boring into her so that she
wondered if he knew of her earlier visit to the forbidden building at the bottom of the
garden.

‘Of course, Monsieur. Now that I have
learned how to make perfume, may I have Fay's address?' she asked, for her
conscience had been pricking her.

‘Ah, ma petite, always you worry. As your
tutor and intended, I have taken it upon myself to keep your guardian up to date on our
progress.'

‘You mean you've told her you intend
to mar …' She stuttered to a halt, unwilling to voice the word.

‘Marry? Non. It would be incorrect to do so
without formally asking her permission. I tell her you have the makings of the fine perfumer,
with a little more tuition from the Master, of course.' As he puffed out his chest, she
shook her head at his own sense of importance. Still, if he'd already written to Fay
letting her know how she was doing then that was good, for even after all this time
the fact the woman had wanted her gone from the
hobble still hurt and she would find it hard to put pen to paper.

If it hadn't been for Monsieur's
insistence that they promenade around the town each Sunday, Eliza would have been almost happy.
Whilst he maintained strict professionalism in the laboratory, as soon as she climbed into his
carriage he snapped into solicitous-follower mode, which made her cringe. Finally, she could
bear it no longer.

‘I know you are a busy man, Monsieur, so if
you didn't wish to waste your valuable time on these outings, I would understand,'
she said. There was a pause whilst he smiled and waved grandly to a little group gathered on the
corner. Once he was sure they'd seen him, he leaned forward, almost overpowering her with
his scent.

‘We are not in the laboratory now so it is
Charles, non? Eliza, you have the makings of a fine wife.'

She gulped. ‘I do?'

‘Oui. Alas, though, you will have to be
patient for tomorrow I leave for France,' he announced.

Mistaking her sigh of relief, he smiled and took
her hand. ‘I know you will miss me, ma petite. Remember I told you exciting things were
happing in the perfume world? Well, a French parfumier has now perfected the use of a synthetic
substance that will revolutionize the way we make perfume. Can you imagine every batch smelling
the same? I simply have to go and find out more about this, for Monsieur Farrant cannot afford
to get behind the times, non?'

But Eliza hardly heard. Her heart was soaring at
the news that he was going away.

‘How long will you be in France?' she
asked.

‘Ah, you are upset we part, non? Although I lock the
perfumery, you can access the laboratory and perfume garden.'

‘Does that mean I can pick any of the
flowers and try the still myself?' she asked, thinking of the little black bottle.

‘Mais
oui
.
You can gather
the flowers from wherever you wish. Just remember what I said about not going past the hothouse,
yes?' She nodded. ‘Monsieur has more notes for you to study so you will not have
time to pine for him.'

She smiled sweetly. Freedom beckoned and she
intended to make the most of it.

‘Now your appearance, it needs updating. I
will have Mrs Buttons call and measure you for some new outfits. Those are …' He
wrinkled his nose and she smiled.

It was true her dresses had become tighter as
she'd filled out. She'd also grown taller and more of her boots were on show, which,
from the way he was frowning down at her feet, evidently displeased him intensely.

‘You are a fine-looking woman, Eliza, but
if you are to be my wife you need to have more class, more finesse. I shall add in my note to
the sewing lady that you also require hats and trimmings, oui?'

More finesse indeed. Just the notion made Eliza
cringe, but the thought of seeing that motherly lady again outweighed his petty niggles.

‘That would be most kind, Mons—
Charles,' she amended. ‘I wonder if she'll be able to have them ready for when
you return,' she said, trying another ploy to discover how long he'd be away.

‘There will be plenty of time for that, ma petite. Alas,
this mission may necessitate my being away for some time.' Her heart soared even higher
only to plummet when he added, ‘However, do not distress yourself. As soon as I return, we
will begin making plans for our future, non?'

‘Look, I really feel it's time we
…' she began, but he was already striding away. As soon as he returned from France,
she'd have it out with him, for this charade had gone on for too long and he must be made
to realize she had no intention of marrying him.

That evening, beside herself with excitement, she
felt too restless to stay in her room. Having eaten the supper that had been left for her, she
took herself out to the perfume garden. It was a beautiful evening and the scent from the
flowers was intoxicating, though she still couldn't match any of them to the black bottle.
She decided to widen her search using Monsieur's absence to explore the nearby fields. The
chiming from the church clock roused her from her reverie, reminding her it was time she was in
her room. Running back across the courtyard, she heard the sound of men's laughter
drifting down from an open window. Looking up, she saw Monsieur Farrant making merry with a
group of lads. Obviously he was having a party before he left.

Next morning, Eliza woke with a sense of
anticipation. This turned to delight when she heard the crunch of carriage wheels on the drive
and knew Monsieur Farrant was leaving. Looking out of the window, she saw the sun was cracking
the flags, as her grampy used to say, and hurriedly dressed in her work clothes. She would have
preferred to wear her cotton skirt and top but was worried the staff
might report back to Monsieur when he returned. Although they
didn't bother her these days, she'd heard them gossiping about her having come here
to snare the boss and make a good marriage. Then they'd lowered their voices and
she'd been unable to make out what else they were saying. She just heard the loud guffaws
that ensued shortly afterwards.