Part 13 (2/2)
”I try always to be prepared, ma'am.”
The exchange was a familiar little ritual that had evolved over the years.
Neeltje was in her forties, plain-featured with fading fair hair, always neat and spotless in her starched cap and ap.r.o.n, with large peasant hands that could be gentle when nursing and strong in supporting the frailness of an invalid when slow steps had to be taken from one room to another. She was a wonderful companion in every way and often Amalia would talk to her of days gone by and of her first husband, Stepha.n.u.s, although Neeltje had never known him. Friends did occasionally mention him when on their own with her, but she had been widowed five years before marrying Ludolf and that had been over a decade ago.
It had been an arranged marriage with Stepha.n.u.s, a widower and thrice her age, she only fifteen on her wedding day, but he had been good and kind. She had grown to love him, but it had not been love of the heady, romantic kind. That had pa.s.sed her by entirely. Maybe that was why she had lost her head and allowed herself to be swept out of lonely widowhood by Ludolf, who had flattered her and wooed her and seduced her into marriage. Trusted friends had warned her, saying that nothing was known about this stranger who had been a sleeping partner in an admittedly reputable s.h.i.+p-brokering business and had only just made an appearance. She had replied that it was the death of his partner that had brought him home to Amsterdam from his travels securing business overseas. Why was it, then, they had countered, that n.o.body of their acquaintance in such circles knew of him? She had pointed out lightheartedly that the world was wide and Ludolf had confided to her that he made the best deals through quiet negotiations.
It had been a triumph for her when she met, and was able to present, two merchants who spoke highly of Ludolf, each of whom had met him in the New World. One had received vital supplies of gunpowder from him when none was available, and the other the replacement for a vessel wrecked beyond salvage. Later, when she was disillusioned and far wiser, she wondered if those two men had been bribed by Ludolf to make those statements, for neither of them had ever crossed her path again.
”There's to be another banquet soon, Neeltje,” she said on a sigh.
”Then you must rest well beforehand, ma'am,” Neeltje replied solicitously.
Amalia smiled wryly to herself. She did little else to survive from day to day. The collapses she had endured had been frightening, but each time she had rallied, astounding her doctor. He explained it as her strength of will. What he did not suspect was that her elixir of life was a hatred of her husband that was equal to his own for her. Not even Neeltje guessed how it sustained her and was her strength. She knew she was living on extended time, but her vengeance would be if she could deny Ludolf the freedom from her that he wanted by outliving him!
THE NEXT DAY in the parlor, Willem stared incredulously with a rise of anger at Hendrick. ”You have done what?”
Hendrick was unperturbed. ”Letting Francesca take the van Deventer commission was the only way I could get out of accepting it myself. I'm giving her the chance to earn some money for herself before she goes away, because I shall share with her whatever price you set on it. That's generous of me, don't you think?”
Furiously Willem shook the apprentices.h.i.+p papers that he held. ”These are signed and sealed stating she will start at Vermeer's studio next month. She must be there!”
”Impossible,” Hendrick replied casually.
”d.a.m.nation to your folly. I gave up a lot of time to arrange all this! Do you imagine it was easy getting the Guild of St. Luke to grant Francesca three years to become a master instead of six? What's more, the committee is prepared to consider only two if she should reach their expectations.”
”But you had that doc.u.ment of indenture.”
”That showed she had been trained in your studio from the age of twelve, but no work was displayed to the Guild of Amsterdam at what should have been the end of the apprentices.h.i.+p span on her eighteenth birthday. The doc.u.ment was also queried because it was not written on parchment, but it was decided it would hold up legally, which is why the Committee eventually decided leniently in her favor. The strength of her sketches and the painting of her sisters did much to sway them in her favor.”
”What reason did you give for the switch of studios?”
”Circ.u.mstances!” Willem was glaring.
Hendrick did not probe. He suspected that neglect of tuition had tipped the scales. ”That's it, then.”
”What are you saying?” Willem looked as if he might explode. ”I haven't told you before, but Vermeer wasn't enamored with the idea of having a pupil. I had to do a deal of talking about Francesca before he would consider taking her. Now that he has agreed, giving her a golden chance at moderate terms such as you'd never get anywhere else, you have to sabotage everything! Don't you realize he could either sue you for her nonappearance or-worse still for her-take this opportunity, and be within his rights, to declare her indentures with him to be null and void! Where is she now?”
”Upstairs being fitted for new garments.”
”Send for her.”
Hendrick, as ever when knowing himself to be in the wrong, became belligerent. ”I'm not having her upset by you in your present temper.”
”Then I'll seek her out myself.”
Willem strode from the room and took the stairs two at a time. These upper regions were unknown to him, but he would shout for her. The landing branched curiously, as happened in so many Dutch houses, his own included, and another narrow staircase wound upward while a long corridor with closed doors lay to his right. Only the one at the end stood half open and from it came a buzz of female chatter.
”Francesca!”
There was a moment of surprised silence and then Francesca herself appeared in the doorway attired in a gown of tawny velvet that was partly held together by white tacking st.i.tches. Astonishment and amus.e.m.e.nt blended in her face at the sight of him. ”Have you lost your way, mijnheer?” she asked with laughter in her voice.
”I have to speak to you. It's most important.”
Her smile fled at the sternness of his request. She spoke to the seamstress in the sewing room and then left to go to her own room. ”We can talk in here.”
In her bedchamber, on the cus.h.i.+oned bench, he explained the situation. ”I can't say what action-if any-Vermeer might make. He is an amiable man and might be persuaded to overlook a delay, although that's impossible to guarantee.”
She sat very straight, absently lifting her left sleeve occasionally, for it was slipping away from its tacking at the shoulder. ”Whether he would or would not is beside the point. An agreement has been made in good faith on both sides and not to abide to it is breaking one's word. Similarly a bond has been agreed in my accepting van Deventer's commission.”
”Could you finish the portrait in five weeks?”
”I could if I had the studio to myself, but Father is working on his painting of the tax collector. When he's in the mood for work he has to paint. It's like breathing to him. I daresay I could share Aletta's studio-parlor, but I'm not sure that she would want me there and there's scarcely room for two of us in any case.” She tilted her chin. ”But there are other rooms in the house and I will fulfill my obligations somehow.”
”You have to consider the possibility that van Deventer's engagements might keep him from coming for sittings as often as you would wish. But I've a suggestion. I could ask him if you could use one of the rooms in his house as a studio. Then he would be able to sit for you whenever he has five minutes.”
Her face cleared. ”That would be the solution to everything!”
”I'll go straight from here to his house. When everything is explained to him I feel sure he will agree.”
She smiled gratefully. ”You are such a good friend.”
He returned her smile. ”I've known your father too many years not to want to help whenever I can and I was fond of your good mother.”
”I can't find enough words to thank you.”
In the sewing room again, as Francesca stood having the new garment readjusted here and there by the seamstress, she thought of the meeting she had arranged with Pieter. If she was to go daily to the van Deventer house it might not be possible to meet him as planned, but at least she knew he would be at the same house on Friday morning and she could tell him then if it proved impossible.
Early that evening one of Ludolf's servants delivered a letter to Hendrick. In it Ludolf wrote that a room had been converted already into a studio for Francesca and it had been fully equipped with an easel and canvas, oils and brushes and everything else she might need. This meant she could keep the appointment already arranged on the morrow for his first sitting. He would be sending his coach for her. All this information was somewhat overwhelming, for she had planned for a man with a handcart to take what she would need.
”It's too much,” she said uneasily to Hendrick. ”I only expected s.p.a.ce with a good light, a chair for van Deventer and a side table for the model of the s.h.i.+p.”
”It goes to show what a considerate man he is,” he replied. ”After all, he sent his coach for me last night for that evening at cards at his house. Naturally he would do the same for you.”
It had been a most gratifying evening for Hendrick. Three of his paintings were hung prominently in the card room and the fourth in the supper room of that splendid house. After a slight setback, he had won handsomely from Ludolf and his two friends. Never had he drunk better wine or seen gentlemen lose with such good grace. They had congratulated him at the night's end and expressed their pleasure when he had invited them to his house to play again, giving them the chance to win their money back. But he had been laughing to himself. He knew from long experience that when his luck was in full spate it would carry him through many such games yet. A few more such wins and he would be able to send Aletta to Delft too.
When Sybylla heard that Francesca was to ride in the van Deventer coach she insisted on going with her. ”Do let me! I'll be very quiet and not disturb you when you're painting.”
”When have you ever been quiet!” Francesca teased.
Sybylla became frantic. ”Don't begrudge me this chance to see inside that house!”
Francesca relented. ”You can come, but any foolishness and you will have to leave.” She shook a warning finger.
”I'll be so good! I promise.”
The coach came for them at eight o'clock the next morning. Francesca carried her painting smock and the roll of draperies for the portrait's background, while Sybylla held the model of the s.h.i.+p. Throughout the ride Sybylla was on the lookout all the time for anyone she knew. Then she would wave and dip her head graciously as if aping Prince Willem of Orange when he rode out from the palace at The Hague. Once she kicked her feet with delight after a girl she disliked intensely had gaped in envious amazement as she rode by.
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