Part 40 (2/2)
”That's all settled, then.”
Geetruyd saw him to the door and was thoroughly amiable. ”Unfortunately I have no garden for bulbs, but I may treat myself to a few tulips from your stall next year when they are in flower.”
As soon as he had gone she dashed for her cloak and then followed him, determined to check that he did not make for Mechelin Huis. He did cross the square in that direction, but went straight into the tavern. She waited inconspicuously until Weintje pa.s.sed by without noticing her on the way to fetch Francesca. When Geetruyd saw the two of them coming back across the square together with no sign of the young man darting after them, she hastened home ahead of them and was in a chair by the fire when they arrived.
Francesca was not in the least surprised when Geetruyd immediately demanded she turn out her pockets and her purse. In the early days these random checks had been made frequently to see if she had any secret love notes from Pieter or anyone else in her possession. It was one more indignity to be suffered under Geetruyd's regime.
At dinner Geetruyd informed her of Pieter's visit. ”A fine-looking young man, altogether too worldly and mature for you. I can quite understand, now that I've seen him, why you were eager to keep contact with him during your first days here. You must have thought I was very hard on you at the time, but it was all for the best. He made it perfectly clear to me that he has no wish for you to go out of your way to talk to him while he is busy organizing his business.”
Clara spoke up, hurt on Francesca's behalf that the young man should have made such a point of rejecting her. ”Francesca would never run after anyone who did not want her! She has no need in any case, being betrothed to Heer van Deventer.”
Geetruyd dropped a fork onto her plate with a clatter. Only then did Clara realize what she had said. Geetruyd's face was venomous. ”What was that statement you made, Clara?”
Clara could not answer. Her tongue seemed to have swollen in her mouth and her jaw had clenched. She had been terrified of Geetruyd many times, but never more than now. Without being aware of it she stared back at her with glazed eyes like a mesmerized rabbit. Francesca answered for her.
”It's true. I told Clara one day.”
Geetruyd's glittering glare switched to her. ”Why did you not tell me?”
”If you had asked I would have told you. My father and Ludolf signed a marriage contract without my knowledge. I knew nothing about it until I was home last spring. It's not my wish at all. If I could be free of him it would mean everything to me.”
Geetruyd fought for control. ”Ungrateful girl!” she shouted wildly. ”He's destined for great heights one day! And it will all be wasted on you!” She threw her napkin on the table, thrust back her chair and swept tempestuously from the room. Her bedchamber door slammed upstairs.
Clara turned a frightened face toward Francesca. ”I've done a dreadful thing.”
”No, you haven't. Geetruyd would have had to know sooner or later.”
It soon became apparent that Geetruyd was not going to emerge from her bedchamber again that evening. Clara and Weintje went to bed. Francesca, still in the parlor, decided to seize the chance that had come so unexpectedly. Taking a candle, she crept downstairs to the hall. No travelers were staying in the house and there was no danger of meeting anyone. Once in the hall, she crossed to the front bedchamber leading out of it and, finding the door was not locked, she entered swiftly, closing it behind her.
The wall bed was narrow, but had rich hangings and a brocade coverlet. There was a table with writing materials and the usual furnis.h.i.+ngs. Crossing to the Delft-tiled fireplace, she stepped under the canopy to stand by the empty firebox as she searched for some cause for the curious transmitting of sound to her room. Then her candle showed her a cracked tile, half of which had long since gone and which appeared to have taken some crumbling brickwork with it. She judged that voices were magnified when people stood close to the canopy, which acted like a wide mouth to the funnel created by the cavity within the chimney breast leading up to her room. It explained why she had only caught a sc.r.a.p of Geetruyd's conversation, as the woman had come near the fireplace and then moved away again.
Carefully Francesca removed the remaining piece of tile, which dislodged another that was loose. She took that for good measure, not wanting it to fall by its own accord and draw attention to the gap that was presently out of sight from anywhere except the unlikely place where she was standing. Weintje would wash the whole of the fireplace once a week, as she did others in the house, whether the room was occupied or not, but Francesca had seen she only stretched her arm inside the various canopies and never looked closely at the tiles themselves. Some brick dust had fallen to the hearth. Francesca wiped it up carefully with her handkerchief, into which she also concealed the tiling. It made a bulky little package, but she went back upstairs and reached her own bedchamber safely. There she removed the paint rags from the aperture in her fireplace and deposited the tiles within, where they would never be seen again unless the canopy and the chimney breast were ever demolished. After shaking the brick dust in her handkerchief out the window, she knew she had removed all evidence of what she had done.
Chapter 21.
WHEN PIETER LEFT DELFT AFTER SPENDING TWO WEEKS there, he felt he had laid good groundwork and also secured a small office in Kerkstraat where he could work on local projects while giving him a solid foothold in the town. As yet he had gleaned nothing of value to his a.s.signment, but that would have been highly unlikely so early in his quest. During his stay he had spent every evening in the taproom of the Mechelin and had had no difficulty in getting himself known as a Haarlem man making ready to open up a new branch of his business locally. He had called on Vrouw Thin since she moved in wealthy circles and could establish him in another sphere of society. Unexpectedly, on her recommendation, he had gained two commissions for newly designed layouts of sizeable gardens. Both clients were wealthy men, but as yet he did not know where their political sympathies lay. All he could hope for was that sooner or later he would uncover something, however slight, that would set him on a trail.
He went back to Amsterdam, intent on speaking to Neeltje again. Previously she had concentrated on anything that might help him protect Francesca, but in the light of the strange little incident Francesca had reported to him, he felt anything Geetruyd Wolff had written to Ludolf might be of some interest. It was a long shot, but worth trying, because Ludolf was an unprincipled, self-made man with much to lose if war should come. One thing to be guarded against was too hasty a step in any direction that might lead to the capture of one man and the escape of many more, all equally dangerous to the freedom of Holland.
Disappointingly, he learned from his housekeeper that Neeltje had been given notice from the van Deventer house and was presently employed as companion to an old woman. Having acquired the address, he called on Neeltje, who was content to be looking after a kindly person again, but she could think of nothing in the letters that would be of any help to him.
”It always seemed to me that Vrouw Wolff wrote of business matters and nothing else,” Neeltje said, puzzled by this new line of questioning, for which he had given no reason. ”Sometimes she actually referred to investments at the Exchange.”
Although she promised to search her memory, Pieter was not optimistic that she would remember anything useful to him. He thanked her for all she had done and agreed to convey her good wishes to Francesca and her sisters.
When Pieter arrived at the Visser house, Griet showed him through to the studio, as Hendrick was working without a model that day. Hendrick proved to be in good spirits. There were days when his fingers still made it painful to hold a brush, but then he would take one of his breaks from work and enjoy the convivial company in the taverns with a game or two of cards with modest stakes. He had learned a lesson and never forgot the outcome was still in the balance, even though it was weighed heavily in his favor with Sybylla's marriage to a wealthy bridegroom only a few weeks away.
”Is the Civil Guard painting finished?” Pieter asked him after giving him news of Francesca.
Hendrick frowned irritably. ”No, it's not. I can't work only on that piece. I've been busy with other work. I hope you haven't come here to bring more complaints. Your fellow officers don't understand how difficult it is for me to remember appointments for sittings or, if I do remember, I may not feel like painting a face not of my choosing on that particular day.”
Pieter had received reports that all was not going as well as had been expected. There was growing impatience for the painting to be ready. ”When I leave here I'll take a look at it in the church. Is Sybylla home?”
”Yes, she is, and she'll go with you. I've never known her to take such an interest in a work of art before. Not only does she view it at least once a week, but she is nagging me constantly to get it done before her marriage.”
”I hope you will.” Pieter spoke firmly.
”All right!” Hendrick waved an impatient hand. ”I'll do my best. I expect you'll find Sybylla is still upstairs with the seamstress. Come and dine with me at a tavern this evening. I need some sensible conversation. There's no talk in this house that centers on anything other than the wedding.”
They arranged to meet at a certain tavern. The seamstress was just leaving the house as Pieter went into the reception hall and Sybylla was delighted to see him, greeting him with a full kiss on the lips.
”How are Francesca and Aletta? Have you seen them? Say you have!” she exclaimed.
He suggested they talk on the way to the church and she rushed to get a cloak. Then she tucked her arm into his and set a swift pace as he told her all he could about her sisters. She also had something to tell him that linked indirectly to Francesca.
”Griet's husband, who is a seaman, as you know, told her something before he went to sea. She pa.s.sed it on in confidence to me as a warning for Francesca, but since you are so close to her I want you to know too. Ludolf called at the house two or three times while Sijmon was here and that's how all this came to light. Sijmon recognized him as a privateer he had served under for a short while during his cabin-boy days, one voyage being enough under Ludolf's command, although van Deventer was not the surname he used then.”
”Was Sijmon certain he had made no mistake?”
”He admitted he wasn't sure at first. The modulated voice, the curled periwig, the clean-shaven face and grand clothes, combined with the lapse of seventeen years, would have fooled him if it hadn't been for Ludolf's gait. I'm sure you've noticed how he throws himself into a certain swagger when he walks. It was that walk, which Sijmon had seen many times on the s.h.i.+p's deck, that convinced him as to Ludolf's ident.i.ty.”
”So now we know how Ludolf made his original fortune.” Pieter was wondering if Geetruyd's friends.h.i.+p with the man went back to those days.
”I'd be frantic about Francesca having to marry him if I didn't know that Adriaen is prepared to pay Father's debts and set her free.”
”Is that settled?”
”Not yet, but it will be. Adriaen has said over and over again that he wants me to be happy in every way.” Flirtatiously she snuggled up against him. ”Oh, Pieter, you should see how generous he is to me. My betrothal gift was a glorious diamond necklace and eardrops. I have only to glance in a shop window at something and it is mine. Aunt Janetje sent me a Florentine silver brocade for my wedding gown, but Adriaen has allowed me to choose dozens of lovely fabrics for the many garments I'll need and his mother's seamstress and an army of a.s.sistants are making them up for me. Rich women don't go to shops to choose what they want, you know. Tradesmen will bring everything to the house.”
”So you are happy, Sybylla?”
”Happier than I've ever been in my life!” she declared, her eyes challenging him to suppose otherwise. They had reached the church and she darted in ahead of him. Following her, he heard her disappointed exclamation and saw her expression droop. ”Hans is not here!”
”Is he still coming to paint every day?”
”Just for a little while each morning. He has a room somewhere that is his home and his studio, and he does his own work there. Father's tardiness over painting the remaining sitters makes it impossible for him to finish this group painting as yet.”
Her pace was slow as she led the way to the great canvas, her eagerness to get to it having evaporated completely. When Pieter viewed the painting he saw a vividly dramatic group, the sitters not just staring out of the canvas, but in animated discussion of how they would defend Amsterdam in an emergency, a map of the city spread out on the table around which they sat or stood. Five faces had still to be done, although collars and clothes and hair had all been completed. The hands of those men had also been left blank, for to an artist hands were as individual as faces. Pieter noticed that Sybylla was peering frowningly at a corner of the painting.
”Are you looking for the mouse?”
Her smile returned with dancing eyes. ”You could only have heard about it from Francesca, because n.o.body else knows. You won't tell, will you?”
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