Part 41 (1/2)

”You have my word on it.”

”I don't think the mouse is in the painting yet, although I keep looking. I believe Hans is waiting until Father finishes those faces before he adds it with the last strokes of his brush.”

”It's a very fine painting, so any mouse should be proud to be in it.”

She trilled merrily. ”What fun you are, Pieter! Hans is like you in that respect, although he can make me very cross at times. He has promised to point the mouse out to me on my wedding eve if I haven't discovered it before.”

”Why then?”

”Because once I'm Vrouw van Jansz I can't spend time here anymore. My social engagements will keep me busy from morning to night.”

When Pieter left she stayed on, certain that Hans would come. Not once had he touched her or been in the least amorous toward her, but she was drawn to him by some magnetic quality that she could neither understand nor a.n.a.lyze. Whenever she saw him after an interim she felt suffused with joy. He would talk, rarely greeting her, conversing as if there had been no time between their being with each other and he was just carrying on with whatever they had been discussing previously. Her disappointment at not seeing him today was acute. How dare he not be there! Her temper began to mount as the minutes pa.s.sed toward the hour of noon, when she would have to leave if she was to be ready in good time for a social outing with Adriaen's mother and sister that afternoon. Vrouw van Jansz was not a woman to be kept waiting and had a cutting edge to her tongue when displeased.

Sybylla's expression would have been a match for Hendrick's in a rage when finally she sprang up from the stool where she had been sitting, too angry to contain her temper any longer. She gathered up her skirts to rush out of the church and indulge her fury. Then she burst into tears and withdrew to a sheltered place by a tree so as not to be observed, although at the present time n.o.body was going past. Why didn't anything go exactly as she wanted? She had thought she would never have another care in the world when she was safely betrothed to Adriaen, but nothing was perfect. His mother was hateful and in her own mind she was having dreadful doubts about whether Adriaen would pay her father's debts, because he always changed the subject when she brought it up. Not that it mattered, because she was to have a large allowance and she could pay off Ludolf on a regular basis. She was realistic enough to know she would begrudge paying out of her own purse, but she loved Francesca too much to let her become wife to that detestable man. Why was life so contrary? And where was Hans? How dare he not be at work in the church.

”Do you think, Sybylla,” Hans said, breathing heavily as if he had run a long distance, and coming to a halt only a yard away from her, ”that I could persuade Master Visser to let me complete the painting of the remaining sitters?”

She looked up quickly through a sparkle of tears. ”I had something in my eye,” she explained defiantly, wiping both eyes with a handkerchief.

”Shall I look?”

”It's gone now. You weren't painting this morning.” Her quivering lower lip was accusing.

”I was kept waiting longer than expected when I went to see about a commission.”

”Did you get it?”

”Yes. That's why I want to finish what has to be done on the group.”

”Come home with me now and you can ask Father.”

They walked together to her home and found Hendrick in his studio, where Hans posed the question to him. Hendrick made a great show of indecision, but inwardly he was thankful enough to relinquish the tedious ch.o.r.e. After all, Frans Hals had left half of such a group painting to another artist to finish, and what was good enough for such a master was all right for him too.

That afternoon Sybylla decided she loathed Adriaen's sister as much as she detested his mother. Both women walked past a most pitiable beggar without putting a coin in his cup as she did. One surprising fact she was discovering was that the rich could be horribly tightfisted when it suited them. Where was the pleasure in having money if one did not spend freely? She would show them how it should be done as soon as she was Adriaen's wife! Behind their backs she gave a little skip of antic.i.p.ation. In the meantime Hans would be busy painting for longer hours again in the church, which would enable her to call in some time during each day to see how he was progressing. It was, she told herself, only to watch out for the mouse. For some reason everything seemed to stand or fall on her sighting it for herself without his having to tell her. Pieter met Gerard at regular intervals, although so far each had little to report. A man had been watched on suspicion of spying in Gerard's area, but it proved a false trail. They sat in the parlor of Haarlem Huis.

”Have you seen this fellow anywhere?” Pieter asked, showing him the sketch of the traveler that Francesca had given him. Gerard shook his head, but he was keenly interested to know that Pieter was concentrating his attention on the Wolff house and those who came and went there. During the kermis, when every tavern and available room in the town had been full, many visitors even sleeping in stable lofts, Pieter had learned that the landlord of the Mechelin was under the impression that every room in the Wolff house had been taken, although Francesca had said n.o.body had been staying there. ”Is Vrouw Wolff housing now only those engaged in undercover work and eliminating risk by confining the accommodation to them?” Pieter suggested.

”That seems a likely supposition,” Gerard agreed. ”It's fortunate we have Francesca under that roof. How often are you going to Delft now?”

”Once a week. Design orders that I never expected have given me a legitimate reason for being there so often at this time of year, and I'm now on conversational terms with a remarkable number of people in the town, and others living in fine country houses.”

”When is your next visit?”

”Tomorrow.”

The first snowflakes of winter were falling, only to disappear as soon as they touched the ground, when Pieter entered his Delft office. His clerk was an older man, not yet ready to retire, who had answered Pieter's advertis.e.m.e.nt for someone to do a few hours' office work on six mornings a week, this being sufficient at the present time. Pieter greeted him.

”Good day to you too, mijnheer,” the clerk replied. ”Have you just arrived?”

”No, I spent last night at the Mechelin. What is there for my attention today?”

Pieter sat down at his own desk while the clerk came from his to lay letters and various papers in front of him. He had dealt with everything when the door from the street opened and Aletta came in with a laden basket on her arm, snowflakes melting into sequins on her cap and cloak.

”I hoped you'd be here,” she said smilingly after Pieter had kissed her cheek and drawn her to the fireside. She looked around as she pulled off her gloves. ”What a neat office! I've had no chance to come in before. I like those etchings of tulips and that painting of aquilegia on the wall. Most appropriate.”

”You're not often in town, are you?”

”No, but I wanted to buy gifts for the Feast of St. Nicholaes. Constantijn still doesn't like me to be absent from the house for long, so I keep short my time away.” They were able to converse without being overheard, for the clerk was partially deaf.

”How is de Veere? Has he received those wooden legs yet that Francesca told me about-such a good idea of yours.”

”No, not yet, although he is well enough. You see, at first I had only thought of getting him into the right frame of mind to use them, but then I realized that was not enough. He needed physical strength too. He is strong in the arms and shoulders through hoisting himself about, but his thigh and pelvic muscles had to be strengthened again or else he would never manage those heavy legs. Josephus agreed with me and I left it to him to urge Constantijn into a routine of regular exercise. Now Josephus is in his element, seeing himself as a coach again, although he is training Constantijn for a different purpose than before.”

”It's a sensible decision. Only good can come of it.”

”I hope so.”

”Have you seen Francesca this morning?”

”No, I don't call in during her working hours. Fortunately she can come quite often to see me at the de Veere house. I hear that the two of you are not meeting until Christmas.”

”That's right. I only catch glimpses of her going in and out of the Vermeers' home, usually in the company of Weintje. Yet we keep in touch.” It was easy enough with the Vermeer children or a tavern potboy as go-betweens. As yet Francesca had nothing to report. Two travelers had stayed overnight, but not in the room with the funnel, and she had had no chance to catch sight of either.

Aletta glanced at the clock. ”I must go. Josephus will be waiting for me by the Town Hall and I don't want him to catch a chill in the cold wind that is blowing today.”

”I'll walk you there.” Pieter took his greatcoat from a peg and thrust his arms into it. Then he put on his hat and carried the basket for her as they went out of the office together. It was a crowded market day with plenty of traffic. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the old-fas.h.i.+oned but well-polished coach waiting for Aletta with Josephus on the box.

”You didn't tell me you were riding in style today.”

”It's the coach Constantijn's grandparents used to ride in. I could easily have walked in and out of town, but he always insists that Josephus take me these days.”

Pieter put the basket on the seat for her and helped her into the coach. There was no glazing in the windows, but leather blinds helped keep out the drafts. He wished her happiness for the Feast of St. Nicholaes and the blessing of Christmas. She gave him her good wishes in return.

When they had exchanged a wave she let the leather blind fall back into place and the coach went b.u.mping away over the cobbles. Pieter stopped to talk to someone he knew and was on his way back to the office when a sudden commotion occurred just ahead. He saw that a drunken wagoner, who had been leaving the market after delivering goods, had whipped up his horses carelessly, startling them both with an unexpected sting of the whip's end, and they had lunged forward to send the wagon into the side of a cart. No damage was done, but the wheels had locked.

Immediately Pieter ran with some other men to lend his strength in lifting the two vehicles apart. It was all over very quickly. The wheels were separated and the horses soothed. The wagoner, bawling his thanks to everybody, drove off down the lane leading into Voldersgracht while the two carters, sitting side by side in the cart, continued quietly on their way out of the square, disappearing from sight beyond the Old Church. Pieter sauntered thoughtfully toward his office, wondering what it was about that commonplace incident that had left a question mark in his mind. Inside the office the clerk looked up and saw the distorted image of his employer through the small leaded panes of the upper half of the door. Then abruptly it vanished again.

Pieter was on his way at a run to the stables to fetch his horse. It had come to him what had been unusual about that incident. Carters and wagoners were notorious for their rough language if anything riled them, particularly if their horses or vehicles were harmed in any way, and frequently resorted to fisticuffs, always to the merriment of any crowd who immediately gathered. Such a fight could have been expected from the drunken wagoner, who had been brandis.h.i.+ng his fists in readiness, as if he had been the innocent party. Yet the men on the cart had not uttered a word of rebuke, merely concerned that the load on their cart had not been jerked loose under its covers by the impact. Their horses had shown sweaty signs of having been driven hard, but they had come into the square at a slow pace and had left again in the same manner. There was nothing out of the ordinary in that, but combined with the uncharacteristic behavior of the carters it demanded investigation.

As always on a market day, a good many farming carts and other vehicles were rolling in and out of town. Geese, newly purchased at the market, flapped their wings and squawked out of Pieter's path as he rode through and then a flock of sheep slowed him down. Two separate herds of cows further hindered him, one ambling along the road and the other crossing it from one field to another. The distance he had to ride before sighting the cart he was looking for showed that the man with the reins had resumed the former speed of his horses in spite of the hazards of livestock and the difficulty of pa.s.sing other vehicles in places where the winding road narrowed.

He could see how swiftly the two men ahead were bowling along and he matched his speed to theirs at a distance. He no longer thought of them as being carters by trade, certain they were engaged in some special business of their own. They might be thieves having no connection at all with the mission to which he had been recruited. Twice the companion of the man who was driving looked back at him, although it was impossible to distinguish his features. Then Pieter realized they were testing him, driving still faster and then slowing again to see if he altered his distance to any degree. He made his own speed irregular and when they settled to a steady pace again he was sure he had rea.s.sured them.

Suddenly the road formed an S bend through woodland and when he thought to come in sight of the cart again it had vanished. He spurred his horse into a gallop and discovered a crossroads. There was no way of telling which direction the men had taken. He studied the surface of the roads, but it was rock hard and there was nothing among the old tracks to give a clue. Undeterred, he searched diligently, taking one road until he could see the open countryside beyond the trees and then returning to search in another direction. Once he saw a cart in the far distance and galloped hard after it through a maze of farm lanes, only to find it was not his quarry. Finally he was forced to turn back to Delft.

That evening in the Mechelin he conversed with many local people, but he learned nothing except that the cart did not come regularly to Delft, although one man was certain he had seen it twice before.

”When was that?” Pieter asked casually, buying his new acquaintance as well as himself another pint of beer.

”The first time must have been last spring,” was the reply, followed by a slurp of beer.