Part 45 (1/2)

”Whatever it is you have to tell us, Pieter,” Constantijn took over from her, ”I want to inform you first that I have drawn up a banker's draft to cover the whole amount owed by Master Visser to van Deventer.”

Aletta watched Constantijn as he spoke. Having no true knowledge of his financial affairs, merely aware from what Sara had said that his grandparents had left him an independent income, she had never supposed that his funds could stretch to such munificence. When he had said, without her having the least expectation, that he would put forth the necessary monies, she had been rendered speechless.

”I should appreciate it, Pieter,” Constantijn was saying, ”if you would present it to him with my compliments, next time you are in Amsterdam.”

Pieter raised his eyebrows appreciatively at such a generous offer. ”There was a time when I would have had no hesitation in accepting on Hendrick's behalf, but circ.u.mstances are changing. It may be detrimental to our national security if van Deventer should be paid off now or if any other matter is allowed to arise that would bring forth a confrontation with him. I have long suspected that he is working for the French and I've just returned from Amsterdam, where certain incriminating evidence against him came into my hands through the courage of a servant woman, Neeltje, who is known to Aletta.”

He described how Neeltje, to his great good fortune, had not forgotten the inquiries he had made to her about Ludolf's correspondence with Geetruyd. Although, as she had said, the contents of the letters had meant nothing to her, she had quietly decided to get hold of some of them. She was still on amiable terms with the housekeeper at the van Deventer house and so made a point of calling now and again to see her. Having learned over Christmas that Ludolf was constantly at the Visser home, she had used one of his absences to get into his study with a key from the duplicate bunch she had kept. Her pretext for leaving the housekeeper's room had been to look for a silver thimble supposedly left behind in the sewing room. In the study she had taken a handful of letters at random, thrust them deep inside her bodice and locked up everything again. These letters had been duly delivered to Pieter's address and he had contacted Gerard immediately.

”In the light of these letters and other information that had been gained,” Pieter reported, ”it was obvious to the Prince's Secret Service that what Neeltje had taken to be people's initials also represented places where arms were unloaded or spies put ash.o.r.e and embarked again, as well as identifying various individuals. Several caches of arms have already been discovered as well as the one in the cellars of this house, but the only positive identification of any person that could be made was from the initials G.K., which are surely those of Gijsbert Kuiper, the servant you dismissed among others, Constantijn, on the night of your return here.”

Constantijn's fists tightened angrily. ”It must have been an unpleasant surprise for Gijsbert Kuiper when I moved back into this house, although I played into his hands by remaining helpless in my room.”

Aletta put a hand over his. ”That's all in the past. We must think only of the future now and what we can do to help Pieter.”

”You're right, beloved.” Constantijn studied the list of initials that Pieter gave him in the hope that a second servant, male or female, might be identified, but as he had not known the names of all the skeleton staff, none at all in the kitchen region, Aletta fetched the housekeeping records. Nothing helpful came to light.

”At least we have one name with Francesca's sketch to match it,” she said, ”and the confirmed knowledge as to why the guard dogs were silent and an entrance to the unused cellar was gained.”

Pieter gestured agreement. ”We also know that Geetruyd Wolff keeps a house where some spies come and go, even if other travelers who stay there are completely innocent. Although Neeltje did so well in getting me that batch of correspondence, she did grab at it in a natural haste and as a result the letters are not in consecutive order. Much vital information is missing and we know there are more caches of arms to be located. It has become apparent that an armed a.s.sault has been planned by the conspirators against The Hague, probably to coincide with some prearranged point of Louis XIV's antic.i.p.ated advance into Holland when war comes. That's why the caches discovered have been deposited at a convenient range, ready to be s.n.a.t.c.hed up and transported when the time comes for a force of traitors to capture the seat of government on the enemy's behalf.”

”Would they have a Frenchman to lead them?” Constantijn questioned.

”Not if under the direction of a Dutchman already used to command in violent situations.”

”Van Deventer?”

”He has the experience, having been a ruthless privateer. As you know, privateers don't always restrict their nefarious activities to the sea, but frequently make raids on tropical islands where spoils are to be had, whether spices or slaves or some other valuable commodity.”

Aletta spoke urgently. ”Surely you'll arrest Ludolf at once, Pieter!”

”Not until we can be sure that enough caches have fallen into our hands to prevent the attack, or else his second-in-command will simply take over. For the same reason we must bide our time with Geetruyd too. None of those traitors must gain a whisper of what is rising against them.”

”Does all this mean a flight to Italy for Francesca is no longer necessary?”

”I hope that will prove to be the case, but it's too early to say yet. Everything depends on what can be achieved in the three months that are left before her apprentices.h.i.+p finishes toward the end of April. The time ahead is still full of danger for her. That's why, Aletta, I must ask you to be my messenger to her again and tell her all that I've told you and Constantijn. Nothing can be set down on paper. Too much is at risk.”

Aletta felt a tremor of apprehension pa.s.s down her spine at his words. ”I will see her tomorrow.”

”I thank you. There's no time to lose.”

When Francesca heard all her sister had to say it made her wonder again about Geetruyd's att.i.tude toward her. That curious feeling still persisted that the woman was watching her as a venomous spider in a web watches its innocent prey.

ON THE SAME February day as that on which Aletta and Constantijn were to marry, the Prince of Orange, by popular demand, was finally made Captain General in charge of the defense of Holland and its states. Not all was going his way, for he was to be hampered by advisory councils formed to keep a hold over him, and the whole country was torn by conflicting loyalties. To the rest of Europe it had become apparent that the Dutch, having once proved themselves to be the bravest and the most staunch warriors in their defense against mighty Spain, had been undermined by peace and prosperity into a general reluctance to take up arms even to save their own freedom.

Yet this time the King of Spain, resentful over Louis XIV's earlier invasion of the Spanish Netherlands, had allied his country with Holland and it was largely due to the Prince of Orange's efforts that other allies were forthcoming. The Prince's treacherous uncle, Charles II of England, was giving his support to France, where it was known that two hundred thousand soldiers were preparing for the invasion of Holland and the strength of the French navy was being increased.

Yet the imminence of war seemed far away in the peaceful atmosphere of the Old Church, where Constantijn stood tall beside Aletta for their marriage, his crutches held for him temporarily by a friend in the role of the groom's right-hand man and guard. Francesca thought her sister had never looked more beautiful in a gown of blue-green silk with her lovely hair drawn smoothly into a topknot ringed with silk violets, gleaming drop pearls in the lobes of her pretty ears and more pearls about her neck, all wedding gifts from Constantijn. A natural wish for both sisters was that Sybylla could have been present, but in spite of every effort by Hendrick and Pieter, she and her husband had not been traced.

It was a quiet wedding. Jan Vermeer had escorted Aletta into the church and Catharina sat with Francesca. All the Vermeer children, except the eldest offspring still serving his apprentices.h.i.+p, and Ignatius, who had a cold, were there too. On Constantijn's side only his parents and a few close friends were present, including one with whom he was in consultation about the breeding of Thoroughbred horses, an interest he had been planning to take up when the accident had occurred. When organ music filled the great church at the close of the ceremony, Constantijn received his crutches again. With the swinging walk he had developed he matched the moderate pace set by his graceful bride, both smiling happily at everyone. If Aletta glanced about a little more than was usual at such a time, few noticed and only her groom and her sister knew for whom she was looking in vain.

The whole wedding party had departed when Hendrick, who had been sitting out of sight in a side chapel, emerged and slowly left the church. Francesca had begged him during her Christmas visit to attend the ceremony, but his stubbornness and his pride prevented him from making the first move toward ending the estrangement with Aletta. He told himself that he had come only for Anna's sake, refusing to accept that it sprang from the devastating blow of having lost contact with Sybylla as well.

Since n.o.body knew him in Delft and Francesca would be at the wedding feast, he went into the Vermeer gallery, hoping to see some of her work and that of her master. He was told by the girl in charge that Master Vermeer was away and she was Maria Vermeer, his eldest daughter.

”Is there something you wish to buy, mijnheer?” she inquired. When he replied that he was merely interested in seeing what was on display, she bade him take all the time he wished.

”Which are your father's works?” Hendrick asked her.

”There are none here.”

He expressed his disappointment and wandered along until he stopped in front of a painting that he recognized instantly as being by Francesca. It was of a woman possessed of a sweet dignity in a rose-red gown, coming with a smile of welcome toward the man who stood with his back to the viewer, movement and repose faultlessly balanced. It was ent.i.tled The Homecoming. Hendrick could not take his eyes from the painting. He was aware of trembling at the beauty of the work, scarcely able to believe that out of his loins and Anna's womb had come such talent.

Maria, seeing how fixed his gaze was on the work, came to stand beside him. ”My father travels as an art dealer and this shows my mother, Catharina, greeting him after an absence.”

”It's very fine,” he said huskily.

”It's not for sale,” she said apologetically, thinking he had become tempted to buy.

”Why is that?”

”It's for Guild submission by an apprentice artist in the spring, but meantime my father has it here in the hope of future commissions for her. There are a few etchings on the table by the same hand, if you would like to see them.”

He studied each one. All were scenes of Delft, with a single exception that was of his own studio with windows open to the street. Still he hesitated to leave. ”I've heard so much of Master Vermeer's work. I was told that after the death of Carel Fabritius in Delft it was declared here that your father had filled the gap, being as great an artist.”

Maria gave a nod, intrigued that her father's name should be known by anyone outside Delft. ”Locally he is held in very high regard. His advice is sought constantly by the Guild and other civil dignitaries in the valuing and purchasing of works of art. Recently he was asked by them to a.s.sess on their behalf a whole batch of so-called Italian masters that are to be auctioned and he will be exposing them as fakes, which will be much to the ire of the villains concerned!” She paused. ”May I ask where you are from, mijnheer?”

”Amsterdam.”

”So far away! In that case, since you are so interested in my father's work, I'm sure I'm permitted to show you just one of his.”

”I'd be honored.”

She opened the door into the living quarters and took him into a rather grand anteroom where he supposed special customers were received. The painting was hung in solitary splendor. Hendrick knew it immediately from Francesca's description. Remembering what she had said of her master's looks, he noted the slightly frizzy hair of the man depicted in the work and took a guess at his ident.i.ty. It was most surely Jan Vermeer himself and showed him in a studio seated with his back to the viewer, dressed in a costume fas.h.i.+onable a hundred years ago, undoubtedly from an atelier chest, with a flat velvet cap slightly at an angle. His brush was momentarily poised as he glanced toward his model while painting the wreath of laurel leaves, symbolically eternal, that adorned her lovely head. Illumined most marvelously by window light, she was robed in blue and ivory silk, posing as the Muse of history, Clio. She held a golden trumpet and a book in her arms. On the wall behind her was an ancient map of the Netherlands before the present boundaries existed. In all it was a totally allegorical tribute to the art of history painting, even the trumpet symbolizing paeans of praise to the painter's craft.

Hendrick beamed his approval. Master Vermeer was a man of his own heart. He was almost sure he recognized the model as being the woman in Francesca's painting when slightly younger. ”Is that Vrouw Vermeer as the Muse?” he asked Maria Vermeer.

She gave a musical little laugh. ”Father says that is his secret. How could the model be his wife when the painting is set back in time, any more than he could be the painter seated at the easel? But that is just his joke. He will never say yes or no to any questions put to him about this work. All I may say to you is that my mother cherishes it above all else that he has ever painted and therefore it must hold something special for them that is unknown to the rest of us.”

Hendrick smiled to himself reminiscently. This girl was too young and virginal to understand those private moments that existed between a painter and his subject deeply in love with each other and that could lead to artistic creation. His own years with Anna had taught him that. A session of pa.s.sionate lovemaking, the confirmation of the conception of a wanted child or the spiritual communication of tender feelings could well result in inspirational work. The atmosphere of this painting was full of it.

”This is surely called An Allegory of Painting,” he remarked.

”Nothing is really settled on that point. Sometimes it is referred to by the t.i.tle you've just given, but at others it is The Art of Painting or even An Artist in His Studio. Since it will never go out of our family's hands the t.i.tle is of no particular importance in this house.”

”I thank you most sincerely for allowing me to view it.”

When Hendrick left the gallery he turned up his collar against the cold wind and pulled his hat well down. Yet he stopped to look through the small panes of a certain shop window. Anna was uppermost in his mind, memories strongly reawakened through the painting he had just viewed, and he was uncomfortably aware that she would have wanted him to send their daughter a marriage gift, whatever the circ.u.mstances. He knew in his heart what he should send even though his pride fought against it. The contents of the shop window might have been arranged by Anna specially for this moment, almost as if showing him the error of his ways. Well, he never had been able to hold out against her when she made a special appeal to him, even if his good resolutions seldom lasted. Doggedly, he opened the shop door. There he paid far more than he could spare for an order of goods to be sent anonymously to the bridal couple. Only in giving his name would he hold back.

Coming out again, he went to the stage wagon, which was almost ready to leave. Soon afterward he was borne out of Delft as un.o.btrusively as he had come. He had only two small coins left in his pocket. Not enough for food and beer at halts on the long journey. He sighed resignedly. At least he felt more at ease with himself, and Anna would have been pleased with what he had done.