The Golden Tulip

by Rosalind Laker

  “She would never be forced into anything! You know nothing of her if you haven’t discovered that!”

  “Why not try persuasion? If she should have to be told what the alternative to marrying me would mean for you and her sisters, as well as that old nurse of whom she is so fond, I can’t see her refusing me.”

  “What alternative is that?” Hendrick queried cautiously, slack-mouthed with fear.

  Ludolf slowly paced the room as he answered. “I would drag you through the public debtors’ court into bankruptcy and claim everything you own from the roof over your family’s heads to your paintings of Anna. You’d languish in prison, because that’s where I would put you, and your womenfolk would be confined to an almshouse for the poor.”

  Hendrick dropped back into his chair and began to weep abjectly. “Merciful God! What have I done!”

  Ludolf came to stand nearby and allowed time for the wretched man’s misery to sink deep into his body, mind and soul. The only sounds in the quiet room were of Hendrick’s distress and the subdued noises from the street outside. Then Ludolf spoke again.

  “Take heart, my friend. I’ll be a good husband to Francesca when the time comes. There’s not another father in Amsterdam who would not jump at the chance of giving a daughter as a bride to me. She’ll want for nothing and if my generosity to her should spill over to you and her sisters I’ll raise no objection. What’s more, I’ll make a marriage gift to her of the promissory notes and she can tear them up in front of you.”

  Hendrick, his face sagging like a hound’s, his eyes red-rimmed, gave a choked appeal. “As I said once before, I don’t want her or her sisters to know of my losses. That must never be!”

  “Then I’ll give the notes to you. Think of it! From this day forward your debt to me is in abeyance and you may continue your life as if nothing had ever been amiss. On the day that I wed Francesca you can rejoice as you burn these scraps of paper. Your future will be assured and secure as you wish it to be. By that I mean that never again would I step in to save you from your own stupidity.”

  “I’ve learned my lesson.” Hendrick bowed his head brokenly.

  Ludolf eyed him cynically. Gamblers always made such vows, but at least it was certain that never again would the artist be such a fool as to go to stakes that were beyond him. A few paltry guilders would be all he would allow himself from now on. “Then it is agreed?”

  “It is.” Hendrick’s head sank still lower and his voice was slow and heavy. “At the end of Francesca’s apprenticeship, and if she has not already agreed to marry you, I will inform her that she must become your wife.”

  “By then my courtship will have taken full effect and I’m confident that it will never be necessary for you to make such a stipulation. Now we shall sign the marriage contracts. A lawyer was here early this morning and I had them drawn up while he was dealing with Amalia’s will and other papers as well.”

  Dull-eyed and full of loathing, Hendrick looked up to see his patron take two documents from a drawer, for they would each keep one of them after signing. What sort of a man was this who could callously engage a lawyer to handle his late wife’s estate, whatever was left of it, and prepare contracts for a new marriage at the same time? Hendrick was aware of not being particularly perceptive in everyday life when his “inner eye” was not in use as when he was painting, but he knew that here, in this room in private interview, he had seen a side of Ludolf’s character that was not normally revealed. The lawyer, whose discretion could be relied upon, would have seen it that morning, but the rest of the world had no inkling of a heartlessness beyond measure.

  Listlessly Hendrick took the contract Ludolf handed to him and read it through. While this was happening Ludolf flicked open the lid of a silver inkwell in readiness and tested one of the quill tips against a finger.

  Hendrick looked up with a questioning frown. “Who’s this widow mentioned here?” He peered closely at the name again. “Vrouw Geetruyd Wolff?”

  “I investigated the family Francesca was to stay with and considered the atmosphere there to be too lax. Therefore I’ve canceled her going to that house and arranged for Vrouw Wolff to meet her off the stage wagon tomorrow and take charge of her. One thing further.” Ludolf placed another sheet of paper before Hendrick. “This is a letter to Vrouw Wolff setting out the rules that Francesca is to obey. I wish you to copy it, so that the woman knows it comes with your parental authority. I shall see that she receives it by a special messenger, who is waiting to depart.”

  As Hendrick’s eyes followed Ludolf’s writing, he gave a mirthless and exasperated laugh. “What’s this condition of Francesca being chaperoned unless she is with her sisters, or me, or with you and also being forbidden to be alone in male company at any time? My daughter is going to Delft to work. Not to jeopardize her chances by dillydallying with young men!”

  “She must be protected at all times.”

  “So,” Hendrick said bitterly, “you couldn’t have done all this today. You’ve been working on this agreement for some time. If your wife hadn’t died last night it would have been a bill of sale awaiting your receipt that I’d be holding now instead of a more honorable marriage contract.”

  “That’s correct. I actually had one ready, but there is a clause in it that if I became a widower in the interim of three years, then Francesca would marry me as we have arranged.”

  Hendrick could contain himself no longer. “You ruthless bastard!” he yelled with all the power of his lungs, shaking the contract that he held. “May you rot in hell!”

  Ludolf sneered at him contemptuously. “I thought you’d come to that kind of verbal abuse sooner or later, but let there be no more of it if you want me to continue as your patron. Finish reading what has been written, copy and sign it, and then we will complete the contracts.”

  There was nothing more Hendrick could say. His eldest daughter had been trapped even before marriage became possible. It had always been his hope that when she had achieved her ambition of becoming a master of a Guild, she would find happiness in marriage with a man of her choice, supposing that otherwise she might be tempted to take a lover when she was a mature woman. But this coercing of her while still a girl was the other side of the coin entirely. In this case he must be thankful she was to become a wife and nothing less, and even then he had his doubts that Ludolf would allow her to complete her apprenticeship but might attempt to buy off Vermeer.

  He copied the letter and then went with it to the table where the marriage contracts had been laid. Both he and Ludolf signed the documents and duly exchanged them. Hendrick left the house immediately afterward. As he walked homeward through the busy streets, he was too wrapped up in mulling over what had happened to be aware of the passing traffic, the shouts of the peddlers or the clash of cymbals for a dancing bear. He hoped that Francesca’s apprenticeship would be blissful and carefree. In spite of all Ludolf’s promises of what she should have as his wife, it was unlikely that love and happiness would ever be hers.

  When he reached home he could tell by the chatter in the parlor that still more company were gathered there and the stack of gifts on the table in the reception room had increased during the time he had been out. He went straight to Anna’s portrait in the studio and stood before it, wanting her forgiveness and understanding of what he had done. As he studied her laughing face, set off by the swirl of her gleaming hair, he realized that Ludolf’s threat of annexing her portrait had affected him more deeply than having to accept the fate that had been allotted to Francesca. He had thought his heart must stop.

  Chapter 11

  AT DAWN THE WHOLE VISSER HOUSEHOLD WAS ASTIR IN READINESS to have breakfast with Francesca before her early departure. Alone in her bedchamber she finished lacing up the back of her bodice and smoothed her collar into place while she tried to think if there was anything in the organizing of domestic affairs in her absence that she might have overlooked. Maria had been given charge of the household funds and Aletta the litt
le box that always contained some cash for personal needs. All had promised her that everything would be run as if she were still in charge. She wanted the flower beds to continue to thrive, for her tulips were in full and glorious bloom, the new ones adding their rich red and feathery petals to the beauty of the courtyard. To herself she had long since given them the new name of “Pieter’s tulips.” Aletta was to care for the flower beds with the help of Sybylla, who had already given an assurance she would mind her manners, would not misbehave and would respect whatever instructions Aletta gave her for her own good.

  It was Hendrick who worried Francesca most. There had been a brief respite when he had seemed his normal self again at the banquet, but the tragedy of that night must have revived his melancholia again. His hands were almost back to normal, causing him little discomfort, but he had agreed to continue with the treatment. Although he complained that Maria’s concoction was foul enough to poison him, the fact that he never failed to take a dose each morning showed he had faith in it. At least he was working hard, giving himself no rest at the present time, which was a helpful sign in itself.

  Glancing around the room, Francesca checked that nothing was forgotten that she wished to take with her. The traveling chest with her clothes and other possessions had been taken downstairs the night before and only a small casket, which she would carry herself, still stood open on the cushioned bench. In it she had placed last-minute things, such as her comb and hairbrush. She added her hand glass to the casket and, as she did so, noticed in its reflection that her face was drawn. A natural sadness at leaving home for the first time was also touched by the sorrow of Amalia’s demise. Even yesterday, amid all the excitement of friends and neighbors coming and going, she and Sybylla had exchanged a look that showed they had not forgotten her.

  Firmly she closed the casket and picked it up by the handle. Then she gathered up her cloak, which she had put ready earlier, and left the room where she had slept since she was twelve months old, the birth of Aletta having removed her from the cot in her parents’ bedchamber into a little bed that had once stood in the place of the four-poster of her growing years.

  At breakfast there was a strained atmosphere. Everyone was making conversation as if they were strangers, needing to cover what her leaving meant to them. Never before had she been away from her sisters, or Hendrick, or even Maria for more than a day or slept a night under any other roof.

  “You must write and tell us all about your work,” Aletta said with feigned brightness, “and then I’ll know what to expect when my turn comes.”

  “I will,” Francesca promised. She glanced with concern at her father. Yesterday evening when she had been alone with him after all the well-wishers had departed he had become very emotional, actually having tears in his eyes when he spoke of her going away. He had said she was always to know that whatever happened her happiness mattered more than anything to him. It had been an odd sort of conversation, almost as if he were keeping back the whole reason for it. Just as she was getting to her feet he had added suddenly, “Oh! One other small matter. I decided to change your accommodation in Delft and so I’ve arranged for you to stay with a widow, Vrouw Wolff, who will welcome your company. She will be meeting the stage wagon.”

  Francesca was taken aback and puzzled, but the sight of Hendrick’s increasing distress, his head dropping into his hands, had convinced her this was not the moment for questions or arguments. She had put a gentle hand on his head and assured him that she knew he only wanted the best for her.

  Sybylla was voicing a request to her. “Willem said that Master Vermeer always paints his wife in handsome clothes. Be sure to describe her gowns to me in detail.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Maria spoke in gruff disapproval. “You always get people to gossip, Sybylla.”

  “I like to know whatever is interesting,” Sybylla retorted pertly, “so I ask the right sort of questions. There was nothing tattletale about what Willem said. He had heard it from Catharina Vermeer herself after he had admired a painting of her drinking from a glass in a rose-and-red velvet gown.”

  “I expect the setting was an interior,” Hendrick commented, helping himself to more of the good white bread that Griet had earlier taken hot from the baker’s tray at the door. “My only reservations on what I’ve heard of Vermeer’s work is that he is not much interested in landscapes. So, Francesca,” he added with emphasis, “make sure that aspect of your training is not ignored.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be,” Francesca replied. Then she shot a fond smile at Aletta. “If it is, I shall have to go out by myself at times as you do to sketch your outdoor scenes.” She missed seeing how deeply her sister flushed at her remark, for there had come a knock on the front door. She gave Griet no time to move but sprang up from the table herself. “I’ll go.”

  She flew through the house to fling the door wide. As she had hoped, Pieter stood there. “I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said openly.

  “What are old friends for if not to see one another off on journeys?” he queried with a half-teasing grin as he stepped into the house, handing her a bunch of violets tied with a flowing ribbon. “I knew you would be busy yesterday and so I thought I’d come this morning instead.”

  “I’m so pleased that you did. These violets are beautiful.” The delicate scent of them hung in the air between them and she cupped the dewy posy in both hands to raise it to her nostrils. “Such a fragrance.”

  “Are you quite ready for leaving?”

  “Yes, I am. Come through to the dining hall.”

  They found that only Hendrick was still at the table. Everybody else had moved from it. When they heard that Pieter had ridden from Haarlem, starting before dawn, Hendrick waved him to a seat and Griet set food before him. Francesca, who wanted a final word with Aletta and Sybylla, went from the room to find them. They were to accompany her, and now it seemed Pieter, to the stage wagon. Maria also went hobbling off, taking Griet with her, for the porter had arrived to collect Francesca’s traveling chest and there were other final matters to supervise.

  Hendrick was well pleased to have the opportunity to speak to Pieter far sooner than he had expected about seeing Francesca in Delft, for yesterday’s development had changed a number of things. It was necessary now to try to crush at all costs the relationship between his daughter and this young man. If Pieter had not been paying for her tuition he would have forbidden him to see her ever again, but that was scarcely possible in the circumstances with all the financial arrangements completed. It was a great nuisance that Pieter had become involved, because there was no doubt now that if Ludolf had been asked at the time he would have forked out the money to be her sole benefactor. Not that it wasn’t a good thing to be free of an even greater debt to him.

  “I have to speak to you about visiting Francesca in Delft,” Hendrick began authoritatively after clearing his throat. “I must insist on her work being uninterrupted and I would prefer you to stay right away from her.”

  Pieter was dangerously quiet in his reply. He had finished eating and rested an arm on the table as he looked penetratingly at Hendrick. “It was arranged with your consent and Francesca’s agreement that she and I should meet occasionally. How can you go back on that now?”

  “I’ve had time to think things over,” Hendrick blustered.

  Pieter was studying him. “Has something happened?” he asked perceptively. “Have your financial matters deteriorated still further? You and your family never need to be homeless. I have a property in Haarlem.”

  “No!” Hendrick assured him hastily. “Everything is in hand again. I still have my huge debts, but I’ve been given a long time in which to settle them.”

  “Is it all being properly handled? I’m not a professional financier, but I have a good grasp of money matters in all forms and would willingly guide you. You’re not being charged interest at an exorbitant rate, I trust? I’d change that, for a start.”

  Hendrick shook his
head vehemently. “All you can do for me is to keep away from Francesca. I have good reason, Pieter, and I implore you to heed my request. You want her to be a great artist as much as I do. Put her first. Think of her future before you consider your own wishes. I warned you not to raise your hopes.”

  Pieter felt he had been tricked. His skin had stretched over his strong facial bones and the set of his mouth was angry. “I shall think over what you have said. I make no promises and that is all I can say now.”

  There was a tap of heels approaching and Francesca returned cloaked and gloved for her journey. “I’m ready now,” she announced. Then as Hendrick pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, she flew into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Take care, Father! If ever anything should happen that means you should have need of me at home I’d come at once.”

  “Of course you would, dear child, but I don’t foresee any catastrophes.” He kissed her brow, heavy-hearted with shame at the conditions to which he had consigned her and of which she was unaware.

  As she stood back from him her face was full of filial love. “I can never thank you enough for this marvelous chance you’ve given me. You alone are enabling me to take this great step toward the fulfillment of my dearest ambition.”

  Pieter left father and daughter together and went into the reception hall, where both Aletta and Sybylla were in their cloaks and waiting by the open door. He felt no resentment that Francesca should suppose her father to be entirely responsible for giving her the apprenticeship. It was enough for him that he had been able to step in and secure it for her when it had almost been lost. If staying away from her should benefit her work he would have to do so, but later on, after she had settled down at Vermeer’s studio, he would be better able to judge whether he was an interloper and a hindrance to her progress.

  Francesca reappeared on her own. “Father and I have said our farewells.” She went to kiss and embrace Maria, who wept all over her and released her reluctantly. Even Griet was full of tears. Francesca had been a buffer between her and Maria’s wrath in the early years of her employment, and had been specially kind to her more times than could be remembered.