“What of Vrouw Wolff’s terrible threat of shutting me up if I should disobey her?”
“If you are obedient you have nothing to fear. I see that warning of hers as a deterrent to waywardness, such as a birch in a teacher’s firm hand can quell uproar in the classroom without action being taken.”
She was bitterly disappointed that she had not gained his support. “Would you at least take a letter to Pieter for me and have it delivered when you are back in Amsterdam? I have one that I wrote a while ago and I have kept it here in the studio until such time as I could ask someone to do this for me.”
“My dear girl,” he said gently and not without sympathy, “I can’t go against Hendrick’s wishes. If he changes his mind at any time I will take any number of letters to this young man for you, but until then I have to refuse.”
The disappointment in Francesca’s face and the sad droop of her hands distressed Willem. He moved over to the window, troubled by the hurt he was causing and remembering how burdensome Francesca’s life had been during the past five years since her mother’s death. Not only had she shouldered increasing domestic responsibilities, but she had coped with a totally unreliable father whose drinking and gambling left her to struggle with debts on every side. As for Pieter van Doorne, it was possible that Hendrick’s present unaccountable state of depression and melancholia might have caused an unreasonable aversion toward a young man whose advances he had previously encouraged. A very different life from that once enjoyed by his own daughters!
Willem turned back to Francesca. “Don’t be so upset, dear child. I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing but I will take your letter to Pieter. As it may be some time before I return to Amsterdam I will post it in the next town I visit. But this letter only—no more until Hendrick gives consent!”
Francesca’s gratitude and thanks were overwhelming. True, she was still tied to Geetruyd Wolff, but she told herself this might prove only a minor setback and she was herself again by the time Clara came to walk back to Kromstraat with her.
THE MORNING OF Beatrix Vermeer’s fifth birthday Francesca worked on her own in the studio. Upon her arrival earlier she had handed her a gift of a little wooden doll in a green gown, which had delighted the child. It was almost noon when Truyd and Rina came bursting into the studio with the birthday girl, who was prancing about in her excitement.
“No more work for today, Juffrouw Francesca!” Truyd and Rina chorused happily. “As soon as the noon meal is over everyone is to get ready for the party!”
Francesca had brought a best gown with her that morning to change into, as she always did when invited to one of the Vermeers’ social functions. Twice Heer and Vrouw Dissius, who had such an enviable collection of Jan’s paintings, had included her in invitations to musical evenings with her master and Catharina. On other occasions she was made welcome next door to the Mechelin tavern, where the master baker Heer van Buyten lived with his wife and family. Among the Vermeer paintings on their walls was a charming one of Catharina in a yellow gown playing the clavichord accompanied by a gentleman with a guitar and a woman singing. It was exactly how she had seen the Vermeers grouped with friends on their musical evenings.
Francesca changed in an upstairs bedroom. A mirror enabled her to check her appearance in her gown of grape-green silk with its falling frill of lace around the scooped neckline. In her lobes she slipped the gold earbobs that had been her mother’s and her thoughts turned to the times when she had prepared for parties at home. With a pang of yearning she recalled the evening when Pieter had brought the hyacinth to the house. Her longing to see him again had become a persistent ache that she could only overcome by concentrating on her work.
When she came downstairs guests were beginning to arrive. There were plenty of young children. All the adults, in the old custom of bringing kindermaal, carried cakes and other delicacies to add to the feast. These good things were placed on the long damask-covered table in the dining hall. Catharina’s face was joyous as she greeted everyone with a kiss and embrace, having a special word for every child. She looked beautiful and elegant in a gown of heavy cream satin with a little ermine-trimmed yellow silk jacket that she had worn for The Love Letter and in which Jan had painted her several times previously. Her mother, Vrouw Thin, was present, also handsomely gowned, and watching fondly her grandchildren at play.
At the height of the fun Jan was called away to see someone who had come to the house. When he returned soon afterward it was to speak quietly in Francesca’s ear.
“Elizabeth had shown a visitor into my gallery, thinking he was a buyer, but that was not the case. He is waiting in the more comfortable anteroom and would like to speak to you.”
Her eyes widened, but Jan turned away without giving her any clue as to who it might be. Yet she knew—and did not dare to know! She went swiftly from the room and by the time she was near the gallery she was running. She flung open the parlor door and saw Pieter within. Joy and panic rose simultaneously in her.
“Pieter!” she breathed.
He rushed to meet her and she flew without further thought into his arms. His kiss took away her words, her breath, her very will. The realization of how much she had missed him made her lose herself in his kiss, almost as if in a frenzy, and she clasped him tightly around his neck as he held her crushed to him. It was as if they would never be able to part again, but eventually sanity returned and she thrust herself out of his embrace. She was trembling and rested a hand on the lion head of a chair as if for support. Her voice came huskily, scarcely above a whisper.
“It is well meant that you are here, but you shouldn’t have come.”
“After what Aletta told me of all you had written to her and then a letter from you, posted in Leiden, reached me yesterday afternoon, do you suppose I could have stayed away?”
“At least you know now why I wrote to you the first time as I did.” She could not think what was the matter with her, for even her lips were tremulous.
“That first letter, coming so soon after your giving me your word you would say if our friendship threatened to interfere with your work, made me believe you had reached the decision on the journey to Delft.”
“I guessed that.”
“It also added up with what your father said to me on the morning of your departure about my not seeing you at all.”
Her head shot up. “He said that to you?”
He frowned, puzzled. “Didn’t you know?”
She shook her head wearily. “I don’t understand what has come over him. Did he give you an explanation?”
“Only that he wanted you to concentrate on your work with no distractions.”
She gave an empty laugh. “He said that and yet I’m forced to live chaperoned almost night and day and under constant threat of incarceration in a house of correction if I disobey the rules! I try to put all that from my mind when I start work in the mornings, but sometimes when Geetruyd Wolff has made some niggling complaint at breakfast I find it hard to slam a mental door on her.”
He took her hands into his. “I’ve something very serious to discuss with you about Ludolf van Deventer.”
She half turned her face away in disgust. “I don’t want to talk about him! I’m thankful to say I’ve neither spoken his name nor heard it mentioned until now since leaving home. Aletta did write that he had bought another of Father’s paintings, but that was an unwelcome reminder of someone I want to forget.”
“That may never be possible if your father has promised that you will marry him!”
She stared at him incredulously. “Whyever should you suppose such an outrageous possibility? It could never happen. Father knows my views on marriage.”
“He also knew of your love of liberty and independence, but has he respected that?”
Becoming very still, she looked searchingly into his face. “What have you heard?”
He led her across to a cushioned bench, where they sat down together, he continuing to hold her hands. H
e proceeded to tell her all that Aletta had told him of Neeltje’s warning. Since he had given his word to Hendrick never to let her know of her father’s dire straits, linked as it was with his own secret payment of her apprenticeship fees, he could not reveal his conviction that it was Ludolf to whom Hendrick owed a huge debt. During various conversations he had had with Aletta, she had all unwittingly revealed that the friendship between her father and his patron, which had started with card playing and visits, had cooled most noticeably. It had not been hard to deduce after Neeltje’s comments that it was this debt that could give Ludolf such a hold over Hendrick that anything could be demanded by the man. He saw Francesca’s cheeks color when he spoke of Neeltje’s timely arrival in the library.
“That was a hateful experience,” she exclaimed grimly. “I was foolish to have let him catch me unawares, because I had long since judged him to be the man he proved to be. I told nobody about it, because it was pointless to cause a breach between my father and his patron when I was going away in any case, never—I hoped—to see Ludolf again. But my father would never value any man’s patronage above the well-being and happiness of his daughters. I feel you are placing too much importance on Neeltje’s words.”
“I choose to believe otherwise. I wanted to put you on your guard. Should such an arrangement be made for you I’ll get you away to Italy by the first ship. I’d take you to your aunt in Florence out of harm’s way.”
“You would do all that for me?” she said wonderingly.
“I’d do anything for you!” he declared vehemently.
“But Ludolf could follow me to Italy.”
“It would be a wasted journey for him, because by the time he arrived I would have married you with your aunt’s permission. Dutch laws do not apply in Italy.”
She gave him a long, steady look. “We agreed on friendship.”
His smile was serious, as were his eyes. “Lovers are fortunate when they are friends as well. I’d leave you to study in Italy until such time as you wished to come home to me.”
She could tell that uppermost in his mind was the certainty that once they had shared a marriage bed she would never be able to stay away from him, however much she might try. Her heart was opening to him like a rose unfolding its petals to the sunshine, all the love she had suppressed released at last to blossom fully. She spoke in a whisper. “Then what would happen?”
“We would live together in marital harmony, you with your work and I with mine. Maybe we could entice Neeltje into our home to take charge of household duties and relieve you of all domestic chores. If not, we’d find somebody else.”
She uttered a soft laugh at the manner in which he was knocking all obstacles aside. He grinned, releasing her hands to put his arms about her and catch her close to his chest. She put her hand fondly against the side of his face.
“Have you forgotten what else I listed in my case against marriage?”
“No,” he said, serious again, “but if we have a family while we’re young and guard against it spreading out indefinitely, you’ll have years and years in which to paint when the children have flown the nest and we’re on our own again.”
“And in the meantime?”
“Surely you’d let a nursemaid take charge for some hours of every day.”
He looked at her in such despairing appeal that she smiled, stroking the frown away from his forehead. “You’re finding ways to overcome all my arguments. You were not so adamant the first time we discussed this matter.”
“I did not know then if you would ever love me. When two people love each other any difficulties can be overcome.”
“I believe that too, and I do love you, Pieter.”
His mouth took hers with such passion that she was lost to everything except the pressure of his lips, the strength of his embrace and her own sweeping desire. His whole physical presence seemed to be in her breathing and in her blood. When he caressed her breast she strained against him, wishing she could tear away the fabric that made a barrier between her flesh and his touch. She sank against him when their kiss ended, her head on his shoulder, her heart beating so hard that she was sure he must hear it. He passed a stroking hand over her hair and she felt that she arched like a cat straining for more fondling. He put his fingertips under her chin and raised her face to his.
“I’ll come to see you as often as possible,” he promised. “All the time Vrouw Wolff doesn’t know who I am, I can come and go in Delft quite easily.”
“But you must never be seen with me!”
“Don’t be afraid. I’ll act wisely. If Master Vermeer allows me to meet you here that will solve everything.”
She sat up and away from him, although she kept a hand resting on his wrist. “If he or Catharina should suggest it, that would be wonderful, but I can’t ask them. It wouldn’t be right for me to see you during studio hours, and later, when normally I should be back at the house in Kromstraat, would be dangerous. If Vrouw Wolff became suspicious she might well find some means of discovering the truth by questioning the children or the maidservant, and she would cause trouble for the Vermeers all over Delft. I know, Pieter, as do Jan and Catharina, that she is a dangerous woman.”
“I understand that. Do you ever go sketching alone?”
“I’m going out into the countryside tomorrow, but Catharina and the children will be with me as on previous occasions and we’re taking a picnic.” She leaned toward him. “Perhaps another time I could arrange to be on my own.”
He took her face between his hands and kissed her lips softly. “Somehow I’ll have to find a means by which to let you know when I’ll be in Delft again.”
“You can’t write to me here at the Mechelin Huis. Any letter bearing my name would go straight to Geetruyd Wolff, whatever the address.”
“Maybe I can find a messenger to send one to you during your studio hours.”
“That would be the only way.”
Francesca felt it was time she returned to the party, having been half an hour or longer away from it, and after all she was a guest. In the gallery she reminded Pieter of their original agreement as he held her in his arms once more.
“After all we’ve said to each other an amendment is needed,” she said.
“What would that be?”
“It has become a loving friendship.”
His smile broadened. “I’ve no objection to that.” Then he kissed her hard before leaving by the gallery door into the side street.
It was to be quite a time before he was able to find someone he felt able to trust to deliver letters to Francesca at the Mechelin Huis and to bring him hers in return. Then an old friend from childhood, Gerard Meverden, happened to call in at the farmhouse while he was in his office.
“Business is expanding all the time,” Gerard said to Pieter after preliminary conversation. He dealt in potash, which was used in the bleaching of linen, and had recently bought a large house in Haarlem, having previously lived next to his warehouse. “I’ve opened up some outlets in Delft now.”
“Shall you be traveling there often?”
“About once every six weeks, I expect. Why?”
“You’re just the one I can ask to do me a favor.”
“Ask away! What is it?” As soon as Gerard heard what was requested of him, a grin spread across his amiable face with its broad nose and heavy chin. “So I’m to play Cupid, am I? That’s a new role for me. Give me your letters, old friend. I’ll deliver them with pleasure.”
When he returned from his first visit to Delft, he reported on how well he had been received by Catharina Vermeer, who had happened to open the door to him.
“Did you see Francesca?” Pieter demanded impatiently.
“Indeed I did. She had a letter in readiness in case of an opportunity arising, and I gave her a little time to add a few lines to bring it up to date before I left again.” He took it from his pocket and handed it over, his laughter-crinkled eyes bright. “She’s a beauty. You’re a lucky man. If an
y other purpose had taken me to the house, I’d be after her myself!”
NORMALLY GRIET WOULD never have disturbed Hendrick when he was at work in his studio, but she felt that this caller at the door should be made known to him.
“Pardon my interrupting you, master, but there’s somebody asking for Juffrouw Anna Veldhuis.”
Hendrick jerked his head toward her. To hear his wife’s maiden name again had been like an arrow shot through him. “Did you ask this person in?”
“No, master, because it’s not the late mistress whom she wants to see, but an artist of the same name.”
Puzzled, Hendrick went to the door himself. He was wondering if a long-ago acquaintance of Anna’s had come with some muddled memory of her. He found a woman of middle age, wearing the modest black clothes of an artisan’s wife, her linen cap as crisp as her collar.
“It’s a young woman I wish to see,” she explained. “Juffrouw Veldhuis painted a fine family portrait at the home of my son and wife during the winter. Now that their new baby is four months old and somewhat delicate they would like him put in the group now instead of waiting until later.”
It was not unusual for successive children to be added to a family portrait over the years, often making it appear that the parents had a dozen or more offspring around the same age, frequently in the same clothes when good garments had been handed down. Hendrick sympathized for the need for haste in this case, but he could think of no artist other than himself in this particular vicinity. It must be an amateur for whom the woman was searching.
The Golden Tulip Page 36
