The Golden Tulip

by Rosalind Laker

  The lawyer played the feather tip of his quill across his fingers. “I’m authorized by Heer van Jansz to agree to any reasonable request and I have no objection if it should be your wish, Master Visser.”

  “It is,” Hendrick replied. He liked Hans and the lad could paint. It would be terrible to let those talented fingers be broken in torture screws, for there was no telling to what extremes Heer van Jansz and his son might go in a desire for vengeance should Hans be caught.

  The lawyer added the amendment to the papers in front of him and when all were signed he departed.

  It was a Christmas torn by personal distress in the Visser home. The faint hope cherished secretly and individually by those under its roof was that Sybylla would make a surprise return on Christmas Day, but that did not happen. There was no reason why it should have, for the runaway couple would not know they were not being hunted or that Hans had been spared any punishment for abducting her. Francesca’s most desperate fear was that they would sail to one of the colonies and then there was little likelihood of ever seeing Sybylla again. Hendrick had gone to Hans’s former lodgings but gained no clue, for nobody knew where he had gone.

  She could see that deep melancholia was fast settling on her father again. At a carefully chosen moment she had put the suggestion to him that they should flee to Florence together.

  “If war with France should come we would be going without Pieter, because I know that nothing could make him leave Holland until the invaders are driven out and neither would I expect it of him.”

  Momentarily Hendrick was speechless as he took in what had been said. Then he spoke slowly. “Leave Amsterdam? Is such a drastic move really necessary?” He moved to his chair and sat staring into the fire. “Yes, I see now it is inevitable. I can neither condemn you to life with that vile man nor face the horrors of prison myself. Leave me now while I consider all that must be done.”

  Knowing that Maria would neither wish nor be able to make the long journey to Italy, Francesca had assumed that their old nurse would live happily at Sybylla’s new home, where she would have been well cared for. Since circumstances had changed and that could no longer happen, it was fortunate that Aletta could take Maria in, for all three sisters loved the old woman even if, in spite of those constant quarrels, Sybylla had always been her favorite. But when Francesca put the whole case to Maria an entirely different decision was reached by the old woman herself and she would not budge from it.

  “I thank God you are to be free of Heer van Deventer,” she said to Francesca. “It has caused me more worry than you could ever know. But I’ll not go to Delft or anywhere else. There’s a comfortable almshouse for elderly women just along the street that will suit me well and I have three old friends there already. I want to be near at hand, because one day Sybylla will return and she’ll want one of her own to welcome her.”

  “Oh, dearest Maria,” Francesca exclaimed brokenly, kissing the wrinkled cheek, “don’t you realize that she may never come back?”

  “I know.” Maria’s voice quavered and she wiped an eye. “But I have to stay anyway.”

  Francesca’s time at home was made even more harassing by Ludolf’s constant visits. He treated the house as his own, sitting down at table without being invited, ordering Griet about and eventually swearing at Maria when she plodded into any room to act as chaperone every time he and Francesca were alone.

  “Is this prearranged?” he snapped at Francesca, jerking a thumb in Maria’s direction, where she sat solidly with her hands folded, watching them.

  “It is. You have no right to expect me to be without chaperonage in my own home, or anywhere else.”

  Francesca noticed how his veneer was cracking. His impatience was raw. When he insisted it was time for her to wear his betrothal ring he held her hand and forced it on her finger, ignoring Maria’s shriek of protest when the kiss he rammed down on Francesca’s mouth went far beyond the approved limit. He no longer made any pretence of courtesy toward Hendrick and compelled him to agree to a marriage date for Francesca on the day after the appointment fixed for her appearance before the Guild.

  “I’ll not have time to get home from Delft!” she protested, alarmed at having no leeway of a week or two in which to leave for Italy.

  Ludolf dismissed her protest with a snap of his fingers. “We’ll marry there. I’ll bring your father with me from Amsterdam.”

  Afterward she asked Hendrick why he had not thought to postpone the marriage by a few days at least. “I didn’t think,” he admitted miserably. “I’ve too much on my mind.”

  Because of Ludolf’s continual presence Francesca could not spend any daylight hours with Pieter, even though he had come specially to Amsterdam to see her. The only time that proved safe was at midnight in her home, when they would be together by the fire in the parlor, content and loving, able to discuss many things, including a detailed plan to get her and Hendrick away from Delft immediately after her interview with the Guild. It had to be timed to the minute or else it would fail. Once the chance was gone there would be nothing to stop Ludolf summoning the law to his aid if he so wished, forcing Francesca into marriage. She shuddered with apprehension, but Pieter kissed her fears away.

  “Trust me,” he urged.

  On their own they welcomed in the New Year of 1672 with a glass of wine and she wondered what it would hold for the two of them and for Holland in the months ahead.

  Back in Delft, Francesca took the permit of marriage to Aletta and was prepared to tell of Sybylla’s flight, but her sister already knew, having received a letter that day.

  “They are married, but in terror of pursuit, and you and I are implored not to say from whence the letter was sent, although they will not be staying there.”

  “But how could they wed without Father’s permission?”

  Aletta’s lips slipped in a sideways smile. “I expect Father will explode when he hears, but they found a foreign priest at the docks who was willing to marry them.”

  “Is the wedlock legal?”

  “Father will only have to endorse the certificate one day. In the meantime they are man and wife in the eyes of God and the Church, which matters most, and any children they may have will be legitimate in that respect.”

  Francesca was given the letter to read for herself and saw that it had been sent from Rotterdam, but there was no address to which a reply could be sent. Since the runaway couple were at a port from which so many left for the colonies, Francesca’s fears were reawakened that they might take ship from there.

  “Father has to know where this letter was posted,” she declared, “because they are running away from a threat that doesn’t exist. What’s more, he would never part them now that Hans has behaved responsibly in making Sybylla his wife.”

  Aletta agreed. She insisted that Francesca should write to their father and she herself would pay for a costly messenger to ride with the letter to Amsterdam. Her own marriage was to take place on the twenty-fourth day of February, by which time Constantijn should have completely mastered the use of his new legs.

  Pieter happened to call at the de Veere house one evening when dinner was about to be served in the dining hall for the first time instead of upstairs. Aletta, delighted that he had come at such an important milestone in Constantijn’s recovery, asked him to wait in the drawing room while she collected the crutches from Constantijn, who had reached the head of the stairs. He could not yet descend as he wished, but came hand over hand grasping the banister as he had done during his nocturnal visits to the cellar. His legs, rigged out fashionably, dragged with him, but as soon as he had levered himself upright again, wedging the crutches under his arms, he frowned, impatient with himself.

  “This is the first and last time I’ll come down for dinner, or any other meal, like this. I’d like some drugget fixed to the stairs. That will give me a grip on which to steady myself.”

  Aletta put aside visions of him tumbling headfirst. “It shall be done tomorrow. Pieter is
here.”

  “Good. Let’s invite him to dine.”

  “He says he has something important to discuss with both of us and so it must concern Francesca.”

  At table, after Sara had served the various courses and returned to the kitchen, Pieter asked Aletta if she had told Constantijn everything about the van Deventer marriage contract and how it had come about.

  “Yes,” she said, “as soon as we became betrothed we talked of family matters.”

  “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 circumstances 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 ashore 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 assault has been planned by the conspirators against The Hague, probably to coincide with some prearranged point of Louis XIV’s anticipated advance into Holland when war comes. That’s why the caches discovered have been deposited at a convenient range, ready to be snatched 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 apprenticeship 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 pass 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 attitude 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 lo
vely 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 apprenticeship, 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 nobody 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.