We sail along the shore of Alkmaar Lake and pass the lock at Akersloot. Rays of sunlight pierce the mist, breaking up the grey haze and bringing a little warmth. A stiff breeze fills the sails and drives the boat through the waves. In the distance, the towers and city walls of Alkmaar are visible, and the gallows field.
A shudder goes through me when I see the sinister posts with their dangling corpses. I quickly turn my gaze to the hustle and bustle of the port further up by the Customs Tower, where incoming goods are weighed and taxed by the city authorities.
The broad expanse of the River Zeglis stretches out glistening in the sun ahead of us. On the banks on either side, swarms of people are walking towards the city, a man is driving a couple of pigs in front of him. Carts lurch and crash over the potholes, a beggar narrowly manages to jump out of the way of their wheels.
The barge moors up just outside the city walls. Laurie and I struggle to our feet and pay the skipper. A few minutes later, we cross the small wooden bridge leading to Tree Gate. We say goodbye at the Customs Tower. Laurie has an appointment in an inn on Brewer’s Quay.
He hesitates, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. ‘Well, Sis, good luck. I’ll come and look you up next time I’m in town.’ He hugs me. ‘Think about what I said.’
I kiss Laurie on the cheek and take my bag of clothes from him. We look each other in the eye for a moment, then smile and part ways. When I glance back, I see my brother watching me. I wave and turn right.
Stiff from sitting so long, I walk up River Street, clutching my bag. The canal is full of little barges and flat-bottomed boats, goods are being loaded and unloaded everywhere.
I make a beeline through the familiar streets to the other side of the city, where the cathedral towers over the rooftops. I enter the church through the door on Choir Street and wander through the gigantic apse with its pillars and stained-glass windows to the front, right up to the altar. I sit down on the front pew and close my eyes. For a while I sit like that, listening to my own breathing and the irregular beating of my heart.
It is only when everything inside me has quieted down that I open my eyes again. The silence hanging between the white walls and arches has a calming effect.
I clasp my hands together. The content of my prayers is no different than at the village church in De Rijp but here it feels different – as if here, among the massive stone vaults, I will be heard more clearly. I don’t know whether my entreaties make any difference. I don’t feel any relief yet. With my head still bowed, I leave the church. Outside, I blink at the sunlight and stand dazed for a moment before allowing myself to be swallowed up once more in the bustle of the city.
Near the cathedral is the inn and tavern, the Thirteen Beams, which is run by friends of mine. Bertha and her husband Emil do a roaring trade because their inn is the first one travellers come to when they enter the city from the west through Goblin Gate. It’s a large building with a stepped gable and a wrought-iron sign that swings merrily in the wind.
My hands are so cold they’re almost frozen; I open the door and let out a sigh of relief as the warm air washes over me. The small taproom is full to the rafters. I make my way through the mass of people standing and sitting between me and the bar. Emil is pouring beer. Bertha is just walking off with two foaming tankards in her hands.
‘Emil!’ I shout, leaning across the bar.
‘Cat! Hello! Lovely to see you. It’s a bit busy right now but I’ll catch up with you in a minute!’ he shouts.
I nod and whip around as someone puts their hand on my shoulder. It’s Bertha. Her dark curls have worked their way out from under her cap to frame her face. ‘There you are! Do you want something to eat?’
‘Yes, please.’
Bertha disappears into the kitchen and comes back a moment later with a hearty-looking soup and a hunk of bread. I quickly find somewhere to sit. By the time I’ve finished eating, it’s a bit quieter in the inn and Bertha comes to join me. She asks how the journey has been.
‘Long and cold, but Laurie came with me,’ I say. ‘Can I sleep here tonight? I don’t need to be at my boss’s house until tomorrow.’
Bertha’s expression turns solemn.
‘What is it? Are you full? It doesn’t matter, I’m sure I can go to the Morien’s Head,’ I say.
‘You can stay here as long as you want, but I have bad news. The gentleman who wanted you to be his housekeeper, Willebrand Nordingen, died two days ago. He fell ill – something to do with his lungs. Of course he was quite old, but his death still took us by surprise.’
For a moment I’ve no idea what to say. This is bad news. Not only for Nordingen, who seemed like a kind man, but for me too.
‘What do I do now? I’ve sold all my things, given up my lease.’
‘Then buy or rent a house here and find another job.’
‘There’s nothing else I can do. And I can’t go back to De Rijp.’
‘We’ll help you,’ says Bertha. ‘You can stay here until you get a place of your own and we’ll ask around about a job for you. An inn is the perfect place to do that.’
It’s reassuring to know I’m not alone, but it takes a while for me to accept that everything isn’t going to go as planned. It’s a good job I’ve got enough money to pay my way for the time being.
Emil comes and puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ll find something,’ he says. ‘There’s plenty of work in Alkmaar.’
3
I spend all week searching for work. I crisscross the whole city, from the grand houses along Mient Canal, the fanciest thoroughfare in town, to the salt works on Oudegracht and the brewery on Dove Lane. I try my luck at the city orphanage on Doelen Street and the adjoining silk-weaving workshop, then at Saint Catherine’s Cloister and various inns and taverns. I don’t care what I have to do – cleaning, fetching and carrying, nursing the sick – as long as I have a job.
The end of the week finds me sitting across from Bertha in the inn, utterly disillusioned.
‘I didn’t think it would be so hard to find work,’ I say. ‘There are jobs for men, but it’s much harder for women.’
‘You could set up on your own. A small business of some kind.’
‘Selling what? Pots and pans? The city’s full of those already.’
‘But you paint them so beautifully. And now that you’re a resident of Alkmaar, you’re allowed to set up a business.’
I shake my head. ‘You know it’s not that easy. I’d have to serve an apprenticeship, pay fees to learn and pass an exam to become a master. And that’s assuming a guild would even take me on.’
‘A woman joined the Guild of Saint Lucas a while ago – Isabella Bardesius. Now she’s a painter with her own studio.’
‘Then she’s almost certainly from a rich family that paid for her education. They don’t let you in without training, Bertha.’ I stare into space, thinking. ‘Perhaps I should take that job in the infirmary after all. That’s the only offer I’ve had.’
‘In the pest house? Are you insane?!’
‘There’s no plague. The people in there have other diseases.’
‘Yes, and they’re just as infectious and just as deadly. That would be my last resort.’
‘It is my last resort. If I don’t find something soon, I’ll have to go back to De Rijp.’
Next to us, someone clears their throat. A man of around thirty with mid-length dirty blond hair is standing by the table. ‘Hello, Bertha. Sorry for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhear your conversation.’
‘Matthias, it’s good to see you. How are you?’ Bertha’s face breaks into a broad smile.
‘Very well, thanks,’ says the man. ‘I’m passing through on my way to Den Helder and I’ve got a few bits of business to take care of in Alkmaar.’
‘Mister Van Nulandt is one of our regular guests,’ Bertha tells me.
The man takes off his hat and bows slightly. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he says with a winning smile.<
br />
I nod and tell him my name. Matthias sits down on the stool opposite us.
‘It’s not a complete coincidence I was listening to your conversation,’ he tells Bertha. ‘Emil mentioned the situation. He told me a few things about your friend here and asked whether I could help.’
‘And?’ Bertha asks.
‘As it happens, I can. My brother is in need of a housekeeper. Would that suit you?’ Matthias asks, turning to me.
‘I don’t know. I mean, yes, I think so. But you don’t know me,’ I say, astounded.
‘Emil and Bertha know you, that’s good enough for me. And Emil speaks very highly of you.’
A wave of excitement bubbles up inside me. ‘A housekeeper … that would be wonderful. Who is your brother and where does he live?’
His name is Adriaan van Nulandt,’ Matthias says, ‘and he lives in Amsterdam.’
Amsterdam! The shock obviously shows on my face because Matthias asks, ‘Is that a problem?’
‘It’s so far away. I don’t know anyone there …’
‘Matthias shrugs this off. ‘It’s not that far, and once you’re there you’ll soon get to know people.’
I exchange glances with Bertha, who looks a bit flabbergasted. ‘It is an opportunity for you, Cat,’ she says. ‘And since there’s no job for you here, it’s Amsterdam or De Rijp.’
I don’t have to think for long. Even though I’m not keen on the idea of leaving everyone I love behind, I have no choice. What’s more, this is a better move for me. I would never have gone to Amsterdam on my own initiative. Perhaps it’s fate.
While I’m thinking, Matthias goes out to settle his business affairs. When he returns that evening, I go and talk to him.
‘I’ve decided to do it. I’d be very grateful if you would recommend me to your brother.’
‘Of course, I’ll write a glowing recommendation. But for that I reckon we need to get to know each other a little better. Will you join me for a drink?’
We draw up two chairs at a table in the corner and Matthias orders a jug of wine. ‘So tell me,’ he asks as he fills my cup, ‘why did you leave your village?’
I tell him everything. About my longing for the city and how that one night at the dance sent my life in a different direction. About my stillborn son and Govert’s unexpected death. Matthias listens attentively.
‘So you’re a widow,’ he says when I’ve finished. ‘A very young widow. I’m sorry about that.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t a happy marriage.’ I stare into the distance, thinking of the life I would have had if Govert hadn’t died. ‘He hit me. From the moment we were married, and more and more as time went on. I don’t know why. There was no reason for him to do it. We never argued, I didn’t answer him back, I worked hard.’ I laugh wryly. ‘I purposely made sure we didn’t argue and I never answered him back, but he hit me anyway.’ My voice betrays the bitterness I always feel when I think of all that violence.
‘Some men are like that,’ Matthias says gently. ‘But not all of them.’
‘No …’ I sigh. ‘The problem is, you can’t tell by looking whether they are or not. You only know when it’s too late, when you’re already married.’
‘Next time, if it ever happens to you again, have the rascal up before the judge. It’s illegal to beat your spouse, did you know that? It is not what God intended between man and wife.’
‘Are you married?’
‘No, and I don’t plan to be. I want to travel, see the world. I work for my brother’s company. He’s a trader and one of the directors of the East India Company. He has no desire to go off gallivanting so I do it for him.’
‘Where do you go?’
‘Italy and Norway for the most part, no long voyages. I wish I could go further. To the East, to China and the Indies. Don’t you ever wonder what’s on the other side of the world? What it looks like and how people live there?’
‘Finding out what the world outside De Rijp and Alkmaar is like is good enough for me,’ I say, and he laughs.
Maybe it’s the familiar way he talks to me, the way the skin around his eyes crinkles when he laughs or the sound of his voice that make me edge closer to him. He’s nice. Really nice. Apparently, he thinks the same of me because he keeps leaning towards me and touching me now and again as we talk. His face is alive with enthusiasm and I can’t stop looking at him. A tingling feeling spreads through my body, like little bubbles of air under my skin.
As the evening draws on, the world shrinks until all that exists is the table we’re sitting at, lit by a flickering candle. It’s long after midnight when I make a move to go to bed. Matthias walks me upstairs. On the landing he gives me a long look. The wine has weakened my resolve and when his mouth finds mine, I let him kiss me. His lips are firm yet gentle. Desire wells up in me and I throw my arms around his neck. He caresses my back in response, before letting his hand descend to my bottom and then up along my side.
It’s only when he tries to undo the laces of my bodice that I push him away, gently but firmly. He smiles regretfully.
‘I like you, Catrin.’ His mouth is by my ear. ‘A lot. I’m glad I met you. Hopefully we’ll meet again in Amsterdam.’
‘Yes, I hope so too.’
‘If my brother is so stupid as to decide not take you on, be sure to tell the maid where I can find you.’
I nod and promise that I will. We kiss again, at first softly and then with more and more feeling. I feel my body respond again, so much so that I put an end to it by stepping smartly back and opening my door. I smile at Matthias and go inside. Before I shut the door he blows me a kiss.
‘See you in Amsterdam,’ he says.
The next morning, I go down to the taproom, but to my disappointment, Matthias has already left.
‘He had an early appointment in Den Helder. Asked me to give you this.’ Emil hands me a roll of paper.
The letter of recommendation. I turn it over in my hands a couple of times. ‘Did he say anything else?’
‘That the house is on the first part of Keizersgracht and he hopes he’ll see you soon.’
I can read a bit, the pastor in De Rijp set up a class when I was little. He thought it was important to teach girls to read so they could give their children Bible lessons. I can remember enough of it that I’d be able to tell what is in the letter, but the roll is sealed.
‘You two got on well last night.’ There’s a note of enquiry in Emil’s voice.
‘Yes,’ I say with a smile. ‘Very well.’ I pretend not to notice Emil’s curiosity and choose a table at the window.
After a light breakfast of bread and cheese, I take leave of my friends.
‘My family will be shocked when they hear I’m not in Alkmaar any more,’ I say as I give Bertha a hug.
‘We’ll explain. Send word when you’ve found a job, won’t you?’
I promise I will, say goodbye to Emil and set off. I walk along Lang Street to Mient Canal and past the fishmongers’ stalls, where everything is busy and messy. Taking pains not to slip on the fish guts, I buy myself a couple of herrings. After that I head up River Street and it comes as a relief when at last I reach the River Zeglis. Much as I love the city’s liveliness, it takes some getting used to.
After asking around, I find a boat I can travel on.
‘I don’t go any further than Haarlem, mistress,’ says the captain. ‘But getting to Amsterdam from Haarlem isn’t difficult, you can just take the water coach.’
I’ve heard of water coaches, though I’ve never been on one because they don’t run as far as Alkmaar. According to the captain, they work perfectly. From Midway they’ve dug a long, straight ditch alongside the water for the horses pulling the barges. ‘All the way to Amsterdam,’ he says.
I pay him the required coins, allow my bag to be carried on board and climb aboard myself. I find a spot among the baskets and crates and settle down on the blanket laid out by the captain for passengers to sit on.
Wrapped in my cloak wi
th the hood up over my head, I watch as the city gets smaller. I’ve never been further than Alkmaar before and have no idea what awaits me in Amsterdam. The only thing I do know is that I will have to face whatever it is entirely alone.
4
The journey to Haarlem takes all day. It’s only once we pass Beverwyck and are on Wyck Lake that we start making decent headway. Once we get to Spaarndam we rely on locks and canals again, but by then Haarlem is in sight. It’s almost dark and I’m exhausted. When the boat moors at Gravestone Bridge I get up stiffly and clamber onto the quay. I’m so tired I stagger into the first inn I see. Fortunately, there’s still a bed free. I don’t care that I have to share a room.
In the taproom, sitting beside the fire and with a hot meal in front of me, I come round a little. Out of the corner of my eye I see men staring at me. I make sure I avoid eye contact and appear as unapproachable as possible, which isn’t difficult, given how tired I am. To my relief, they leave me in peace. As the evening wears on, the mood gets rowdy, but by then I’m already in bed. Despite the long day I’ve had, it takes a while to fall asleep. I lie with my eyes closed and listen to the snores and breathing of my roommates and the racket from the taproom. My thoughts turn to my family and suddenly I find myself thinking back to when I was little.
I nearly drowned once as a child. During a violent winter storm, the dykes protecting Waterland from the sea burst, followed by the ring of canals protecting the Beemster. Many people and animals died, and mud-built farms with thatched roofs were washed away. The somewhat higher centre of De Rijp was spared, even if the well-to-do people there didn’t manage to keep their respectable feet entirely dry.
I was five when the flood came. I only know the details of the disaster from stories. But I still remember the feeling of powerlessness as the roof my family and I were sitting on collapsed and the water carried me away. I couldn’t swim, but it wouldn’t have made much difference anyway. As soon as the sea began to ebb, the flood carried everyone with it. Anyone who couldn’t manage to hold onto something was lost. I was fished from the waves by one of our neighbours and pulled into a boat. My parents and brothers managed to save themselves. Allie and Johanna, my two older sisters, drowned.
Midnight Blue Page 2
