The Golden Tulip: A Novel Part 13

"My felicitations," he said directly to her.

Her face had become strained at Ludolf's extravagant praise, but cleared at his words. This did not go unmarked by Ludolf, who was annoyed with himself for not having judged more accurately how she would receive flattery. Most women could not get enough of it. He covered his blunder by a few words about making his departure.

Farewells had been said when Sybylla arrived on the step just as Ludolf went from the house. She bobbed a curtsy, giving him a twinkling glance that came from sheer exultation that he had returned as had been arranged, a visit that heralded anew the prosperity he was to bring to the house. Francesca seized the moment of diversion to speak to Pieter on his own.

"Please stay and share our noon meal with us. You have a long journey back to Haarlem ahead of you."

"I accept gladly."

At table he was given the seat next to Sybylla. "Did you see Heer van Deventer's handsome coach outside?" she asked him as the food was being served.

"I did. If Aletta had not told me to whom it belonged I'd have thought it was the Prince of Orange visiting your father."

She liked that. "Who knows! Perhaps that will happen any day now that Father has such a wealthy patron."

Hendrick in his exuberant mood slapped the table in appreciation. "Well said, Sybylla!"

"The coachman let me sit in that handsome equipage," she announced to the table at large.

Maria glowered. "You had no business to take such a liberty!"

Sybylla ignored the reprimand. "It's upholstered in the softest velvet with gilded ta.s.sels." She tilted her face provocatively at Pieter. "When are you going to have a coach like that?"

He answered half seriously and half in jest. "When I can produce a tulip of a new color that everyone will want."

Francesca from her seat at the end of the table looked along at him. "Is that your ambition?"

"I think it is every tulip grower's wish."

Hendrick gestured with his fork. "Don't revive tulipomania. That's all I ask!" He laughed heartily at his own joke. "It was all over before you were born, young man, but you must know plenty about it."

"I do. My father was one of the successful investors, but he had friends who lost everything."

"I was also fortunate in that I came out of it unscathed. It was an enjoyable gamble while it lasted." Hendrick began to reminisce, relating tales that his family had heard countless times.

Pieter listened in spite of what was happening under the table. Unbeknown to anybody else Sybylla had kicked off a shoe and with her stockinged toes was trying to twist his hose awry. His garters at the calves were firm, but as the meal progressed she succeeded in dragging one loose and he had to reach down and jerk it tight again. When he glanced sideways at her she was eating docilely with an air of total innocence, but there was such mischief and s.e.xuality dancing in her eyes under her downcast lashes that he was sure it was only a matter of time before someone at the table became suspicious. He believed that if anyone in her family should challenge her she would denounce him as being at fault. It was not a comfortable meal.

When it was over he had a short while on his own with Francesca in the reception hall. "You heard when van Deventer and I arranged for a meeting in a fortnight's time, which means he won't be here that day. Say you'll meet me early that afternoon?"

She agreed and arranged where they should meet. If it was fine they would take a walk after leaving the coffeehouse, but if wet they would sit longer over the coffee.

"That sounds a splendid arrangement." Her eyes were smiling.

"I'll be looking forward to it."

When he had gone she tapped a finger thoughtfully against her cheek. Had she been foolish to agree to that meeting? Then she reminded herself that soon she would be going to Delft and then this short, sweet spell of knowing him would be at an end.

AS ALWAYS WHEN Amalia van Deventer heard her husband return home she hoped he would not come to her apartment, where she lay on her couch, propped up by cushions. With so many hours to lie there thinking over the past, she had wondered more times than could be counted how she had ever supposed herself to be in love with him. Now, knowing he had been to the studio of an artist named Visser to buy paintings, she was certain he would come to report to her, for on the surface there was nothing to fault his behavior as a husband in the eyes of others.

Her suite of rooms was most luxuriously furnished in the French style with gilded panels and rich furnishings, as was the rest of the house, the outcome of visiting France ten years ago on a wedding tour. Through her connections she and Ludolf had been invited to stay at several grand chateaux, and upon their return to Holland nothing would satisfy him except that the house he was building should reflect something of the splendors they had seen. He had his own wealth, but it was her money that he had used. In spite of her protests, everything that she had treasured, either as heirlooms or out of reverence for the craftsmanship of a past century, was allowed no place in the new house. She had wept to see beautifully carved oaken cupboards and chests and tables, once used by her mother and grandmother before her, carted away in wagons. Her first husband, who had left his fortune to her, had been a collector of early Dutch art, but there had been no room in Ludolf's house for his pieces. All had been sold hurriedly with no thought to their true value, which for her was beyond price. Some French paintings had replaced them, all mediocre to her eyes.

Since he had been more than enamored with anything French, it puzzled her that now, when many were beginning to look toward France for inspiration in interior decor as well as fashion, he was becoming ostentatiously Dutch-minded, and a year ago he had let it be known that he was starting a special collection of contemporary Dutch art. He was such a devious man, with no real concept of the truth unless it suited his purpose, that she could not help being suspicious that he had some ulterior motive. He had always talked about business trips he had made to France, but coinciding with the start of this new collection he had stopped talking about visiting there. Probably only she would notice all these odd little pieces of a puzzle, but then she had so much time to dwell on any slight thing that stirred her curiosity. On second thought she was almost sure that her personal maidservant, who had been with her since shortly before her marriage to Ludolf, took note of everything as keenly as she did, not that the matter was ever mentioned between them. Neeltje was the perfect maidservant in that she never gossiped and kept herself apart from the rest of the domestic staff, as befitted the sole attendant on the lady of the house.

Amalia thought again what a pleasure it was to have Dutch paintings around her once more. Shortly before last Christmas, Ludolf had begun talking about a mysterious painting that de Hartog might, or might not, sell, and knowing Ludolf as she did, she was not surprised when eventually he outbid everyone else to acquire it. To her it had been another little piece in the not-yet-put-together puzzle of his newfound patriotism, for all Amsterdam had been talking about the unknown picture and his name was on everyone's lips as soon as it had become his.

When she saw The G.o.ddess of Spring she thought it a beautiful painting and a splendid acquisition, and was not surprised when it replaced his favorite French painting in the banqueting hall. There was no doubt that Hendrick Visser was a painter of talent, but not even his Flora could supplant her particular fondness for a work by Pieter de Hooch, which hung in her dayroom exactly where she could gaze at it. It was a tranquil interior that reminded her so much of her childhood home that when Ludolf had brought it in she had asked for it to be hung in her apartment and he had agreed. The disadvantage was that he brought guests to see it, which meant she had to play the hostess, elaborately gowned and coiffured, either from her couch, if she was particularly weak that day, or from her chair, for the wasting illness afflicting her had drained away her energy, making it difficult for her to walk or stand for any length of time. She did fulfill her duties as hostess whenever possible; otherwise she remained in her apartment, which suited her and the husband who hated her.

He was coming! She knew his footsteps all too well. With an effort she raised herself and reached for the hand gla.s.s lying on the low table placed conveniently by her side. On it she had books, a decanter of fruit juice, an enameled casket that kept her bottles of physic out of sight and another, covered with embroidery, in which she kept her cosmetics. It was this casket that she would need.

Her hand gla.s.s showed her a face that had once been striking if not handsome, her brows thick and dark, as were her lashes, her eyes hazel with corn-colored lights and her chin prominent. Her illness had drawn purple shadows under her eyes and given a yellowish tinge to her skin, which had once been like alabaster, and drawn it tight over her facial bones until there was a skeletal look to her. Yet she must always be correctly painted and powdered for her own self-respect and not from any wish to please Ludolf. When she was too weak to apply her cosmetics, Neeltje, who was also her nurse, would apply them for her.

A touch of carmine on the lips! A dab of powder! Both were applied and the casket closed as he came into the room. He gave her his customary greeting. "How are you today, Amalia?"

"Much better, I think." It was the lie he expected.

"Good." He rubbed his big hands with the thick fingers in an exuberant manner, not because he was cheered by her answer, but through some happening that she knew he would soon disclose.

"Did you see anything you liked at the Visser studio?" She wished he would stop rubbing his hands. She always tried to avoid looking at them. They had done such dreadful, unspeakable things to her during the night hours when she had shared a marriage bed with him. If there could be any blessing in her illness it was that it had released her from Ludolf's perpetual l.u.s.t.

"I've bought four paintings. The artist is a most agreeable fellow. I've invited him to an evening of cards. One day soon my clerk shall send out invitations to a banquet. Visser, who is a widower, and his three daughters will be the guests of honor."

She dreaded these banquets. However poorly she happened to feel, she had to attend, even for a little while, and to date she had always managed. What puzzled her was this sudden benevolence toward the artist. Ludolf never did anything unless it was for his own ends. "How many do you intend to invite?"

"Twenty-five to thirty. You may add whatever names you please to the list that my clerk will bring you."

It was the usual procedure. Friendships made during her first marriage had fallen away and only a few faithful childhood friends still kept in close touch. Although they preferred to visit her on her own, they would come for her sake to the b.a.l.l.s and banquets that he gave.

"You must have a new gown, Amalia." He was striding about in his exhilarated mood, going to the window and back again. None could deny he had a good bearing.

"I have so many gowns." She supposed some might argue that he was being generous, for he would be paying for it, and not many husbands were eager to subscribe to yet another expensive garment for a wife when her closet was already full of them. It was of no account that he had squandered her fortune on the house, his jewels and clothes, his carriages and sleighs and his stable of thoroughbred horses.

He dismissed her faint protest. "It doesn't suit my rising position in society for you to be seen in the same gown twice over on a grand occasion. I'll select the fabric to save you the exertion and the seamstress shall come tomorrow."

She knew better than to argue further. "Whatever you say." At least he had an eye for color and would choose a shade flattering to her present sallow complexion and graying hair. As for his social ambitions, she thought, as she had done often before, that he should have been born a Frenchman of quality, for Holland lacked those close-knit aristocratic circles that existed in France and he would have reveled in the pomp and ostentation that played no part in Dutch life. It made it all the stranger that he was now so secretive about any business that compelled him to travel to Paris. He never spoke of any invitations received there.

"When is your gaming session to be?"

"Next week. There'll be only four of us playing. Visser and I played a few hands after supper last night. I could tell that he likes a serious game and I shall see that he gets it."

That meant the stakes would be high. "Are you sure he can afford it? Artists are usually of moderate circ.u.mstances."

"This fellow can. He has a well-built house and appears to keep a good table, although I suppose the best was put on for me, including the wine, which was excellent. Visser is also in a position to apprentice his eldest daughter to a Delft studio and the second is to follow shortly. What's more, he has a hawk of an agent in de Hartog, who knows how to press up prices for his work."

He was satisfied he had presented a convincing picture. Had he not known of Hendrick's tendency to fall easily into debt, apparently controlled to a degree at the present time by Francesca and, according to his paid informant, frequently having to exist on a few wins at the tavern tables, he would have thought the Visser household to be on a solid financial foundation. It was his guess that Francesca had to look at every stiver and make it stretch far. All that would change for her in the future. She would want for nothing. At first the apprenticeship at Delft had seemed like a setback, but by the time she had finished his portrait even that obstacle to his pursuit of her should be eliminated.

Amalia's mind had been put at rest by Ludolf's a.s.surance. It had been the mention of the artist's daughters that had concerned her. Bankruptcy, with its attendant misery for the family, was all too often the fate of a painter and she did not want Hendrick Visser hastened toward it while under this roof.

As soon as Ludolf had left the apartment, Neeltje brought her tea on a tray, for she always needed something to revive her after being in her husband's presence. Sometimes she wished she could find oblivion in alcohol, but she had never liked it in any form and when guests were present a juice resembling wine was always poured into her gla.s.s.

"How prompt you are, Neeltje," Amalia said gratefully as the cup of fragrant China tea, sleved of its leaves, was handed to her.

"I try always to be prepared, ma'am."

The exchange was a familiar little ritual that had evolved over the years.

Neeltje was in her forties, plain-featured with fading fair hair, always neat and spotless in her starched cap and ap.r.o.n, with large peasant hands that could be gentle when nursing and strong in supporting the frailness of an invalid when slow steps had to be taken from one room to another. She was a wonderful companion in every way and often Amalia would talk to her of days gone by and of her first husband, Stepha.n.u.s, although Neeltje had never known him. Friends did occasionally mention him when on their own with her, but she had been widowed five years before marrying Ludolf and that had been over a decade ago.

It had been an arranged marriage with Stepha.n.u.s, a widower and thrice her age, she only fifteen on her wedding day, but he had been good and kind. She had grown to love him, but it had not been love of the heady, romantic kind. That had pa.s.sed her by entirely. Maybe that was why she had lost her head and allowed herself to be swept out of lonely widowhood by Ludolf, who had flattered her and wooed her and seduced her into marriage. Trusted friends had warned her, saying that nothing was known about this stranger who had been a sleeping partner in an admittedly reputable ship-brokering business and had only just made an appearance. She had replied that it was the death of his partner that had brought him home to Amsterdam from his travels securing business overseas. Why was it, then, they had countered, that n.o.body of their acquaintance in such circles knew of him? She had pointed out lightheartedly that the world was wide and Ludolf had confided to her that he made the best deals through quiet negotiations.

It had been a triumph for her when she met, and was able to present, two merchants who spoke highly of Ludolf, each of whom had met him in the New World. One had received vital supplies of gunpowder from him when none was available, and the other the replacement for a vessel wrecked beyond salvage. Later, when she was disillusioned and far wiser, she wondered if those two men had been bribed by Ludolf to make those statements, for neither of them had ever crossed her path again.

"There's to be another banquet soon, Neeltje," she said on a sigh.

"Then you must rest well beforehand, ma'am," Neeltje replied solicitously.

Amalia smiled wryly to herself. She did little else to survive from day to day. The collapses she had endured had been frightening, but each time she had rallied, astounding her doctor. He explained it as her strength of will. What he did not suspect was that her elixir of life was a hatred of her husband that was equal to his own for her. Not even Neeltje guessed how it sustained her and was her strength. She knew she was living on extended time, but her vengeance would be if she could deny Ludolf the freedom from her that he wanted by outliving him!

THE NEXT DAY in the parlor, Willem stared incredulously with a rise of anger at Hendrick. "You have done what?"

Hendrick was unperturbed. "Letting Francesca take the van Deventer commission was the only way I could get out of accepting it myself. I'm giving her the chance to earn some money for herself before she goes away, because I shall share with her whatever price you set on it. That's generous of me, don't you think?"

Furiously Willem shook the apprenticeship papers that he held. "These are signed and sealed stating she will start at Vermeer's studio next month. She must be there!"

"Impossible," Hendrick replied casually.

"d.a.m.nation to your folly. I gave up a lot of time to arrange all this! Do you imagine it was easy getting the Guild of St. Luke to grant Francesca three years to become a master instead of six? What's more, the committee is prepared to consider only two if she should reach their expectations."

"But you had that doc.u.ment of indenture."

"That showed she had been trained in your studio from the age of twelve, but no work was displayed to the Guild of Amsterdam at what should have been the end of the apprenticeship span on her eighteenth birthday. The doc.u.ment was also queried because it was not written on parchment, but it was decided it would hold up legally, which is why the Committee eventually decided leniently in her favor. The strength of her sketches and the painting of her sisters did much to sway them in her favor."

"What reason did you give for the switch of studios?"

"Circ.u.mstances!" Willem was glaring.

Hendrick did not probe. He suspected that neglect of tuition had tipped the scales. "That's it, then."

"What are you saying?" Willem looked as if he might explode. "I haven't told you before, but Vermeer wasn't enamored with the idea of having a pupil. I had to do a deal of talking about Francesca before he would consider taking her. Now that he has agreed, giving her a golden chance at moderate terms such as you'd never get anywhere else, you have to sabotage everything! Don't you realize he could either sue you for her nonappearance or-worse still for her-take this opportunity, and be within his rights, to declare her indentures with him to be null and void! Where is she now?"

"Upstairs being fitted for new garments."

"Send for her."

Hendrick, as ever when knowing himself to be in the wrong, became belligerent. "I'm not having her upset by you in your present temper."

"Then I'll seek her out myself."

Willem strode from the room and took the stairs two at a time. These upper regions were unknown to him, but he would shout for her. The landing branched curiously, as happened in so many Dutch houses, his own included, and another narrow staircase wound upward while a long corridor with closed doors lay to his right. Only the one at the end stood half open and from it came a buzz of female chatter.

"Francesca!"

There was a moment of surprised silence and then Francesca herself appeared in the doorway attired in a gown of tawny velvet that was partly held together by white tacking st.i.tches. Astonishment and amus.e.m.e.nt blended in her face at the sight of him. "Have you lost your way, mijnheer?" she asked with laughter in her voice.

"I have to speak to you. It's most important."

Her smile fled at the sternness of his request. She spoke to the seamstress in the sewing room and then left to go to her own room. "We can talk in here."

In her bedchamber, on the cushioned bench, he explained the situation. "I can't say what action-if any-Vermeer might make. He is an amiable man and might be persuaded to overlook a delay, although that's impossible to guarantee."

She sat very straight, absently lifting her left sleeve occasionally, for it was slipping away from its tacking at the shoulder. "Whether he would or would not is beside the point. An agreement has been made in good faith on both sides and not to abide to it is breaking one's word. Similarly a bond has been agreed in my accepting van Deventer's commission."

"Could you finish the portrait in five weeks?"

"I could if I had the studio to myself, but Father is working on his painting of the tax collector. When he's in the mood for work he has to paint. It's like breathing to him. I daresay I could share Aletta's studio-parlor, but I'm not sure that she would want me there and there's scarcely room for two of us in any case." She tilted her chin. "But there are other rooms in the house and I will fulfill my obligations somehow."

"You have to consider the possibility that van Deventer's engagements might keep him from coming for sittings as often as you would wish. But I've a suggestion. I could ask him if you could use one of the rooms in his house as a studio. Then he would be able to sit for you whenever he has five minutes."

Her face cleared. "That would be the solution to everything!"

"I'll go straight from here to his house. When everything is explained to him I feel sure he will agree."

She smiled gratefully. "You are such a good friend."

He returned her smile. "I've known your father too many years not to want to help whenever I can and I was fond of your good mother."

"I can't find enough words to thank you."

In the sewing room again, as Francesca stood having the new garment readjusted here and there by the seamstress, she thought of the meeting she had arranged with Pieter. If she was to go daily to the van Deventer house it might not be possible to meet him as planned, but at least she knew he would be at the same house on Friday morning and she could tell him then if it proved impossible.

Early that evening one of Ludolf's servants delivered a letter to Hendrick. In it Ludolf wrote that a room had been converted already into a studio for Francesca and it had been fully equipped with an easel and canvas, oils and brushes and everything else she might need. This meant she could keep the appointment already arranged on the morrow for his first sitting. He would be sending his coach for her. All this information was somewhat overwhelming, for she had planned for a man with a handcart to take what she would need.

"It's too much," she said uneasily to Hendrick. "I only expected s.p.a.ce with a good light, a chair for van Deventer and a side table for the model of the ship."

"It goes to show what a considerate man he is," he replied. "After all, he sent his coach for me last night for that evening at cards at his house. Naturally he would do the same for you."

It had been a most gratifying evening for Hendrick. Three of his paintings were hung prominently in the card room and the fourth in the supper room of that splendid house. After a slight setback, he had won handsomely from Ludolf and his two friends. Never had he drunk better wine or seen gentlemen lose with such good grace. They had congratulated him at the night's end and expressed their pleasure when he had invited them to his house to play again, giving them the chance to win their money back. But he had been laughing to himself. He knew from long experience that when his luck was in full spate it would carry him through many such games yet. A few more such wins and he would be able to send Aletta to Delft too.

When Sybylla heard that Francesca was to ride in the van Deventer coach she insisted on going with her. "Do let me! I'll be very quiet and not disturb you when you're painting."

"When have you ever been quiet!" Francesca teased.

Sybylla became frantic. "Don't begrudge me this chance to see inside that house!"

Francesca relented. "You can come, but any foolishness and you will have to leave." She shook a warning finger.

"I'll be so good! I promise."

The coach came for them at eight o'clock the next morning. Francesca carried her painting smock and the roll of draperies for the portrait's background, while Sybylla held the model of the ship. Throughout the ride Sybylla was on the lookout all the time for anyone she knew. Then she would wave and dip her head graciously as if aping Prince Willem of Orange when he rode out from the palace at The Hague. Once she kicked her feet with delight after a girl she disliked intensely had gaped in envious amazement as she rode by.