The Golden Tulip (64 page)

That evening two regents and a regentess called unexpectedly to see Geetruyd on some urgent matter. Showing them into another parlor, she thought that Clara, who was limping along the corridor, was about to join Francesca and Ludolf in the room she had just left. Instead, Ludolf having swiftly closed the door, Clara limped past to the small parlor that was still her bedchamber, wanting to rest her ankle.

Francesca had risen quickly to her feet, for Ludolf was advancing on her. “I think Clara is supposed to be here. I’ll call her.”

“Let her be. I thought we were never going to have a minute to ourselves!” His expression alarmed her, for he looked almost ill with passion.

She moved swiftly, but he was quicker, reaching out an arm to hook her about the waist and hurl her into his embrace. Then his mouth was on hers, forcing open her lips, his tongue threatening to choke her. She felt as if she were being eaten alive, helpless as a doll in his grip, and her abhorrence of him soared as he thrust his hand into her bodice to squeeze her breast until she thought she would faint with the pain. He seemed totally out of his mind, months of restraint released into this awful encounter. She flailed her arms wildly, hoping to seize something within reach with which to strike him. The back of her hand hit against a glazed surface. The next second there was a resounding crash as a Delft pot smashed into smithereens on the floor.

He let her go as if he had been shot. A few yards away a door opened at once and Geetruyd’s footsteps came hurrying toward the parlor as he drew back from Francesca, an elated expression on his face. The obsessional look in his eyes terrified her. He did not seem sane.

“I can’t wait for you any longer! Come back with me to Amsterdam!”

Geetruyd had reached the door and she flung it open. She had not heard what he had said, but she took in the situation at a glance. “What happened to one of my best pots?” she exclaimed almost hysterically.

Her voice had a sobering effect on him. “My fault entirely,” he said carelessly. “I’ll buy you another.”

“But it was an antique and I was particularly fond of it.” Geetruyd was determined to make the most of the situation. He should pay her far more than the measly pot was worth to get on the right side of her again. She looked calmly at Francesca’s taut face as if she did not notice the crooked neckline and the crumbled collar. “Go and chat with my guests, would you? I must clear this mess up at once, because I had thought to serve tea for them and the three of us here quite shortly.”

“Yes, of course.” Francesca hurried thankfully from the room, closing the door after her.

Geetruyd turned to Ludolf with her hands on her hips. “Up to your tricks again, you lecher!”

He grinned, himself again, and pinched her chin playfully. “You should be glad to have such a virile lover. If ever I lost interest in flirting with a pretty girl it would be a bad sign.”

She struck his hand away. “What you do in Amsterdam or elsewhere is not my concern, but, as I told you before, I will not have any girl molested by you all the time she is in my charge. And that pot was very expensive.”

He was not deceived, knowing her mercenary nature only too well. “I’ve said I’d pay for it, but as you’re upset about its loss I want to give you a string of pearls or perhaps a diamond pendant to make up. Which would you like?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “I’ll have both,” she said bluntly.

He bought them from a jeweler before he left Delft. In her bedchamber Geetruyd looked at the gifts with intense satisfaction. The pearls gleamed and the splendid diamond pendant sparkled handsomely, each gift in its own velvet-lined casket. If war should come—and the rising unrest of the populace against France suggested strongly that it might—jewelry would not lose its value as money might. It did not matter to her that she could not wear in public the jewels that Ludolf had given her from time to time, because each piece was a security better than any bond.

As she put them away in a safe place she considered the incident that had resulted in this gain. She had seen on Ludolf’s first visit during Francesca’s stay that he was greatly taken with the young woman. There was nothing unusual in that and it might have been a longstanding attraction, but on his subsequent visits he had gradually revealed himself to be totally besotted by her. This last time it was like a sickness on him. He watched hungrily for a door to open when Francesca was expected in a room. He looked hangdog whenever she went to bed early, not having the wit to see she could barely tolerate his presence. Her cool politeness was in reality a scream of loathing at his lustful glances, his inability to refrain from touching her on the arm or hand or waist at every opportunity. Whereas one woman could always sense another woman’s attitude, men in their puffed-up male conceit failed to pick up the signals. Ludolf was also one of those men to whom female hostility was an incitement to passion. Geetruyd knew from her own experience that in bed he was at his most savage and exultant whenever he met opposition to one of his unpleasant whims.

She regarded herself in a mirror and smoothed her fingertips over her temples, carefully checking that she did not have a hair out of place. It had never occurred to her until comparatively recently that Ludolf was behind the instructions she had been given for the protection of Francesca. She could see now how Hendrick Visser, anxious to please his rich patron, would be totally influenced by Ludolf’s suggestions as to how to keep Francesca from harm in a new town and surroundings away from friends and family. Suppose—just suppose—Ludolf had long had it in his mind to marry Francesca after she had completed her apprenticeship. But the girl would never agree! Yet a daughter’s disagreement with such a decision held no substance when parents had made up their minds. She herself knew that only too well from the fate of the girls who had been in her charge as well as from her own youthful experience. Then she straightened her shoulders. She was letting a foolish notion run away with her. Ludolf had not changed in the least toward her and when she had brought herself to speak out about their marrying as soon as Holland was subjugated to France he had not discouraged her. Quite the opposite. Once or twice it had been as if they were young again with all their hopes pinned on the demise of her husband as now they awaited the spoils of Louis XIV’s victory.

O
NCE AGAIN
F
RANCESCA
was able to settle to work without the shadow of Ludolf’s presence in Delft looming over her. Pieter was coming to see her during Delft’s annual kermis in September, a week of festivities when people from all walks of life rubbed shoulders in the general merriment. Last year she had been allowed a day off from the studio to enjoy the Delft kermis with the Vermeer children, but this year she would be with the man she loved. Jan was letting her borrow a mask and a red cloak from the atelier chest and with her hair covered by the hood she could be with Pieter without fear of recognition.

She counted the days as preparations for the kermis began to take place. Booths, tents and stalls were being set up in the market square and along the streets. There would be plays and concerts, archery contests and other sports, games of chance, processions, dances and fireworks as well as special entertainments for the children.

On the opening day people came early into town from miles around and a large crowd congregated for the procession of the local militia into the square. The Vermeers took up a position outside their own house where the children could stand at the front, Francesca helping to shepherd the youngest of them while Rina took her hand and remained at her side. Catharina had made them all little banners to wave, including Francesca, and Beatrix jumped up and down with excitement as she waited for the procession to appear.

Fifes and drums, combined with the blare of long-stemmed trumpets, heralded the approach of the militia. Then came the standard-bearer in pumpkin-yellow brocade embroidered in gilt thread and sashed with orange silk, white plumes in his sweeping hat. He carried the standard in such a way that it whirled dramatically, although the air was mild and still with no breeze. Behind him marched the officers and men in all their finery. Cheers resounded around the square and Beatrix ran forward to join with the children running alongside them, Francesca and Rina rushing to keep abreast of her to make sure she did not get lost in a crush of people afterward.

After returning the two girls back into their mother’s care, Francesca and Jan went back indoors. He had stocked up his gallery with paintings and etchings over the past weeks and would have a busy time throughout the kermis, for people would be in a spending mood. She, as an apprentice, would have one day off on the morrow.

Next morning the highlight was to be a procession of the Guilds, in which Jan was taking part. He went off in his best coat and breeches of dark blue velvet to muster near the Old Church. Francesca in her mask watched from the studio window until she saw Pieter come to stand near Mechelin Huis at the end of the row of trees that divided off the square from the surrounds of the New Church. Then she hastened from the house by way of the gallery and ran joyously into Pieter’s embrace. Nobody in the merry, milling throng paid them any attention. There was so much to see and to do. Vendors shouted out their wares or their entertainments in rhyme, which were often comic and brought forth roars of laughter. Pieter was not masked, but many were in carnival costumes and Francesca in her mask did not receive a second glance. They were able to join in the country dances together, watch a drama, eat and drink and try out their luck at various competitions. Once they saw Clara, a lonely little figure, who had limped painfully from Kromstraat to see the festivities in the square.

“I only wish we could let her join us for a little while,” Francesca said after pointing her out to Pieter. “She has such a wretched time under Geetruyd’s thumb, but I mustn’t let her recognize me.”

“She does look sad there on her own. Just wait here for me.” He darted to a peddler selling posies and bought one. Making his way through the crowd to where Clara stood, he swept off his hat, bowed and kissed her hand. Then as the little woman stared at him in blushing astonishment, he presented her with the posy, behavior quite in order at a kermis, when it was acceptable to pay respectful tribute to any woman. As he left her Clara stared dazedly after him, a smile wreathing her face. He put his arm around Francesca, drawing her deeper into the crowd.

“I’m glad you did that,” she said happily. “You’ve made Clara’s day as wonderful as ours.”

During the afternoon they left the festivities and walked out into the countryside, where for a little while she was able to remove her mask and let the hood fall back from her hair. They lay in the tall grass together and renewed their love for each other.

“When shall we meet again?” he asked as they wended their way back to the town.

“In Amsterdam when I go home for Christmas. Sybylla’s marriage to Adriaen is to take place then.”

“That’s a long time to wait.”

“The weeks will pass quickly. I have to be more careful than ever now that Geetruyd should not suspect we’re seeing each other.”

“Yes, it would be disastrous if incarceration stopped your gaining Guild membership at this late stage.”

“It’s not only that!” She halted and pressed herself close to him, throwing her arms about his neck. “Ludolf would hear of it and I’m terrified he might kill you!”

He put his hands on her waist, looking guardedly into her face. “Whatever makes you think he would go to such extreme measures?”

“He’s so mad for me that I think jealousy might drive him to the most desperate deed. No normal man would have used such means as he did to snare me as a wife. I’ve given him nothing but rebuffs, made it plain that I’m not a willing participant in that contract and all I want is to be free of him, but still he will not let me go. It’s a sickness. He’s so obsessed that sometimes I wonder if he really sees me as an individual anymore, but as some prize that he would maim or murder for if the need arose!”

Her head drooped forward against him and he stroked the nape of her neck with his fingertips, thinking how all unknowingly she had accurately summed up the character of the man who had already murdered once and most probably twice. “You mustn’t ever be afraid for me. Remember, I’m a militiaman and trained to both attack and defend with my sword and pistol. Put all your fears at rest as far as I’m concerned.”

She looked up anxiously at him again. “Nevertheless, we must take no more risks. I wouldn’t have dared to meet you today if I hadn’t been masked.”

“Then it’s farewell now until December,” he said ruefully.

“It is, my dearest love.”

When they reached the town they parted where they had met by the row of trees. She returned the mask and cloak to the atelier chest before she walked back to Kromstraat with Weintje through all the festive trappings of the kermis, where colored lanterns and bright flares added to the general enchantment of the scene. Her thoughts followed Pieter riding back through the night, the bulb-selling season being in full swing and demanding his presence at Haarlem Huis just as his land would always draw him back.

Clara came with the posy to show her, full of it being a gift from a dashing stranger. “I wish you could have seen him, Francesca.”

“I’m so pleased he singled you out.”

Geetruyd, who was within hearing, sniffed contemptuously. “I expect the posy had been refused by every other woman at the kermis.”

Clara’s eyes filled with tears at the hurtful gibe. “That’s not true! He was being courteous to me because I was on my own, not for any other reason. He could have given the posy to any one of the pretty girls there and not been spurned. As a matter of fact, he had his own sweetheart. I saw them together and the posy could have been hers if he had wished it, but he had bought her something else. I saw them earlier at one of the stalls.”

“What made you notice them?” Francesca asked gently.

“The way they kissed as if they were alone on an island instead of being in the midst of hundreds of people.” There was a wistful note in Clara’s voice.