Wings over Delft (6 page)

‘But Pieter, that is not allowed. Our philosophers tell us that what we grasp with reason is more real than what we grasp with our senses.’

‘Oh, dear. Does that mean that I got a clip over my ear for nothing?’

Louise laughed out loud, and the laugh echoed between the high wall and the gables of the town. She listened to the
echo; it was an unexpectedly happy sound. ‘No, the
opposite
, just wait till I tell Father. Pieter Kunst has just proved that our greatest philosopher is wrong.’

‘Oops.’ Pieter wobbled; she steadied him.

‘It would be a terrible waste if you fell off, you know. You must be preserved; you are my forbidden fruit. Brace one hand on the wall as I did coming up.’ They arrived, still laughing, at the bottom. Louise took Pieter’s arm and they walked along in the shadow of the wall and she told him about her father and the telescope that they were building. Then she told him about the philosopher her father had met years ago.

‘He lives … no, lived … in The Hague,’ she said. ‘Father was a bit in awe of him I think,’ she smiled. ‘He said just what I said to you there on the steps: what we grasp with reason is more real than what we grasp with our senses.’ Louise looked up, a pale daytime moon was hurrying apologetically from cloud to cloud as if it had been caught out late. ‘He said our senses pretend to us that there is a moon up there, and we believe that it is real, like the wall here, but we don’t know. Perhaps it is really is a cheese, like we saw in the Markt, or perhaps we are seeing it in a dream and later we will wake up and it won’t be there. The only way we can be certain that something is real is by reason.’

‘Well, it didn’t work for me. Reason told me that the glass I was trying to draw consisted of two ellipses, joined top to bottom by a number of curves, but when I drew it that way it looked like a tipsy saint with a halo.’

‘But would it have worked if you were to measure
everything
? You see, Father says that that is how science works.’

‘There is a method we have, using lenses and mirrors, that throws an image of what we want to paint on to the canvas. We use it, but not a lot. The Master says it is like the plan of a building before the house is built. It has no soul; that is something that has to be added.’

‘Soul …’ Louise echoed. ‘Perhaps that’s the trouble with science, perhaps it has no soul.’

‘But you love science, don’t you? I can hear it in your voice when you talk about it.’

‘Yes, oh yes, Pieter! To understand the universe as it really is. Maybe soon we will be able to discover the very keys of life, and we will be able to put right all the things that have been done in ignorance or in folly!’ She paused. ‘But I think there is something missing, Pieter. You called it soul. Somehow I’m not sure that there is room for “soul” in science.’

They walked side by side until they could see the Huijbrechtstoren, a rampart tower, standing over the wall to their right. Then they turned left towards the Doelen, the town shooting range, and passed the gunpowder store. It was a peaceful part of town, overhung by massive trees. Orchards and allotments stretched out to the curve of the town walls and the Schiekanaal. It was here that Louise’s father had bought one of the new houses, attracted by the peace and quiet away from the busy town centre. There was grass beside the road so their approach to the gate of the powder magazine was quiet. A sudden movement caused Louise to grip Pieter’s arm. It was Claes, watchman at the powder store, hastily putting something in his pocket. He smiled, but it was a shifty smile. Louise felt uneasy. She shivered and drew Pieter closer.

‘That smelled like tobacco,’ Pieter said, sniffing. ‘I hope he doesn’t smoke inside.’

‘Oh, it would be forbidden. They even have to wear cloth shoes in case of sparks.’ Louise reassured him. ‘He’ll be careful enough, he’d be the first to be blown up.’ She looked ahead. ‘Oh, look. They’re coming out of
the firing range now, let’s walk quickly.’

A door had opened in the wall ahead of them and, in a clatter of armour and equipment, officers of the watch, who had been at practice, were spilling out on to the road. Louise held Pieter’s arm firmly and lowered her head. She rather wished she had put on her head-cloth. There was a time, not long ago, when she would have joked and teased with the men. They were usually in good spirits, talking loudly from temporary deafness, faces scorched and black from having expended quantities of gunpowder on targets, or sweating from crossing swords in practice. One or two of them called greetings. She recognised Dirck van Vliet, the new captain of the watch.

‘Miss Louise …’ the “Miss” was new; Louise did not reply, and then regretted it. She hadn’t meant to be snooty. One of them called out to Pieter that he was parched, and was there anyone left at home who could give him a drink? Pieter made some reply that Louise didn’t hear, because she was listening to another voice, unconsciously loud from the shooting range.

‘… DeVries, you know.’ Reynier’s surname fell on her ear like a ball of lead. Her face flushed; she had to force herself not to walk faster. So, she thought, it really is all around town. Even the town guard are linking our names. How, how, how had she let it happen? She was gripping Pieter’s arm cruelly, but a gap seemed to be widening
between
them already. Pieter – the humble apprentice – where did he stand in a community which seemed to be working itself up for the marriage of the decade. Her marriage! She
couldn’t believe it. She began to walk faster, but a group from the watch fell in with them. When she arrived at her house she almost grabbed her house shoes from Pieter. The jovial company stood in the road admiring the new house while Louise knocked on the door. She remembered Pieter and turned to thank him, but he had disappeared. The door opened behind her and the men in the road doffed their plumed hats. She turned and came face to face with Annie, who stood there, a look as black as a bible on her face. One glance was enough for Louise; she could not face Annie in a mood of righteous anger. She stepped quickly out of her clogs on to the cool of the marble floor. She had expected Annie to move to one side to close the door behind her, then she would make a dash for the stairs. But Annie knew her Louise. Instead of closing the door, she abandoned it and backed down the hall, blocking her way. Louise could still hear the loud voices of the watch outside. She turned, closed the door, and stood at bay.

‘And who are those monkeys you have acquired? And where have you been? Flaunting yourself about the town?’ Annie hissed.

‘You know them as well as I do, Annie; they are the
officers
of the watch. Not monkeys, but gentlemen.’

‘Shame on you, you hussy. Don’t you realise that
gentlemen
are the last people you should be consorting with in your condition!’

‘Annie! I’m not pregnant!’ Louise exploded, half-laughing in frustration. ‘And I’m not –’ But Annie was not to be laughed at. She changed direction.

‘How dare you sneak away without telling me!’

‘I’m not in any special condition, Annie,’ Louise persisted.

‘Stop saying “I’m not”. You are. What I want to know is how you sneaked out without my knowing.’

‘You were talking to Mistress Kathenka,’ Louise answered, dodging a lie like a skater skirting rough ice.

‘Why didn’t you call to me then?’

‘There was no need; you were enjoying yourself.’ At last Louise had got a shot home. For all Annie’s puritanical zeal she did have one weakness, and that was a penchant for a ‘little glass’. Some of her own carefully guarded cordials, though innocent to look at, were surprisingly potent. Louise had noticed a slender glass beside Annie’s hand on Kathenka’s table; Louise capitalised on this. ‘Also Annie, I had an escort home: Mr Kunst.’

‘Mr Kunst!’ Annie snorted. ‘An apprentice!’

‘That’s right Annie – at least he wasn’t a
gentleman
.’ It was time to go. You didn’t score two shots against Annie and wait to see the effect. Louise slipped past her and ran lightly up the stairs. She felt a surge of relief, joy even.
Tomorrow
Father would return from Amsterdam. Tomorrow she would tell him everything. Her mind was clear and her answers simple.

No, she did not want to be Reynier’s wife. A business deal was a business deal and Father would never want her to marry someone she wasn’t sure about. Everything had changed for her today. In the Master’s studio she had found something new and exciting, something that Reynier could
never begin to understand. She had thought of him as a protector, but now she could see his protection turning into bars for her prison cell. Perhaps she should feel guilty for having led him along, but how could she be involved with someone who would never understand people like the
Master
, Mistress Kathenka, the apprentice? People who stretched one’s mind like India rubber. No, she would not marry Reynier DeVries.

She wasn’t hungry. Annie would leave her alone. Mother was in bed, and Father was in Amsterdam. She climbed into her box bed, pulled the curtains that closed the little
bedstee
, and went to sleep curled up like a dormouse.

It was dark when Louise first woke. The house was quiet. Even the creaks and snaps made by the new wood as it adjusted to the changing temperature had ceased. She felt battered but refreshed, her mind floating clear. For a time she just lay there, looking up towards the ceiling of the box bed, and wondering if she would fall asleep again. Then she drew back the curtains, slipped out, draped a rug over her shoulders, and tiptoed to the window. The outside shutters were thrown back against the wall and the windows were folded in. She rested her elbows on the windowsill and breathed the night air. The dark hung in front of her, black as an unmarked slate. This is my slate, she thought, and I won’t let anyone write on it: not Annie, not Reynier … nobody.

Gradually she began to make out the outline of the trees
about the powder store. From far away she heard a song … a nightingale? No, a blackbird. Then the bird faltered, considering perhaps whether it had woken too early. She held her breath. There it was again! A little more confident this time, a call that ran its course. She imagined the bird, way out there to the east, cocking its head and wondering if the sun had heard it, and if it should call again. It was in full song now, and other bird voices were taking up its lead. The sound swept closer and closer, until it poured like a wave over the town walls. Only then did the wise old thrush that lived in the trees about the powder store follow the blackbird’s lead and raise its head and sing its heart out.

Louise looked about in surprise; the tender green leaves on the trees still hid their colour, but daylight had come. The old thrush was beginning its song again; theme and
variations
. ‘Yes, old bird, I heard you,’ she said and stretched. Then she clasped her hands and held the world in the circle of her arms. She imagined the wave of birdsong sweeping on around the globe; in a minute it would reach the sea. Then what? It would leap the water to the islands beyond, to England, and Ireland, and then on out over the silent seas.

I will be true. I will be true to myself, she promised. I will tell Father that I do not love Reynier, that it is all a mistake. He will understand. I don’t want to marry anyone. We will make our telescope together and explore the stars and he will tell me about his philosophers. And Pieter will come and he can tell Father about his empty glass. Then we will take turns to look at the moons about Jupiter and see Saturn’s arms.

Goosebumps rose on her skin as the chill of the morning air seeped through her rug. She hurried back into bed and fell into a deep second sleep.

She was woken for the second time by the clatter of hooves on the newly paved road outside. To begin with, she listened with detached interest. There was often traffic to and from the allotments in the morning. Suddenly she was sitting straight up in bed. Those weren’t cart-horses, they were riding horses. Father! She hopped over the board at the side of the bed, seized a light wrap from the back of the door, flew downstairs, and nearly collided with Annie on the landing below. Annie slept in what should have been Louise’s bedroom, but Mother had felt that it was too much for the old nurse to climb the steep stairs, so Louise had happily taken the attic room for herself.

‘Oh, Mistress Louise,’ Annie called, ‘you can’t go down like that, Mr De –’ but Louise was past her and away. She was already rehearsing what she would tell Father. The front door was still open as she came hurtling down the
final
flight of steps. Father stood in the doorway, outlined against the light. He was holding Mother, enveloping her inside his great travelling cloak. Too late, Louise noticed that there was someone else – a man – standing behind Father in the doorway. She faltered to a halt, her bare feet skipping on the cold marble.

‘Louise,’ Father laughed. ‘You are like a bird looking for a place to land. Come … come to Father. I need a kiss from
you, too.’ He stretched out his arm like a heron’s wing. Louise darted across the floor and felt it close about her protectively. She buried her face in his shoulder and breathed the smell of fine wool that has been wetted many times and as many times dried in sun and air. Father was home and everything was all right. Then she remembered the man at the door, and looked up, straight into the eyes of Reynier’s father, Cornelis DeVries.

‘I’ll be off now, Andraes. We have a lot to think about and to plan. Till the great day, goodbye.’

The man turned and clattered down the steps. What? What had he said? What ‘great day’ was this? But Father was enclosing her again.

‘Louise,’ he said, ‘I’ve got our lenses, and I have met a really
wonderful
man, I must tell you
all
about him.’ Mother, nestling beside her, felt as light as a sparrow – two birds under the same wing. ‘Oh, please God, spare her,’ Louise prayed on impulse; they were all so happy together.

Back in her room, Louise dressed with care. Pieter had told her she would not be needed in the studio that
morning
, as they would be preparing it for her portrait. She had a dress from last summer, a bit faded, but it was yellow and spring-like. Father liked yellow. She added a blue
overskirt
, which she then tucked up at her waist. This was for Annie, to show that she was also prepared for sober work. She hung her new green silk near the window where it could freshen up and the creases could shake out. Then she ran downstairs, hungry for news and for breakfast.

She heard his voice as she reached the door of the dining
room and hesitated, listening. Father was talking about his trip home from Amsterdam. ‘I stayed with the barge as far as Leiden. The breeze had all the windmills spinning, they made the town look exactly like a centipede crawling along.’ Her mother’s rare laugh tinkled. He saw Louise hesitating in the door. ‘Come on in Louise … breakfast.’