The Golden Tulip (26 page)

It was to be certain of this that he had offered hospitality to Pieter, wanting to view the situation at close hand. On the surface there had been nothing at all to suggest anything really serious between them, but there had been the incident of finding her gazing from the window. Yet that might have been only female curiosity to see what was going on.

At least the trap for Hendrick was well and truly set now and when it snapped shut Francesca would be equally securely imprisoned by it. With his prior knowledge of Hendrick’s gambling weakness, he had let him win that first time at the Visser house. Then at his own home it had been arranged again, two of his cardsharp henchmen acting the gentlemen and Hendrick leaving with large winnings. Tonight was to be the denouement.

I
N THE EARLY
hours of the following morning Hendrick sat ashen-faced in the firelight of the drawing room. He was bowed over, forearms across his knees and his hands hanging. The whole house was sleeping and he was alone in his torment. He had not been in such desperate straits since he had had Anna to turn to, when, without a word of reproach, she would calmly count up what could be sold this time. Another piece of her treasured jewelry would always top the list until that was all gone. They had quarreled about many things, including his gambling and womanizing, but at times of crisis she had turned her thoughts only to how she might save him from disaster. At least, through her father’s foresight, the roof over their heads had never been endangered. Unfortunately, because of a legal technicality that had been overlooked, that protection had not been continued for her children. It was why he had made a supreme effort since his bereavement not to be as reckless at gaming tables as he had been previously, comparatively minor debts always settled sooner or later.

Until tonight! He groaned aloud. The evening had started off superbly. Ludolf and the two other players, Claudius and Otto, with whom Hendrick had played previously, arrived in good spirits in anticipation of the return card session. Both the newcomers to the house had admired his painting of Anna in the reception room, as people with an eye for art so often did. Following what they had already seen of his paintings in Ludolf’s home, it was obvious they would soon be wanting some of his work too. Francesca had set a buffet supper on a side table with several decanters of wine and then left them to begin their game in the drawing room.

At first the size of the stakes suggested had almost made his eyes bulge, but luck was running in his fingers and he knew he could not lose. It was not time yet for that winning streak to start playing tricks and he could feel his own power.

“Why not raise the stakes still higher, gentlemen?” he had suggested. He had seen that only Ludolf had not been taken aback, giving an approving nod, and the other two recovered themselves and agreed.

How well the play had gone! The cards adored him. They purred as he fanned them out and if he had seen them switch suits to please his play he would not have been surprised. His winnings mounted from the first hand. By the time a break was taken for food, the glasses having been replenished by each to his own requirements during the game, he had two mountains of shining florins beside him and knew there would be more before the night’s end.

It was after supper that everything began to go wrong. He would lose and then win again with the resurgence of power, only to be dashed unexpectedly in the next hand by rogue cards that ruined everything. His winnings began to diminish, but he was in a trap of his own hospitality, giving him no chance of withdrawing from the game on some pretext of having to leave, and more so by his own conviction that luck had not deserted him. He always sensed when that was happening, even though he might choose not to take notice, but that was not the case tonight. There was no trickery afoot with the three other players, for even when he dealt he lost in the same way.

Eventually all his winnings had gone and he went on, getting deeper and deeper into the mire, Ludolf keeping him company, but then his patron had had the poorest cards all the evening. Sweat ran down into Hendrick’s eyes and his shirt was sticking to him. The perpetual pain in his knuckles began echoing in his chest, a sensation he had not experienced before, and he loosened the strings of his collar. Then, when he had a winning hand in his clasp again, almost making him weep with joy that his luck had returned in a way that would sweep him on to the whole night’s jackpot, they fell from his nerveless fingers as his chest seemed to contract and he began gasping frantically for breath, lurching back in his chair.

The others sprang up with exclamations. Ludolf wrenched Hendrick’s shirt wide open at the neck, aided by Otto, while Claudius rushed to throw the window wide. Mercifully the pain began to subside as quickly as it had come, and as Hendrick began to sit up and mop his brow, his companions relaxed, showing relief that he had recovered.

“Too much wine,” Ludolf jested kindly. “Combined with the heat of the room, it overcame you.”

Hendrick could not answer, concentrating on getting some regularity back into his breathing. To his dismay he saw the cards he had dropped lay on the floor amid those that had been scattered by his fellow players when they had leapt to his assistance. There was no chance of retrieving that golden hand of hands and playing on.

“I think we should call this night to a close,” Ludolf continued, taking Hendrick’s agreement for granted and glancing at the other two, who acquiesced graciously. “We’ll play again at the first opportunity. Let the final score be tallied and then Hendrick and I can write our promissory notes.”

Otto immediately obliged and then Claudius checked his results before handing them on to Ludolf, who seated himself at the table again. While he wrote his promissory note, Hendrick was shown the amount he owed. He could scarcely comprehend that the figure he saw there applied to him. Ludolf handed his notes to the two fortunate winners, and Hendrick, with a violently shaking hand, set the quill scratching as he saw himself signing away the value of all he owned and more.

He had only the haziest recollection of seeing his guests out of his house. Afterward he had slumped down into the fireside chair and had not moved. The money to send Francesca to Delft had gone, but that was only a fraction of his losses. With his poor credit no bank or individual would advance him a loan of such a size as he had brought down upon his own head tonight. There was no way that he would be able to pay without selling the house. Anna’s home! This was where he still glimpsed the flicker of her golden hair through a pattern of rose glass in the windows and dreamt of her passionately at night in their bed. Her loving presence was everywhere in the house and in losing it he would lose her forever.

A great yell of mingled heartbreak, frustration and hopelessness rose in his throat and drove him up with it from the chair to his feet, his face contorted into a grimace of utter despair, his fists bunched high. As his voice roared forth he slammed his fists against the fireplace with such force that the searing pain from his knuckles, worse than anything he had experienced earlier, hurled him off balance and he fell sprawling to the floor. There he rolled over on his side, his cheek against the cold marble tiles, his bleeding hands spread out. He did not weep from physical agony but from the anguish of his spirit.

“Anna!” He sobbed her name. The acoustics of the house were governed by twisting stairs, odd-shaped corridors and thick doors. No sound reached the upper bedchambers and those who would have come to him slept on.

W
HEN GRIET WASHED
the floor of the drawing room, which was her first task after lighting the fires every morning, she found the bloodstains. Immediately she assumed that somebody had broken a goblet during the previous night’s card game and cut a hand at the same time. She looked about warily for any glittering shards but was unable to find any. It was not like the master to clear up anything after himself or his guests, but he had been careful about the glass this time.

Shortly afterward at breakfast she saw that both his hands were bound up in clean linen and the tips of his fingers, which were all that could be seen, were swollen and pulpish. Francesca had to cut his cheese and spread his butter. He was totally subdued and quiet, quite unlike himself, and his explanation to his concerned daughters was that he had injured his hands by falling in an awkward way.

“Drunk again,” Maria muttered under her breath. She was getting deaf and did not realize how audible her pithy remarks were becoming.

But she had only said what everybody thought, although Griet alone knew of the evidence in the forgotten window left open and the cards kicked about all over the floor. She had been quick to tidy all that out of sight, only thankful that no thief had taken advantage of an easy entry, and she had not wanted Maria or any of the girls to see the evidence of drunken revelry. Why she should cover up for the master she did not know, but she was pleased to do it.

When breakfast was over Francesca, about to get ready for Ludolf’s house, put a hand on her father’s arm. “Why not come with me today? You can’t paint with your hands as they are and Ludolf would make you welcome. He’s most hospitable. As I told you, he invited Pieter to stay for the noon meal yesterday.”

“No!” He spoke more sharply than he had intended, but his patron was the last person he wished to see. He was trying to subdue his memory of that fateful card game that had reduced him to such humiliating and degrading circumstances. It was enough that he was faced with a horrendous debt that had swallowed him up. There was no time to waste in bemoaning why it had happened. He had decided during his sleepless night to spend the day ahead in trying to raise loans throughout the city. There were many people he had never approached for money before. Some faint stirrings of his old optimism made him hope that here and there he might receive a generous hearing. Whether his paintings would be accepted as collateral he did not know. Tradesmen sometimes took paintings in lieu of payment for outstanding bills, but he was uncertain about the sort of businessmen he would be seeing on today’s awful tour of supplication. Never before had he been forced to beg, which was what it amounted to, and the crushing down of his pride was torment.

“I’ll find plenty to do.” He was unable to raise the faintest note of cheer in his voice. “There’s an auction of foreign works of art being held today. I’ll look in at that.”

Griet popped her head into the room. “The coach is here.”

“I’m coming,” Francesca replied. Then as Griet went again she embraced her father and kissed his cheek. “Don’t be cast down. Your hands will soon heal. But if you take my advice you will show them to the doctor today. He may also be able to suggest some treatment for that swelling of your knuckles, for that is more than just the result of the cuts you’ve suffered.”

He met her eyes. “So you’ve noticed?”

She smiled at him fondly. “Of course I have, but it’s my secret and yours. Nobody else has any suspicion. So will you do as I ask?”

He thought to himself that she had no idea there was no money now for anything such as treatment from doctors or—far worse—an apprenticeship. If he was not successful today she would have to be told, but how he could bring himself to break the news he did not know. She was so happy and excited about going to Delft, her boxes half packed and her new clothes almost ready. He
must
raise some money somewhere! “I may call at the doctor’s house on my way to the auction.”

“Yes. Do that, please.”

As she left him she hoped he would keep his word. Men were such difficult patients; they thought they were dying if they had a bad cold, but if it was something really serious they would be resolute and foolishly courageous, wanting to avoid medical attention at all costs. She found her younger sister already seated in the coach.

“I’m going to miss all this luxury when you’ve finished the portrait, Francesca,” Sybylla said petulantly as the wheels of the coach rolled forward.

“I thought you said you’re going to continue visiting Amalia.”

“I shall. We get on so well. Somehow I can always entertain people.”

Francesca smiled. “That’s your great gift.”

“Is it? I never thought of it in that light. But visiting there and being shown straight to Amalia’s suite won’t be the same for me as it is now. I like to pretend it’s my house and I really live there.”

“I’m not sure that’s a wise fantasy to have. You might lose sight of true values.”

Sybylla turned to her on the velvet upholstered seat. “I’m not belittling our home! I know there’s more love there than that mansion has ever known, but money makes life so much easier.” She paused fractionally as if uncertain whether to continue and then decided she would. “I’ve had another dream too. But you mustn’t laugh if I tell you about it.”

“I won’t.”

“Well, I hoped when I went with you that first day and ever since that I’d meet there a young, rich and handsome man, whom I could never find in our circles, and who would fall in love with me and offer marriage.”

“I haven’t seen anyone there to fit that description!”

“Neither have I,” Sybylla sighed heavily, thoroughly disgruntled. “People come and go all the time. Clerks and businessmen and friends of Vrouw van Deventer, but not a single one who would suit me.”

Francesca put her hand over her sister’s. “Don’t give up hope,” she said, half seriously, “there’s still the evening of the banquet to come.”

“So there is!” Sybylla brightened.

“I should be able to put the last touches to the portrait that morning,” Francesca added. “Then Ludolf will be able to hang it for the occasion, which is what he wants.”

She was willing enough to please him, because she could not fault his behavior toward her since she had made her attitude clear. Out of a sense of fairness she had to admit that no one could have been more considerate. He had spent some part of each day sitting for her, often coming twice and even three times, occasionally prepared to sit for half an hour without a break, which was good for anyone not a professional model. As a result she had made steady progress with her work and saw no reason why that should not continue. He had not seen her painting of him as yet, and had declined only yesterday when she had invited him across to her easel.