The Golden Tulip (66 page)

“Agreed.”

“I realize it must have been Gerard Meverden who put in a report about me.”

Van Roos appeared to study his wine. “Do you suppose you would have been brought into this intelligence organization on the strength of one man’s recommendation? You were double-checked by someone else.”

Pieter wondered who that person might be, but did not ask. In the game he was about to play names and identities would not be bandied about. “What is my first step to be?”

“Gerard Meverden will be waiting for you when you return to your house after leaving here. Although he will not now be working in Delft he will return there at frequent intervals and will let you know how you can contact him. There is no time to be lost.”

“Is invasion so imminent?”

“I fear so. We have winter as a breathing space, because no army moves when there is ice and snow, but by spring we can expect the worst. Our old success against the Spanish led us to believe we were invincible, but that is no longer the case. Inevitably our officers have thought more about their plumage and finery and their gourmet banquets than about keeping their soldiers primed for battle. Fortresses which withstood long sieges by the Spaniards without surrender have been allowed to fall into disrepair. Cannons drawn out of storage are collapsing on wooden carriages that have rotted from damp and neglect. Never has Holland been in greater danger.”

“Tell me how I’m to play my part until the fighting starts. I have the Prince’s instructions, but would be glad of further details.”

“First of all, always go well armed.”

Pieter indicated his sword and patted the side of his coat, which covered the pistol in his belt. “I came prepared this evening, not knowing what awaited me.”

“Very wise.” Van Roos then proceeded to list all that Pieter should look for in the task he had undertaken. “Stay at the Mechelin tavern. It’s the largest in Delft and all kinds of travelers come and go, apart from it being popular with local people. Make a regular booking and then you’ll never be without a room. Listen and observe and never draw unnecessary attention to yourself, particularly when people are in their cups and tongues are loosened. You’ve a hard task ahead of you, but you have been judged a man of courage and determination and the Prince has faith in you. With the fate of our country hanging in the balance even the smallest discovery might tip the scales in our favor, so never dismiss anything as being too insignificant to note.”

Pieter asked several other questions, which van Roos answered to his satisfaction, and then they left by the same way they had come. By the steps near the Margere bridge Pieter alighted and the boat carried van Roos elsewhere. Gerard was waiting when Pieter reached his house again. They grinned as soon as they saw each other.

“So you have a new duty, my friend,” Gerard said, clapping Pieter on the shoulder as soon as Vrouw de Hout was out of earshot.

“Yes, and I thank you for putting my name forward. I thought at first we should be working as a team, but now I find that is not entirely the case.”

“No. I am concentrating on a section of the coast. We know weapons are being brought in by sea to arm those traitors prepared for their own gain to sell our country to Louis XIV. Nevertheless, we shall meet frequently in Delft.”

They talked late into the night and met early at the breakfast table the next morning. They were able to ride in the same direction along the road for most of the way, autumn leaves flying up in rusty clouds from their horses’ hooves. When they parted company Gerard made for the coast and Pieter covered the last miles to Delft. He left his horse in the Mechelin stables, secured a room at the tavern and then went into the Vermeer gallery. Jan was in the process of selling a painting, but when he saw Pieter he nodded a greeting and indicated the door that led to the living quarters of the house. There he met Jan’s daughter Lysbeth, who took him to Catharina in the kitchen, where she was baking.

“Pieter! What a surprise! Have you come from Haarlem?”

“No, from Amsterdam.”

“What a cold ride you must have had. Go and get warm by the fire in the studio, because I know whom you’ve come to see. Lysbeth will show you the way.”

He found Francesca at work, and when she stood momentarily speechless at seeing him so unexpectedly, he embraced her, she with her brush and palette still in her hands. They sat down on painting stools by the fire, where they were completely alone. He began by telling her of the expansion of his business in Delft. “But,” he said, “much as I want to be near you I would wish it to be in any other town rather than this one. My first thought when I was instructed to come here was that it counteracted our plans not to meet until Christmas for safety’s sake.”

“You say you were instructed?”

“What I am about to tell you is for you alone. You may well be able to help me by being my eyes and ears, especially when I can’t be in Delft.”

When he had told her everything she spoke without hesitation. “What should I watch for?”

He listed what had been put to him and since he had decided to open a small office in Delft there would be no difficulty in her getting any useful information to him.

“There’s one more matter to settle,” he said. “I must let Vrouw Wolff know I’m going to be in town quite frequently and at the same time impress upon her that I’m here on business and not in pursuit of you.”

“Yes, you’ll have to do that. Talk spreads so fast in Delft that sooner or later your name would be spoken in her hearing.” She raised her hands in a little gesture of uncertainty. “There was an incident in her house that struck me as strange at the time, but it happened months ago and couldn’t have any connection with this new venture of yours.”

“What was it?”

His eyes sharpened with interest as she told him how she had talked to the traveler from Utrecht on one of the rare occasions when she had seen those who stayed there, and how she had overheard Geetruyd’s anger afterward. “I don’t hear anything from downstairs now,” she concluded, “because after I located the loose brickwork I stuffed the space with old paint rags.”

“Do you know which room the voices came from?”

“Yes. It can only be the bedchamber at the front of the house two floors below mine.

“If the paint rags were removed you might possibly hear something of interest again and in the meantime it would be helpful if you could keep a record of the travelers who come to the house, noting anything that seems unusual in the light of what I’ve confided to you. The incident you described may have been nothing more than a spurt of feminine jealousy on Vrouw Wolff’s part, but it’s odd that she should have said what she did about the possibility of you recognizing him again.”

“I will remove the paint rags whenever I know somebody is staying. Normally it was only the bang of a door or very loud snoring that I heard and there must have been some trick in the acoustics that made Geetruyd’s voice so clear. If ever the chance presents itself I will inspect that room.”

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I’ll be careful.” Then she remembered the sketch of the traveler she had made and found it in a file. “I sketch faces that have character and I have a large collection now. The bone structure of this traveler’s visage particularly interested me.”

Pieter studied the sketch before putting it away in his pocket. “This likeness may prove useful.”

Before leaving he was keen to see the painting on which she was presently engaged. It was of Catharina baking in the kitchen, exactly as he had seen her earlier, the flesh tone warm, the blue of her bodice and the red of her skirt clear and bright against the somber tones of the kitchen. In the background Elizabeth was pouring milk into a bowl. A basket of newly baked bread was on the table. It was an ambitious subject, masterly executed.

“Your work is advancing to the top, exactly as I knew it would,” he said.

They were standing hand in hand in front of the painting and she rested her head against his shoulder. His praise was always simply stated and deeply felt. There were many reasons why she loved him.

G
EETRUYD RECEIVED
P
IETER
frostily. “I remember your name very well. Francesca was forbidden to have anything to do with you and I thought the whole matter settled a long time ago.”

“I’ve come here to your house specifically to see you,
mevrouw,
not Francesca.”

“State your purpose.”

He explained that he was extending his business to Delft and gave her some idea about his design work. She listened attentively, never taking her hard gaze from him. “So,” he said in conclusion, “since I have no wish to cause Francesca any trouble, I ask you to accept my reason for being in this town.”

Geetruyd eyed him suspiciously. Was this a ploy to put her off her guard or was it a genuine request to keep Francesca out of punishment in case of a chance meeting? For the time being it seemed best to play along with him.

“How sensible of you to come to me first. I shall give Francesca permission to nod good day to you in passing, but I draw the line at any resumption of whatever was once between you.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Francesca and I were only friends when she came here. A good many months have gone by since then. I have no wish to return to that earlier time.”

She gave a nod. “I shall see to it that Francesca is left in no doubt as to why you are in this town. She is a proud young woman. You’ll have no bother from her.”

“That’s all settled, then.”

Geetruyd saw him to the door and was thoroughly amiable. “Unfortunately I have no garden for bulbs, but I may treat myself to a few tulips from your stall next year when they are in flower.”

As soon as he had gone she dashed for her cloak and then followed him, determined to check that he did not make for Mechelin Huis. He did cross the square in that direction, but went straight into the tavern. She waited inconspicuously until Weintje passed by without noticing her on the way to fetch Francesca. When Geetruyd saw the two of them coming back across the square together with no sign of the young man darting after them, she hastened home ahead of them and was in a chair by the fire when they arrived.

Francesca was not in the least surprised when Geetruyd immediately demanded she turn out her pockets and her purse. In the early days these random checks had been made frequently to see if she had any secret love notes from Pieter or anyone else in her possession. It was one more indignity to be suffered under Geetruyd’s regime.

At dinner Geetruyd informed her of Pieter’s visit. “A fine-looking young man, altogether too worldly and mature for you. I can quite understand, now that I’ve seen him, why you were eager to keep contact with him during your first days here. You must have thought I was very hard on you at the time, but it was all for the best. He made it perfectly clear to me that he has no wish for you to go out of your way to talk to him while he is busy organizing his business.”

Clara spoke up, hurt on Francesca’s behalf that the young man should have made such a point of rejecting her. “Francesca would never run after anyone who did not want her! She has no need in any case, being betrothed to Heer van Deventer.”

Geetruyd dropped a fork onto her plate with a clatter. Only then did Clara realize what she had said. Geetruyd’s face was venomous. “What was that statement you made, Clara?”

Clara could not answer. Her tongue seemed to have swollen in her mouth and her jaw had clenched. She had been terrified of Geetruyd many times, but never more than now. Without being aware of it she stared back at her with glazed eyes like a mesmerized rabbit. Francesca answered for her.

“It’s true. I told Clara one day.”

Geetruyd’s glittering glare switched to her. “Why did you not tell me?”

“If you had asked I would have told you. My father and Ludolf signed a marriage contract without my knowledge. I knew nothing about it until I was home last spring. It’s not my wish at all. If I could be free of him it would mean everything to me.”

Geetruyd fought for control. “Ungrateful girl!” she shouted wildly. “He’s destined for great heights one day! And it will all be wasted on you!” She threw her napkin on the table, thrust back her chair and swept tempestuously from the room. Her bedchamber door slammed upstairs.

Clara turned a frightened face toward Francesca. “I’ve done a dreadful thing.”

“No, you haven’t. Geetruyd would have had to know sooner or later.”

It soon became apparent that Geetruyd was not going to emerge from her bedchamber again that evening. Clara and Weintje went to bed. Francesca, still in the parlor, decided to seize the chance that had come so unexpectedly. Taking a candle, she crept downstairs to the hall. No travelers were staying in the house and there was no danger of meeting anyone. Once in the hall, she crossed to the front bedchamber leading out of it and, finding the door was not locked, she entered swiftly, closing it behind her.

The wall bed was narrow, but had rich hangings and a brocade coverlet. There was a table with writing materials and the usual furnishings. Crossing to the Delft-tiled fireplace, she stepped under the canopy to stand by the empty firebox as she searched for some cause for the curious transmitting of sound to her room. Then her candle showed her a cracked tile, half of which had long since gone and which appeared to have taken some crumbling brickwork with it. She judged that voices were magnified when people stood close to the canopy, which acted like a wide mouth to the funnel created by the cavity within the chimney breast leading up to her room. It explained why she had only caught a scrap of Geetruyd’s conversation, as the woman had come near the fireplace and then moved away again.

Carefully Francesca removed the remaining piece of tile, which dislodged another that was loose. She took that for good measure, not wanting it to fall by its own accord and draw attention to the gap that was presently out of sight from anywhere except the unlikely place where she was standing. Weintje would wash the whole of the fireplace once a week, as she did others in the house, whether the room was occupied or not, but Francesca had seen she only stretched her arm inside the various canopies and never looked closely at the tiles themselves. Some brick dust had fallen to the hearth. Francesca wiped it up carefully with her handkerchief, into which she also concealed the tiling. It made a bulky little package, but she went back upstairs and reached her own bedchamber safely. There she removed the paint rags from the aperture in her fireplace and deposited the tiles within, where they would never be seen again unless the canopy and the chimney breast were ever demolished. After shaking the brick dust in her handkerchief out the window, she knew she had removed all evidence of what she had done.