Wings over Delft (14 page)

Three distinct sounds cut the silence. The first was a woman’s shout. The second was the sound of a blow. The third was a cry of pain. There was a shimmer of movement down at the mouth of the lane; everyone turned towards it. Annie’s voice rose, shrill, indignant, and charged with the authority of age. In amazement, Louise watched her old nurse cut a swathe through the tightly packed mob, her stick rising and falling like a warrior’s sword.

‘Go easy, granny!’ someone laughed as the crowd parted. She arrived at the foot of the steps and glared up at them.

‘Annie, my old ally.’ Reynier shouted. ‘Up here … up here, I have him safe for you.’

Annie bent to the steps, determination written all over her. For a second she stood panting, gathering her strength. She was coming for Pieter, Louise was certain of that; she drew him towards her. When Annie struck, it was with the speed of a snake. Louise screamed, but it was Reynier who took the blow; he fell, squealing in pain and amazement. There was a gasp of shock, or was it admiration, from the crowd below?

‘You servant of Beelzebub! You have made a whore of truth. You lied to me about your betrothal, you lied to the mistress about the reasons for your travel, you lied to your father, and you lied to your fellow apprentices here.’ Then she turned to the apprentices below. ‘You are fools, all of you. You have let yourselves be led into a folly that would have seen you all jailed, if not hanged. This man is a liar and a cheat.’

‘What about the Papists?’ Someone shouted. ‘Let’s burn them out!’

‘Leave them be. There are those that are damned in their ignorance, but theirs is nothing to the damnation of the chosen when they split their tongues with serpent lies.’ There was a murmur, it might even have been of approval, but they had all come from a fifteen-part sermon and didn’t want another. If they couldn’t burn the church, they’d have to do
something
. Annie turned on Reynier, who was struggling to his feet, still groggy from her blow.

‘You started this,’ she accused. ‘Now, you take them away!’ Reynier nodded, but he was not looking at Annie; he steadied himself against the rail behind him. A trickle of blood ran down his face. It was Louise he was looking at. He addressed her now in a way he never had before.

‘Louise,’ he said simply: ‘Will you come too?’ There was no smile, no overlay of charm about his request, just a straight question, and Louise realised with a shock that this was probably the first time in his life that he had addressed her as an equal, as a human being. If he had asked her like this before … even once …

‘No, Reynier,’ she said, ‘… thank you.’ What was the point of ‘what ifs’? She had found herself an infinitely better man. Reynier turned to Pieter.

‘So, Pieter Kunst, the puppet, becomes the puppeteer. Good luck.’ He turned to Annie: ‘Goodbye Annie. Of course it was you I really loved!’ The old Reynier was back. In one graceful movement he vaulted the rail and dropped into the alley below. ‘Come on, lads. Gone away… gone away.’ His piercing whistle echoed off the walls and he was off down the narrow street, the rabble running ragged
behind him. Whether he was the hare or the hound, no one could say.

‘Perhaps he’s not so bad after all,’ Pieter said, watching them go.

‘Don’t add stupidity to your sins, boy. A leopard doesn’t change its spots,’ Annie corrected him sharply, before turning defensively as the door into the hidden church opened behind her.

With a poorly concealed shudder, Annie refused Pieter’s invitation to take shelter in the church. So they saw her safely off down the lane in the opposite direction to the shouting apprentices. Louise hesitated, should she see Annie home? Would she be welcome if she went back to the church? Annie however was moving sturdily away from them down the Grensweg beside the canal. Pieter took Louise’s hand; he’d never done that before on his own initiative. With that, her mind was made up, she’d at least thank the priest for letting her into his apartment. They returned to the alley. The priest and some of his elders, if elders was the right term, were waiting for them at the top of the steps. He was wiping his hand vigorously on his soutane, but when he saw their clasped hands he beamed and put his hands behind his back. They climbed up the steps. The kitchen was filled with the upturned faces of the congregation: men, women, and children, curious but smiling. Louise wondered if this was where they held their services … as in a meeting house, but then she saw that there was a stairway leading up from the back of the kitchen, where more people were gathered. As they walked
down the steps someone started clapping. A man patted Pieter on the back, a woman even embraced Louise. The priest made a little speech, thanking them, then addressing the whole congregation he said: ‘Come, my children, let us ascend and there give thanks to Mary and all the saints for our deliverance today.’ The congregation began to flow up the stairs, reminding Louise of a painting showing a mediaeval procession of the good rising to heaven. The thought was unfortunate, as it brought back to her the images of Hieronimus Bosch, and she realised she was holding poor Pieter’s hand with a grip of steel. What if there really was some diabolical manifestation waiting for her up there? Perhaps the priest saw her confusion.

‘Madam, please … if you do not wish you to join us, there is my apartment … at your service.’ The prospect immediately dispelled any doubts Louise may have had.

‘If I may sir, might I join you at your service,’ she said, ‘just to sit quietly at the back, of course.’ She couldn’t quite bring herself to call him ‘Father,’ and she knew ‘service’ wasn’t the right word, but fortunately no one was in a mood to be critical. She was led upstairs, past the first floor, then the second floor. She had to abandon Pieter’s reassuring hand, because the stairs were too narrow for them to mount together. The climb, however, gave her time to think. She had got over her resurgence of Horribilis Bosch; the
congregation
was just made up ordinary nice people like she met every day and, for all his moist hands, the priest was clearly not hiding a tail beneath his soutane. But she had never been to a Catholic service; what if she was asked to
commit herself to something that she could not believe in? She hadn’t managed to keep her mouth shut when the Master challenged her with Aristotle and his crystal spheres. Then she remembered Pieter and his empty glass. Perhaps there were ways of seeing the truth other than with pure logic. She would accept the challenge.

They had reached the landing on the third floor. The priest, with a word of apology, disappeared down a dark corridor. There was a plain board-door on their left; it had a peephole in it, but the door was open. Louise followed Pieter inside and then stopped in her tracks in sheer amazement.

‘But it’s beautiful!’ she murmured, gazing about her, unable to disguise her surprise. Pieter was kneeling, and crossing himself. ‘Genuflecting’ Annie would say in disgust. Part of Louise’s mind said
idolatry
, while the other part thought
but who wouldn’t, in front of this
? She was
captivated
. The church was quite small. It was about the size of the Master’s studio in area, but taller because the attic-level had been removed. All that remained now was a narrow gallery running down both sides of the room. Above this curved the beams of the roof. Looking down the length of the church, over the pews and the backs of the waiting worshippers, she could see the altar. Here there was an elaborate gold cross, flanked by candles, their flames
stirring
in the draught from the door. ‘Gore and glitter,’ was how Annie described Catholic altars, but this seemed just a natural part of the church. Dominating the wall behind it was a huge painting, its colours glowing in the dim light.
Louise was almost afraid to look. But there were no terrors or torments here. She could make out a woman who was being swept up into clouds – Mary, of course – supported by a flight of winged cherubs. From above the frame, picked out in a relief of white and gold plaster, God reached down to clasp her outstretched hand.

Louise felt a gentle pressure behind her and realised that she was expected to take a pew; she passed on the pressure to Pieter. Let him go on, she wanted to be near the door, where she could escape if she had to. She wasn’t yet sure how she would feel when the service began. There was an empty pew right beside her, so she slipped into it gratefully. After a moment, a small, gap-toothed boy climbed past her, grinning, and disappeared into the space between the seat and the backrest.

‘Don’t worry, Miss,’ he said, looking back out. ‘I blows the organ, and it farts most terrible till I gets the pressure up.’ Louise smiled, and hoped that other people knew of the organ’s vagaries. She liked the feeling of being mixed up in the mechanics of the church; it gave her a role other than worship.

The Mass began and Louise let a feeling of detachment separate her from what was going on around her. The
organ
was up to pressure, and a choir was singing from the gallery above. To her surprise, the priest had a beautiful, light, tenor voice. The congregation moved to the rhythms of the Mass. At first it reminded her of a dance, but then she decided the movements were more like a flock of birds,
lifting
and settling and turning to commands that were clear to
them, but not to her. She had hardly recognised her friend the priest when he had emerged on the altar. She was grateful that his robes gave him the dignity he deserved. The moment of consecration came and went, and no devils danced in the aisles. An anxious-looking woman, returning from the altar to the pew in front of Louise, gave her an apologetic smile and Louise felt ashamed that she would once have thought of this woman as a cannibal. After the hate and trauma outside she half-closed her eyes and let herself relax. She felt as if she had walked through the frame of a picture. The individual parts of the scene began to break up and lose their identity. A phrase repeated itself in her mind:
fragments and facets of light
. Where had she heard that? Then she remembered Pieter’s description of drawing his empty glass. But these were floating blobs of colour. In her dreamlike state she imagined herself in the studio; she should capture these colours before the Master gave her a biff on the head. Now the colours were beginning to coalesce. Was it a new vision, a new idea? It was so tantalising. She wanted to reach out for it, but then the blobs of colour began to find their places again, and she was back outside the picture, feeling as though she had been on the brink of some great discovery.

All the turmoil of the morning was falling away. What was all the fuss about? There were no demons here. Annie, dear Annie, so honest that she was prepared to take on a riot to preserve the truth that she valued above her most strongly held prejudices. If only Annie could be here, surely the music would thaw the icicles in her heart.

Perhaps it was reaction to the horrors of the morning, but waves of suppressed emotion began to sweep over her. She felt again the raw prejudices of the riot, so terrifying but now so trivial. She thought of the masked boy who had shouted such filth when she had been trapped against the wall. Why did people persecute each other over what they believed? All over the world they were burning and
torturing
– believers and unbelievers, Protestants and Catholics – all convinced that they and they alone had the true faith. Sadness rose inside her like water against a dyke, note upon note with the music, until it overflowed and fell as tears that splashed unheeded on her dress.

Louise was surprised at how quickly the ceremony came to an end. She hadn’t even heard the sermon. But the organ was losing pressure, breaking wind again, and the
gap-toothed
youngster had appeared like a genie beside her. He looked up, and appraised her face closely. Then he shook his head wisely.

‘Never mind me, Miss, they often sits back here to cry.’ He clambered past her and made for the door. Louise
pondered
briefly about the people who came here to cry, then she too made for the stairs, grateful to have a chance to dry her eyes.

The congregation seemed reluctant to let her go. There was a feeling that she and Pieter, between them, had saved the church from being burned to the ground. Louise felt that they should instead be apologising for having been the
cause of the riot, but what she really wanted to do was to be alone with Pieter. She had reached the bottom of the stairs first and looked back for him, but he was still caught up in the crowd. Now a new panic clutched at her. She thought back on the long summer and her growing affection for him. It had been so simple then; with Reynier standing between like an invisible barrier, neither of them had any reason to believe that they could ever be anything other than just friends. She blushed now at how foolish and unguarded she had been. She had got closer and closer to Pieter until she felt that all she had to do was reach out and he would be hers. It had never occurred to her that he might not want her as anything more than a friend. She remembered again the episode near the Begijnhof gate when he had withdrawn from her simple question, had frozen like the Schiekanaal in a hard frost. The memory was clawing at her.

She stood on tiptoe, searching for him in the crowded hallway, holding to her lips, as a desperate talisman, the hand he had so briefly held as they had come in from the riot. Then she saw him, obviously searching for her too, over the heads of the crowd. Their eyes met, his face broke into his broad shambling smile, and a flood of warm relief spread through her.