Midnight Blue: A gripping historical novel about the birth of Delft pottery, set in the Dutch Golden Age
Литагент HarperCollins
Amsterdam 1654: a dangerous secret threatens to destroy a young widow’s new life.Following the sudden death of her husband, twenty-five year old Catrin leaves her small village and takes a job as housekeeper to the successful Van Nulandt merchant family. Amsterdam is a city at the peak of its powers: science and art are flourishing in the Golden Age and Dutch ships bring back exotic riches from the Far East.When a figure from her past threatens her new life, Catrin flees to Delft. There, her painting talent earns her a chance as a pottery painter. Slowly, the workshop begins to develop a new type of pottery to rival the coveted Chinese porcelain – and Delft Blue is born. But when tragedy strikes, Catrin has a hard choice to make.Rich and engrossing, Midnight Blue is perfect for fans of Tulip Fever and Girl with a Pearl Earring.
TRANSLATED BY JENNY WATSON
Copyright (#u18208c5c-ed08-5520-b19b-6e06bd01a38a)
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
The News Building
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in the Netherlands by Ambo Anthos 2016
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017
The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Dutch Foundation for Literature.
Copyright © Simone van der Vlugt
Translation copyright © Jenny Watson
Map of Delft: De Agostini / Biblioteca Ambrosiana / Getty Images
Simone van der Vlugt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books
Source ISBN: 9780008212100
Ebook Edition © April 2017 ISBN: 9780008212124
Version: 2017-01-19
Table of Contents
Cover (#u1b84af49-5579-5107-b26e-60e9ac7cbab9)
Title Page (#ue1e4e45d-74d8-5584-867a-112660f1f661)
Copyright (#uae2af97a-d3e9-5b5d-b3d2-46baf2eeb528)
Map (#uc70b1ba5-e70a-5e55-a352-c79b5e4e28c8)
Chapter 1 (#u6856c1e9-70d3-5240-84dc-362e1e9ac801)
Chapter 2 (#u4f404aa0-364b-5a42-9d5d-1e41e8231b11)
Chapter 3 (#ufe58cc02-5e95-5eea-adcd-d5dcb347e21d)
Chapter 4 (#u4cd4554a-d1f3-582a-bd75-126d14d00922)
Chapter 5 (#u1ef37b40-72ad-535b-8cad-b4572fc9d95e)
Chapter 6 (#u76b2acd0-39f1-533a-86b3-1f4221f51ef0)
Chapter 7 (#u4f10b25e-76e4-5693-8045-896d47cdb81c)
Chapter 8 (#u56b121d7-36b6-5518-9244-830f5af8f87f)
Chapter 9 (#u990b7be2-5a20-510d-afb8-e1ff95c33bff)
Chapter 10 (#u24dc3adb-71bd-5397-a3a8-b9e00dba12bb)
Chapter 11 (#ud95d7f1a-eee9-5318-a6a9-a338f2e6608c)
Chapter 12 (#u244a5d40-6a85-57d5-801b-7c3cb41dfc50)
Chapter 13 (#u3ed0d0d3-f016-5248-8991-a613bdaebabf)
Chapter 14 (#u2fb3396a-5f1a-598b-9376-7e55a23e1a2e)
Chapter 15 (#uc7c727e2-4bb9-5a04-ad63-b0d1c8650280)
Chapter 16 (#u92e33d7d-fb3c-51d7-aaea-54c4ffac75d0)
Chapter 17 (#ue9ede5d0-7299-5c10-9739-356f291e7aae)
Chapter 18 (#u991c5311-259f-56f5-a77f-0d1ceee68f31)
Chapter 19 (#ub807effd-183d-5407-884e-c44fcc7382c8)
Chapter 20 (#u40042809-dd82-557f-86d0-78a1b0cca8e8)
Chapter 21 (#u1b4e11ac-effd-5f27-8e3b-2594eb542cce)
Chapter 22 (#ue27b3342-7cc6-5974-a733-a66cd8f9b85e)
Chapter 23 (#u9e71dade-166d-54c4-90c7-7f32e250e3dd)
Chapter 24 (#uafc8ed45-e86b-5dec-ba2b-eedf10069489)
Chapter 25 (#u5f79166e-e49c-5af9-a671-9dbe0d71b783)
Chapter 26 (#u56b8609b-f0f7-5096-aa86-56d4ab6b90dd)
Chapter 27 (#uc064d43a-1f09-518f-9f47-e9ef9de2ff9d)
Chapter 28 (#uefa0677a-04ac-5666-837a-96bec00f63d6)
Chapter 29 (#ud93260b4-3f42-5520-9a1d-98890d623d3f)
Chapter 30 (#ud2f97c96-746f-5e33-a5b4-72e362eddd44)
Chapter 31 (#u3baf7ed3-2383-548a-b47e-d9cf7ed94e8e)
Chapter 32 (#ub99bee9d-260c-5668-bc8f-2f6f2adc22e5)
Chapter 33 (#ub080f0ac-6cdd-53c3-a9d4-51a0e53a8882)
Chapter 34 (#u7386f575-f40f-58c0-b87b-a399f4f4c1df)
Chapter 35 (#ub023ce93-3f23-5486-9b85-86d5758408d4)
Chapter 36 (#u55c34f39-ac19-5fc5-ba4c-57120c16f010)
Chapter 37 (#u0ddd4494-8632-5233-b5b9-4353cc5ffdd5)
Chapter 38 (#u0b9f175b-c346-5e46-9d22-d10680b93beb)
Chapter 39 (#u9e45a58f-894d-562d-a517-53208b1920ab)
Chapter 40 (#ufcbab5e1-3138-5905-8a85-650363f4f772)
Chapter 41 (#u7395e4d3-1c8f-5d4c-adab-3f7a4bcfe0d2)
Chapter 42 (#u5c3ae941-0a2d-517a-962c-0ea994d10ab4)
Chapter 43 (#u9a7851f7-c679-5d1a-bb1d-bf589fba4115)
Chapter 44 (#u5805462b-af55-5cbf-b678-b8d53d990f68)
Chapter 45 (#u8aab0115-29fc-591b-b51b-dc80c2b32b13)
Chapter 46 (#u579e4abe-eb22-594d-8d54-e9db20dba04f)
Chapter 47 (#u9c038b64-c976-59d9-9005-8993e1e63cb1)
Chapter 48 (#udd00b02a-ae35-5a05-9f42-d8f59e4d9c62)
Glossary (#u6327e244-db35-549d-a470-260b2be2a83c)
Afterword (#ub26b91cf-b716-5609-b100-682b3d0d8c9f)
Suggested Further Reading (#uc170c972-f6df-56b4-a1d4-5c7ce378ac17)
Reading Group Questions (#u8fa033df-62c6-5d4f-ac18-1cd4617e7dc8)
Acknowledgements (#uf8e36b99-3900-5389-b5a1-cc35999ffacd)
About the Author (#u21b7b33f-3204-5761-9025-362a7bf8d665)
About the Publisher (#u982f1110-108d-5061-ab8a-cc87c5df7ff1)
1 (#u18208c5c-ed08-5520-b19b-6e06bd01a38a)
De Rijp, March 1654
The funeral was a week ago and I still feel more relieved than anything else. I know that’s indefensible, that I should be grieving, but it’s impossible.
I stand with my arms folded, gazing out of the top half of the kitchen door at the fields and meadows surrounding the farm, but don’t really see them.
It should never have come to this. Looking back, I can’t understand what came over me that night. For years I’d thought of Govert as just another man from the village, not someone I paid any particular attention to. I never gave him much thought at all. Not that he wasn’t an attractive man, in a certain way he was. The first time I noticed him was at the village fair, when he pulled me up to dance and held me to him. I’d been drinking, of course I had been drinking, but not so much that I couldn’t hear his heavy breathing or feel his body pressing against mine, his muscular arms clasping me so tentatively.
With every turn our hips brushed and the grip with which he steered me through the other dancing couples tightened. It was an exciting feeling. I realised he was in love with me. The off-putting way he stared at me whenever we passed one another, with that furrowed brow of his, had been an expression of desire rather than disapproval.
Did I feel flattered by his attention? Had I turned down too many potential suitors in the hope of something better? Was I afraid of being a spinster all my days? Or was I in love at that moment?
When he took my hand in his and led me outside to a quiet corner of the orchard I didn’t protest.
Govert was happy when I finally told him, four months later, that I was pregnant, all set to marry me and start a family. As a widower of around forty and not without means, he was a fair prospect, even if he wasn’t what I’d pictured.
Not that there was much choice. One moment of madness at the fair, one moment of total lunacy, and my future was set. Gone was the chance to someday leave the village and begin a new life, gone were my dreams.
The worst thing was that I wondered what I’d even seen in him that night. Whatever it had been, the next morning it was gone too.
We were married a month later, and six weeks after that my pregnancy ended in a premature birth. The child, a boy, was stillborn. That was over a year ago too.
And now Govert himself is lying beneath the cold, dark earth. The only mirror in the house is turned to the wall and the shutters have been closed for weeks. Today I’m opening them again. I let the morning light stream in with a feeling of utter pleasure. The living room, which was packed with visitors for days, is eerily quiet. I’ve lived in De Rijp all my life, and the support of relatives, neighbours and friends is heart-warming. My in-laws were notably absent. They probably find it hard to accept that I’m about to inherit all of Govert’s property after one year of marriage. It’s understandable, but there’s nothing I can do about it. And God knows I earned that inheritance.
I allow my gaze to wander around the room, from the round table next to the window to the fireplace and the furniture I painted myself. Sunlight falls on the flagstone floor and brings a little warmth. Not much, it’s only the beginning of March. The smoke drifts along the beams hung with sausages and bacon and up into the loft, which is still half full of winter stores.
It’s strange to have the house to myself, but I have no time to take it in. There’s work to be done and now that Govert’s gone there’s even more than usual.
Although I have a maid and a farmhand, there’s plenty left for me to do. Every day’s the same. I milk the cows, feed the pigs and chickens, tend the vegetable patch, churn the butter and make the cheese. I use the remaining time to wash and mend clothes, spin and weave and, very occasionally, to paint.
Now and then, when I glance at the shiny surface of a copper kettle, I catch a glimpse of my mother, her braided hair under a white cap. She’s always busy, always tired. I’m twenty-five but I feel much older.
Just keep going, I think as I head to the barn to check on the animals. The mourning period is only six weeks, not so long.
Jacob, the farmhand, has already started the milking. He greets me with a slight tilt of his chin. I nod by way of an answer.
‘I might be able to go and work for Abraham Goen,’ he says as I sit down on my stool.
‘That’s good.’
‘Now it’s only Jannet who has to find a job.’
‘It’ll all work out. If there’s nothing for her here, she’ll find something in Graft.’
‘When are you leaving?’ Jacob asks.
‘As soon as everything’s sold. The auction’s next week.’
Jacob nods. ‘Jannet would like to take the churn. Then she can make her own butter.’
‘I can’t give it to her. I’ve promised it to my mother.’
‘Oh. That’s a shame.’ Jacob pulls the full pail out from under the cow and stands up. The way he stands there makes me think he has something else to say, and I look at him expectantly.
‘About the boss …’
‘Yes?’
‘His brother’s been telling tales around the village.’
I stop milking. ‘What kind of tales?’
He hesitates.
‘What is it, Jacob?’ I say, a little too sharply, sounding impatient.
‘I think you know,’ he says, and walks away.
Yesterday I made buttermilk curds. Today, for lunch, I smear some of the sour leftovers onto a slice of rye bread. Jacob and Jannet are sitting at the table too. We don’t say much, all three of us are deep in thought.
After the meal, I leave the work to them. I pull on a pair of clogs and set off along the dyke towards De Rijp. The farm backs onto the circular canal around the Beemster polder, which is surrounded by marshy lowlands. My parents’ farm is on the far side of the village, and the quickest way there is to walk through it. I walk along Kralingergracht and onto the main street, where the shabby buildings give way to grand homes with green and red painted gables. Closer to the centre of the village there are even a few stone houses with stepped gables, which look like they’ve been left here by accident.
On the way, I say hello to people I know, who reply somewhat reluctantly. Are they avoiding me? Are people staring at me?
By the time I get to the Kleine Dam and the bustle around the weighing-house, I can no longer dismiss my concerns. People are throwing curious glances my way and whispering behind my back. Only one person comes up to ask how I am and whether it’s true that I’m leaving.
The people here are proud of their village, their families have lived here for generations. Leaving is unheard of, practically a betrayal. But the villagers always thought I was a bit odd, so my plans should come as no surprise.
‘Are you getting rid of that dresser as well? The one you painted so nicely?’ says Sybrigh the wholesaler. ‘I’d be happy to take that off your hands.’
‘The auction’s next week,’ I answer, and keep on walking with an apologetic smile.
I turn into narrow Church Street and leave the village. I can see my parents’ farm in the distance. When I reach the muddy track that will take me there, I quicken my pace.
‘Mart was just here.’ My mother is rinsing out milk churns under the pump. In the pale winter light her face looks thin and old, and when she straightens she presses a hand to her back. ‘He came to speak to you but he was yelling so much that I sent him away.’
I grab a milk churn and shove it under the pump.
‘He’d heard you were leaving. He was furious, Catrin.’
‘Why? Isn’t that up to me?’
‘Of course, but now? So soon after the funeral? Lots of people find it strange. You’ve got a farm, cattle, everything, and it’s all yours now. Men are lining up for you. Take Gerrit, if you got together you’d both be rich.’
‘I’m moving to the city.’
‘To go and work as a housekeeper. Even though here you’re completely free.’
I sigh. ‘We’ve been over this so many times, Mother. I’m not planning to be a housekeeper forever. I want to save up, remarry and make a new life in town.’
‘Yes, I suppose that is what you’ve always wanted. As a little girl, you were always desperate to come along when we took the cheese to market. I never understood why; the others weren’t like that. Four hours on a barge to get to town and another four back.’
‘Crying because I wanted to stay.’
We look at each other and smile.
‘Well, you should do what you want to do. You’re not a little girl any more, I can’t stop you,’ my mother says after a short pause. ‘It’s just …’
In the silence that follows, I study her expression. ‘What is it?’
‘People are talking.’
‘People in villages always talk, that’s another reason I want to leave. I’ve had more than enough of all the gossiping and meddling.’
A look of resignation appears on my mother’s face. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she says. ‘But maybe it is better that you go.’
2 (#u18208c5c-ed08-5520-b19b-6e06bd01a38a)
A week later everything is sold. Govert and I had been renting the farmhouse and land but the animals and furniture belonged to us. During the auction, which takes place on the farm’s threshing floor, I see my possessions pass into other people’s hands. The proceeds – around a hundred guilders – are welcome. They’re enough to keep me going for a while and maybe set up a business. Perhaps painting pottery. That has always been a dream of mine. As a little girl I decorated furniture with beetroot juice. Later on, when I was given commissions by rich farmers and important people from the village and started decorating dressers and foot warmers for them, I used real paint.
‘It reminds me of those colourful pieces they make up in Hindeloopen,’ Cornelis Vinck, the notary said one day. ‘You’ve got talent, Cat. You should try selling a few things up in town.’
‘I can’t, sir. I’m not a member of the guild,’ I said.
‘At the annual fair in September out-of-towners are allowed to sell whatever they like. As long as they don’t set up their own business.’
In my scarce free time I started painting plates and footstools, which I did end up managing to sell quite easily at the fair.
From that day on I longed for the city.
I’ve only known a few villagers leave De Rijp and they were boys who signed on for VOC ships or went off to become whalers. In the neighbouring village of Graft, there was a girl who found a job as a housemaid in Alkmaar and that seemed like a good idea for me too. Of course, life as a housemaid is hard work, but at least I wouldn’t be stuck here with nothing but reeds and mud as far as the eye can see. Town is where things happen, there are amusements and diversions, the people there really live and I long to be part of it. I heard from Emil and Bertha, friends who live in Alkmaar, that a rich resident of the city was in need of a housekeeper. A few weeks ago, when I had to go into town for the cheese market, I walked over to Oudegracht to offer my services. To my astonishment and delight, I was hired on the spot.
I look around the barn, at the early morning light that falls on the packed earth floor. The possessions which had been piled up here have been taken away by their new owners. The only things I still have are a few trinkets and some clothes.
Outside in the farmyard, my parents and brothers stand waiting in the morning mist. As the only surviving daughter, I could always rely on their care and protection and I see from the boys’ faces that they’re not happy I’m leaving. There’s a big age gap between Dirk, my eldest brother, and Laurens, left by a number of miscarriages and brothers and sisters who died young. Maybe that’s why Laurie is the one I’m most attached to; we’re the ones who had to make up for those losses.
Our parting is brief. I hug everyone, my parents the longest. Laurie has to go to Alkmaar too and will be accompanying me. A good idea now that I’m carrying so much money.
‘We’ll see each other again soon,’ says my father. ‘I’m bringing a load up to Alkmaar next week.’
‘See you then, Pa. You know where I’ll be.’
Another kiss, a hug, and we set off. Laurie takes the bundle with my things under his arm and we walk along the East Dyke, which leads to the quay. I look back a couple of times and wave to my family. My heart is full but I have no regrets.
It’s a long journey to Alkmaar. Squashed in between the cargo, huddled together for warmth, we watch the polder landscape of flat, neatly laid-out fields and ditches go by. The barge doesn’t go particularly fast, but I’m used to that. I’ve made this journey many times. I know every bend in the canal, every hamlet we pass. On some stretches there’s hardly any wind and we make so little progress that the bargee has to use his pole. He leans on the bargepole with his whole weight, works it into the mud at the bottom and levers the boat forward.
I sit next to my brother and point out things I notice in the landscape. I don’t get much response.
‘So you’re not coming back then?’ says Laurie, just as I’m about to give up my efforts to start a conversation.
‘Of course I will. Now and again.’
‘If I were you, I wouldn’t stay in Alkmaar. Mart is turning the whole village against you.’
‘Do they believe him?’
‘I don’t know.’ He’s quiet for a moment, then says: ‘You could go to Haarlem or Amsterdam instead.’
Now it’s my turn to pause. ‘So far away?’ I say quietly.
‘It isn’t that far really. What I mean to say, Cat, is that you mustn’t let us hold you back. If another town is … better for you, that’s where you have to go. We know what’s being said about you is nonsense, but not everyone is convinced.’
‘I should have stayed in mourning for longer, cried more.’ I look up at my brother. ‘Is it a sin to be glad someone’s dead?’
Laurie puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a squeeze. ‘No,’ he says, ‘in this case I’d say it’s only human.’
We sail along the shore of Alkmaar Lake and pass the lock at Akersloot. Rays of sunlight pierce the mist, breaking up the grey haze and bringing a little warmth. A stiff breeze fills the sails and drives the boat through the waves. In the distance, the towers and city walls of Alkmaar are visible, and the gallows field.
A shudder goes through me when I see the sinister posts with their dangling corpses. I quickly turn my gaze to the hustle and bustle of the port further up by the Customs Tower, where incoming goods are weighed and taxed by the city authorities.
The broad expanse of the River Zeglis stretches out glistening in the sun ahead of us. On the banks on either side, swarms of people are walking towards the city, a man is driving a couple of pigs in front of him. Carts lurch and crash over the potholes, a beggar narrowly manages to jump out of the way of their wheels.
The barge moors up just outside the city walls. Laurie and I struggle to our feet and pay the skipper. A few minutes later, we cross the small wooden bridge leading to Tree Gate. We say goodbye at the Customs Tower. Laurie has an appointment in an inn on Brewer’s Quay.
He hesitates, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. ‘Well, Sis, good luck. I’ll come and look you up next time I’m in town.’ He hugs me. ‘Think about what I said.’
I kiss Laurie on the cheek and take my bag of clothes from him. We look each other in the eye for a moment, then smile and part ways. When I glance back, I see my brother watching me. I wave and turn right.
Stiff from sitting so long, I walk up River Street, clutching my bag. The canal is full of little barges and flat-bottomed boats, goods are being loaded and unloaded everywhere.
I make a beeline through the familiar streets to the other side of the city, where the cathedral towers over the rooftops. I enter the church through the door on Choir Street and wander through the gigantic apse with its pillars and stained-glass windows to the front, right up to the altar. I sit down on the front pew and close my eyes. For a while I sit like that, listening to my own breathing and the irregular beating of my heart.
It is only when everything inside me has quieted down that I open my eyes again. The silence hanging between the white walls and arches has a calming effect.
I clasp my hands together. The content of my prayers is no different than at the village church in De Rijp but here it feels different – as if here, among the massive stone vaults, I will be heard more clearly. I don’t know whether my entreaties make any difference. I don’t feel any relief yet. With my head still bowed, I leave the church. Outside, I blink at the sunlight and stand dazed for a moment before allowing myself to be swallowed up once more in the bustle of the city.
Near the cathedral is the inn and tavern, the Thirteen Beams, which is run by friends of mine. Bertha and her husband Emil do a roaring trade because their inn is the first one travellers come to when they enter the city from the west through Goblin Gate. It’s a large building with a stepped gable and a wrought-iron sign that swings merrily in the wind.
My hands are so cold they’re almost frozen; I open the door and let out a sigh of relief as the warm air washes over me. The small taproom is full to the rafters. I make my way through the mass of people standing and sitting between me and the bar. Emil is pouring beer. Bertha is just walking off with two foaming tankards in her hands.
‘Emil!’ I shout, leaning across the bar.
‘Cat! Hello! Lovely to see you. It’s a bit busy right now but I’ll catch up with you in a minute!’ he shouts.
I nod and whip around as someone puts their hand on my shoulder. It’s Bertha. Her dark curls have worked their way out from under her cap to frame her face. ‘There you are! Do you want something to eat?’
‘Yes, please.’
Bertha disappears into the kitchen and comes back a moment later with a hearty-looking soup and a hunk of bread. I quickly find somewhere to sit. By the time I’ve finished eating, it’s a bit quieter in the inn and Bertha comes to join me. She asks how the journey has been.
‘Long and cold, but Laurie came with me,’ I say. ‘Can I sleep here tonight? I don’t need to be at my boss’s house until tomorrow.’
Bertha’s expression turns solemn.
‘What is it? Are you full? It doesn’t matter, I’m sure I can go to the Morien’s Head,’ I say.
‘You can stay here as long as you want, but I have bad news. The gentleman who wanted you to be his housekeeper, Willebrand Nordingen, died two days ago. He fell ill – something to do with his lungs. Of course he was quite old, but his death still took us by surprise.’
For a moment I’ve no idea what to say. This is bad news. Not only for Nordingen, who seemed like a kind man, but for me too.
‘What do I do now? I’ve sold all my things, given up my lease.’
‘Then buy or rent a house here and find another job.’
‘There’s nothing else I can do. And I can’t go back to De Rijp.’
‘We’ll help you,’ says Bertha. ‘You can stay here until you get a place of your own and we’ll ask around about a job for you. An inn is the perfect place to do that.’
It’s reassuring to know I’m not alone, but it takes a while for me to accept that everything isn’t going to go as planned. It’s a good job I’ve got enough money to pay my way for the time being.
Emil comes and puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ll find something,’ he says. ‘There’s plenty of work in Alkmaar.’
3 (#u18208c5c-ed08-5520-b19b-6e06bd01a38a)
I spend all week searching for work. I crisscross the whole city, from the grand houses along Mient Canal, the fanciest thoroughfare in town, to the salt works on Oudegracht and the brewery on Dove Lane. I try my luck at the city orphanage on Doelen Street and the adjoining silk-weaving workshop, then at Saint Catherine’s Cloister and various inns and taverns. I don’t care what I have to do – cleaning, fetching and carrying, nursing the sick – as long as I have a job.
The end of the week finds me sitting across from Bertha in the inn, utterly disillusioned.
‘I didn’t think it would be so hard to find work,’ I say. ‘There are jobs for men, but it’s much harder for women.’
‘You could set up on your own. A small business of some kind.’
‘Selling what? Pots and pans? The city’s full of those already.’
‘But you paint them so beautifully. And now that you’re a resident of Alkmaar, you’re allowed to set up a business.’
I shake my head. ‘You know it’s not that easy. I’d have to serve an apprenticeship, pay fees to learn and pass an exam to become a master. And that’s assuming a guild would even take me on.’
‘A woman joined the Guild of Saint Lucas a while ago – Isabella Bardesius. Now she’s a painter with her own studio.’
‘Then she’s almost certainly from a rich family that paid for her education. They don’t let you in without training, Bertha.’ I stare into space, thinking. ‘Perhaps I should take that job in the infirmary after all. That’s the only offer I’ve had.’
‘In the pest house? Are you insane?!’
‘There’s no plague. The people in there have other diseases.’
‘Yes, and they’re just as infectious and just as deadly. That would be my last resort.’
‘It is my last resort. If I don’t find something soon, I’ll have to go back to De Rijp.’
Next to us, someone clears their throat. A man of around thirty with mid-length dirty blond hair is standing by the table. ‘Hello, Bertha. Sorry for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhear your conversation.’
‘Matthias, it’s good to see you. How are you?’ Bertha’s face breaks into a broad smile.
‘Very well, thanks,’ says the man. ‘I’m passing through on my way to Den Helder and I’ve got a few bits of business to take care of in Alkmaar.’
‘Mister Van Nulandt is one of our regular guests,’ Bertha tells me.
The man takes off his hat and bows slightly. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he says with a winning smile.
I nod and tell him my name. Matthias sits down on the stool opposite us.
‘It’s not a complete coincidence I was listening to your conversation,’ he tells Bertha. ‘Emil mentioned the situation. He told me a few things about your friend here and asked whether I could help.’
‘And?’ Bertha asks.
‘As it happens, I can. My brother is in need of a housekeeper. Would that suit you?’ Matthias asks, turning to me.
‘I don’t know. I mean, yes, I think so. But you don’t know me,’ I say, astounded.
‘Emil and Bertha know you, that’s good enough for me. And Emil speaks very highly of you.’
A wave of excitement bubbles up inside me. ‘A housekeeper … that would be wonderful. Who is your brother and where does he live?’
His name is Adriaan van Nulandt,’ Matthias says, ‘and he lives in Amsterdam.’
Amsterdam! The shock obviously shows on my face because Matthias asks, ‘Is that a problem?’
‘It’s so far away. I don’t know anyone there …’
‘Matthias shrugs this off. ‘It’s not that far, and once you’re there you’ll soon get to know people.’
I exchange glances with Bertha, who looks a bit flabbergasted. ‘It is an opportunity for you, Cat,’ she says. ‘And since there’s no job for you here, it’s Amsterdam or De Rijp.’
I don’t have to think for long. Even though I’m not keen on the idea of leaving everyone I love behind, I have no choice. What’s more, this is a better move for me. I would never have gone to Amsterdam on my own initiative. Perhaps it’s fate.
While I’m thinking, Matthias goes out to settle his business affairs. When he returns that evening, I go and talk to him.
‘I’ve decided to do it. I’d be very grateful if you would recommend me to your brother.’
‘Of course, I’ll write a glowing recommendation. But for that I reckon we need to get to know each other a little better. Will you join me for a drink?’
We draw up two chairs at a table in the corner and Matthias orders a jug of wine. ‘So tell me,’ he asks as he fills my cup, ‘why did you leave your village?’
I tell him everything. About my longing for the city and how that one night at the dance sent my life in a different direction. About my stillborn son and Govert’s unexpected death. Matthias listens attentively.
‘So you’re a widow,’ he says when I’ve finished. ‘A very young widow. I’m sorry about that.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t a happy marriage.’ I stare into the distance, thinking of the life I would have had if Govert hadn’t died. ‘He hit me. From the moment we were married, and more and more as time went on. I don’t know why. There was no reason for him to do it. We never argued, I didn’t answer him back, I worked hard.’ I laugh wryly. ‘I purposely made sure we didn’t argue and I never answered him back, but he hit me anyway.’ My voice betrays the bitterness I always feel when I think of all that violence.
‘Some men are like that,’ Matthias says gently. ‘But not all of them.’
‘No …’ I sigh. ‘The problem is, you can’t tell by looking whether they are or not. You only know when it’s too late, when you’re already married.’
‘Next time, if it ever happens to you again, have the rascal up before the judge. It’s illegal to beat your spouse, did you know that? It is not what God intended between man and wife.’
‘Are you married?’
‘No, and I don’t plan to be. I want to travel, see the world. I work for my brother’s company. He’s a trader and one of the directors of the East India Company. He has no desire to go off gallivanting so I do it for him.’
‘Where do you go?’
‘Italy and Norway for the most part, no long voyages. I wish I could go further. To the East, to China and the Indies. Don’t you ever wonder what’s on the other side of the world? What it looks like and how people live there?’
‘Finding out what the world outside De Rijp and Alkmaar is like is good enough for me,’ I say, and he laughs.
Maybe it’s the familiar way he talks to me, the way the skin around his eyes crinkles when he laughs or the sound of his voice that make me edge closer to him. He’s nice. Really nice. Apparently, he thinks the same of me because he keeps leaning towards me and touching me now and again as we talk. His face is alive with enthusiasm and I can’t stop looking at him. A tingling feeling spreads through my body, like little bubbles of air under my skin.
As the evening draws on, the world shrinks until all that exists is the table we’re sitting at, lit by a flickering candle. It’s long after midnight when I make a move to go to bed. Matthias walks me upstairs. On the landing he gives me a long look. The wine has weakened my resolve and when his mouth finds mine, I let him kiss me. His lips are firm yet gentle. Desire wells up in me and I throw my arms around his neck. He caresses my back in response, before letting his hand descend to my bottom and then up along my side.
It’s only when he tries to undo the laces of my bodice that I push him away, gently but firmly. He smiles regretfully.
‘I like you, Catrin.’ His mouth is by my ear. ‘A lot. I’m glad I met you. Hopefully we’ll meet again in Amsterdam.’
‘Yes, I hope so too.’
‘If my brother is so stupid as to decide not take you on, be sure to tell the maid where I can find you.’
I nod and promise that I will. We kiss again, at first softly and then with more and more feeling. I feel my body respond again, so much so that I put an end to it by stepping smartly back and opening my door. I smile at Matthias and go inside. Before I shut the door he blows me a kiss.
‘See you in Amsterdam,’ he says.
The next morning, I go down to the taproom, but to my disappointment, Matthias has already left.
‘He had an early appointment in Den Helder. Asked me to give you this.’ Emil hands me a roll of paper.
The letter of recommendation. I turn it over in my hands a couple of times. ‘Did he say anything else?’
‘That the house is on the first part of Keizersgracht and he hopes he’ll see you soon.’
I can read a bit, the pastor in De Rijp set up a class when I was little. He thought it was important to teach girls to read so they could give their children Bible lessons. I can remember enough of it that I’d be able to tell what is in the letter, but the roll is sealed.
‘You two got on well last night.’ There’s a note of enquiry in Emil’s voice.
‘Yes,’ I say with a smile. ‘Very well.’ I pretend not to notice Emil’s curiosity and choose a table at the window.
After a light breakfast of bread and cheese, I take leave of my friends.
‘My family will be shocked when they hear I’m not in Alkmaar any more,’ I say as I give Bertha a hug.
‘We’ll explain. Send word when you’ve found a job, won’t you?’
I promise I will, say goodbye to Emil and set off. I walk along Lang Street to Mient Canal and past the fishmongers’ stalls, where everything is busy and messy. Taking pains not to slip on the fish guts, I buy myself a couple of herrings. After that I head up River Street and it comes as a relief when at last I reach the River Zeglis. Much as I love the city’s liveliness, it takes some getting used to.
After asking around, I find a boat I can travel on.
‘I don’t go any further than Haarlem, mistress,’ says the captain. ‘But getting to Amsterdam from Haarlem isn’t difficult, you can just take the water coach.’
I’ve heard of water coaches, though I’ve never been on one because they don’t run as far as Alkmaar. According to the captain, they work perfectly. From Midway they’ve dug a long, straight ditch alongside the water for the horses pulling the barges. ‘All the way to Amsterdam,’ he says.
I pay him the required coins, allow my bag to be carried on board and climb aboard myself. I find a spot among the baskets and crates and settle down on the blanket laid out by the captain for passengers to sit on.
Wrapped in my cloak with the hood up over my head, I watch as the city gets smaller. I’ve never been further than Alkmaar before and have no idea what awaits me in Amsterdam. The only thing I do know is that I will have to face whatever it is entirely alone.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/litagent-harpercolli/midnight-blue-a-gripping-historical-novel-about-the-b/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.