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 a.s.sistance. 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 gla.s.s in the windows and dreamt of her pa.s.sionately 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.

WHEN 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 a.s.sumed 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 gla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ter. 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 circ.u.mstances. 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. n.o.body 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 att.i.tude 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.

"No, I can wait until it is finished now. I'm a patient man."

She thought this was probably true. As she painted with her inner eye attuned to her subject, she saw no indication of an impulsive nature, more that of a man who would judge his timing, which was probably why he had been so successful in business. Greed was there, conveyed unwittingly by the eyes, but his hooded lids and brushlike lashes disguised it sufficiently for it not to appear obvious in her portrait, although if he had been looking directly at her, instead of his gaze being lodged elsewhere, it would have been registered. Nothing could hide the fleshy fullness of the lips, indicative of a l.u.s.tful nature, nor would her painting, for this was not a likeness depicted for his conceit. One of the first lessons Hendrick had taught her was to set down the truth of what she saw.

"Shall you be glad when the portrait is finished?" Sybylla asked.

"What a question!" Francesca gave a happy laugh. "I'm totally interested because it is my first commission, but I'll know when I apply the last brushstroke that it's the eve of one day less before I leave to begin my apprenticeship."

Sybylla made a little grimace, unable to think of anything more dreary than setting off for three years of concentrated work.

When they arrived at the mansion Francesca found Ludolf, resplendent in his black-and-gold garments, waiting for her. "I have a morning free of engagements," he said, "and so I'm at your command."

"How fortunate! I particularly wanted to detail your hands today and your rings."

He talked even more than usual from the rostrum. At midmorning hot chocolate was brought. She moved with him to take one of the chairs, each with a silk velvet cushion in beautiful colors, which were placed on either side of the fireplace that was giving such a steady warmth to the room. No peat was burned in this house. The flames were constantly replenished with expensive logs, no doubt from cargoes of timber imported from Norway, a country with which Holland did much trade. A boy servant was detailed exclusively to take care of the fires and the one in the studio was timed to be at its best when refreshment was taken.

After all the conversation of the past hours Ludolf was silent as he held his porcelain cup and looked into the flames. There was no sound except the spitting and crackling of the birch logs. Then he looked across at her.

"I hope that during the time we have spent together here you have come to know me well."

"A bond does form between artist and sitter," she conceded. "That is inevitable."

"Have you not forgiven me for my indiscretion?"

"Of course I have," she said generously.

He looked again into the flames. "You have seen for yourself that I am a lonely man. Amalia has been wife to me only in name for over four years. My compa.s.sion for her has kept me faithful and devoted. I do all in my power to ensure she has everything possible to relieve the burden of her ill health, but I have to confess that my own life is empty. Can you wonder that I forget myself completely when I am alone with you?" His eyes were on her again, full of appeal.

Her sound common sense told her to be wary and not to be fooled. She had glimpsed too much in his eyes and studied his face too closely not to have summed him up as a man of l.u.s.ty appet.i.tes who would not settle easily to celibacy. But then maybe he had spoken the truth; men who loved could be faithful in the most difficult circ.u.mstances. There were many beautiful things in Amalia's suite that were gifts from Ludolf, not only on birthdays and special occasions but also when he happened to see something he had thought would please her. Even the Pieter de Hooch painting was to have been hung in a prominent display elsewhere in the house, but Amalia herself had said that specially to please her Ludolf had placed it in her dayroom. At his orders spring flowers were delivered to her daily, her suite always full of pale hues of the delicate blooms, and there were tulips of every color. More than once Sybylla had told her of seeing him arrive home with an extra posy. The occasional gift might be in keeping with a married man's troubled conscience, but so many gifts were an expression of fond concern. In any case, Francesca did not think he would be bothered by qualms about any indiscretion.

"I told you," Francesca said gently, determined to be fair-minded, "I don't consider that incident to have formed a barrier in any way."

"I'm in love with you. But," he added quickly, seeing her dismay, "I ask for nothing from you in return."

She breathed quickly, having been fearful he would spring from his chair in an attempt to embrace her, but he had made no move except to put his cup aside and spread his hands wide as a man might do to show himself unarmed.

"Let us not talk of this matter ever again," she declared, still fully alert.

"Nevertheless, as your father's patron and through my feelings for you, I want to shoulder a certain amount of responsibility for his well-being and that of his family."

"That is not necessary!" She was adamant. "Buying my father's paintings puts you under no obligation whatever."

"But I want him to know that if at any time he is in trouble or difficulty he will turn first to me. Will you tell him that?" When she did not reply, her face turned resolutely away from him, he continued, "I think you should. Who is to say what he might not drift into with you away at Delft and no one to keep hands on the household reins?"

That startled her. "I have everything organized."

"I don't doubt that, but I have come to know your father well enough to see that he has his weaknesses."

Her filial loyalty surged. "Do not dare criticize him to me!" she gave back angrily.

"That was not my intention. I'm speaking of him as a friend. To the best of your knowledge does he always keep his word?"

Her jaw set rigidly. "I don't want this discussion to continue. I have my father's a.s.surance that all will go well in my absence and I trust to that."

"If it should not be, you can be sure I will stand by him. That should give you greater peace of mind at Delft."

"I know you mean well-"

"I do and I implore you to remember that, Francesca. No matter what happens, and if any calamity should befall you, I would lend all my strength and power to make things right for you again."

The vehemence of his declaration alarmed her. It was almost fanatical. She decided to calm things down immediately. "I will remember what you have said. To satisfy you, I'll pa.s.s your message to my father. Now I think I should get back to work."

Her rea.s.suring words had the desired effect. He kissed her hand as a mark of his grat.i.tude before the sitting was resumed. Later, on his own, he estimated how long it would take Hendrick to come to him for a loan. He knew from well beforehand there was no one else in the city who would be prepared to lend Hendrick-or any other artist for that matter-the sum required. He had been certain from the start that Hendrick would ask him, but time was short and he didn't want any dithering about.

There was no doubt that the little talk he had had with Francesca had gone even better than he had hoped. He was certain he had won her over now. All Amsterdam knew of his kindness to Amalia, his solicitous attention to her comfort, and of the doctors he had brought from far afield to see if anything new could be done for her. When she died-as she would when her gradually declining strength finally ran out, according to every medical opinion-he wanted it to be seen and known that his hands were clean. Her death had to be natural and in its own time.

It was why he had wanted Amalia to have her personal maidservant always in attendance by day and within earshot by night from a truckle bed at the foot of her four-poster. When he had spent most of Amalia's fortune and she was no longer of any use to him in bed, it would have been easy enough to hire someone to rid him of her, but never again should there be suspicion about him as there had been once in the past. In any case it was of no consequence to him how long Amalia lived. He went his own way and there was nothing she could do to interfere. Being a lady in the true sense of the word, she never spoke of their estrangement even to her closest friends. Only Neeltje, waiting on her day and night, would know of the emptiness of their relationship, but even she could not deny his solicitude.

He hoped to make Francesca a willing mistress. He wanted her to come to him eagerly with outstretched arms and let him do whatever he wished to her. It was not easy being near her day after day while she was at her easel and only the Chinese screen divided off the four-poster bed. If she had responded with encouragement that first day he would have swept her up onto the bed and possessed her then and many times each day afterward.

ONCE AGAIN HENDRICK sat with his head in his hands. Beside him on the parlor table was a bottle of grape brandy and a gla.s.s, which he had refilled and emptied several times. He had had a terrible day and had been ill received everywhere. Interviews that had started off pleasantly had soon changed in atmosphere when his purpose became known. Sometimes he was blatantly shown the door and at others a thin veneer of politeness had not softened another disappointment. The promise of a few hundred florins from an old friend and fellow artist least able to afford it was all he had to show for his day.

"Master," Griet repeated when he took no notice of her addressing him the first time, "you have a visitor."

He looked up blindly. "What?"

"Heer van Doorne is here to see you. He came yesterday afternoon, but you were in the studio." She thought he did not seem to be grasping what she had said. "You had a model there. That man who's posing as the tax collector, and so I didn't disturb you."

Hendrick pa.s.sed a bandaged hand across his forehead. Yesterday? Was it so short a time ago that he was painting there without a care? It seemed like a lifetime. He didn't want to see anyone. "Isn't Francesca at home?"

"Not yet, Master. But even if all three of your daughters were here it's still you he's asking for."

Hendrick groaned under his breath. "Show him in, then."

When Pieter entered the parlor he experienced a sense of shock when he saw the grayish pallor of Hendrick's face. "Are you not well, mijnheer?"

"Well enough." Hendrick waved Pieter to a seat. "If you have come for conversation I'm afraid I'm not good company today."

"I'll make only one request and then I'll go."

"What is it?"

"Would you allow me to court Francesca and visit her sometimes at Delft?"

Hendrick stared at him with bloodshot eyes. Delft? Francesca? But that was finished. He was going to tell her later and would have to drink himself almost into a stupor before he found the courage to do it. "Didn't you know it's her wish that I never give my permission to any suitor wanting to call on her?"

Pieter was undaunted. "That was for others. Not for me."

"Why should she think differently about you?"

"No reason that I can give you, but I'm sure she does."

Hendrick had had enough of this persistent young man. He wanted to be on his own to plan in his tired mind how best to break his daughter's heart, for that was what it would amount to. Unhappy memories of the times he had brought Anna to tears were persecuting him at this moment. He had never thought he would ever have to inflict any misery on their firstborn and he was being torn apart. He gestured impatiently, remorse pulling grotesquely at his mouth.

"If Francesca is willing I raise no objection. Marriage would be good for her, because her apprenticeship is no more."

"I don't understand. I thought everything was settled."

Hendrick shook his head, rocking as if mortally wounded. "There's no money anymore. I've been a fool, Pieter. I lost myself in a card game that ruined me."

"Surely it can't be as bad as that. The bank-"

"I've been there. In fact I've been everywhere I can think of today. This house will have to go. I'll have to rent a small place somewhere." Hendrick's voice cracked completely. He put a shaking hand over his eyes and gestured that Pieter should leave, too choked to say any more.

Pieter only drew a chair up close to Hendrick. "I'll loan you the money for Francesca's apprenticeship. Interest-free. You can pay me back whenever you like. If that never proves possible, so be it. She must have her chance."

Slowly Hendrick raised his head again. He looked dazed, as if unable to comprehend what had been said. "Did you say-?"

"Yes. Tell me the sum required."

With effort Hendrick cleared his thoughts. Something momentous was happening and he must deal with it without confusion. "An initial payment was made by Willem de Hartog when the indentures were secured. That came from my sale of Francesca's portrait, but it doesn't end there. The rest of the fee for her tuition and working materials has to be met biannually and there's her keep in lodgings."

"As I said before, tell me what you need for her."