Hendrick, still undecided, looked at him askance. "There's no evidence that she'd have you at the end of it."

A deep flush of anger swept over Pieter's face. "It's not by putting her under an obligation that I intend to win her. Far from it! You'll tell her nothing of this arrangement between us!" There echoed in his mind all that he had fixed with Aletta, equally to be conducted without Francesca's knowledge. He felt he was wading in again toward sabotaging all that he wanted to be with her, but once more this was an exceptional circ.u.mstance.

"In that case I'll accept your kind loan." Hendrick saw a first ray of hope. Maybe all would be well in the end after all. Not only were there more sources to tap, but right here in his own home, without even looking for it, the funds to solve his first immediate problem had come to him. The awful dilemma of having to shatter Francesca's dreams had been dispersed. It meant he need not tell her of his present dreadful difficulties and she could go off to Delft in blissful ignorance. If the facts did have to come to light, he would try to keep them from her as long as possible. But could he dare to believe that his luck had taken an upward swing again?

"What time is Francesca expected home?" Pieter wanted to know.

Hendrick blinked at the clock. "About six o'clock. She finishes painting around five, but always visits Vrouw van Deventer for a little while before she leaves."

"Then I'll go before she comes. Now let us get down to facts and figures." Pieter took his workbook and a pencil from his pocket. "I'll arrange for the money to be lodged at the bank and for it to be drawn by a second party-I suggest my lawyer-whenever payments become due."

Hendrick stuck out his chin belligerently. "Don't you trust me? Do you think I would endanger my daughter's future again?"

There was an obvious answer to that, but Pieter did not make it. "Suppose you are not able, in your unfortunate circ.u.mstances, to keep your creditors at bay. I should not want them claiming what is due to Francesca."

"That's sensible, I suppose," Hendrick was forced to agree.

During the next quarter of an hour he and Pieter settled the figures. Then Pieter accepted a drink and left soon afterward. When he had gone Hendrick realized he had not asked him all the questions that a man should put to a prospective son-in-law, but at least he knew the young man had a good business and had funds enough to meet a totally unexpected outlay.

Francesca and Sybylla arrived home in the coach together shortly after Aletta. They all three thought their father seemed a little brighter than he had that morning. When Francesca was on her own with him later in the evening while changing the linen bindings on his hands, she asked him about the visit he had promised to make.

"What did the doctor say?"

For a moment his mind seemed a vacuum. A good supper had dulled the effect of the grape brandy, but her reference to the doctor puzzled him until he remembered that aeons ago that morning she had asked him to seek medical advice. "He said it's nothing serious if I take care," he lied glibly. Then his inventive powers carried him along. "Such as wearing mittens in the winter when I paint."

"You do that anyway when the weather is exceptionally cold. What treatment did he suggest?"

He was nonplussed as to how to answer her. Then he recalled that when a child he had seen his mother caring for his grandmother's k.n.o.bbly old fingers. "Soak my knuckles in warm oil to loosen the sinews."

She nodded, still bandaging. "I've heard of that and it's easy enough to do. We'll start the treatment when these cuts are healed."

He thought irritably of the inconvenience it was going to cause him, wasting time with his fingers dabbling in bowls. "Once a week was often enough, the doctor said."

She frowned, puzzled. "That can't be enough. You must have mis-heard him."

"I'm not deaf," he retorted sharply, proud of his keen hearing. "He said I could hold my hands in hot water for a little while each time I wash them." Then, seeing she was about to question him further, he curtailed whatever she was about to say with something he knew would silence her. "Pieter van Doorne called on me today to ask my permission to court you."

Her fingers paused for a second in the tying of the knot in the binding, but that was the only sign that this information had had any impact on her. "What did you say?" she asked evenly.

"I gave him the usual answer, but he wouldn't accept it."

"So?"

"He seemed convinced you wouldn't be averse to his courtship. There was no question of his wishing to rush you into marriage. It's important to him that you should finish your apprenticeship."

"Three years is a long time and I may have all sorts of plans at the end of it. You know that I want to go to Italy at some point in my life. The Renaissance was the very fount of great art and I must see some of those masterly works for myself and be free to paint there."

"Pieter is not tying you down to anything. All he asks is that he may see you sometimes during your apprenticeship."

She did not speak again until she had finished rolling up the surplus linen and putting it neatly with her scissors into the little basket on her lap. Then she gave a slow nod. "I'd like to see him there, but not in courtship. If that is understood there is no problem."

"Shall I tell him or will you?"

"I will. I also have something to pa.s.s on to you." She paused. "I had an odd sort of conversation with Ludolf today. Through becoming your patron he feels patriarchal toward us as a family."

"I've never heard of that happening before."

"Neither have I, but his goodwill is toward you, Father."

"Very kind of him. He's a most considerate man." A vagueness had clouded Hendrick's eyes even as his thoughts shied away violently, almost with a sense of horror, from looking for a loan in that quarter. It would be a final, rock-bottom humiliation that he could not face. He had presented himself as a man of comparative means, a successful artist well used to the kind of price for his work that the portrait of Francesca had fetched. Ludolf, on the basis of what he had paid the first time, had bought those surplus pictures from the studio at figures that were higher than those a more renowned artist might have looked for. Hendrick knew that if he approached his patron humbly, confessing to the abject folly that had carried him away, he would not only destroy his position in Ludolf's eyes but would similarly degrade the value of his work on both the artistic and monetary sides. His patron might never buy from him again.

The following evening, on his way home with slow dejected footsteps, Hendrick stopped on a bridge over the Amstel River and looked down into the glinting water. Suicide was strongly in his mind and he leaned his arms on the parapet in blackest misery. n.o.body except for Pieter had offered him as much as a stiver throughout the whole day. He wished he could send to Janetje for a loan, but that brief acquaintanceship with her husband had told him that Giovanni was not a man to relent on a promise extracted and she would be allowed no voice in the matter. Similarly he could not approach Heer Korver, knowing his neighbor's strict views on gambling. Hendrick clenched his hands on the parapet in deepest despair. How good it would be to feel the river close over his head and take his troubles from him. He remembered the time when he had fallen drunk into a ca.n.a.l in the dead of night and survived with a purse of gold as a bonus. That couldn't happen again even though his need for himself and his daughters was greater now than-His daughters! A horrifying realization flashed through his mind. Dear G.o.d, if he killed himself the debts would devolve upon them! That was intolerable! With a shudder he moved away from the parapet.

"Salted herrings! The best in Amsterdam!" A peddler with a barrel of the small silvery fillets was plying his trade just beyond the bridge. Hendrick opened his purse strings and bought six fillets. Holding each up by the tail end, he tilted back his head and dropped the cheap street delicacy into his mouth. Spiced and salty, they inflamed his thirst and his step was lighter as he turned into the nearest tavern to start quenching it until he was as oblivious to his misfortunes as if he had drowned himself in the Amstel.

Francesca had expected Pieter to come again to her home to hear what decision she had made, but he did not appear. Neither did he come to Ludolf's house, although he was not yet expected there. When he did present his plans they would not only show the new layout of the garden; there would also be drawings of important areas, and all flowers and bushes and any additional trees would be listed.

Ludolf was also awaiting a visitor. Every day he expected to see Hendrick standing before him with hat in hand. He had heard from his informant that the artist was in a permanent state of semiintoxication while making the rounds of everybody from whom he had the remotest chance of raising a loan. One day he had gone to Rotterdam, where he had some connections, but that had obviously been without result, because the next day he was again on the same mission in Amsterdam. Ludolf judged that it had reached a point where Hendrick's only option was either to approach one of the many notorious moneylenders, whose rates of interest topped any others in the city, or to come to the one man he least wanted to ask. There was no certainty of knowing which way the scales would dip, but it was hard to believe the artist, pompous and conceited though he was, would not realize eventually that in the choice of two evils he should turn first to his patron, whatever the consequences.

Hendrick's hands might have healed more quickly if he had not knocked them afresh when reeling against doorways and once slithering down a flight of steps on a wharf. This spate of drinking distressed all three of his daughters and they decided among themselves it was due to his frustration in not being able to paint all the time the cuts remained open. One morning when Francesca repeated her invitation that he should spend the day at Ludolf's house he agreed to go with her, but on a harsh and tragic note with something like the glint of tears in his red-rimmed eyes. Sybylla promptly burst into tears, moved by his distress that she could not comprehend, and buried her face against his chest.

"Don't cry, little one," he said, raising his hand automatically to stroke her hair consolingly. "I'm only still a little drunk from last night."

Francesca also spoke to her. "Why not fetch Father's favorite brushes and his palette. He may feel able to put a few correcting touches to my painting of Ludolf at this morning's sitting."

Sybylla seized on this chance to do something that would lift her father's curious melancholia. As soon as she came back with what she had been sent to fetch, she went ahead on her own in the coach while Hendrick and Francesca walked to the van Deventer home.

"I need fresh air," he had explained.

She enjoyed the walk too, her arm threaded through his. If it had not been for Sybylla's enjoyment of the ride she would have walked every morning. It was only in the evenings, when she was tired from working all day, that she was glad of the coach waiting for them, even more so when it happened to be pouring with rain.

When Ludolf entered the studio and saw Hendrick discussing Francesca's painting with her, he knew that the artist had finally succ.u.mbed to the only real outlet open to him from his financial difficulties. The intense strain of the past days showed in that haggard face and the artist's whole frame seemed to have shrunk. Alcohol and despair had certainly taken their toll.

"I'm extremely glad to see you, Hendrick!" They had been on Christian-name terms since the first evening of cards. "You will stay to eat with us, of course. What do you think of your daughter's work, then? I've yet to see it."

"She has done well," Hendrick replied. "Why not look at it now? It's in the final stage when I would permit the sitter to view."

"Oh no!" Ludolf laughed with every show of good nature, raising a hand against the invitation as he sat down in the chair. "I'm waiting until Francesca tells me it is completely finished."

Hendrick did add a few touches to the painting, just able to hold his brush with the aid of the support of the maulstick. It stimulated the yearning in him to get back to work on his tax-collector painting, but like a weight on his brain was the moment when he must throw himself on his patron's mercy. He decided to approach him after they had eaten.

The moment came when they rose from the table. As Francesca returned to the studio and Sybylla went from the room with her, Hendrick cleared his throat. "I wonder if I might have a word in private with you."

"Not now, I fear, my good fellow." Ludolf glanced at the clock and then drew his pocket watch out of its embroidered cover to check the time. "I have to be at my warehouse in twenty minutes."

"It is a matter of utmost urgency."

Ludolf showed surprise. "Do you intend to prepare me for not liking Francesca's portrait of me?"

"No. Nothing like that."

Ludolf looked pointedly at the clock again. "I really must be going. I'm busy tomorrow, but the day after the banquet at midmorning-"

"That's almost three days!" He dared not risk meeting either Otto or Claudius at the banquet with the promissory notes still unpaid. Neither could he risk offending Ludolf by staying away. "I can't wait that long!"

For the first time Ludolf appeared to take note of Hendrick's desperate expression. "Hmm. I can see you are troubled. Ride with me in the coach and we can talk on the way."

In the coach Hendrick thought that if the situation had been contrived to be as awkward as possible for him it could not have surpa.s.sed these circ.u.mstances. How did one begin to ask a man short of time for a huge loan with all the distractions of a busy street pa.s.sing by? To add to everything else, Ludolf had a sheaf of important-looking papers in his hand, at which he kept glancing and which were obviously uppermost in his mind.

"Ludolf," he began, and then hesitated.

From the opposite seat, Ludolf looked across at him. "Well? Speak up, my friend. What is it?"

The amiable courtesy could not veil a slight impatience. Somehow Hendrick found his voice. "First of all I should like to thank you for not having mentioned my ill fortune while we dined today, or during your sittings with Francesca." He had thought that a good way to start, but now he was not sure of anything anymore.

"I know the prim att.i.tude most women hold toward gambling losses," Ludolf replied with a shrug. "It's best to keep them in ignorance of occasional bouts of ill luck." He chatted on flowingly about how he tried to keep from his sick wife whatever he thought might distress her. Frantically Hendrick awaited his chance to speak again. Had he not known his patron for the kindly man he was, it would have been possible to believe the delay in letting him speak was deliberate. Perhaps it was! Anyone as rich as Ludolf would have become adept over the years in thwarting appeals for money. Then, even as Hendrick felt it was impossible to go on with what he had intended to say, Ludolf gestured encouragingly.

"I'm talking too much. Pray pardon me. As I daresay you've noticed," he added with a touch of humor, "the only time I'm silent is when I'm concentrating on play at the tables. We really must have another evening of cards again soon-not just on the evening of the banquet, when the players in the card room will be an a.s.sorted bunch, but us four keen players on our own again. That should give you the opportunity to recoup your losses."

"That chance can't be mine." Hendrick clasped his shaking hands together. Into his artist's mind there sprang a picture of how he must look and the t.i.tle of such a painting came with it. The Abject Borrower. "I'm in a most terrible predicament. I've not yet settled my debts to our fellow players and I can't foresee any time in the near future when I'll be able to!"

Ludolf looked extremely grave and he put the sheaf of papers on the seat beside him as he leaned forward. "This is a dreadful admission to hear. I had no idea that this was what you wanted to speak to me about. I thought-Well, no matter now. How did this situation arise?"

Although Hendrick gave the best explanation possible, saying that he was carried away by the excitement of the game, it sounded weak and feeble even to his own ears. No matter what he said, nothing could take away the fact that his playing for stakes beyond his capacity was tantamount to theft. Moreover, settling gaming debts quickly was a matter of honor, and failure to do so meant ostracism and disgrace in any gaming circle. He struggled on and when he had finally managed to utter his request for a loan he lapsed into a stunned state of misery, seeing how deeply he had shocked his patron, who was perhaps his patron no longer.

Ludolf sat back in his seat, shaking his head slowly as if words failed him at this lamentable disclosure. When eventually he did speak it was in a slow and weighty voice.

"It is entirely against my principles to lend money for gaming debts. No man such as you with a family should jeopardize his responsibilities in such a foolhardy-I will say criminal-way. And to such a vast sum! A fortune, mijnheer," he emphasized, as if Hendrick might not be fully aware of it.

A rebellious streak in Hendrick made him want to retort that it would not be a fortune to Ludolf, wallowing in wealth, although it was to him. "I know," he croaked, closing his eyes to shut out the black abyss waiting to drag him down. Refusal was in Ludolf's every intonation. "I'm a lost man if you don't help me."

There was a seemingly endless silence before Ludolf spoke again and then more leniently. "You've been a fool, but you've placed your problem before me and as your patron I must think how best to solve it for you." He stroked his pointed beard as he looked unseeingly out the window as if deep in thought, fully aware that the distraught artist was waiting on tenterhooks. "My first move must be to purchase your promissory notes. That would lift from you the immediate need to sell your home and give you breathing s.p.a.ce."

Hendrick almost wept with grat.i.tude. "What can I say? This-"

"Wait!" Ludolf frowned at him sternly. "There is no guarantee that either Claudius or Otto will sell. They may feel an example should be made of you and take you to a debtors' court. If I should be successful in taking over your debts," he added after a pause of meditation, "I would set conditions and expect some collateral."

"Anything I have is yours."

"Anything?"

"Yes, on my oath! I ask only to keep my paintings of Anna."

Ludolf nodded. "I'll give you my word that I'll leave no stone unturned to do my best for you and your family. I'm thinking particularly of Francesca, who must be uppermost in your mind in the midst of all your troubles. When do you intend to tell her that her apprenticeship is not to be?"

Hendrick was glad to have something good to tell. "That has been spared me. Her stay in Delft is already financed. Whatever happens to me won't touch her."

With a sense of shock Ludolf saw his intended grip on Francesca loosened. "In what manner did that come about?" he barked harshly.

Hendrick thought miserably that surely his personal dignity had suffered enough. There was no need to let Ludolf know the true source, and in any case Pieter had wanted it kept between themselves. "Anna left all three of our daughters some money that was her own," he said, which in itself was a truthful statement. "That's how I'm able to keep Francesca from knowing anything about my present straits and I'm going to try to keep it that way for as long as possible. Once she is installed at Vermeer's studio she will be compelled by the law governing apprenticeship to fulfill her indenture time, however much she may wish to be at home with me during what may be difficult days."

At any other time Hendrick might have noticed Ludolf's reaction to what had been said in the sharp flare of nostril and ugly twist of the mouth, but neither his sight nor his reason was wholly under his command in his present taut and anxious state. With an almost puppetlike jerk of the arm, Ludolf s.n.a.t.c.hed up his sheaf of papers and spoke in a clipped manner. "We have reached my warehouse. You had better alight here at the gate." He tapped fiercely with his cane for the coach to stop.

"How soon shall I know if you've been successful?" Hendrick asked, making no immediate move to alight, although he could see his patron was impatient for him to be gone.

"I'll send a messenger to your house when I'm ready to see you."

"And the debt itself, if all should go well? How am I ever to repay you?"

"This whole affair must be taken one step at a time." Ludolf's face was hard and expressionless. "We can discuss what is to be done next-whatever the outcome-after I've made my attempt to salvage you from this sordid catastrophe. Now good day to you."

Hendrick stepped out of the coach. As the door shut and Ludolf was carried forward into the cobbled yard of his warehouse he hurled the papers from him. As they fluttered about he slammed a fist into the palm of his hand and swore viciously. He had planned everything down to the last detail, but he had not allowed for an unexpected fund to weaken his total hold over the situation.

DURING THE FREQUENT sittings Ludolf had plenty of time to reconsider his strategy toward Francesca in view of the unexpected hitch. Since there was nothing he could do to prevent her going to Delft he would make sure that she was lodged where she could be available to him when the time came. In fact this turn of events could prove to his advantage in the end, for it was inevitable that she would be homesick at first and he would be the comforting friend visiting her until such time as she succ.u.mbed to him as his mistress. It was fortunate that he had connections at Delft, which he did visit on business of his own from time to time, and therefore none would question him calling to see the daughter of an artist whose patron he happened to be, Amalia least of all. Knowing his wife as he did, he could be sure that she would want news of Francesca, and she would be innocently pleased that he should apparently go out of his way to see the girl.

His eyes slid under their lids in Francesca's direction. As always he marveled at his own patience in stalking her, but he needed more from her than he had ever wanted from any other woman. Once she was his mistress he doubted if his obsession would ever be slaked. He almost resented her for the savage pull on his senses, the madness she had inflicted in his blood, and it caused him just as much satisfaction to contemplate how he would punish her for it as it would be to pleasure her.

He returned his gaze to where he was supposed to be looking. She had not said anything about his erring from it and he supposed she was busy painting his wig or the fine linen cravat at his throat or some other part of his raiment. One of the marks he could count up to his own favor in this heady pursuit of her was that she had addressed him early on by his Christian name, which had been at his request.

"You may rest now if you wish, Ludolf."

He smiled across at her, thinking that maybe it would not be long before she was whispering the reverse of that invitation in the night hours.

Chapter 10.

ON THE EVE OF THE BANQUET FRANCESCA STOOD BACK FROM her portrait of Ludolf and studied it critically. She could see her own faults, which she must strive to correct during her apprenticeship, but the overall likeness that she had captured should please him. During the hours they had spent together she had come to know him well enough to realize he would not mind that she had shown his ruthlessness, for in conversation he had made it clear that he enjoyed power and business intrigue. In her painting she had also revealed his sharp intelligence while the sly twinkle in his fierce eyes betrayed an appreciation of bawdy humor. The whole portrait had been a challenge in more ways than one and she was thankful it was finished. She wished she could call Ludolf in to see it now, which would save her coming back in the morning, but as he was absent from the house this afternoon he had told her he would view it first on the morrow.

When she had cleaned her brushes and removed her smock, she tidied her appearance and then left the studio. Normally she spent an enjoyable half an hour with Amalia before going home, drinking tea with her, but today Neeltje waited at the foot of the stairs.

"My mistress begs you to excuse her, but she is unable to see you today."

"Is she very unwell?"

"No," Neeltje replied. "She is saving all her strength for her appearance at table tomorrow evening."

"That's sensible. Give her my good wishes."

As Francesca left the house she thought it was fortunate that Sybylla had not visited today, but had been occupied at home preparing what she would wear at the banquet. It had given Amalia all day to conserve her strength. Rain was pelting down and she ran down the wet steps to the waiting coach and was quick to get into it. Its door had not yet been closed when there was a slight scuffle outside. Leaning forward, she saw that the coach servant holding the door was trying to push Pieter away.

"It's all right," she exclaimed quickly. "I know this gentleman. But I'm getting out to walk with him."