"No, but that doesn't mean she's not." Then, seeing the questioning look on Francesca's face, he made a placating gesture with his hand. "All right. You and I know that she is dazzled by everything he represents, but she is fond of him too. I can tell. For mercy's sake, don't start casting doubts in her mind! The sooner she's married, the better. I've had no end of unsuitable suitors after her since you went away."

"In what way unsuitable? Do you mean they weren't rich enough to please her?"

"That was the main factor, but any bachelor or widower she smiled at seemed to think he had a chance with her. When they came calling to present themselves to me, interrupting my work, I soon gave them short shift."

Her eyes danced. "I'm sure you did."

He grinned at her, sharing her amus.e.m.e.nt. "It's good to have you home again, Francesca."

"It's good to be here. Now I'll leave you with your landscape. I like those trees."

"The tallest is growing here in Amsterdam and I took the other two from a sketch I made some years ago in Haarlem."

All the way to the Zuider Church, Sybylla talked about the gown she would wear for her betrothal party and of the silver brocade that was on its way from Florence for her wedding gown. "Aunt Janetje wrote that it has a design of Florentine lilies. Can you imagine anything lovelier?"

"Knowing her wonderful taste, I'm sure it will be a marvelous fabric. Do you think she'll come home for your marriage?"

"No. Her husband has been given some high civic appointment and for months ahead she will have to be at his side for great social functions and all the entertaining he will have to do."

They had reached the Zuider Church and they entered quietly. It was Basilican in design, lofty with pure clear windows. Together they made their way to a side aisle where Hendrick had told them Hans Roemer would be found at work.

The back of the ma.s.sive easel holding the huge canvas in extended clamps was toward them as they approached. It stood on a large square of coa.r.s.e linen spread over the flagstones to save blobs of paint staining them. There was no sign of the artist, although his discarded work smock, his palette and brushes with all the rest of his materials were on a table. The sisters went to the front of the canvas. The Civil Guard group was almost life-size, the men sitting at, or standing around, a table. As yet the painting was little more than the customary oil sketch such as an artist submitted on a much smaller scale for his client's approval before beginning commissioned work. Hendrick had completed three of the faces, including that of the standard-bearer, whose almost completed gilt-fringed cream silk garments and yellow-plumed gray hat shone out from the dull ochre ground on which the paint was being built up.

"I wonder where the artist is," Sybylla queried.

A reply came from behind the railings of a side chapel. "I'm here."

A wall hid the speaker. Followed by Francesca, she went to investigate. She looked through the railings at a wild-haired, narrow-faced young man with reckless black eyes and a long humorous mouth that looked well used to laughter. He was seated on a praying stool, his back against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front of him as he tucked into a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese. The rest of the loaf lay on a spread-out paint rag. By it was a beaker of water. On his other side lay his hat like a tattered black saucer with a bright plume dyed to multicolors. He was plainly clad in clothes that had seen better days and wore a pair of wooden clogs.

"Don't make crumbs in there," Sybylla said automatically.

He made a comical play of looking around anxiously from where he sat and then giving her a bold grin. "I can't see any. Have you brought your broom to sweep up?"

"No, I haven't!" she retorted haughtily.

"That's as well, because there's a little mouse for whom I always leave a t.i.tbit. He comes out when I'm painting on my own and n.o.body else is about. I wouldn't want him to be disappointed. I've already promised him that he shall be in the painting."

"You can't do that!" Sybylla was outraged. "A mouse! In a serious militia group!"

"Oh, he won't be sitting at the table, leaning an arm on a piece of Gouda cheese. He'll be hard to find, but he'll be there."

Francesca was laughing. He was poking good-natured fun at the pompous poses many sitters adopted for such paintings. "Has this friend of yours a name?"

"I call him Rembrandt, after the great master, who once painted on this very spot."

Sybylla looked down her nose. "I don't think that's respectful."

Francesca disagreed with her smilingly. "My childhood memories of Rembrandt are of his being a very serious man, but I've always heard that when Saskia was alive they led a merry life and none enjoyed a joke more than he."

The young man had risen to his feet, energetic in all his movements, and he came to the open gate in the railings. "I was certain he would have approved. I'm Hans Roemer, painting for Master Visser."

"We know," Francesca replied. "We're his daughters. This is my sister Sybylla and I'm Francesca."

"My compliments! Your father told me he had two daughters."

Francesca and Sybylla exchanged a glance. So Aletta was no longer thought of by Hendrick as a member of his family. "We are three," Francesca corrected, determined to set the record straight. "My other sister, Aletta, is living in Delft now. I'm home from there for a few days."

"So you're the one serving the apprenticeship and this sister is about to be betrothed. What is Vermeer's work like? I've never seen anything by him."

Sybylla became bored as they conversed. It never suited her not to be the center of attention when a man was present. Admittedly this one was nothing to look at with his peasant garb and leonine mop of hair, but irritatingly there was something magnetic about him. But he was paying no attention to her, completely taken up with what her sister was saying and full of questions about Vermeer, whom n.o.body had heard of. She had felt quite shamed when she had had to admit to Adriaen's parents that her sister was training with an unknown artist.

"We should be going," she said imperiously. Yet she did not want to go. She wanted to go on standing there and to absorb the sight of this lithe young man, who probably hadn't a stiver in his purse. He and Francesca were getting on remarkably well together. Then, as they laughed over something humorous about painting, excluding her, she felt an upsurge of savage jealousy. "Didn't you hear me, Francesca? With my betrothal only two days away I have no more time to waste here if you want me to go with you to the de Hartog house!"

They both looked at her then, Francesca with surprise at her acid tone and he with mirth still twinkling in his eyes. Sybylla was aware that her face was deeply flushed and knew she never looked her best when riled.

"Since when," he inquired impudently, "has anyone needed to rush about so busily before a betrothal that there is no time for a little leisurely talk? Perhaps you're having to exercise your finger to strengthen it for the weight of the van Jansz ring?"

She became like a spitting cat. "Such impertinence to your master's daughter!"

He was quite unperturbed. "Permit me to correct you. In this case your father is my employer and not my master."

"All the more reason why you should be working and not idling these minutes away!"

"True," he agreed amiably. "That was why I was here at first light and did not stop work for my breakfast until now. Perhaps tomorrow you would like me to save the one meal of my day until an hour when you could conveniently share it with me, humble fare though it is?"

"Stop making fun of me!" She did not know why she did not turn on her heel and stalk away.

Francesca stepped in, disturbed by Sybylla's tantrum. "I think we should go now." She looked back over her shoulder at Hans. "I'll call in to see if you have finished the standard-bearer before I go back to Delft."

"I look forward to seeing you, Juffrouw Visser. Good day to you both."

Outside again, Francesca looked curiously at Sybylla as they fell into step along the street. "Whyever did you become so aggressive toward that young man? There was no malice in him."

Sybylla tossed her head wilfully. "That's your opinion. I can say what I like and, as he certainly took no notice of what I said, don't you start telling me to go back and apologize as if I were five years old."

"I admit he spoke somewhat out of turn about the ring, but you must agree you did shout out rudely. It was quite unnecessary, because we had settled beforehand that we shouldn't stay long."

Sybylla gave a snort. "You appeared to be so lost in him that I thought you'd never be able to tear yourself away."

"Don't be childish. You should have learned by now that you can't always be the center of attention."

It was the last straw for Sybylla. She came to a standstill and blazed at her sister. "I knew when you came home you would start ordering me and everybody else about! We've managed perfectly well without you. I'll soon be a married woman living in the finest house in all Amsterdam away from the moans of Maria and the moods of Father and-best of all-you can come home as often as you like and I'll be far out of your reach!"

Such bl.u.s.tering reminded Francesca of their father when he was unsure of himself and anxious to cover up something. "Indeed you will. So calm down and let's enjoy our walk to Willem's house. Remember, it's quite a while since I was here and I'll not be back again until your wedding, whenever that should be."

Sybylla bit her lip as they continued on their way. She wished she had not said what she had to Francesca, because she had not meant any of it. It was comforting to have her at home again. "I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm so on edge."

"Prebetrothal nerves. It's not unusual."

Sybylla thought that was right. Even at this late hour she couldn't be sure of anything until Adriaen's ring was on her finger. She was always so afraid that Hendrick might make one of his noisy scenes and ruin everything. He did not like the van Jansz family's wholehearted support of the Grand Pensionary, Johan de Witt, who had governed the country since the death of Willem II over twenty years ago. She had had to beg Hendrick to swallow his tongue and not to voice his strong opinion that Louis XIV's demands, whenever they should come, should be opposed on all fronts. A recurring nightmare was of hearing her father, in spite of his promises to the contrary, letting his condemnation of conciliatory att.i.tudes go bellowing forth after too much good wine and seeing those van Jansz faces freeze at his insistence on the military defense of Holland and the other Dutch states. On the evening three days after tomorrow when the betrothal had been safely announced, he could let forth as much as he liked, for Adriaen was too honorable a man to negate on such a solemn promise to her simply through some disgraceful uproar created by her father. Unlike Francesca and Aletta, she had never been interested in politics and was at a loss to understand why men became so worked up about them. Her sister even thought women should have a hand in government, quoting the achievements of Elizabeth of England in her time and those of Christina of Sweden and other strong royal women, the argument being that it was only an accident of birth that had given them the chance that many other women of ordinary status could have handled equally well.

On the way to Willem's house a short detour was made to Pieter's Amsterdam home so that Francesca could ask Vrouw de Hout if Pieter was expected to return within the next day or two.

Vrouw de Hout shook her head. "He's far too busy in his bulb fields at the moment to be anywhere else."

"Then there is no chance of missing him at Haarlem Huis if I should call as I have planned?"

"None at all."

As they left again Sybylla praised Francesca's resolve to see him.

At the de Hartog house Francesca received an enthusiastic reception from Willem. He asked her searching questions about her work while Sybylla chatted to his wife. When he heard Francesca had brought home one of her paintings he said he would accompany her and her sister back to their home to see it himself. When repa.s.sing the Zuider Church as the three of them walked along together, Sybylla glanced surrept.i.tiously at the entrance in case Hans Roemer should emerge by chance. She had planned to regard him disdainfully, but he did not appear and this small score against him was denied her.

Francesca was glad that Willem was with them when she found Ludolf waiting at her home. She stiffened at his almost proprietorial greeting, having to avoid an embracing arm.

"I invite you all to dine at my house this evening," he said expansively to include Willem. "Please come with Vrouw de Hartog. We must celebrate Francesca's homecoming."

Sybylla responded enthusiastically, always welcoming an opportunity to dress up. "Oh yes! Will Adriaen be there?" She knew that he and his family were well acquainted with Ludolf.

"I invited his parents and the young man himself on my way here and they accepted."

As Ludolf accompanied Francesca and Willem into the studio where Hendrick was at work, he decided he had had enough of her dodging about as if he had no right to her. The time had come to speak. He wanted a betrothed man's right to her kisses, which would be a poor recompense for what his whole body demanded whenever she was near. He must also make the situation clear to Geetruyd next time he was there. She was a sensible woman and an extra thousand or more guilders in her next payment should sweeten any disappointment she might feel. Perhaps the gift of a diamond brooch as a memento of what had previously been between them was also in order. Women always appreciated such niceties. He would make a point of implying that his marriage to Francesca need not put an end to what they had enjoyed together on his occasional visits to Delft. She need not know that once her usefulness to him was at an end he would never bother to see her again. By his reckoning Louis XIV would be ruler of Holland by the time Francesca's apprenticeship was completed a year from now in the spring of 1672. Even if a third year should be demanded of her it would make no difference, for by then he would have been given important duties at The Hague with enough authority to let his marriage to her go through. Since The Hague was only a short distance from Delft she could still attend Vermeer's studio two or three times a week. He had already looked at property in The Hague and had seen a splendid mansion that he intended to buy. He would have sold his Amsterdam house by now if he could have done so without arousing curiosity. These days he was having to exercise patience on all fronts and he found it wearying.

At first the evening went well. Francesca, in spite of being seated at Ludolf's right hand, had Heer van Jansz on her other side and he was an interesting conversationalist. Sybylla was elated and sparkling, thinking of when she would preside over far grander gatherings. She constantly exchanged deep glances across the table with Adriaen and little secret smiles. Once the unbidden thought came to her as to how Hans Roemer might have looked had he been dressed in clothes as fine as Adriaen's and seated opposite her, his hair brushed like silk and rings on his fingers. Then she dismissed the illusion quickly, answering some question that Willem, next to her at table, had put to her. If Vrouw van Jansz looked resignedly in her direction once or twice, she did not notice.

On the opposite side of the table Vrouw de Hartog, although seated next to Adriaen, was entertained mostly by Hendrick, whom she knew well and who was in a jovial mood. It was proving to be the most pleasant occasion he had ever enjoyed under Ludolf's roof, a blight having been cast over all the others, but on this night he was on the brink of becoming free of his detestable patron and was full of mischievous satisfaction. Every time he noticed Adriaen smiling at Sybylla across the table he congratulated himself anew that she had landed such a wealthy fish out of the sea of her suitors. At the end of dinner he sat back in his chair to listen as Ludolf rose to his feet at the head of the table, a gla.s.s in hand.

"This could not be a better time for me to propose a special toast," Ludolf began, smiling at all seated in the sparkle of crystal and the glow of candlelight. "At my table this evening are two young people shortly to be betrothed. The name of van Jansz is to be joyously linked with that of Visser. Now, with my period of mourning at an end, I am able to announce my own betrothal. Please raise your gla.s.ses to my future wife, Francesca!"

Heer van Jansz and his wife, unaware of anything amiss, stood for the toast and the de Hartogs hid their astonishment as they followed suit a second or two later. Sybylla was openmouthed while Francesca sat deathly white and stunned by shock. Hendrick, forgetting that he was still far from being liberated by his future son-in-law, half rose from his chair with a congested face and slammed a heavy fist on the table, making the dessert dishes and the candelabra rattle, the candles casting wax.

"No!"

Vrouw van Jansz, who had never witnessed such a scene at a dinner table in her life, sank down weakly into her seat again and wielded her circular fan. "What is happening?" she appealed to her husband across the table. "I think we should go home at once!"

Francesca was on her feet. "There has been a misunderstanding. I feel no more should be said until I have discussed matters with Ludolf in the presence of my father."

Sybylla burst into tears. Regardless of what mistakes had been made, why had Hendrick made such a show about it? His roar had been enough to burst everyone's eardrums. The evening was ruined and Adriaen's parents were already leaving, only his father saying good night to her. The de Hartogs were also departing, but both spoke to her and patted her shoulder. Adriaen had come over to her side of the table to stand by her chair. She thought for a panic-stricken moment that he was going too, but that was not his purpose.

"Let us go into the drawing room, Sybylla, and wait there. Heer van Deventer is seeing his departing guests out of the house and your father and sister are awaiting him in the library."

She saw then that they were alone in the banqueting hall, except for the servants, who had been waiting at table and now stood back against the walls, their faces expressionless. She did not think Adriaen's mother, or any of the van Jansz women, had ever wept in front of servants. She dried her eyes hastily and with as much dignity as she could muster went with him to the drawing room. There she deliberately fell into his arms and his kissing told her that his ardor had not waned. It was the first time he had ever been on his own with her and he intended to make the most of the opportunity.

In the library Hendrick stood pretending to look out the window, although there was nothing to see out there in the darkness. He could not bring himself to meet Francesca's eyes. She addressed his reflection in the panes.

"What do you know about Ludolf's extraordinary statement? Please tell me before he comes. I could see when you shouted that you were denying something you already knew."

He forced himself to answer her. "I hadn't wanted you to know yet. Nothing can take place before your apprenticeship ends, but a year ago I signed a marriage contract, promising you to him."

She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. All Pieter's warnings came back to her. She thought of the Dutch legend of a girl bargained for by a sinister suitor, who upon marriage revealed himself as a ma.s.s of putrefaction and was death himself. It was impossible for her to think of Ludolf as a husband in any other light. "Why did you do such a terrible thing?"

"I must have been drunk."

It was such a likely explanation that she did not question it. "Does Pieter know?"

"I told him when he called about the commission, but neither he nor I had expected it to be made public yet."

"I think he has always been afraid of this." She was filled with immense sadness that her only escape from Ludolf was in flight, which would mean leaving her family and her home for many years. A thought puzzled her. "You say you promised me to Ludolf twelve months ago, but that was when Amalia was still alive."

"No. He was so mad to have you that he gave me the contract to sign the day after she died."

She bowed her head and put a hand over her eyes, horrified by this disclosure. Amalia had been much in her thoughts on returning to the van Deventer house for the first time since that tragic evening. Now to hear of such callous indifference to her death was unsupportable.

Ludolf, entering the library, glimpsed her pose of distress before she whipped her hand away and stepped back, her face hostile. Matters had not gone exactly as he had expected. Not for one moment had he imagined that Hendrick, after his six weeks' experience of prison, would dare to make any objection, let alone indulge in such a furious outburst. As for Francesca, he had foreseen his announcement would cause her considerable shock, but relying on her proven self-control and good breeding, he had been certain she would not make any protest in front of his other guests.

He composed his expression to one of sympathetic understanding. "My dearest Francesca, don't be upset that this betrothal has been sprung on you. As I expect your father has explained, it is of long standing, but convention prevented me from speaking out before. Nothing shall interfere with your art. I want you to fulfill your ambitions. You shall have everything you've ever wanted. We'll not stay here when we're married. You shall have another house that you can furnish and decorate as you please. You shall visit Italy. I'll set Aletta up in a studio if that would please you. Your father and his household shall have all they need. Money problems will be behind him forever."

She spoke slowly and distinctly, her eyes hard and glittering. "Don't try to bribe me. I know there are parents who whip and starve their daughters into submitting to marriages with partners not of their choice, but never suppose that my father would deal thus with me! He has never raised a hand to my sisters or to me and I know he won't begin now. I'll never marry you!"

"I can see you have no comprehension of the depth of my feelings for you. I've always wanted you to come to me willingly and I'll continue to hope for that. You have plenty of time before the end of your apprenticeship to make up your mind."

"I do?" She was wary, not trusting him. Hendrick had turned back to the room, equally suspicious. Ludolf was smiling at her.

"Indeed. You may decide as you please and I'll abide by your wishes."

"You'd tear up the contract?"

"Naturally. Unfortunately I'm sure that would cause your father lasting sorrow. Why not ask him to explain? It's time you knew all the facts."

Francesca looked questioningly at Hendrick, but his tormented gaze was on Ludolf, his face working. "Don't do this!" he pleaded hoa.r.s.ely. Then he went charging from the room. Francesca would have followed him, but Ludolf caught her by the arm and restrained her.

"Let him go. He's too afraid to confess to what you have to know."

She pulled free of him. "Then you tell me!"

"Very well. You had better sit down while I relate all that happened."

Hendrick had rushed back to the banqueting hall, thinking he might find Sybylla and Adriaen there, for he knew Sybylla would wait for him and Francesca. One of the servants clearing the table told him that the young couple had gone to the drawing room. He threw open the door and discovered them sprawled in an amorous embrace on the couch. Both of them leapt up, Sybylla, flushed and looking slightly disheveled, hastily adjusting her low neckline.

"Get out, Sybylla!" Hendrick roared.

"But, Father, it was nothing! We were just-"

He lunged forward, took hold of her and almost threw her from the room. Then he locked the door to keep her out. Adriaen, not at all surprised by this display of parental wrath, hoped he was not going to have to grapple with the artist to save being cuffed. He had no intention of appearing at his own betrothal party with a black eye. An apology was in order.

"I'm afraid I let my love for Sybylla run away with me, Master Visser. I did kiss her several times-"

"Shut up! I haven't time to deal with that now! I'm in a desperate situation. Will you make me a substantial loan? I didn't intend to ask you until Sybylla was your wife, but events have precipitated matters."