"Whatever it is you have to tell us, Pieter," Constantijn took over from her, "I want to inform you first that I have drawn up a banker's draft to cover the whole amount owed by Master Visser to van Deventer."

Aletta watched Constantijn as he spoke. Having no true knowledge of his financial affairs, merely aware from what Sara had said that his grandparents had left him an independent income, she had never supposed that his funds could stretch to such munificence. When he had said, without her having the least expectation, that he would put forth the necessary monies, she had been rendered speechless.

"I should appreciate it, Pieter," Constantijn was saying, "if you would present it to him with my compliments, next time you are in Amsterdam."

Pieter raised his eyebrows appreciatively at such a generous offer. "There was a time when I would have had no hesitation in accepting on Hendrick's behalf, but circ.u.mstances are changing. It may be detrimental to our national security if van Deventer should be paid off now or if any other matter is allowed to arise that would bring forth a confrontation with him. I have long suspected that he is working for the French and I've just returned from Amsterdam, where certain incriminating evidence against him came into my hands through the courage of a servant woman, Neeltje, who is known to Aletta."

He described how Neeltje, to his great good fortune, had not forgotten the inquiries he had made to her about Ludolf's correspondence with Geetruyd. Although, as she had said, the contents of the letters had meant nothing to her, she had quietly decided to get hold of some of them. She was still on amiable terms with the housekeeper at the van Deventer house and so made a point of calling now and again to see her. Having learned over Christmas that Ludolf was constantly at the Visser home, she had used one of his absences to get into his study with a key from the duplicate bunch she had kept. Her pretext for leaving the housekeeper's room had been to look for a silver thimble supposedly left behind in the sewing room. In the study she had taken a handful of letters at random, thrust them deep inside her bodice and locked up everything again. These letters had been duly delivered to Pieter's address and he had contacted Gerard immediately.

"In the light of these letters and other information that had been gained," Pieter reported, "it was obvious to the Prince's Secret Service that what Neeltje had taken to be people's initials also represented places where arms were unloaded or spies put ash.o.r.e and embarked again, as well as identifying various individuals. Several caches of arms have already been discovered as well as the one in the cellars of this house, but the only positive identification of any person that could be made was from the initials G.K., which are surely those of Gijsbert Kuiper, the servant you dismissed among others, Constantijn, on the night of your return here."

Constantijn's fists tightened angrily. "It must have been an unpleasant surprise for Gijsbert Kuiper when I moved back into this house, although I played into his hands by remaining helpless in my room."

Aletta put a hand over his. "That's all in the past. We must think only of the future now and what we can do to help Pieter."

"You're right, beloved." Constantijn studied the list of initials that Pieter gave him in the hope that a second servant, male or female, might be identified, but as he had not known the names of all the skeleton staff, none at all in the kitchen region, Aletta fetched the housekeeping records. Nothing helpful came to light.

"At least we have one name with Francesca's sketch to match it," she said, "and the confirmed knowledge as to why the guard dogs were silent and an entrance to the unused cellar was gained."

Pieter gestured agreement. "We also know that Geetruyd Wolff keeps a house where some spies come and go, even if other travelers who stay there are completely innocent. Although Neeltje did so well in getting me that batch of correspondence, she did grab at it in a natural haste and as a result the letters are not in consecutive order. Much vital information is missing and we know there are more caches of arms to be located. It has become apparent that an armed a.s.sault has been planned by the conspirators against The Hague, probably to coincide with some prearranged point of Louis XIV's antic.i.p.ated advance into Holland when war comes. That's why the caches discovered have been deposited at a convenient range, ready to be s.n.a.t.c.hed up and transported when the time comes for a force of traitors to capture the seat of government on the enemy's behalf."

"Would they have a Frenchman to lead them?" Constantijn questioned.

"Not if under the direction of a Dutchman already used to command in violent situations."

"Van Deventer?"

"He has the experience, having been a ruthless privateer. As you know, privateers don't always restrict their nefarious activities to the sea, but frequently make raids on tropical islands where spoils are to be had, whether spices or slaves or some other valuable commodity."

Aletta spoke urgently. "Surely you'll arrest Ludolf at once, Pieter!"

"Not until we can be sure that enough caches have fallen into our hands to prevent the attack, or else his second-in-command will simply take over. For the same reason we must bide our time with Geetruyd too. None of those traitors must gain a whisper of what is rising against them."

"Does all this mean a flight to Italy for Francesca is no longer necessary?"

"I hope that will prove to be the case, but it's too early to say yet. Everything depends on what can be achieved in the three months that are left before her apprenticeship finishes toward the end of April. The time ahead is still full of danger for her. That's why, Aletta, I must ask you to be my messenger to her again and tell her all that I've told you and Constantijn. Nothing can be set down on paper. Too much is at risk."

Aletta felt a tremor of apprehension pa.s.s down her spine at his words. "I will see her tomorrow."

"I thank you. There's no time to lose."

When Francesca heard all her sister had to say it made her wonder again about Geetruyd's att.i.tude toward her. That curious feeling still persisted that the woman was watching her as a venomous spider in a web watches its innocent prey.

ON THE SAME February day as that on which Aletta and Constantijn were to marry, the Prince of Orange, by popular demand, was finally made Captain General in charge of the defense of Holland and its states. Not all was going his way, for he was to be hampered by advisory councils formed to keep a hold over him, and the whole country was torn by conflicting loyalties. To the rest of Europe it had become apparent that the Dutch, having once proved themselves to be the bravest and the most staunch warriors in their defense against mighty Spain, had been undermined by peace and prosperity into a general reluctance to take up arms even to save their own freedom.

Yet this time the King of Spain, resentful over Louis XIV's earlier invasion of the Spanish Netherlands, had allied his country with Holland and it was largely due to the Prince of Orange's efforts that other allies were forthcoming. The Prince's treacherous uncle, Charles II of England, was giving his support to France, where it was known that two hundred thousand soldiers were preparing for the invasion of Holland and the strength of the French navy was being increased.

Yet the imminence of war seemed far away in the peaceful atmosphere of the Old Church, where Constantijn stood tall beside Aletta for their marriage, his crutches held for him temporarily by a friend in the role of the groom's right-hand man and guard. Francesca thought her sister had never looked more beautiful in a gown of blue-green silk with her lovely hair drawn smoothly into a topknot ringed with silk violets, gleaming drop pearls in the lobes of her pretty ears and more pearls about her neck, all wedding gifts from Constantijn. A natural wish for both sisters was that Sybylla could have been present, but in spite of every effort by Hendrick and Pieter, she and her husband had not been traced.

It was a quiet wedding. Jan Vermeer had escorted Aletta into the church and Catharina sat with Francesca. All the Vermeer children, except the eldest offspring still serving his apprenticeship, and Ignatius, who had a cold, were there too. On Constantijn's side only his parents and a few close friends were present, including one with whom he was in consultation about the breeding of Thoroughbred horses, an interest he had been planning to take up when the accident had occurred. When organ music filled the great church at the close of the ceremony, Constantijn received his crutches again. With the swinging walk he had developed he matched the moderate pace set by his graceful bride, both smiling happily at everyone. If Aletta glanced about a little more than was usual at such a time, few noticed and only her groom and her sister knew for whom she was looking in vain.

The whole wedding party had departed when Hendrick, who had been sitting out of sight in a side chapel, emerged and slowly left the church. Francesca had begged him during her Christmas visit to attend the ceremony, but his stubbornness and his pride prevented him from making the first move toward ending the estrangement with Aletta. He told himself that he had come only for Anna's sake, refusing to accept that it sprang from the devastating blow of having lost contact with Sybylla as well.

Since n.o.body knew him in Delft and Francesca would be at the wedding feast, he went into the Vermeer gallery, hoping to see some of her work and that of her master. He was told by the girl in charge that Master Vermeer was away and she was Maria Vermeer, his eldest daughter.

"Is there something you wish to buy, mijnheer?" she inquired. When he replied that he was merely interested in seeing what was on display, she bade him take all the time he wished.

"Which are your father's works?" Hendrick asked her.

"There are none here."

He expressed his disappointment and wandered along until he stopped in front of a painting that he recognized instantly as being by Francesca. It was of a woman possessed of a sweet dignity in a rose-red gown, coming with a smile of welcome toward the man who stood with his back to the viewer, movement and repose faultlessly balanced. It was ent.i.tled The Homecoming. Hendrick could not take his eyes from the painting. He was aware of trembling at the beauty of the work, scarcely able to believe that out of his loins and Anna's womb had come such talent.

Maria, seeing how fixed his gaze was on the work, came to stand beside him. "My father travels as an art dealer and this shows my mother, Catharina, greeting him after an absence."

"It's very fine," he said huskily.

"It's not for sale," she said apologetically, thinking he had become tempted to buy.

"Why is that?"

"It's for Guild submission by an apprentice artist in the spring, but meantime my father has it here in the hope of future commissions for her. There are a few etchings on the table by the same hand, if you would like to see them."

He studied each one. All were scenes of Delft, with a single exception that was of his own studio with windows open to the street. Still he hesitated to leave. "I've heard so much of Master Vermeer's work. I was told that after the death of Carel Fabritius in Delft it was declared here that your father had filled the gap, being as great an artist."

Maria gave a nod, intrigued that her father's name should be known by anyone outside Delft. "Locally he is held in very high regard. His advice is sought constantly by the Guild and other civil dignitaries in the valuing and purchasing of works of art. Recently he was asked by them to a.s.sess on their behalf a whole batch of so-called Italian masters that are to be auctioned and he will be exposing them as fakes, which will be much to the ire of the villains concerned!" She paused. "May I ask where you are from, mijnheer?"

"Amsterdam."

"So far away! In that case, since you are so interested in my father's work, I'm sure I'm permitted to show you just one of his."

"I'd be honored."

She opened the door into the living quarters and took him into a rather grand anteroom where he supposed special customers were received. The painting was hung in solitary splendor. Hendrick knew it immediately from Francesca's description. Remembering what she had said of her master's looks, he noted the slightly frizzy hair of the man depicted in the work and took a guess at his ident.i.ty. It was most surely Jan Vermeer himself and showed him in a studio seated with his back to the viewer, dressed in a costume fashionable a hundred years ago, undoubtedly from an atelier chest, with a flat velvet cap slightly at an angle. His brush was momentarily poised as he glanced toward his model while painting the wreath of laurel leaves, symbolically eternal, that adorned her lovely head. Illumined most marvelously by window light, she was robed in blue and ivory silk, posing as the Muse of history, Clio. She held a golden trumpet and a book in her arms. On the wall behind her was an ancient map of the Netherlands before the present boundaries existed. In all it was a totally allegorical tribute to the art of history painting, even the trumpet symbolizing paeans of praise to the painter's craft.

Hendrick beamed his approval. Master Vermeer was a man of his own heart. He was almost sure he recognized the model as being the woman in Francesca's painting when slightly younger. "Is that Vrouw Vermeer as the Muse?" he asked Maria Vermeer.

She gave a musical little laugh. "Father says that is his secret. How could the model be his wife when the painting is set back in time, any more than he could be the painter seated at the easel? But that is just his joke. He will never say yes or no to any questions put to him about this work. All I may say to you is that my mother cherishes it above all else that he has ever painted and therefore it must hold something special for them that is unknown to the rest of us."

Hendrick smiled to himself reminiscently. This girl was too young and virginal to understand those private moments that existed between a painter and his subject deeply in love with each other and that could lead to artistic creation. His own years with Anna had taught him that. A session of pa.s.sionate lovemaking, the confirmation of the conception of a wanted child or the spiritual communication of tender feelings could well result in inspirational work. The atmosphere of this painting was full of it.

"This is surely called An Allegory of Painting," he remarked.

"Nothing is really settled on that point. Sometimes it is referred to by the t.i.tle you've just given, but at others it is The Art of Painting or even An Artist in His Studio. Since it will never go out of our family's hands the t.i.tle is of no particular importance in this house."

"I thank you most sincerely for allowing me to view it."

When Hendrick left the gallery he turned up his collar against the cold wind and pulled his hat well down. Yet he stopped to look through the small panes of a certain shop window. Anna was uppermost in his mind, memories strongly reawakened through the painting he had just viewed, and he was uncomfortably aware that she would have wanted him to send their daughter a marriage gift, whatever the circ.u.mstances. He knew in his heart what he should send even though his pride fought against it. The contents of the shop window might have been arranged by Anna specially for this moment, almost as if showing him the error of his ways. Well, he never had been able to hold out against her when she made a special appeal to him, even if his good resolutions seldom lasted. Doggedly, he opened the shop door. There he paid far more than he could spare for an order of goods to be sent anonymously to the bridal couple. Only in giving his name would he hold back.

Coming out again, he went to the stage wagon, which was almost ready to leave. Soon afterward he was borne out of Delft as un.o.btrusively as he had come. He had only two small coins left in his pocket. Not enough for food and beer at halts on the long journey. He sighed resignedly. At least he felt more at ease with himself, and Anna would have been pleased with what he had done.

At the marriage celebrations the feasting was over when Constantijn was told of a delivery that had come from the town. He escorted Aletta away from the company to see what had come and she asked Francesca to go with them. Set up in an anteroom was an easel and beside it several boxes of artist's supplies. At first Aletta drew back hesitantly.

"Who would think of sending all this?" she queried uneasily.

"I wish I had," Constantijn said, opening a box that held brushes and a pestle and mortar. "It's just what you should have, Aletta."

Francesca provided the explanation. "It can only have been ordered by Father from Amsterdam." She was thankful he had made such a conciliatory gesture. "You have already received gifts from anyone at home likely to think of it, even Pieter. Remember that it's only Constantijn and I in this whole area, Aletta, who know that you ever wanted to be an artist."

Aletta moved forward to the open box and her hands hovered over the brushes. "Such luxury! I've never used a brush I haven't made myself." Then she bit her lip. "It will mean starting all over again. I admit to having hoped one day to paint a little once more, but this has taken me so much by surprise."

Francesca picked up a brush and thrust it into her hand. "There! That doesn't feel strange, does it?"

Aletta's smile was tremulous. "No, I admit to that."

"I've a suggestion to make," Constantijn said to her. "How would you like me to ask Master Vermeer if he would be prepared to take on another pupil when Francesca leaves? By that time you would have done enough painting with all that is here for you to be ready for tuition again."

Aletta's love for him shone out of her eyes. "I'd like that more than I can say."

"That's settled then. Now we should return to our guests."

As they left the room together Aletta looked back over her shoulder at Francesca, who was following. "I have accepted Father's olive branch, because that is what I've taken his gift to be, and when the time comes I'll present my own to him and then maybe he and I can be father and daughter again."

Maria Vermeer told Jan about showing his painting to an inquirer. He did not reprove her, but told her not to do it again. n.o.body mentioned the matter to Francesca since the visiting stranger from Amsterdam had not given his name.

GRADUALLY THE SNOW and ice thawed as winter retreated again before the coming of spring. Although Constantijn and Josephus kept constant guard no further deliveries of arms were made to the cellar. Heer and Vrouw de Veere, who were at a loss to understand why no extra staff were being employed at their son's home, brought half a dozen of their own most trusted servants to relieve the burden of domestic ch.o.r.es from the shoulders of their daughter-in-law. Since Constantijn knew them all, he allowed them to stay, certain that he would have loyal support in any emergency.

"But don't usurp Aletta's authority in domestic matters, Mother, at least not again," he advised.

"I only did it out of love for you both," his mother replied, "and she was pleased and thanked me most sincerely. Your father and I owe her so much. If it hadn't been for Aletta you wouldn't be smiling at me from your good height just as you used to."

Aletta had entered the room in time to hear the last remark. "Oh, he would! He made his own decision to walk again before I suggested it."

Vrouw de Veere did not intend to discuss the matter anymore, having made up her own mind about it. "Constantijn tells me that Francesca is painting your marriage portraits."

"She is portraying us together in one painting," Aletta replied. As yet her own efforts were still tentative in the studio she had fixed up in one of the upper rooms and only Constantijn and Francesca were welcome there. Jan Vermeer was willing to consider her as a pupil providing her work reached a certain standing. As yet she had nothing worthy enough to show him. "Francesca will submit her painting of us to the Guild on her special day and we shall have it afterward."

FRANCESCA HAD BEEN delighted to receive the commission. The payment for it would go to Jan, but she would be able to add her own signature to it as soon as she had gained her mastership. She had never forgotten her mother standing in front of Rembrandt's marriage portrait of an acquaintance and his wife. Tears had trickled down Anna's cheeks, for she had been so moved by the tender embrace in which the groom held the bride as they stood side by side in specially chosen costumes of red and gold, adoring love in his face, sweet contentment in hers.

"Rembrandt said that a man and a woman in love should never be separated, not even by a picture frame," Anna had said gently. "How right he was."

Francesca had never forgotten those words or that moment. Her memory was standing her in good stead now as she captured the youth and happiness of her sister and brother-in-law on canvas in Jan's studio. Both had been for several sittings and she had done preliminary sketches before their marriage. Aletta was in peach silk with silver lace, Constantijn in gray-green velvet. Her fairness and his dark good looks made a splendid contrast.

When Truyd called her for the noon meal, Francesca paused by the studio window to look out at the square. Pieter had reopened his market stall there now and she could see him talking to a customer while two women a.s.sistants sold early-spring flowers, some arranged in posies with ribbons. The March wind was whipping his curly brown hair and flapping the flat brim of his hat. He had gained more business at his office than he would have wished, for that was far from the main purpose of his coming to Delft, but somehow he was managing to deal with everything. When the customer turned away without making a purchase she saw it was the local whip maker. Had he given some information to Pieter? She knew all about the special whip from Pieter's description and kept an eye open for it herself.

Ludolf paid spasmodic visits to Delft. Francesca never knew when he would appear. She had no idea what private conversation had pa.s.sed between Geetruyd and him when he made his first visit after the woman had learned of the betrothal, but there was no apparent animosity between them, she very gracious and he obviously relieved. It was Francesca herself who bore the brunt of his ill temper when he learned that she had left the betrothal ring at home in Amsterdam. He made a special trip to fetch it and came back again immediately. This time he put the hateful ruby on her finger in front of Geetruyd, whose smiling expression did not change even if her eyes were icy. Francesca wondered why Ludolf could not see that the woman's enmity was directed equally toward them both, but then nothing about him surprised her anymore.

FRANCE DECLARED WAR on Holland and its states on the seventh day of April. Already Louis XIV's great army was on the march against its small, poorly armed adversary, which was still torn by political strife and dissent. The Dutch border towns and fortresses began to fall like ninepins before the French advance, some offering no resistance. Pieter and Gerard knew it was only a matter of time before the treacherous attack on The Hague took place, and as not all the arms caches had been located, a force of the Prince's men were wary as they waited for the first move to be made.

Not long after the outbreak of war, Weintje was agitated when she met Francesca at the studio in the late afternoon. "Would you mind hurrying as fast as you can with me to Kromstraat today," the maidservant requested, already striding out. "I've so much to do. Seven travelers are staying overnight."

Francesca was immediately alert. "Did they arrive together?"

"No. One came fairly early and then another. Two arrived later and I admitted the last three into the house just as I left to fetch you. Why do you ask?"

"What a rush it must have been for you to make up all those beds."

"Luckily for once, Vrouw Wolff knew ahead that they were coming and she has been helping me with the beds and other work since early this morning."

Francesca's blood tingled. Something was most surely in the air. Had she needed confirmation it was awaiting her the moment she entered Geetruyd's house. Propped against the tall carved cupboard in the reception hall were three whips, one with ornamentation such as Pieter had described to her. The rumble of voices behind the door of the bedchamber that faced the street caused her to guess that, to her good fortune, all seven men had gathered there, which was not surprising, as it was the largest of the rooms that led off the reception hall.

She sped up to her own room, threw off her light cape and rushed to take the paint rags from the aperture in the fireplace. Disappointingly, she could not hear as well as she had hoped, but, as always when people talked together in a group, voices were slightly raised in volume. Since the company there would not expect to be overheard behind the security of a thick door, quite apart from Weintje being too busy, Clara too deaf and herself an unsuspecting innocent upstairs, they were talking freely.

She could hear from a feminine tone intermingling now and again that Geetruyd was with them. Her voice came through again.

"As I said at the time, there's nothing to worry about...Can't run fast on stumps...Five women servants, including old Sara, and two men, both over fifty and no threat...No, I wasn't including him...Leave the silencing of that fellow and the dogs to me. I've already made arrangements."

Francesca, her ear pressed to the aperture, was full of fear for the safety of those at the de Veere house. It must mean that there was to be a raid on the cellar this very night and that violence would be used to get the arms away. None of those conspirators, three in charge of vehicles, would be here to delay for a day or two. She had to let Pieter know! She must slip out of the house immediately before she was called for dinner. If luck was with her it would be served late this evening, with Weintje so overworked and Geetruyd finalizing plans with her fellow traitors.

Not risking being seen in any outdoor garment, she planned to slip out into the mild, light evening, see Pieter at either his office or the Mechelin tavern and then get back before her absence was noticed. But as she reached the hall and was on the point of turning for the main door, Geetruyd emerged from the conference.

"Ah, you're down in good time for dinner, Francesca. I was about to call you. We are dining slightly earlier this evening, for a little social gathering of my fellow regents and regentesses will take place here later upstairs in the east parlor. You shall join us as you have done on previous occasions."

Francesca could not help but be amazed by the woman's iron nerves. Geetruyd was carefully establishing her own respectable alibi while violence and most probably murder, planned under her own roof, would soon be taking place.

"Will the company stay late?" Francesca inquired conversationally.

"Until midnight at least. We are to have poetry reading, some singing and a little talk on a visit to Amsterdam from Heer van Golpen. Now come to the table. Clara is already there."

Francesca had never felt more trapped or frustrated. She dare not let Geetruyd suspect for one moment that she was desperate to get away, but somehow it had to be done. Never had a meal seemed longer. There was a hitch between courses when Clara, who was always excited when a social event was imminent, knocked over a gla.s.s of wine, which spread all over the fine lace-trimmed cloth. It had to be removed immediately and plunged into cold water to avoid staining, Geetruyd doing it herself while Weintje wiped the table, spread a fresh cloth and reset the dinner service. Francesca, looking at the clock, saw that the slim chance of carrying out her wish to slip out before the regents and regentesses arrived had gone.

When dinner ended she began clearing the table and Geetruyd did not object, well aware there was a lot for Weintje to do that evening, even though she herself had supervised the cooking. Francesca, putting down some dirty dishes to be washed, just had time to speak into the maidservant's ear.

"I must be out of the house for ten minutes this evening, Weintje. Would you help me?"

Weintje shot a wary look at the door, but Geetruyd was not to be seen. "I've long owed you a favor in return for a kindness you did me in not telling that my sweetheart had sat with me in the kitchen. What do you want me to do?"

"Cover for me. When it's time for coffee and cakes to be served to Vrouw Wolff's company I'll come down as if to help you. That's when I'll go."

Geetruyd and Clara both came into the kitchen at that moment. Weintje gave Francesca a significant nod to show she would do as she had been asked.

By the time Francesca had finished clearing the table the regents and regentesses had arrived. As Geetruyd had not finished in the kitchen, Francesca was entrusted to show them upstairs, collect their cloaks and engage them in conversation. She was aware that none of them approved of her following the career of a painter and she found their disapproval irritating. Remembering her gentle aunt Janetje, who had also been a regentess, she knew there must be many such kindly folk serving on the boards of inst.i.tutions here in Delft, but unfortunately only the strictest and most narrow-minded ever came to spend time with Geetruyd.

The evening dragged. Then eventually Geetruyd jerked the bellpull for Weintje to bring the coffee and cakes. Francesca leapt to her feet. "I'll lend a hand!" she exclaimed, and was out of the room before Geetruyd could utter a word.

Francesca had been afraid the whips would be gone, but they were still there. She flew to the kitchen. "Are the travelers still at dinner in their rooms?"

"No, they've finished." Weintje gestured wildly. "Go if you're going! I've a lantern ready. Here! Take it."