5 A Very Murdering Battle

by Edward Marston

  Welbeck snorted. ‘It must have been a strange kind of marriage.’

  ‘You’re wrong. It was a loving union. They were very close.’

  ‘Then why betray his wife’s memory by visiting a bawdy house?’

  ‘In his view,’ said Daniel, ‘that wasn’t what he was doing.’

  Their footsteps eventually took them into a more prosperous district with better houses and cleaner streets. Nobody lingered in the gloom. They felt quite safe being abroad at night. It was Welbeck’s third visit to the Pienaar residence. This time at least, he told himself, he’d be able to go inside it. That assumption was thrown very much in doubt when a servant opened the door. As soon as Daniel gave his name, Pienaar hurtled out of the parlour and demanded to be left alone. He was fuming. If Welbeck hadn’t put his foot in the way, the door would have been slammed in their faces. It was Daniel who produced the key that gained them entry.

  ‘We’ve just come from Gerda,’ he said, pointedly.

  Pienaar was speechless. His cheeks paled and his eyes were pools of remorse and embarrassment. He rocked unsteadily on his feet. All the anger drained out of him. He looked so pathetic and defenceless that even Welbeck felt sorry for the man. Daniel suggested that they should continue their discussion inside the house and Pienaar agreed, stepping back to admit them. Once in the parlour, he more or less collapsed into his chair. His visitors sat opposite him. Since he had an uncertain grasp on the Dutch language, Welbeck let Daniel do the talking.

  ‘Let me begin by introducing Sergeant Welbeck,’ said Daniel, indicating his companion. ‘Because he was a stranger to you, I asked him to follow you after work. This is the third evening he did so. You’ll know what he found.’

  Pienaar could barely manage a nod. He was writhing with humiliation. The most secret and sensitive part of his life had been exposed to public view. Daniel explained that he’d met Gerda and learnt why Pienaar had been making a weekly visit to the house. He asked how he’d met the woman in the first place. It was minutes before Pienaar was able to summon up an answer. Face taut and hands clasped together, he spoke in a low, apologetic voice.

  ‘Please don’t judge me harshly,’ he began. ‘I can guess what you must have thought when you saw that house. It’s not the sort of place I ever dreamt of visiting. I was happily married. I never sought or needed what they offered there. To be honest, I wouldn’t even have known where to find such an establishment.’

  Daniel believed him. Pienaar might be highly competent as a weaver but there was something unworldly about him. He was a deeply religious man brought up to respect the sanctity of marriage. He had a blend of maturity and innocence that regular visits to a brothel had somehow failed to dispel. Until they’d knocked on his door, he’d persuaded himself that what he was doing was harmless. Now he was squirming with guilt A reassuring weekly event in his life had suddenly been turned into something unwholesome and despicable. The pain was almost unbearable.

  ‘I met her in the street,’ he said, eyes on the floor. ‘It was a complete accident, I swear it. I thought it was her, you see. When she walked along the pavement towards me, I really did think for a second that it was my dear wife.’

  ‘Did you speak to her?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘No, I was too overwhelmed to say anything. But she spoke. I was staring at her so hard that she could see she’d aroused my interest. She told me her name was Gerda. I didn’t realise at the time what she did for a living, of course. Had I done so,’ Pienaar insisted, ‘I’d have walked away in disgust.’

  ‘But you didn’t,’ said Daniel. ‘She engaged you in conversation. It’s what women like that do. They can be very ingratiating.’

  ‘She was so friendly and so like my Johanna. I was spellbound.’

  Gerda had failed to cast any spell on Daniel. He’d seen her in her true colours. As he recalled her gaunt features and skeletal frame, he decided that Pienaar’s wife must have died of consumption or a similar wasting disease. It would have eaten away at her and left her as decayed and fragile as Gerda. Daniel didn’t want to upset the man further by pressing for details of his wife’s death. The point was that a chance resemblance had hooked Aelbert Pienaar. It was enough to entice him to a brothel, although, Daniel surmised, Pienaar wouldn’t have understood the true nature of what went on there at first. By the time that he did, the pleasure of being with Gerda outweighed his natural revulsion. She was the one person able to soften his bereavement.

  ‘I won’t ever go there again,’ asserted Pienaar. ‘I promise you that.’

  ‘I’m more interested in the visits you’ve already made there,’ said Daniel. ‘Did you – in the course of your conversations with Gerda – ever mention anything about your work?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Captain Rawson.’

  ‘Does that mean you don’t remember?’

  ‘We just talked. That’s to say, I came home to my Johanna and told her what sort of a day I’d experienced. There’s nothing wrong in that, is there?’

  ‘That depends who was listening.’

  ‘Johanna – Gerda, that is – was the only person there.’

  ‘She may have been the only person in the room,’ said Daniel, ‘but I suspect that someone may have been listening outside the door. Did you, for instance, ever notice a man lurking in the background?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Who let you into the house?’

  ‘It was Gerda. I always arrived at the same time on a Friday. She’d be waiting for me and took me straight to her room. There was another woman there but, when I paid her, she left us alone.’ Pienaar pondered. ‘I may have made a casual remark about my work, I suppose,’ he admitted at length, ‘but I don’t recall doing so. I have confided things to Johanna in the past because I trusted her implicitly. She’d never breathe a word of what I said to her.’

  ‘But you weren’t talking to your wife.’ Daniel reminded him. ‘The woman listening to you was Gerda. In return for money, she gave you what you wanted from her and that was companionship.’

  Pienaar was earnest. ‘It was, Captain Rawson. That’s all it was.’

  ‘What’s he saying, Dan?’ asked Welbeck.

  ‘He can’t be certain,’ said Daniel, speaking in English for his friend’s benefit. ‘He might have mentioned the tapestry in an unguarded moment. My guess is that when he starts talking to Gerda, he isn’t sure what he says. He’s so desperate for the intimacy of a marriage that the words just tumble out.’

  ‘Men always leave their brains outside when they step into a brothel.’

  Daniel smiled. ‘Fortunately, I didn’t.’

  ‘There was one strange thing,’ said Pienaar, searching his memory. ‘It must have been weeks ago now.’

  ‘Go on,’ encouraged Daniel.

  ‘Well, when I arrived there one evening, Johanna asked me how far I’d had to come. My wife knows. Why did she want the address?’

  ‘Did you give it to her?’

  A hunted look came into Pienaar’s eye. ‘I must have,’ he said, putting his hands to his head in a gesture of despair. ‘How stupid of me!’ he exclaimed. ‘I betrayed my master. It’s my fault that the tapestry was stolen. I’ll never be forgiven for that. Emanuel will dismiss me.’

  When Pienaar burst into tears, Welbeck needed no translation. He exchanged a knowing glance with Daniel who put an arm around the distraught weaver.

  ‘There’s no reason why Emanuel should ever know about this,’ said Daniel, soothingly. ‘He won’t blame you – especially if you help us to catch these men and reclaim the tapestry. Will you help us, Aelbert?’

  Pienaar looked up hopelessly. ‘What can I do?’

  Work had enlivened Emanuel Janssen. When he was at his loom, he could block out any horrible thoughts and concentrate on the job that he loved. Once he finished work, however, doubts and fears rushed in again and made his shoulders sag. As he sat in the parlour of his house, he looked sick and careworn. Amalia was troubled.

  ‘You should
go to bed, Father,’ she said.

  ‘I feel much better now.’

  ‘You look ill. There’s no point in forcing yourself to stay up.’

  ‘I want to hear if they found anything out.’

  ‘Daniel will come up to your room to tell you.’

  ‘I’m staying here, Amalia.’

  ‘Have you taken your medicine?’

  ‘No – it only makes me feel drowsy.’

  ‘You need your sleep.’

  Janssen was determined. ‘I want to stay down here,’ he said. ‘I want to know what’s going on.’

  Amalia could see that her advice was in vain. Nothing could make her father rest. If he went to bed, all that he did was to brood on the situation. Being with her at least gave him some moral support. Distressed at the theft of the tapestry, she was far more concerned about its effect on him. It was an open wound that was still bleeding. The only consolation was that Daniel was staying with them. His presence gave them a chance of recovering the tapestry. Had he been hundreds of miles away on a battlefield, they’d never have been able to survive the crisis. Its impact on Janssen would’ve been far worse, even fatal. Amalia shuddered at the thought.

  ‘Where have they gone?’ asked Janssen.

  ‘I’ve no idea, Father,’ she replied.

  ‘Sergeant Welbeck worries me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m not sure. How well do you know him?’

  ‘Not very well – but Daniel has the highest opinion of him.’

  ‘The fellow always looks so uncomfortable.’

  ‘He’s a soldier. He’s used to life in camp.’

  ‘He creeps around the house as if he’s imprisoned here.’

  ‘That’s just his way.’

  ‘I’d love to know where he is now.’

  Amalia sat up as she heard the front door open. ‘That could be them now,’ she said, hopefully. After a few seconds, the door was shut again and locked. ‘No, I’m afraid that it wasn’t.’

  There was a tap on the parlour door and Beatrix entered the room.

  ‘This came for you, sir,’ she said, handing a letter to Janssen. ‘When I saw it being slipped under the door, I tried to catch the person who delivered it but I was too late. All I saw in the street was a boy running away.’

  ‘Thank you for trying,’ said Amalia. She turned to her father who was reading the letter. ‘Is it from them?’ He nodded. ‘What do they say?’

  ‘They want their money within two days,’ he told her. ‘I have to reply to them on behalf of myself and His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough.’

  ‘How do you get in touch with them?’

  ‘They mention a place where a letter can be left tomorrow. There’s a warning,’ he added. ‘If anyone tries to follow me when I deliver my reply, they’ll destroy the tapestry. In other words, they’ll be watching, Amalia. There’s nothing we can do.’

  ‘Daniel will think of something.’

  ‘You’ve been saying that for days.’

  ‘Don’t lose faith in him, Father.’

  Janssen was agitated. ‘I have the greatest respect for the captain,’ he said, running a nervous hand through his hair, ‘but even he can’t help us this time. He has absolutely no idea who these people are.’

  The burly man with the fringe beard let himself into the tavern and peered through the fug. His friend was seated alone at a table. After buying a drink, the newcomer joined him. Frans Tulp gave him a nod of welcome. Tulp was a small, slight ferret of a man with a pointed snout and oily hair slicked back over his head to reach his shoulders. His eyes were always on the move in self-defence. Jan Dekker, by contrast, half Tulp’s age and twice his size, had a strong man’s fearlessness. Nobody would dare to attack someone of his bulk. He took a long slurp of his beer.

  ‘Did you deliver the letter?’ he asked.

  ‘I paid a lad to do that.’

  ‘When do we get a reply?’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ said Tulp.

  ‘What if they refuse to pay up?’

  ‘There’s no danger of that happening.’

  ‘You never know, Frans.’

  ‘They want that tapestry back. They’ll be dying to pay. All we have to do is to share the money between the three of us.’

  ‘What about Hendrika?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She first heard about Emanuel Janssen.’

  ‘But you were the one who hid in Gerda’s room after that. Without the details that you picked up from that fool, we’d have got nowhere.’

  ‘Hendrika deserves something.’

  Tulp smirked. ‘Then spend the night with her.’

  ‘She’s too old for me. She’s more your age, Frans.’

  ‘I like my women fresher than Hendrika. Forget her. She’s happy enough running the house. When we’ve got our money, we’ll quit Amsterdam altogether and leave her to it.’

  Dekker had scruples. ‘That’d be unfair.’

  ‘Fairness doesn’t matter. We stole that tapestry – you, me and Teunis. We should get the reward.’

  ‘I might give Hendrika a gift of some kind.’

  ‘That’s your business. The old sow will get nothing from me.’

  Tulp was a hard man. He’d planned the crime and therefore expected to get a larger share of the ransom. Neither Dekker nor the other accomplice argued about that. Tulp was their acknowledged leader. He was more artful and intelligent than either of them. All that they could provide was physical energy. It was Tulp who supplied control and direction. Thanks to him, they had a chance to make a fortune.

  ‘How’s everything at the house?’ asked Tulp.

  ‘Much the same,’ replied Dekker, downing some more beer.

  ‘Was he there again?’

  ‘Yes, Pienaar came at the usual time.’

  ‘Of all the women there,’ said Tulp with a sneer, ‘he chooses Gerda. She’s nothing but skin and bone. I wouldn’t touch her if you paid me.’

  ‘He doesn’t touch her either.’

  ‘Can you blame him?’ They shared a crude laugh. ‘She must have every disease under the sun. And look at the way she scratches – that means fleas.’

  Dekker laughed again. Employed at the house to protect the prostitutes, he’d long ago learnt that they could take care of themselves. Most of them had daggers hidden in their rooms and Hendrika, the madame, had a pistol she was more than ready to use. Dekker had only ever had to throw two awkward clients out of the house. Disposing of the body of an elderly man who died in flagrante had been rather more problematical. It was yet another occasion when Tulp’s advice had been invaluable.

  ‘Oh,’ said Dekker as a memory stirred lazily at the back of his mind, ‘there’s something I should tell you. We had a stranger there this evening. He said he was a friend of Pienaar. He asked for Gerda.’

  ‘Was the fellow blind? Nobody in his right mind would choose her.’

  ‘This one did, Frans.’

  ‘What manner of man was he – old and decrepit?’

  ‘No, he was not much above my own age. Some would call him handsome.’

  ‘Then why did he want to fuck that crone?’

  ‘That wasn’t what he was after,’ said Dekker. ‘Gerda moaned about it afterwards. He never even lifted her skirt to feel her. He just talked.’

  Tulp was wary. ‘What about?’

  ‘I don’t know. I couldn’t hear them clearly through the door.’

  ‘How long did he stay?’

  ‘He was in and out quite fast. What a waste of good money!’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Tulp, chewing a lip.

  ‘If you ask me, I think he lost his nerve. It often happens. They either change their mind at the last moment or they get too excited and soil their breeches before they even get their pizzle out. I don’t think we need worry about him, Frans,’ said Dekker, airily. ‘He was harmless.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. Tell me exactly what happened, Jan. Who let him in? What did he say about Pienaar? Why did
he pick Gerda?’ As Dekker was about to take another drink, Tulp grabbed his friend’s arm to stop him. ‘This could be important. Tell me everything.’

  Daniel kept his promise. When he and Welbeck returned to the Janssen house, they said nothing about Pienaar’s visits to the brothel. Nor did they explain that the man had been followed by Welbeck for three days in a row. Daniel felt it would be wrong to alarm Janssen by suggesting any distrust of a loyal employee. He simply told Amalia and her father that their search that evening had been fruitless. An anguished Janssen waved the letter at them. Daniel read it first then translated it for Welbeck.

  ‘What do we do?’ asked Amalia.

  ‘Your father must reply and deliver the letter in person,’ said Daniel. ‘The thieves must be given the impression that he’s obeying their orders.’

  ‘We have no money to give them.’

  ‘We won’t need any, Amalia. We must slow them down. The letter will say that the money will be on its way from The Hague in a few days but that it will not be handed over until we have clear proof that the tapestry is undamaged.’

  Janssen gasped. ‘Do you think they’ve already destroyed it?’

  ‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘Without it, they’d have nothing with which to bargain. But we must insist that someone verifies its existence. It will show them that we can’t be rushed into paying any ransom. And,’ he went on, ‘it will give us an idea of the whereabouts of the tapestry.’

  ‘They won’t show us where it is, surely?’

  ‘Of course not – they’ll probably insist on blindfolding someone before taking him to the hiding place. But whoever inspects the tapestry will be able to pick up some clues.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ volunteered Janssen.

  ‘No, Father,’ said Amalia in dismay, ‘it’s too dangerous.’

  ‘I know that tapestry better than anyone.’

  ‘Let Daniel go – he helped you with the design, after all.’

  ‘It’s my duty, Amalia.’

  ‘You’d get too upset,’ she argued. ‘I’m afraid that seeing it again will be too much of a shock for you. We have to put your health first.’

  ‘I agree with Amalia,’ said Daniel. ‘Someone else must go.’