“Was it a Frenchman? A Frenchman who killed him?”
The old man cocked his head. “Now, that’s a funny question. You said you’re a lady painter? Must give you funny ideas. No, it was some idiot from the weaving district. Or at least that’s what I heard.” He pressed his lips together.
“Poor Gerard.” Judith bit her lip as she tried to think what question she ought to be asking. “I was so hoping he would pose for me again. Did he do much work for other painters?”
“Sure, some of them. Those in for that kind of work. Merry pictures, drinking. That’s what you do?”
“In part. Any of them that he worked for, maybe they could recommend someone else? If there’s a new Peecklhaering.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, and he stood up. “There is no replacement for Gerard here. Not so long as I’m around. But certainly you can ask the masters yourself. In a place where women are welcome, that is. Here, let me show you out.”
Judith stood and hurried after him. “Yes, of course. That’s not what I meant. Gerard was a tremendous man.” She had hoped to learn who else Gerard had worked for.
On their way out, they nearly collided with Pieter Molijn. His gray eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“You too? What are you doing here?” Pieter said.
“I’m sorry, what? I was looking for Gerard Snellings.”
The cloud darkening Pieter’s face lifted, and his eyebrows flickered in confusion. “Who? The fool? He’s not been around for a while.”
The old man shook his head and opened the door for Judith.
“Have a nice day, young lady.”
She looked at Pieter Molijn, but he turned and disappeared into one of the side rooms. She walked outside, and the door slammed behind her.
She was walking through the square, nearly at her house, when she heard her name called. She turned around to see Jan Miense Molenaer running toward her, waving his hand above his head.
“Judith! Judith, I’m glad I caught you,” he said, panting. She smiled to see him and reached out a hand in greeting, but he only grasped it briefly. Sweat ran down the temples of his reddened face. “You have to come help. Bring a spare blouse and skirt.”
“What?” She clutched her hand, the one he had touched.
Jan shook his head as if he could not believe Judith’s confusion. “It’s Maria. She’s sick, dreadfully sick, but she won’t leave. In Den Haag.” He groaned. “It’s a lot to explain, but she needs your help. And I couldn’t stay. I have a customer, a commission.” His voice trailed off, and, blushing, he looked at her. Judith could not tell if he was embarrassed at his relative good fortune or at his abandonment of Maria.
“But shouldn’t you ask her father?”
“No,” he said, his voice soft. He pressed his hand against her forearm. “She asked for you, and the mention of her father makes her blanch and vomit. I’m afraid his appearance would be the death of her. Though she may find her way down that road in any case.”
Judith raised her hand to her throat. “Is it that bad?”
Jan looked at the ground. “I’ve done what I can. I’ll take you back to her if you hurry, but I have only a day. I can’t put this appointment off any longer. I came back today to hold on to him, and still the man is threatening to go to another artist. You know how it is. We have to leave soon. Before the last carriage departs. Can you meet me at the south gate in, say, half an hour?”
“I don’t know, Jan, I have so much work, and . . .”
“Judith, Maria needs your help.”
Judith bit her lip. She was scared, though of what she couldn’t say, not yet. Next to them, a woman with a faded blue cloth tied around her hair tipped a bucket into the drain running along the side of the street.
“Of course I’ll go. Let me tell Carolein, my housekeeper, and get some coins. I’ll meet you there.”
Jan laid a hand on her forearm, and under her sleeve, her skin shivered with a lacework of pleasure.
“I’ve got to do the same. I’ll see you soon,” he said.
Judith watched him turn down the nearest street and hurry to his workshop. And as she did, she wondered if God would judge her for wanting to share a carriage ride with Jan as much as she wanted to save her friend. She deserved it, certainly.
Chapter 25
JUDITH STEPPED OUT HER DOOR with a small pouch of bread and cheese that Carolein had insisted she take, and she nearly collided with Lachine.
“This way,” he said. “You have to come with me.”
She stuttered in confusion for a moment. “To the south gate? You’re coming too?”
“The what? No, to Paulus van Beresteyn’s house. Now, before they get there.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her along. Judith forced herself from his grip.
“No, Lachine, I’m not going anywhere with you. I have urgent business in Den Haag, and I’m leaving now.”
“That carriage doesn’t leave for nearly another hour. You’ve got the time, and you’ll be glad you spent it with me. It has to do with your workshop. Something your fellow painters are scheming, though I don’t know exactly what.”
“Scheming against me?” Her heart clenched.
He shook his head, and she thought she noticed a new scar running down the side of his forehead, where his dull brown hair met his rough skin. “Not exactly. I don’t know. That’s why I need your help. I need a painter. Oh, and I’ll tell you what I heard about your brother.”
He started walking, and Judith ran after him.
“Abraham? You know what happened to him, and you didn’t tell me?” She grabbed at his sleeve, but he shook her off.
“Calm yourself. I only heard a little, and I didn’t think it was news you wanted to hear. No, don’t get that look, he’s not dead, not that I know of. I would have told you, in repayment of that favor. But come on, the market square isn’t the place for such talk. This way.”
She followed him as he wound his way through the market stands and past the wooden stalls holding cages of resigned chickens or piles of woven straw mats. They emerged from the market and continued down smaller side streets, until Lachine turned onto a shadowed cobbled street. The neighborhood was quiet, with freshly painted doors and window boxes overflowing with thyme and marjoram. The sky was overcast, and the filtered light made the doorknobs and white window shutters look fragile, like colored glass.
“That house, the one with the square box next to the door, do you see? It’s a poor box or some such thing. Most people keep those inside their houses, but not Paulus van Beresteyn. He’s the one I gave your painting to, did I tell you that?”
They slowed their walk, and Judith frowned in confusion. “To the magistrate? Why?”
“I thought it would be amusing. A clever way to tell him I knew he’d pressed that drunkard Gerard into doing the work that I used to do for him.” Lachine nudged her into the door-frame of a neighboring house. He stood uncomfortably close. “It was the last time I spoke with Paulus, when I gave him your painting. Maybe it was stupid of me to lose the job, but I think he was finished with me anyway. Now he’d like to throw me away. Get rid of me completely.” His eyes narrowed, and he glanced away from her to look at the magistrate’s house.
“What happened to Gerard?” Judith asked in a low voice.
He grabbed her arm and squeezed. “None of your business. I’ve no time for nosy women. And if you want to make that carriage in time, you’d better listen to me. There’s a meeting in Paulus’s house, and I need you to go. Other painters are attending. Demand to be let in.”
A shiver ran through her, but still she laughed. “Are you mad? They’ll never let me in to a private meeting.”
He squeezed tighter. “They have to! I need to know what they’re talking about.”
“Simply because you want a thing, doesn’t make it so.”
“He’s after me,” Lachine said, and his eyes sparked. “And if you don’t go, I’ll tell them a
bout our deal. Do you think the St. Luke’s Guild will look kindly on a woman who’s already been sanctioned once for breaking the rules?”
“How did you know?”
“It’s my business to know. Go on.” He nudged her toward the street.
A man in a deep black doublet strode up the street from the other end. Judith cowered back in the doorway and pushed Lachine back with her. The man didn’t seem to see her. A middle-aged servant answered Paulus van Beresteyn’s door, and with a nod, he let the visitor enter. When the man removed his broad hat before the door closed, Judith gasped. Lachine had told the truth, at least in part. Outgert van Akersloot, the silversmith, was a leader in the St. Luke’s Guild, and there he was, meeting with one of Haarlem’s leading magistrates. Judith paid little attention to town politics, but she knew that Outgert’s brother was a member of the exalted governing council, the Vroedschap. She had heard that Paulus had similar ambitions, though she thought Outgert himself would hold little interest for the lawyer.
“See?” Lachine said.
“That doesn’t change anything. If I go knocking on the door, they’ll turn me away. I can’t force them to do a single thing.”
Lachine growled in frustration. “Then we’ll try something else. If those men are going to talk about me, I’m going to know what is said.”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her around the block to a narrow alley that ran behind the row of houses. There, Lachine crouched under a window and yanked her down beside him. He held a finger to his lips, and she kept quiet.
Above them voices drifted out an open window.
“That’s the good news,” she heard. The voice sounded familiar, but Judith could not place it. She raised her eyebrows at Lachine, who shook his head.
“And commissions are holding steady,” another voice said. He, too, sounded familiar.
The first man snorted. “At a mere thirty commissions in this whole town for the year, I would hope so.”
There was some shuffling above, and Judith couldn’t make sense of the conversation. If only she could hear a bit more, she thought, she would place the voices, neither of which belonged to Outgert. Then someone must have moved closer to the window.
“We can’t give up yet,” said the voice she had heard first. “And there’s a shipment coming in. The last one of the season.”
Someone deeper in the room objected, and the voices overlapped in conversation, drowning out the details.
“We’ll give one to sailmakers as another gesture of good will. The rest are for you to sell,” the man by the window said. “Say, mind if I close this? It’s getting drafty.”
The window snapped shut, and Judith heard the turning of the latch above her head.
Lachine glowered, and his skin burned with a crimson anger. “Let’s walk,” he said. He crouched along the wall until he reached the adjacent house, then he stood and walked away.
“Damn their whores of mothers,” he said.
“I don’t understand. Why would they be talking about you?”
“I told you—I had a fight with Gerard. He knew what was going on with the painters and their business, and I wanted in on it. That should have been my business.”
“How would he know? He was a drunkard. A kind man. But not a schemer.”
Lachine spit. “Shows what you know. Paulus had him reporting on what the Guild was doing. Gerard could listen to their conversations while they drank, don’t you see?”
“And you killed him for it.”
“No!” Lachine grabbed her again. “I fought with him, yes. My temper . . .” He released his grip. “He was bleeding but alive.”
“But he died.”
“That’s how Paulus sees it. The magistrate has been sniffing around, trying to find someone to testify in a trial against me. It’s only a matter of time. I was hoping to find out his plan, but . . .” He released her arm and pressed his fingers over the bridge of his crooked nose. “Whore’s blood. I’ll have to leave, which means I’ll need money. That bastard Frans Hals owes me a crateful of guilders, and it’s his fault I fell into this cursed linseed oil business in the first place. He’ll pay. I’m willing to bet you’d like to see him pay too, after he snatched that apprentice of yours.”
Judith shook her head. “That’s done with. What do you mean, linseed oil?”
“I’m not done.” His eyes brightened. “You know Frans. You find me a way into his workshop when no one is around. Ask your handsome apprentice friend, I don’t care. But you get me a key or plan for the workshop to be empty some time. I don’t care how you do it. And you have two days, or I’m telling our Guild friends about your little business with me.”
She blushed at his mention of Willem but refused to satisfy the Frenchman by asking how he knew. “You can’t do that. How can I find a way into Frans Hals’s workshop?”
“Not my problem. I need to get out of Haarlem, and I need my money back to do it. You have to go to Den Haag? Fine, go. Look how generous I am. But you get back tomorrow, and you tell me how to find that workshop empty.” He reached over and flicked a speck of dust from her dark green sleeve. “You’d better hurry if you’re going to catch that carriage.”
Her stomach twisted, but he was right. She turned to run off, then remembered. “You still haven’t told me about Abraham.”
“I don’t know much. I never know as much as I’d like, it seems.” He started walking. “I heard he was spotted in a burglary. Carrying off a basket of tulip bulbs.”
Judith grabbed his sleeve. “Abraham isn’t a thief.”
Lachine shrugged and tapped his knuckles against a brick wall as he passed. “I heard it straight from the man who was there with him. Admitted he talked Abraham into it, that they’d been friends as children. That’s what I heard. That he was spotted, and the tailor who’d invested the money in the bulbs knew Abraham on account of having worked with your father. I imagine Abraham fled town.”
“It can’t be true,” she said, shaking her head. But Abraham had spent time with some rough boys when he was younger, before their parents had left, and he’d vowed to make his own way. And then she felt as if a black shadow passed through her gut. Abraham had asked her about his old friend Bartol.
The church bells tolled.
“You’d better get running,” he said. “I know I sound cruel, but remember. I’m not stopping you from helping your friend. I need you to help me too. That’s how the world works. That way.” He pointed down a winding street. “The canal’s around the bend, and then you’ll be able to see the windmill and guide yourself.”
Judith clenched her jaw, but she could think of nothing else to say. She ran.
Chapter 26
HER BREATH BURNED IN HER lungs as she reached the south gate and ran across the bridge spanning the boundary canal, her footsteps booming on the wood. On the other side of the bridge lay the small grove of trees where carriages waited before departing. There were a few skinny horses tied to tree trunks as they cropped the damp grass, but no carriages in the park. Not even a wagon.
“Judith!”
In the distance, nearly around a bend, a carriage jolted to a stop and Jan jumped out. He waved for her to hurry. Judith mustered enough energy to run the last few roedes. She arrived, sweating and panting, and Jan gave her an elbow up into the carriage. A matronly woman with a basket of yarn huffed but moved over to make space on the bench. There was no one else in the carriage.
“They waited as long as they could,” he said, his voice reproachful. “I’ve already paid your fare.”
“Thank you,” she said. Her ragged breath could barely shape the words. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head but smiled. “It’s a long ride, nearly the rest of the day. If we’re lucky, we’ll get there by dark. You’ll have plenty of time to catch your breath.”
“It’s been a long day,” she said. His sympathetic eyes regarded her, and the urge to cry welled up. But Judith clenched her
jaw. “I’ll tell you about it later. Plenty of time.” She needed to gather her thoughts before she tried to share them with anyone else. Particularly at the risk of weeping in front of Jan Miense Molenaer. He laid his hand over hers, and her lips melted into a smile. The older woman coughed, and he withdrew his grasp.
The carriage bumped along. Judith’s empty stomach grew unsettled at the motion, and she chewed a bit of bread crust before wrapping the meal back up. They passed the small village which lay to Haarlem’s south and then rolling fields spattered with twisted chestnut trees and mud-colored farm buildings. She had rarely traveled outside of Haarlem, and never as far as Den Haag.
“Tell me again how she looked,” Judith said. Her knee bumped against his, and a shiver of pleasure ran up her thigh. She pulled her legs toward herself. She needed to be careful. Judith wouldn’t let a man seduce her to a life away from her workshop, and she could not afford to fall into a compromising situation. Her family’s reputation was bad enough.
“Poorly. Her face as glossy as a glazed tile.” He shook his head.
Judith bit her lip and returned to looking out the window. An hour ago, she was eager to spend the time talking to Jan and asking about his art. But now, she willed the carriage to go more quickly. Away from Lachine. And away from the thoughts that begged her to ask Jan about his time in Frans Hals’s workshop. At least when she reached Maria she could do some good.
But it was dark when they arrived in Den Haag, just before the town watch closed the gates for the evening. Judith ached from the hours spent cramped in the carriage, despite two brief breaks at roadside inns to water the horses and relieve themselves. The town watch escorted the two of them to the only inn still accepting guests that night, and the middle-aged woman hurried off on her own without another word.
“Two rooms,” Jan told the skeptical innkeeper, a round man with a wide mouth crowded by yellowed teeth. Judith was grateful neither man made a joke about sharing a room for the sake of costs or some such thing. She was too tired to banter.
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