Midnight Blue

by Simone van der Vlugt

  Brigitta wakes up when she hears our footsteps. ‘Catrin?’ she says hoarsely.

  ‘I’m here. And the doctor is with me.’

  ‘Good day, Mistress Van Nulandt, what seems to be the trouble?’ Geelvinck goes over to the bed and peers down at Brigitta.

  She tries to sit up but falls back onto her pillows. ‘I’m dizzy and I have a headache.’

  As the doctor examines Brigitta, I stand by with my arms folded. It would be unthinkable for me to leave the mistress alone with a man, even the doctor.

  After Geelvinck has felt her forehead, looked at her tongue and asked her some questions, he leaves the room so Brigitta can use the chamber pot. When he comes back, he pours the urine into a glass beaker, holds it up to the light, scrutinises the liquid and sniffs it briefly.

  ‘Nothing serious,’ he says after a while. ‘The colour and smell is normal. I suspect you have exhausted yourself again, Mistress Van Nulandt. You work too hard and don’t spend enough time outdoors. It isn’t healthy to be amidst paint and turpentine fumes all day.’ He turns to me. ‘Make sure she rests and have her walk in the garden as soon as the fever has subsided.’ He bids farewell to Brigitta and allows me to lead him back into the hall.

  ‘Should I give her that draught, the laudanum?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, of course. It relieves tension and settles the nerves. There are healing substances in it, as in opium. It even helps against the plague. I take it during every epidemic.’ Geelvinck glances into the studio through the wide open door. At first he only looks in absently, as if by chance, but then his eyes fill with interest. ‘Was she working on that canvas? That is a beautiful piece of work. A truly beautiful piece of work.’

  10

  To my horror, Doctor Geelvinck goes into the studio, making a beeline for the painting. He examines the half-finished picture in minute detail.

  ‘What a fascinating subject,’ he says. ‘Mistress Van Nulandt usually paints flowers. I didn’t know she was an admirer of Chinese porcelain. It’s remarkably well done. See how beautifully the sunlight falls onto the vase. And how precisely all those little Chinese fellows have been painted. You need a really steady, skilled hand for that.’

  I stand behind him and say nothing. The doctor doesn’t seem to be expecting me to because he doesn’t look round once.

  ‘That would be wonderful above my mantelpiece,’ he says. ‘Oriental porcelain is too expensive for me, but a painting like that would be just as nice.’

  There’s a commotion in the kitchen. I glance over my shoulder, afraid Greta will appear. The doctor has heard the noise too and goes back out into the hall. After repeating his instructions about Brigitta’s care, he finally leaves. Relieved, I shut the door behind him and turn to Greta, who’s just approaching.

  ‘I got everything,’ she says. ‘It was a lot, but I managed nearly everything on my own. A few more things are being delivered. Was that the doctor?’

  ‘Yes.’ I close the door to the studio. ‘He says the mistress hasn’t got anything serious. She’s tired, that’s all.’

  ‘No surprises there, shutting herself up in that pigsty all day and working all the hours God sends. I fetched that draught from the apothecary’s. Does the mistress need to take it?’

  ‘I’ll give it to her in a minute. Go and unpack the shopping.’ I watch Greta go down the hall and disappear into the kitchen. Then I nip into the studio and swap the canvasses. I run upstairs with my painting and hide it in the drawer under my bed. Back downstairs I heave a sigh of relief. I’ll get another canvas first thing tomorrow.

  The next day the fever has broken, but Brigitta still feels weak and tired.

  ‘You should stay in bed. Shall I fetch you something to read? The Journal of Willem Bontekoe, perhaps? You said the other day you hadn’t got round to it.’

  ‘I’d really rather be painting.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea, madam. The doctor said I had to make sure you were fully rested. If the fever hasn’t returned by this afternoon, you can sit in the garden. The weather is glorious.’

  To my surprise, Brigitta listens. ‘Maybe you’re right. Bring me the shipping almanac, will you?’

  I fetch the book from the cupboard and hand it to her. If only Brigitta had just gone back to sleep, I would have been able to dash out and buy a fresh canvas and a piece of lapis lazuli.

  ‘Greta, I need to pop out to the market. There’s no treacle left to bottle the poultry.’

  Greta, who is busy scrubbing the floor in the hall, glances up. ‘Yes there is! There’s another jar in the cellar.’

  ‘That one’s gone off, it smells strange. I’ll buy another.’ I throw on my shawl.

  ‘Should I go?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll just nip out myself.’ I hurry to the front door but Brigitta’s voice stops me in my tracks.

  ‘I fancy a trip out. Let’s have a stroll and look at the progress they’re making on the new development, Catrin. Adriaan wants to buy a house there if everything keeps going well. The gardens are much bigger than around here.’

  I turn to face her. ‘That’s quite a step, madam. Are you sure you feel well enough?’

  ‘I think a walk is exactly what I could do with. Were you on your way out?’

  ‘Yes, we need treacle.’

  ‘Then we’ll pick some up while we’re out. Step aside, Greta, you can see I’m trying to get past. And don’t make such a mess on the floor – I might slip.’ Brigitta walks into the hall holding onto the wall for support and picks up her cloak. ‘I feel a lot better than yesterday,’ she tells me. ‘Tomorrow I’m going to get right back to work.’

  By the time we return in the afternoon there’s little left of Brigitta’s energetic mood. I help her into bed and gently close the door behind me as I leave the room.

  ‘Keep the noise down,’ I tell Greta when she comes into the kitchen with clattering buckets. ‘I don’t want the mistress to wake up. I’m going to slip out and get the treacle.’

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to have picked that up while you were out?’

  ‘The mistress got so tired on the way back, we took a shortcut home. I’ll be back before you know it.’ I leave the house again without waiting for a response. Normally I take my time when I go out shopping; I don’t often get out of the house. Now I march along at a swift pace.

  Luckily, it isn’t too busy at the apothecary’s. I’ve brought a few coins from my stash and use them to buy the lapis lazuli. I wince at the price, but there’s no other option. After that I go to the frame-maker and pick out a canvas the same size as the one I used. With the stone in my hand and the frame under my arm, I head back to Keizersgracht.

  Once I arrive at the house, I go in through the servants’ entrance, slip into the studio and set the canvas against the wall. I place the lapis lazuli on the work bench and decide to go back and grind it into powder as soon as possible. In the hall I run into Brigitta.

  ‘Mistress!’ I say in surprise. ‘You’re up again already?’

  ‘I wanted something to drink. Why didn’t you come when I called?’ says Brigitta sharply.

  ‘I didn’t hear you, I was busy in the cellar.’

  Brigitta eyes me suspiciously. ‘Then why have you come from my studio? What were you doing there?’

  I rack my brains for an excuse. ‘I put away a piece of lapis lazuli, madam. I’ve just been to buy it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I knocked over a pot of paint. I used my own money to buy a new piece.’

  ‘Really? That must have cost you an arm and a leg.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, madam. But it’s my own fault, I should have been watching what I was doing.’

  ‘Next time you will. Make sure you get it ground today. I’m going to sleep a while longer, but tomorrow I want to get back to work.’

  ‘I’ll do it at once. You go back to bed and I’ll bring you something to drink.’ There’s a knock at the door and I look round.

  ‘That coul
d be Adriaan,’ says Brigitta. ‘He’s supposed to be back today or tomorrow.’

  It isn’t Adriaan on the doorstep but Doctor Geelvinck. Brigitta steps forward to greet the doctor. ‘How good of you to drop by. I’m much better now. The fever is definitely gone, anyway.’

  ‘And are you still dizzy?’

  ‘No. Just a little tired. I’m going to rest up today and get back to painting tomorrow.’

  Geelvinck glances at the closed door of the studio. ‘I saw the painting you’re working on. You’ve got a great deal of talent.’

  Brigitta looks at him with a glow of satisfaction. ‘You saw my vase? Did you think it was pretty?’

  ‘Really pretty. Do you ever sell any of your work?’

  ‘Of course, if there’s an interest in it. I can hardly keep everything I make, I paint so much.’

  I clear my throat so she turns round. ‘Mistress, do you want me to take care of upstairs or …’

  ‘Not now, Catrin. You can see I’m trying to have a conversation.’ Brigitta turns back to the doctor abruptly.

  Doctor Geelvinck bows. ‘Then I think you have a customer. I would be glad to buy that painting from you when it’s finished.’

  His eyes stray back to the studio and for a second I fear he’ll ask to go inside.

  ‘Mistress, could you tell me what you’d like me to do?’ I say.

  ‘Yes, yes, we’ll discuss it in a minute. Doctor, if you will excuse me …’ With a few more pleasantries she shows Geelvinck to the door. Once he’s gone she looks at me in delight. ‘Did you hear that? He loved my painting!’

  ‘I heard, madam.’

  ‘I always suspected Doctor Geelvinck was a man of taste. He has that air about him. And he’s quite well off; he only takes on the city’s more well-to-do patients. If he buys my painting, perhaps I’ll get more orders. I could start painting on commission!’

  ‘That would be wonderful, madam.’

  ‘Indeed, that would be wonderful. Have you ground the lapis lazuli yet? I want to get to work, I feel well enough.’

  ‘Are you sure—’

  ‘Go and make the paint, Catrin. I have no intention of going back to bed and wasting my time. Come on, hurry now.’

  I should be starting the evening meal, but there’s no point in saying so. I push open the door of the studio and study the painting on the easel. On closer inspection, it isn’t that bad. What possessed me to mess around in the mistress’s studio? If it comes out, I’ll lose my job for sure.

  My mind full of woes, I grab the pestle and get to work.

  11

  A couple of days later, Matthias returns from Antwerp. I’m putting a pile of freshly ironed linen in the cupboard when I hear his voice and a jolt goes through me. I’d have liked to run to the hall, but I stay where I am and listen as he and Brigitta greet each other. I straighten the pile of clothes and walk back to the kitchen. As I do, I cast a quick glance into the hall, just in time to see Matthias pulling his sister-in-law into an embrace.

  The two disappear into the living room and before long they are strolling around the garden arm in arm, their heads almost touching. It costs me no little effort to concentrate on my work, my attention keeps wandering outside.

  ‘Master Matthias is back!’ Greta appears next to me, full of excitement.

  ‘Yes, he’s walking in the garden with the mistress.’ I take my eyes off Matthias and grab a piece of cheese from the side. ‘He’ll be hungry. Bring some bread and a jug of red wine, Greta. It seems they’re staying out there.’ I look outside again to where Matthias and Brigitta are settling down on a bench in the sun. Brigitta gestures with some object or other and laughs. She seems so young and happy, sitting there like that.

  ‘Do I have to do it? I look awful, my hair’s sticking up and my face is all red. I can’t let the master see me like this,’ says Greta in a panic.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’ll not be paying any attention to you.’ It’s only when I see how crestfallen Greta is that I realise the effect my words have had, but by then the girl is already on her way out into the garden with the plate of cheese and bread. She pushes a couple of stray hairs under her cap and does a curtsy before putting the plate down on the arm of the bench. Matthias looks up, smiles and has a little conversation with her.

  It says a lot about him that he treats a maid so kindly. On the other hand, it could lead to misunderstandings and give Greta the wrong impression. It takes a minute for me to realise the same applies just as much to me.

  When we meet face to face it somehow still comes out of the blue. Brigitta is painting, Greta is cleaning furniture and I’m hanging a pot over the fire to make some parsnip puree when Matthias walks into the kitchen.

  ‘Hello, Catrin.’

  I straighten up and wipe my hands on my apron. There he is, tall, handsome and brimming with self-assurance.

  ‘Are you busy?’ he asks.

  ‘I’m always busy.’

  ‘But you’ve got a bit of time for me, I bet. I’ve brought you something.’ He offers me a pretty little package and even though I’d rather keep my distance, I can’t help walking over to take it. ‘I saw this in Antwerp and thought: this is for Catrin.’

  I carefully unwrap a long, thin object and look at it.

  ‘It’s an Italian fan.’ Matthias takes the thing off me and opens it. It unfolds into a beautiful painted canvas. ‘In Italy, the fancy ladies wave these to cool themselves off. It’s boiling hot there in summer.’

  ‘I’m no fancy lady.’

  ‘But you get too hot sometimes, I’m sure. Have a wave of it.’

  I use the fan and look up at Matthias. ‘It’s magnificent. How kind of you to bring me a present. Thank you.’

  He pulls me to him and kisses me tenderly on the mouth. ‘I’ve missed you.’ His eyes are so close to mine. I want to say something but he kisses me again, for longer this time. He only lets me go when we hear footsteps approaching. ‘Put the fan away, otherwise Brigitta will see that yours is much prettier than the one I brought her.’ He winks and saunters off.

  For a couple of beats I stand motionless, holding the fan to my heart. Then I slide it into my apron pocket and get back to work.

  The next day Adriaan returns too and the house is once more filled with voices, footsteps and slamming doors. It is impossible to steal another moment alone with Matthias, but I’m happy that way. His attention confuses me. How seriously can I take him? Not very, I fear. I’ve heard stories about maids who allowed the master of the house to turn their heads and they seldom ended well for the girl in question.

  Of course, there are exceptions. Brigitta told me that after the death of his wife Saskia, Rembrandt van Rijn started a relationship with his maid, Geertie Dircx. It seems they live openly as man and wife. That kind of story gives me hope, even though I don’t know many of them.

  Brigitta’s painting is complete. This time she’s as satisfied as she is critical the rest of the time. In high spirits she leads her husband to the studio with great ceremony and tells him how wonderful Doctor Geelvinck thought it was.

  I happen to be passing in the hall and see them standing together before the canvas. For a moment I’m torn between carrying on and stopping to listen. I choose the latter.

  ‘It’s … different,’ says Adriaan hesitantly.

  ‘It needed to be. An artist can’t keep making the same thing. What do you think?’ Brigitta looks eagerly at her husband.

  My heart sinks a little.

  Adriaan tugs at his beard thoughtfully. He takes a step back to take in the whole thing again.

  ‘You don’t think it’s pretty,’ says Brigitta disappointedly. ‘I can see it on your face.’

  ‘Darling, what I think doesn’t come into it. What do I know about art? Geelvinck understands it, he’s an enthusiast. If he says your painting is good, then it is.’

  ‘I want you to think that it’s good. Don’t you understand how important this is to me?’ Brigitta’s voice quavers.

 
‘Of course I understand. I think it’s wonderful. It only took a minute to get used to it because I was expecting a still life with flowers. You’re right, you can’t always paint the same thing. It’s admirable that you’ve tried something else.’

  ‘Really? You like it?’

  ‘You’re a great talent.’ Adriaan kisses his wife and takes another look at the painting. ‘What did Nicholas think of it?’

  ‘He hasn’t seen it yet. I missed a lesson when I was ill. But what does that matter? Nicholas isn’t the only one who understands art.’

  ‘Well, I would like to hear his opinion. When are you going to show him?’

  ‘Do you think he won’t like it? Is that what you’re trying to say?’ Brigitta’s voice goes up a couple of octaves.

  I put on my jacket, and with Adriaan’s murmured denials echoing in my ears I rush down the stairs into the cellar and out of the house.

  A while later I’m walking along Keizersgracht. It’s a sunny day with a stiff breeze. Clouds are scudding across the blue sky, the water in the canal is rippling and the sails of the windmills on the city bulwark are whizzing round. The wind refreshes me but fails to take my worries with it.

  What should I do? Tell the doctor the painting he saw wasn’t made by Brigitta? Impossible. I may as well quit now.

  In a sombre mood, I turn right on to Brewersgracht, cross Singel and find myself by the harbour. The wind is blowing even harder here, the smell of fish, tar and salt hits me with every gust. I breathe it all in and go to stand as close to the water as I dare. The IJ stretches out before me, grey and restless and full of ships. It seems so long ago that I arrived here on the water coach, on the way to another life. I’m overcome by an intense feeling of homesickness. My mother would know what to do. I hear her voice in my head and know what she would say: Confess, Catrin, there’s nothing else for it.

  With a sigh, I join the queue in front of the stalls outside Herring Merchants’ Gate and wait for my turn. I don’t mind that it’s busy, I’m glad to be outside.