‘He had a bad cold for a couple of days. He said it wasn’t the plague and it didn’t seem like it either. No one knew exactly how the plague looks when it starts, so we were worried. A couple of lads left then, not wanting to take the chance. Because the boss was so sure it wasn’t anything serious, and because he didn’t have any boils, I stayed on. He really needed me once half of the lads had gone.’
‘That was very loyal of you. And then? Did he get a fever, was he in any pain?’
‘He was tired. Mistress Angelika van Cleynhoven came by and I heard the boss telling her he was going to go to bed early.’
‘Was Mistress van Cleynhoven worried?’
‘At first she was. She asked him a few questions about what was ailing him, and then she said he should have a long sleep and it would get better.’
It could be that the plague struck him down in a single evening. I’ve heard stories of that happening. And Evert had been under the weather for a few days before that. But I still don’t see how it could have carried him off so fast. ‘Who was the last person to see my husband, Klaas?’
‘Jacob,’ says the boy. ‘He made some medicine and went upstairs with a little cup to give the boss.’
I try to picture the room as I saw it when I came home. There was no cup. ‘What kind of medicine was it?’
Klaas shrugs. ‘It was a funny colour. Once I’d cleaned the workshop I came upstairs too. I knew I wasn’t supposed to, I had no business going into the boss’s house, but Jacob had been gone for so long and I wanted to see if I could help. I was halfway up the stairs when he came down. He sent me away and said the boss was sleeping.’
‘How did Jacob seem when you saw him? Did he jump?’
‘A bit. Not much, he just waved me away and told me to go back downstairs.’
‘Did you happen to go back and have another look later on?’
Klaas shakes his head. ‘I believed him, I thought the boss was sleeping.’
Something in his tone grabs my attention. ‘You believed him then, but not later?’
‘The next day, when I heard the boss was dead, I kept thinking about that medicine. Jacob came downstairs with the empty cup and held it a bit behind him. Something dribbled out of it and when I went to look the next day I saw something on the ladder. Only a tiny bit, but it had dried into the wood completely. I keep on wondering what sort of medicine it could be.’
Our eyes meet. The silence between us is pregnant with unspoken thoughts.
‘Thank you, Klaas,’ I say. ‘Let’s agree to keep this between us.’
As soon as Klaas has left, I jump up to go and examine the ladder in my house.
That same evening, I’m sitting in the living room at Angelika and Quentin’s. They were about to have their dinner when I came in, so I was invited to join them. During the meal, surrounded by the children, I don’t raise the topic I wish to discuss, but as soon as they’ve gone to bed, I bring up Evert’s final days.
Angelika and Quentin exchange worried glances. They were naturally under the impression that I was doing better than this and have no desire to distress me again. But apparently I seem calm enough because Angelika tells me what I want to hear.
‘I did go and see him in the late afternoon. He wasn’t feeling well – he had a sore throat and he was very tired – but he wasn’t too worried about it, or he was pretending not to be; I’m not sure which. I advised him to go to bed early and he said he would. That’s the last time I saw him.’
‘And the next day, when you heard that he’d died?’
‘That’s when I went to your house,’ says Quentin. ‘Frans had found Evert dead and came to tell me. He was lying there, quite peacefully, as if he’d died in his sleep. The plague must have done its work quickly. That’s often the way.’
‘How do you know he had the plague? Did you see swellings?’
‘No, he was covered in sheets up to his chest. I didn’t look underneath them because I saw a blue-black tinge around his neck. To be honest, I didn’t dare go near him.’
‘And Frans?’
‘Frans didn’t touch him. He was right behind me when I left the room.’
‘And then the body collectors came and picked him up?’ I say.
Quentin nods. ‘I’m sorry, Catrin,’ he says, without saying exactly what he’s sorry about; probably that he stayed away from his best friend while he was sick, and that after his death he made it no further than the doorway.
I thank my friends for the meal and walk back to The Gheer. The days are getting shorter again, the mist is creeping onto the canal earlier each day. Lights are burning in the workshop from candles and ovens that never go out. Frans is on the evening and night shift and is just arriving with a basket of wood as I come in. We’ve never spoken in any detail about the circumstances surrounding Evert’s death. I ask about them, but I don’t learn much from his story. He confirms what Quentin told me. Evert was lying peacefully in his bed. The only things that showed him to have been a victim of the plague were the bruises around his chest and throat.
‘There must have been a swelling somewhere too,’ I say.
‘There probably was, but I didn’t see it.’ Frans gives an apologetic shrug. ‘And I didn’t look for one either, Catrin. I didn’t dare touch him.’
‘I understand,’ I say.
And I do understand, all too well. Not only what Frans said but everything. I suspected it this afternoon when I examined the mark on the ladder, and I know for sure once I go upstairs and search the box bed. Since my homecoming I’ve not slept in there. Even though the infected bedding and the straw mattress are gone, I still don’t dare lie in it. There’s another box bed in the kitchen and I’m using that now. Otherwise I would have seen the conspicuous smear on the wood inside our own bedframe much sooner.
45
That night I don’t sleep a wink. Hour after hour, thoughts churn in my mind and I don’t drift off until shortly before dawn. Not for long. When I wake up, it feels like I’ve only just closed my eyes. I don’t know what’s woken me. It’s Sunday and outside on the usually bustling street, a serene peace reigns.
Sitting at the window, with a view of the empty yard, I think through my plans one more time. The conversation I’m about to have will be the start of enormous problems, but could also put an end to the disquiet in my mind.
I dress smartly, put on my prettiest lace cap and, after a light breakfast, walk over to the New Church. Evert and I always took this walk together; now there’s a painful absence next to me. But that doesn’t last for long. On my way, I encounter so many acquaintances that we end up arriving at the church in a big group. As I take my seat, my eyes travel to Isaac, sitting in his pew with a bowed head and without his wife and children. There are many Delft families in mourning, but no one has been hit as hard as him.
After the service, I make sure I end up next to him as we’re walking back up the aisle.
‘Catrin.’ He smiles weakly.
‘How are you?’
‘Hmm … I think you can probably imagine.’
I nod.
‘And you? Are you managing?’
‘I am.’
‘It must be hard to find yourself a widow for the second time in eighteen months.’
‘It’s not easy, but I’m getting through it.’
Side by side, we walk out of the church into the September sun.
‘Adelaide and the children were wearing little bags of stone shavings around their necks,’ says Isaac. ‘She was convinced it would protect them. A lot of people in Delft were wearing chips of stone when the plague hit; in some places there are grooves chipped out of the walls. I said it couldn’t be God’s will to damage the church.’
‘I’m gradually coming to the conclusion that I’ve no idea what God’s will is any more,’ I say, and Isaac nods in agreement.
‘Life isn’t easy,’ he sighs, ‘but we can’t blame Him for that. Man is full of sin.’
‘As bailiff, you know all about that.’
‘Right. It’s infuriating how rarely people abide by the laws and commandments. Old, young, men, women … In most cases it’s only minor transgressions, but still.’
‘Is that so? Are there so few serious cases? Murders, for example?’
‘There are many crimes committed that end in death. Premeditated murder is less common. A couple of months ago, I was asked to assist at the trial in Leiden of a woman who’d poisoned her husband because she’d fallen in love with someone else. Afterwards she’d fled to Delft.’
‘And was she convicted?’
‘Yes, of course. She went to the gallows.’
We stop in the middle of the market square.
‘But how do you prove something like that?’ I ask.
‘That she had poisoned her husband? Simple: they found rat poison in her cesspit. She’d thrown away what was left. And according to the doctor, the symptoms her husband displayed had been a match for those found in cases of poisoning. ‘
‘Someone else could have given it him.’
‘There was no one else with a motive. When we got hold of her lover, he admitted the woman had been planning something of the sort for a while. He was against it himself, but she’d gone ahead anyway. We couldn’t pin anything on him, there was no evidence to implicate him. But there was against her. In the end, she admitted she was guilty.’
‘After being put to the question.’
‘No, you can only resort to that if the criminal is caught in the act. And even then, only if we need a confession to carry out the verdict. If there’s doubt, then we don’t put people to the question, but we do carry out a forceful interrogation. A couple of days’ solitary confinement in the dungeon tends to help too. The rack is not something we resort to if we can help it; after all, this is the seventeenth century.’
‘So if someone keeps on denying it, they can’t be convicted?’
‘That’s about the size of it. Unless they’re caught in the act by multiple people.’
‘By multiple people?’
‘Yes. One witness is not enough. If that were the case, somebody could be convicted merely because someone else wants to get him or her in trouble. That’s why we require supporting evidence.’
It’s as if the sun is suddenly shining more brightly, getting warmer, as if the sounds and colours around me are becoming more vivid and cheerful.
‘Is it like that in every city?’ I ask.
‘Of course. The law applies to the whole country. But where are these questions coming from, Catrin? You haven’t got anything on your conscience, I hope.’ He laughs as he says this, but his eyes search my face.
I hurriedly come up with a reason for my interest. ‘I’ve got an employee I suspect of stealing. I was wondering how to deal with it.’
‘If you need help, I’d gladly bring him in.’
‘It’s only a suspicion. The things might have just been misplaced. I’ll keep an eye on it. Thank you, Isaac.’ I smile and move to turn as if I’m going home.
‘You’re welcome. You can always come to me.’
With a nod and another smile, I bid him farewell and walk away. As I’m leaving the market and turning into a side street, I risk a glance over my shoulder and see that Isaac is watching me go.
46
The second conversation I need to have is one I’d rather put off until Monday, when there will be people around, but when I get home, the door to the workshop is open. I go inside and see Jacob standing by the ovens.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘Keeping an eye on the fire,’ says Jacob, his gaze fixed on one of the kilns.
‘Didn’t you go to church?’
‘No, I haven’t been going there for a long time.’ He turns to face me. ‘And I wanted to speak to you. It’s been long enough, Catrin. I want an answer.’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘No, today. You already know what you’re going to say to me tomorrow.’
‘Fine then. I’m not going to marry you, Jacob. I don’t love you and I don’t see any advantage in marrying you from a business point of view either.’ There, I’ve said it. Calmly and collectedly.
Jacob’s face transforms, as if it’s made of liquid. A cold glint appears in his eyes and his smile vanishes. ‘No advantage from a business point of view? You’re clearly not thinking straight, Catrin. I can bring down this whole company, and you.’
‘I think not.’ My quiet self-assurance makes him uncertain; I can see it in his slight frown. ‘By the way, you’re fired. I almost forgot to say.’
He approaches me slowly. ‘You can’t do that. You can’t fire me.’
‘Yes, I can. I just did. I want you to pack your things and leave Delft. If you’re still here tomorrow morning, then I’m going to the bailiff and having you investigated for murder.’
His face is a picture. ‘You’re going to inform on me?’
‘For murdering Evert. I don’t know what you gave him, but it certainly didn’t make him better. What was in it? I reckon it was digitalis, foxglove, so that his heart stopped immediately. You know enough about herbs to make some kind of concoction. Handy, a plague epidemic like that. An excellent opportunity to get someone out of the way without arousing suspicion. I think you mixed larger and larger amounts into his food until he died. That explains why he was lying there so peacefully. He had a heart attack.’
Jacob laughs. It sounds like a warning and he doesn’t seem shocked. ‘He had the plague, Catrin. Several people saw that.’
‘What did they see? The blue stains you put on his neck? Last night, I stood mixing paint until I had midnight blue. The exact colour that would suggest a bruise. Unfortunately, you spilt some. On the ladder and on the edge of the bed.’
Jacob comes closer, still smiling. ‘But of course, you’re not going to tell anyone that. Because you’re not so innocent yourself, my dear little Catrin. You never told me how it feels, pressing a pillow down on someone’s face until he suffocates. Did Govert wake up? Did he fight? Did he know what was coming? At least Evert didn’t know what was happening; you can’t say the same about what you did. So excuse me, but you’re no better.’
‘Govert abused me! He murdered my baby, he made my life a living hell. He would have murdered me one day, if I hadn’t got there first.’
‘It’s still murder. I don’t see the difference.’
‘The difference is that Evert never did anything to you. In fact, he showed you nothing but kindness. You murdered him so you could marry me and take over the company. As if I’d ever have gone along with that! You make me sick!’ I spit the words in his face.
Jacob grabs my arm. ‘And yet that is what’s going to happen. You’re going to be my beautiful, obedient wife and together we’re going to make this a successful business. I’ll be a father to your child and we’ll have children together, too. I’m already looking forward to getting started.’ He grins broadly.
‘Keep dreaming, because that’s never going to happen,’ I say, wrenching myself free. ‘You can’t threaten or blackmail me any longer. I spoke to Isaac, the sheriff, and he told me that one witness isn’t enough to get someone convicted. There needs to be supporting evidence, and there isn’t. Sadly, the same applies to you, otherwise you’d be in prison now. But I trust that God will punish you.’
A leaden silence falls, in which we each wait for the other to break their gaze.
‘Fine,’ says Jacob finally. ‘If that’s how things are … You can have your way, Catrin. I’m offering you protection and a comfortable life, but if you don’t want them, I’m not going to force you. I’ll be damned if I’ll let you take my job away from me, though. Look!’ He shows me his arms, which are covered in burns. ‘I’ve put my heart and soul into this business, I’ve got a right to my fair share. You can buy me out.’
‘What are you on about? I’m not giving you a thing! Get out of here, and be quick about it.’
He laughs. ‘Fiery as always. It’s a shame, we’re such a good match. But
on second thought, I’d prefer a well-behaved wife. What to do with you, though? You’re actually crazy enough to go to the bailiff.’ He looks about himself, frowning, then goes over to the oven. ‘I know. You opened the kiln for some reason or other, your sleeve caught and there was a fire. There was no one around to help you … How tragic. They’ll find your charred body among the rubble and all your new friends will mourn at your funeral. But by then I’ll be far away.’
He pulls open the door of the kiln and sticks a long piece of wood inside. Then he holds the burning end of the wood against the basket of kindling until it catches fire.
‘Stop it!’ I fly at him, push him to one side and kick over the basket so I can stamp out the flames.
Laughing, he sets fire to more things, flames spring up next to the supply of paint and oil and next to the packing straw for the delivery crates. After a slow start, everything is now ablaze.
I look around wildly. There’s no water on hand to put it out, my business is doomed!
I run towards the open door but Jacob blocks the way, a piece of burning wood held in his hand like a sword. His face is twisted in the most evil expression, a grimace that renders him barely recognisable.
‘Jacob, please!’
He shows no sign of emotion whatsoever as he drives me into a corner, blocking my attempts to escape with the flaming stick in his hand. The workshop is filling with smoke by this time and I hold my arm up to cover my mouth.
‘You said you loved me! Let’s talk, I—’
‘Shut it!’ he says. ‘We’ve talked enough. I gave you every chance, now it’s done.’ He holds out the flaming torch to my billowing skirt. The lace ribbons catch and crackle, the fire spreads upwards in a straight line. I throw the thick fabric of my skirt over them to put them out, but Jacob is pressing the burning wood to my clothes in so many places that I haven’t got enough hands. I start to scream.
‘Stop that! Be quiet!’ He lifts the piece of wood.
With my hands over my head, I ready myself to catch the blow and scream as I see the burning end rushing down at me.
As I’m waiting for the blow to come, Jacob collapses. He falls to the ground like a ragdoll, the torch still in his hands. Klaas is standing behind him with an axe. Blood is spreading across the floor, along with something else that’s coming from Jacob’s head.
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