Читать книгу Midnight Blue: A gripping historical novel about the birth of Delft pottery, set in the Dutch Golden Age - Литагент HarperCollins USD, F. M. L. Thompson - Страница 15

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.’