I spend all week searching for work. I crisscross the whole city, from the grand houses along Mient Canal, the fanciest thoroughfare in town, to the salt works on Oudegracht and the brewery on Dove Lane. I try my luck at the city orphanage on Doelen Street and the adjoining silk-weaving workshop, then at Saint Catherine’s Cloister and various inns and taverns. I don’t care what I have to do – cleaning, fetching and carrying, nursing the sick – as long as I have a job.
The end of the week finds me sitting across from Bertha in the inn, utterly disillusioned.
‘I didn’t think it would be so hard to find work,’ I say. ‘There are jobs for men, but it’s much harder for women.’
‘You could set up on your own. A small business of some kind.’
‘Selling what? Pots and pans? The city’s full of those already.’
‘But you paint them so beautifully. And now that you’re a resident of Alkmaar, you’re allowed to set up a business.’
I shake my head. ‘You know it’s not that easy. I’d have to serve an apprenticeship, pay fees to learn and pass an exam to become a master. And that’s assuming a guild would even take me on.’
‘A woman joined the Guild of Saint Lucas a while ago – Isabella Bardesius. Now she’s a painter with her own studio.’
‘Then she’s almost certainly from a rich family that paid for her education. They don’t let you in without training, Bertha.’ I stare into space, thinking. ‘Perhaps I should take that job in the infirmary after all. That’s the only offer I’ve had.’
‘In the pest house? Are you insane?!’
‘There’s no plague. The people in there have other diseases.’
‘Yes, and they’re just as infectious and just as deadly. That would be my last resort.’
‘It is my last resort. If I don’t find something soon, I’ll have to go back to De Rijp.’
Next to us, someone clears their throat. A man of around thirty with mid-length dirty blond hair is standing by the table. ‘Hello, Bertha. Sorry for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhear your conversation.’
‘Matthias, it’s good to see you. How are you?’ Bertha’s face breaks into a broad smile.
‘Very well, thanks,’ says the man. ‘I’m passing through on my way to Den Helder and I’ve got a few bits of business to take care of in Alkmaar.’
‘Mister Van Nulandt is one of our regular guests,’ Bertha tells me.
The man takes off his hat and bows slightly. ‘A pleasure to meet you,’ he says with a winning smile.
I nod and tell him my name. Matthias sits down on the stool opposite us.
‘It’s not a complete coincidence I was listening to your conversation,’ he tells Bertha. ‘Emil mentioned the situation. He told me a few things about your friend here and asked whether I could help.’
‘And?’ Bertha asks.
‘As it happens, I can. My brother is in need of a housekeeper. Would that suit you?’ Matthias asks, turning to me.
‘I don’t know. I mean, yes, I think so. But you don’t know me,’ I say, astounded.
‘Emil and Bertha know you, that’s good enough for me. And Emil speaks very highly of you.’
A wave of excitement bubbles up inside me. ‘A housekeeper … that would be wonderful. Who is your brother and where does he live?’
His name is Adriaan van Nulandt,’ Matthias says, ‘and he lives in Amsterdam.’
Amsterdam! The shock obviously shows on my face because Matthias asks, ‘Is that a problem?’
‘It’s so far away. I don’t know anyone there …’
‘Matthias shrugs this off. ‘It’s not that far, and once you’re there you’ll soon get to know people.’
I exchange glances with Bertha, who looks a bit flabbergasted. ‘It is an opportunity for you, Cat,’ she says. ‘And since there’s no job for you here, it’s Amsterdam or De Rijp.’
I don’t have to think for long. Even though I’m not keen on the idea of leaving everyone I love behind, I have no choice. What’s more, this is a better move for me. I would never have gone to Amsterdam on my own initiative. Perhaps it’s fate.
While I’m thinking, Matthias goes out to settle his business affairs. When he returns that evening, I go and talk to him.
‘I’ve decided to do it. I’d be very grateful if you would recommend me to your brother.’
‘Of course, I’ll write a glowing recommendation. But for that I reckon we need to get to know each other a little better. Will you join me for a drink?’
We draw up two chairs at a table in the corner and Matthias orders a jug of wine. ‘So tell me,’ he asks as he fills my cup, ‘why did you leave your village?’
I tell him everything. About my longing for the city and how that one night at the dance sent my life in a different direction. About my stillborn son and Govert’s unexpected death. Matthias listens attentively.
‘So you’re a widow,’ he says when I’ve finished. ‘A very young widow. I’m sorry about that.’
‘Oh, it wasn’t a happy marriage.’ I stare into the distance, thinking of the life I would have had if Govert hadn’t died. ‘He hit me. From the moment we were married, and more and more as time went on. I don’t know why. There was no reason for him to do it. We never argued, I didn’t answer him back, I worked hard.’ I laugh wryly. ‘I purposely made sure we didn’t argue and I never answered him back, but he hit me anyway.’ My voice betrays the bitterness I always feel when I think of all that violence.
‘Some men are like that,’ Matthias says gently. ‘But not all of them.’
‘No …’ I sigh. ‘The problem is, you can’t tell by looking whether they are or not. You only know when it’s too late, when you’re already married.’
‘Next time, if it ever happens to you again, have the rascal up before the judge. It’s illegal to beat your spouse, did you know that? It is not what God intended between man and wife.’
‘Are you married?’
‘No, and I don’t plan to be. I want to travel, see the world. I work for my brother’s company. He’s a trader and one of the directors of the East India Company. He has no desire to go off gallivanting so I do it for him.’
‘Where do you go?’
‘Italy and Norway for the most part, no long voyages. I wish I could go further. To the East, to China and the Indies. Don’t you ever wonder what’s on the other side of the world? What it looks like and how people live there?’
‘Finding out what the world outside De Rijp and Alkmaar is like is good enough for me,’ I say, and he laughs.
Maybe it’s the familiar way he talks to me, the way the skin around his eyes crinkles when he laughs or the sound of his voice that make me edge closer to him. He’s nice. Really nice. Apparently, he thinks the same of me because he keeps leaning towards me and touching me now and again as we talk. His face is alive with enthusiasm and I can’t stop looking at him. A tingling feeling spreads through my body, like little bubbles of air under my skin.
As the evening draws on, the world shrinks until all that