The Miniaturist(12)

Otto has a thoughtful expression on his face as he listens to the words. Catching Nella’s eye, he looks hastily away. Human contact in such a moment of spiritual reflection does seem almost sinful. Johannes chooses to clasp his hands into a fist of prayer, his eyes upon the door.

Nella returns to her room and attempts to write a letter to her mother, explaining her predicament. But the words she chooses withhold their best qualities, they refuse to match the way she feels inside. Nella cannot describe her bafflement, her exchanges with Marin, her husband who speaks in all tongues save that of love – nor the servants whose worlds are hidden, whose laughter is another language too. Instead she doodles names – Johannes, Otto, Toot, and draws a picture of Marin with a giant head, screwing up the paper in a ball and throwing it short of the fire.

An hour later, the sounds of men’s voices, barking dogs and Johannes’ laughter come up the main staircase. Nella looks out of the window onto the canal path and sees three strong journeymen with ropes slung over their shoulders. They are stepping out of the house, their sleeves rolled up.

By the time Nella has left her room, Marin is already in the hall. ‘Johannes,’ she hisses. ‘What on earth have you done?’

Nella moves quietly along the landing, and gasps when she sees what the three men have left in the hallway.

In the middle of the tiles is a cabinet – an enormous, looming structure, measuring nearly half Johannes’ height again; a huge cupboard supported by eight curved and sturdy feet, two mustard-coloured velvet curtains drawn across its front. Having shunted the Bible lectern into the corner to make room, Johannes stands by its side. One hand rests upon it; he gazes up at the gleaming wood, his smile unrelenting. He seems refreshed, more handsome than Nella has ever seen him.

Marin approaches the cabinet with caution, as if it might fall on her, or start to move of its own accord. Rezeki backs away with a deep growl. ‘Is this a joke?’ asks Marin. ‘How much did it cost?’

‘For once, sister, let us not talk of money,’ Johannes says. ‘You told me to find a distraction—’

‘Not a monstrosity. Is that saffron dye in those curtains?’

‘A distraction?’ Nella echoes, standing on the stairs. Marin spins round to face her, her expression aghast.

‘Something for you,’ Johannes calls. ‘A wedding gift’ He pats the side of the cabinet, and its curtains seem to twitch.

‘What is it, Seigneur?’

‘Made of oak and elm. Elm is strong,’ Johannes says, as if this is the explanation his new wife has been waiting for. He looks at Marin. ‘It’s used for coffins.’

Marin’s mouth sets in a thin line. ‘Where did you get it, Johannes?’

Johannes shrugs. ‘A man at the docks said he had some cabinets left over from a dead carpenter’s business. I had it improved with a tortoiseshell veneer and pewter inlays.’

‘Why have you done this?’ Marin says. ‘Petronella has no need of such a thing.’

‘It’s for her education,’ Johannes replies.

‘My what?’

Johannes reaches out for Rezeki but the dog bucks away from her master. ‘Hush, girl. Hush.’

‘She doesn’t like it,’ says Cornelia, who has followed Nella down the stairs. Nella wonders whether Cornelia is referring to her or the dog. Both of us, by the look of it, she thinks, watching Rezeki’s hackles rise. Cornelia holds her broom like a staff in front of herself, as if expecting an attack.

‘Education?’ Marin scoffs. ‘What does Petronella need with education?’

‘I should say she has very great need,’ Johannes says.

No I don’t, thinks Nella. I’m eighteen, not eight. ‘But what is it, Seigneur?’ she asks, trying to hide her dismay.

Finally, Johannes reaches for the curtains, and with an extravagant flourish, he pulls them aside. The women gasp. The inside of the cabinet is revealed, divided into nine sections, some lined with gold-embossed wallpaper and others with wooden panels.

‘Is it – this house?’ Nella says.

‘It’s your house,’ Johannes corrects her, pleased.

‘It’s a lot easier to manage,’ says Cornelia, craning to see into the upper rooms.

The accuracy of the cabinet is eerie, as if the real house has been shrunk, its body sliced in two and its organs revealed. The nine rooms, from the working kitchen, the salon, up to the loft where the peat and firewood are stored away from damp, are perfect replicas. ‘It’s got a hidden cellar too,’ Johannes says, lifting the floor up between the working and best kitchens, to reveal a concealed empty space. The ceiling in the best kitchen has even been painted with an identical trick of the eye. Nella remembers her conversation with Otto. Things will spill over, he’d said, pointing his finger to that unreal dome.

Rezeki growls and circles the cabinet. ‘How much was this, Johannes?’ Marin demands.

‘The frame was two thousand,’ he says placidly. ‘The curtains brought it to three.’

‘Three thousand guilders? Three thousand? Invested properly, a family could live off that for years.’

‘Marin, you have never lived off two thousand guilders in one year, for all your herring dinners. And with Meermans’ deal, what is there to worry about?’

‘Well, if you were doing something about it, I wouldn’t be worrying—’