The Miniaturist(22)

Cornelia reads the address. ‘The craftsman again?’ she says. ‘The somebody?’

‘Don’t open it,’ Nella orders and the maid nods, for once muted by the urgency in her younger mistress’s voice.

It is only after Cornelia has gone to the Kalverstraat that Nella realizes she has not returned the miniaturist’s unasked-for pieces. One by one, she pulls them from under the coverlet and places them in the cabinet. They look perfectly at home.





Barge


The next day, Cornelia seems reinvigorated. ‘Come, Madame,’ says the maid, bounding in, Marin on her heels. ‘Let me tidy those wisps of hair. Tuck them under, hide them away!’

‘What are you talking about, Cornelia?’

‘Johannes is taking you to a feast at the Guild of Silversmiths tonight,’ Marin says.

‘Was it his idea?’

Marin looks over at the cabinet, its curtains now shut from prying eyes. ‘He loves a feast,’ she replies. ‘He thought it appropriate you should attend.’

Now the adventure is surely to begin, Nella thinks – my husband is launching his little raft into the storm-tossed seas of Amsterdam’s finest society – and he, the best of sailors, will be there as my guide. Putting the miniature whippets and the cradle out of her mind, Nella leans under her bed, takes a smear of lily oil on her fingers, and in full view of Marin, rubs it on her neck.

After Marin has left, Nella asks Cornelia what happened at the Kalverstraat. ‘No one answered again,’ the maid says. ‘So I slipped it underneath the door.’

‘At the sign of the sun? You saw no one?’

‘Not a soul, Madame. But Hanna sends her greetings.’



‘Marin, why aren’t you coming?’ Johannes asks that evening, waiting for their barge. He is wearing an exquisite suit of black velvet, a starched white shirt and collar and a pair of calfskin boots polished to mirrors by Otto, who waits with a clothes-brush in one hand.

‘All things considered, I think you should be seen with your wife,’ Marin replies, fixing him with a stare.

‘What do you mean, “all things considered”?’ Nella asks.

‘Talk to people, Johannes,’ Marin says. ‘Show her off—’

‘I’ll introduce you, Nella,’ Johannes interrupts, frowning at his sister. ‘I think that’s what Marin means.’

‘And speak with Frans Meermans, brother. He’ll be there tonight,’ Marin persists, her expression grim. ‘Invite them both to dine.’

To Nella’s surprise, Johannes nods. Why does he let his sister talk to him like this?

‘Johannes, do you promise—’

‘Marin.’ Johannes finally snaps at the sound of her voice. ‘When have I ever got my business wrong?’

‘You haven’t,’ she sighs. ‘At least, not yet.’



Nella’s mouth feels dry but her stomach is a creel of fish. The boat journey to the Guild of Silversmiths is the first time she and her husband have been alone outside the house. She thinks the silence will drown her, but the voice inside her head is so loud she’s convinced Johannes can hear it too. She wants to ask him about Marin’s room of maps, Otto and his slave-ship – she wants to tell him about the tiny whippets, the cradle, the beautiful miniature lute. She won’t tell him about the woman on the Kalverstraat, staring at her – that feels like something she wants to keep to herself – but at any rate, her mouth won’t move.

Johannes begins cleaning his nails absentmindedly. The discarded crescents of dirt float to the floor of the boat, and he catches her looking.

‘Cardamom,’ he says. ‘It gets caught under the nail. As does salt.’

‘I see.’

Nella inhales the air in the boat, the hint of the places he’s been, the scent of cinnamon stuck in his very pores. He smells vaguely of that musky tang she smelled in his study the night he first came home. Her husband’s brown face and his too-long hair, bleached and toughened by sun and wind, trigger an awkward longing – the desire not necessarily for him, but to know how it will feel when they finally lie together. The gift of the cabinet, and now this trip together to the Guild – perhaps it will happen tonight after the feast? Both of them, wine-flushed – they will get it done.

The water is so smooth and the boatman so expert that it feels as if the houses are moving and not the barge. Nella, more used to riding on a horse, is unsettled by the sedate pace, supposedly tranquil when she feels anything but. She tries to press away her agitation between the palms of her hands. How do I begin to love you? – the question, enormous, impossible to ignore, goes round and round in her head as she stares at him.

She tries to focus on how the silversmiths’ hall will look, a room full of watery light, plates like giant coins, the diners reflected on every surface.

‘What do you know of the guilds?’ Johannes asks, breaking her thoughts.

‘Nothing,’ she replies.

Johannes absorbs her ignorance with a nod, and Nella watches it sink into him, wishing she could sound more clever. ‘The silversmiths’ guild has a lot of money,’ he says. ‘One of the richest. Guilds offer protection in hard times, apprenticeships and a means to sell, but they also determine their workload and control the market. It’s why Marin’s so keen on selling the sugar.’