The Miniaturist(43)

‘Stop shouting at me! There were funerals at Assendelft too, you know – I understand the danger.’

‘Petronella—’

‘Did my mother know what he was? Did she?’

Marin, breathless, stops. ‘I do not think so. But she told me that you were a girl with imagination – strong and capable – and that you would thrive in the city. “Nella will find a way”, she wrote – “Assendelft is too small for a mind like hers.” I was happy to believe it.’

‘That may be,’ Nella says. ‘But to decide that I was never going to live as a proper woman was not your choice to make.’

Marin’s sneer scrapes Nella’s skin. ‘What do you mean – a proper woman?’

‘A proper woman marries – she has children—’

‘Then what does that make me? Am I not a proper woman? Last time I looked I certainly was.’

‘We neither of us are.’

Marin sighs, rubbing her forehead. ‘God’s blood. I do not mean to lose my temper. It slips from me and I cannot catch it. I’m sorry.’

The true quality of this apology creates a moment of peace. Exhausted, Nella lies back on her bed and Marin breathes deeply. ‘Words are water in this city, Nella,’ she says. ‘One drop of rumour could drown us.’

‘Did you and Johannes sacrifice my future,’ Nella says, ‘because your own were in such peril?’

Marin closes her eyes. ‘The marriage has benefited you, has it not?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have drowned in Assendelft.’

‘Yet your life there was like one underwater. A few cows, your draughty house, and boredom. I thought this marriage might give you – an adventure.’

‘I thought you said women don’t have adventures,’ Nella snaps. Even as she says this, she thinks about the miniaturist on the Kalverstraat. ‘Are we in danger, Marin? Why do we need that sugar money? Johannes wouldn’t sell it if he didn’t have to.’

‘Keep your enemies close.’

‘I thought Agnes Meermans was supposed to be your friend.’

‘The sugar profits will protect us,’ Marin replies, looking back out of the window. ‘In Amsterdam, God, for all His glory, only goes so far.’

‘How can you say such a thing? You, who are so pious—’

‘What I believe has nothing to do with what I can control. We are not poor, but the sugar is a dam against the rising waves. And you protect us too, Petronella.’

‘I protect you?’

‘Of course. And believe me, we are grateful.’

Marin’s awkward gratitude blooms in Nella’s blood, swelling her with self-importance. She tries to hide her pleasure, concentrating on the swirling design of the coverlet.

‘Marin, tell me – what would happen if Agnes and Frans found out about Johannes?’

‘I hope they would have mercy.’ Marin pauses, finding a chair. ‘But I suspect that they would not.’

In the heavy silence, Marin collapses slowly like a puppet, her legs folding beneath her, arms and neck slack, chin to chest. ‘Do you know what they do to men like my brother?’ she says. ‘They drown them. The holy magistrates put weights on their necks and push them in the water.’ A wave of devastation seems to draw down Marin’s body. ‘But even if they dragged Johannes back up and cut him open,’ she says, ‘they still wouldn’t find what they wanted.’

‘Why not?’

Tears start to strand on Marin’s pale cheeks. She presses her hand to her chest as if to ebb her grief. ‘Because, Petronella – it’s something in his soul. It’s something in his soul and you cannot get it out.’





Decisions


Nella opens her door an hour later, holding Peebo in his cage. The sun shines a thin light through the landing window, turning the wall before her pale lemon. She can hear Johannes in Marin’s tiny room, the low rise and fall of their hushed voices. Leaving Peebo’s cage at the top of the stairs, she creeps along the corridor.

‘Why can’t you keep away from that man? I think how this might end and I cannot bear it.’

‘He has no one, Marin.’

‘You underestimate him.’ Marin sounds exhausted. ‘He has no loyalty.’

‘You think the worst of everyone.’

‘I see him, Johannes. He’ll bleed us dry. How much have you paid him now?’

‘He’s helping guard the sugar. It’s a fair exchange. At least it stops him making deliveries and coming round here.’

Nella measures the beats of Marin’s silence. ‘With what blind eyes you view the world,’ she finally says, her voice holding down her fury. ‘Why is your warehouse any less exposed than this house? He should be kept as far away as possible from anything to do with us. What if Petronella tells her mother – or the burgomasters?’

‘Nella has a heart—’

‘Whose existence you’ve barely acknowledged.’

‘Not true. Not fair. I’ve bought that cabinet, those dresses, I took her to the feast. What else am I supposed to do?’

‘You know what else.’

There is a long pause. ‘I believe,’ Johannes says, ‘that she’s the lost piece in our puzzle.’