The Miniaturist(46)

‘The Seigneur and Meermans were good friends,’ Cornelia says. ‘So he would often be calling at the house to play a game of verkerspeel. Love came into it later – what did Madame Marin know of love, at eleven years old?’

‘I’m nearly nineteen, and a married woman, Cornelia. And yet I can make no more claim on love than if I were a child.’

Cornelia blushes. Growing older, Nella realizes, does not seem to make you more certain. It simply presents you with more reasons for doubt.

‘Their parents died when Madame Marin was fourteen, and the Seigneur left the treasury to join the VOC,’ Cornelia continues. ‘Meermans moved to the Stadhuis.’

‘How did their parents die?’

‘Their mother was always sickly, and weakened by her labours. She barely survived after Madame Marin was born. There were more babies than just the Seigneur and Madame Marin, of course – but none of them lived. A year after their mother died, their father went of the fever, and the Seigneur took his first VOC ship out to Batavia. Madame Marin turned fifteen. Frans Meermans was working in the Stadhuis, but without a chaperone, she couldn’t meet him.’

Nella pictures her husband under boiled blue skies, upon hot sands laced with tinkling shells and shed blood. Piracy and adventure, whilst Frans and Marin were marooned amidst the mahogany furniture and smothering tapestries, the sluggish canals and the peal of bells to worship.

‘The Seigneur tried to encourage him into the VOC. Told him to seize the opportunity. “Don’t criticize Frans,” Madame Marin said. “Not everyone has had your chances, Johannes, and you like it that way.” ’

Cornelia swirls a bowl of soaked raisins with the end of her wooden spoon. ‘Problem was, Meermans couldn’t match the Seigneur. Couldn’t open the right doors, didn’t inspire the men – had only modest success, while the Seigneur got very rich. And then five years later, when Marin was twenty, Meermans called by without her knowing. He’d saved his money up and asked the Seigneur if he could have her hand in marriage.’

‘He waited five years? And what did Johannes say?’

‘The Seigneur said no.’

‘What? Five years waiting to be given a no – but why? Meermans didn’t have a bad reputation, did he? And he must have truly loved her.’

‘The Seigneur never does anything without good reason,’ Cornelia says defensively, dropping her first strip of batter into a pan of sizzling oil.

‘Yes, but –’

‘Meermans was handsome, if you like that type,’ Cornelia says, ‘but he didn’t have the best of reputations.’ She pauses. ‘He had a temper on him, he always wanted better than what he had. And after that snub, he never came back. Until now.’

She draws out the new doughnut and lays it gently on the tray of prepared sugar. ‘I shaved the top of Agnes’ sugar cone,’ she adds, a little sly.

‘Perhaps Johannes wanted to keep Marin where he needed her,’ Nella says. ‘A puppet wife – and look! Now he has two.’ Cornelia makes a face. ‘Oh, Cornelia. She’s still mistress of this household. You see how strict she is, keeping us all in order. That’s supposed to be my job. Although – have you noticed how distracted she can seem?’

Cornelia is silent for a moment. ‘I’ve noticed no difference, Madame,’ she says.

‘Did Marin find out what Johannes had done?’

‘Eventually, but by then Meermans had gone and married one of Madame Marin’s friends. Agnes Vynke.’ Cornelia enunciates the name like the parts of a wasp. ‘Agnes’ father worked with the West India Company and had got rich in the New World. He’d forbidden her from marrying any man not wealthy enough. He was a monster, Seigneur Vynke – trying to sire sons at eighty to make sure she didn’t inherit! Agnes’ marriage to Meermans was her first and last rebellion. She adores Frans like a sickness. She turned the other guild wives against Madame Marin, just to be sure that chapter was closed. Agnes wanted a little power, but then her father died and left her all those fields.’

Nella remembers the ladies Cornelia described, visiting the house, putting songbirds in Otto’s hair – was Agnes Vynke one of them, ordered by Marin never to return?

‘It was a huge wedding feast,’ Cornelia goes on, ‘paid for by Frans with all the guilders he’d borrowed, no doubt. Always in debt, that one. The party lasted three days. But you know what they say about big weddings. They cover up a lack of appetite.’

Nella blushes. If the reverse was true – after their measly ceremony, she and Johannes should never have left their bedchamber.

‘Frans and Agnes have been married twelve years – and still no children,’ Cornelia says. ‘And then comes Agnes’ sugar plantation, straight into his lap! For him, it’s better than an heir. He may be counting on that sugar to make a legacy, but it doesn’t change his love for Madame Marin.’

She hands Nella the first olie-koeck. It is still warm, and the fried crust breaks apart under Nella’s teeth, releasing the perfect blend of almond, ginger, clove and apple. ‘And Marin still loves him?’ Nella asks.

‘Oh, I’m sure of it. He sends her a gift every year. Pigs and partridges – once a haunch of deer. And Madame Marin won’t send them back. It’s like a silent conversation they want to maintain. Of course, I’m the one who has to deal with it all. Pluck, chop, stuff, fry, boil. A necklace would be easier.’ Cornelia wipes out the batter bowl with a damp cloth. ‘That’s how Madame Marin found out that the Seigneur had rejected Frans’ proposal. It was soon after Agnes’ wedding when the first gift came.’