Tracy Chevalier 3-Book Collection: Girl With a Pearl Earring, Remarkable Creatures, Falling Angels. Tracy Chevalier

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СКАЧАТЬ again?’ She sounded weary.

      ‘I don't know, madam. But I have heard a strange thing.’

      ‘So have we all heard strange things.’

      ‘I have heard that — that I am to be in a painting. With van Ruijven.’

      Maria Thins chuckled. ‘Yes, that is a strange thing. They've been talking in the market, have they?’

      I nodded.

      She leaned back in her chair and puffed on her pipe. ‘Tell me, what would you think of being in such a painting?’

      I did not know what to answer. ‘What would I think, madam?’ I repeated dumbly.

      ‘I wouldn't bother to ask some people that. Tanneke, for instance. When he painted her she stood there happily pouring milk for months without a thought passing through that head, God love her. But you — no, there's all manner of things you think but don't say. I wonder what they are?’

      I said the one sensible thing I knew she would understand. ‘I do not wish to sit with van Ruijven, madam. I do not think his intentions are honourable.’ My words were stiff.

      ‘His intentions are never honourable when it comes to young women.’

      I nervously wiped my hands on my apron.

      ‘It seems you have a champion to defend your honour,’ she continued. ‘My son-in-law is no more willing to paint you with van Ruijven than you are willing to sit with him.’

      I did not try to hide my relief.

      ‘But,’ Maria Thins warned, ‘van Ruijven is his patron, and a wealthy and powerful man. We cannot afford to offend him.’

      ‘What will you say to him, madam?’

      ‘I'm still trying to decide. In the meantime, you will have to put up with the rumours. Don't answer them — we don't want van Ruijven hearing from the market gossips that you are refusing to sit with him.’

      I must have looked uncomfortable. ‘Don't worry, girl,’ Maria Thins growled, tapping her pipe on the table to loosen the ash. ‘We'll take care of this. You keep your head down and go about your work, and not a word to anyone.’

      ‘Yes, madam.’

      I did tell one person, though. I felt I had to.

      It had been easy enough to avoid Pieter the son — there were auctions all that week at the Beast Market, of animals that had been fattening all summer and autumn in the countryside and were ready for slaughter just before winter began. Pieter had gone every day to the sales.

      The afternoon after Maria Thins and I spoke I slipped out to look for him at the market, just around the corner from the Oude Langendijck. It was quieter there in the afternoon than in the morning, when the auctions took place. By now many of the beasts had been driven away by their new owners, and men stood about under the plane trees that lined the square, counting their money and discussing the deals that had been made. The leaves on the trees had turned yellow and fallen to mingle with the dung and urine I could smell long before I reached the market.

      Pieter the son was sitting with another man outside one of the taverns on the square, a tankard of beer in front of him. Deep in conversation, he did not see me as I stood silently near his table. It was his companion who looked up, then nudged Pieter.

      ‘I would like to speak to you for a moment,’ I said quickly, before Pieter had a chance even to look surprised.

      His companion immediately jumped up and offered me his chair.

      ‘Could we walk?’ I gestured to the square.

      ‘Of course,’ Pieter said. He nodded to his friend and followed me across the street. From his expression it was not clear whether or not he was pleased to see me.

      ‘How were the auctions today?’ I asked awkwardly. I was never good at making everyday talk.

      Pieter shrugged. He took my elbow to steer me around a pile of dung, then dropped his hand.

      I gave up. ‘There has been gossip about me in the market,’ I said bluntly.

      ‘There is gossip about everyone at one time or another,’ he replied neutrally.

      ‘It's not true what they say. I'm not going to be in a painting with van Ruijven.’

      ‘Van Ruijven likes you. My father told me.’

      ‘But I'm not going to be in a painting with him.’

      ‘He is very powerful.’

      ‘You must believe me, Pieter.’

      ‘He is very powerful,’ he repeated, ‘and you are but a maid. Who do you think will win that round of cards?’

      ‘You think I will become like the maid in the red dress.’

      ‘Only if you drink his wine.’ Pieter gazed at me levelly.

      ‘My master does not want to paint me with van Ruijven,’ I said reluctantly after a moment. I had not wanted to mention him.

      ‘That's good. I don't want him to paint you either.’

      I stopped and closed my eyes. The close animal smell was beginning to make me feel faint.

      ‘You're getting caught where you should not be, Griet,’ Pieter said more kindly. ‘Theirs is not your world.’

      I opened my eyes and took a step back from him. ‘I came here to explain that the rumour is false, not to be accused by you. Now I'm sorry I bothered.’

      ‘Don't be. I do believe you.’ He sighed. ‘But you have little power over what happens to you. Surely you can see that?’

      When I did not answer he added, ‘If your master did want to paint a picture of you and van Ruijven, do you really think you could say no?’

      It was a question I had asked myself but found no answer to. ‘Thank you for reminding me of how helpless I am,’ I replied tartly.

      ‘You wouldn't be with me. We would run our own business, earn our own money, rule our own lives. Isn't that what you want?’

      I looked at him, at his bright blue eyes, his yellow curls, his eager face. I was a fool even to hesitate.

      ‘I didn't come here to talk about this. I'm too young yet.’ I used the old excuse. Some day I would be too old to use it.

      ‘I never know what you're thinking, Griet,’ he tried again. ‘You're so calm and quiet, you never say. But there are things inside you. I see them sometimes, hiding in your eyes.’

      I smoothed my cap, checking with my fingers for stray hairs. ‘All I mean to say is that there is no painting,’ I declared, ignoring what he had just said. ‘Maria Thins has promised me. But you're not to tell anyone. If they speak to you of me in the market, say nothing. Don't try to defend me. Otherwise van Ruijven may hear and your СКАЧАТЬ