the hallway, which all the rooms opened off — many more rooms than in our house. Next to the Crucifixion room where Maria Thins sat, towards the front of the house, was a smaller room with children's beds, chamberpots, small chairs and a table, on it various earthenware, candlesticks, snuffers and clothing, all in a jumble.
‘The girls sleep here,’ Tanneke mumbled, perhaps embarrassed by the mess.
She turned up the hallway again and opened a door into a large room, where light streamed in from the front windows and across the red and grey tiled floor. ‘The great hall,’ she muttered. ‘Master and mistress sleep here.’
Their bed was hung with green silk curtains. There was other furniture in the room — a large cupboard inlaid with ebony, a whitewood table pushed up to the windows with several Spanish leather chairs arranged around it. But again it was the paintings that struck me. More hung in this room than anywhere else. I counted to nineteen silently. Most were portraits — they appeared to be members of both families. There was also a painting of the Virgin Mary, and one of the three kings worshipping the Christ Child. I gazed at both uneasily.
‘Now, upstairs.’ Tanneke went first up the steep stairs, then put a finger to her lips. I climbed as quietly as I could. At the top I looked around and saw the closed door. Behind it was a silence that I knew was him.
I stood, my eyes fixed on the door, not daring to move in case it opened and he came out.
Tanneke leaned towards me and whispered, ‘You'll be cleaning in there, which the young mistress will explain to you later. And these rooms —’ she pointed to doors towards the back of the house — ‘are my mistress' rooms. Only I go in there to clean.’
We crept downstairs again. When we were back in the washing kitchen Tanneke said, ‘You're to take on the laundry for the house.’ She pointed to a great mound of clothes — they had fallen far behind with their washing. I would struggle to catch up. ‘There's a cistern in the cooking kitchen but you'd best get your water for washing from the canal — it's clean enough in this part of town.’
‘Tanneke,’ I said in a low voice, ‘have you been doing all this yourself? The cooking and cleaning and washing for the house?’
I had chosen the right words. ‘And some of the shopping.’ Tanneke puffed up with pride at her own industry. ‘Young mistress does most of it, of course, but she goes off raw meat and fish when she's carrying a child. And that's often,’ she added in a whisper. ‘You're to go to the Meat Hall and the fish stalls too. That will be another of your duties.’
With that she left me to the laundry. Including me there were ten of us now in the house, one a baby who would dirty more clothes than the rest. I would be laundering every day, my hands chapped and cracked from the soap and water, my face red from standing over the steam, my back aching from lifting wet cloth, my arms burned by the iron. But I was new and I was young — it was to be expected I would have the hardest tasks.
The laundry needed to soak for a day before I could wash it. In the storage room that led down to the cellar I found two pewter waterpots and a copper kettle. I took the pots with me and walked up the long hallway to the front door.
The girls were still sitting on the bench. Now Lisbeth had the bubble blower while Maertge fed baby Johannes bread softened with milk. Cornelia and Aleydis were chasing bubbles. When I appeared they all stopped what they were doing and looked at me expectantly.
‘You're the new maid,’ the girl with the bright red hair declared.
‘Yes, Cornelia.’
Cornelia picked up a pebble and threw it across the road into the canal. There were long scratches up and down her arm — she must have been bothering the house cat.
‘Where will you sleep?’ Maertge asked, wiping mushy fingers on her apron.
‘In the cellar.’
‘We like it down there,’ Cornelia said. ‘Let's go and play there now!’
She darted inside but did not go far. When no one followed her she came back out, her face cross.
‘Aleydis,’ I said, extending my hand to the youngest girl, ‘will you show me where to get water from the canal?’
She took my hand and looked up at me. Her eyes were like two shiny grey coins. We crossed the street, Cornelia and Lisbeth following. Aleydis led me to stairs that descended to the water. As we peeked over I tightened my grip on her hand, as I had done years before with Frans and Agnes whenever we stood next to water.
‘You stand back from the edge,’ I ordered. Aleydis obediently took a step back. But Cornelia followed close behind me as I carried the pots down the steps.
‘Cornelia, are you going to help me carry the water? If not, go back up to your sisters.’
She looked at me, and then she did the worst thing. If she had sulked or shouted, I would know I had mastered her. Instead she laughed.
I reached over and slapped her. Her face turned red, but she did not cry. She ran back up the steps. Aleydis and Lisbeth peered down at me solemnly.
I had a feeling then. This is how it will be with her mother, I thought, except that I will not be able to slap her.
I filled the pots and carried them to the top of the steps. Cornelia had disappeared. Maertge was still sitting with Johannes. I took one of the pots inside and back to the cooking kitchen, where I built up the fire, filled the copper kettle, and put it on to heat.
When I came back Cornelia was outside again, her face still flushed. The girls were playing with tops on the grey and white tiles. None of them looked up at me.
The pot I had left was missing. I looked into the canal and saw it floating, upside down, just out of reach of the stairs.
‘Yes, you will be a handful,’ I murmured. I looked around for a stick to fish it out with but could find none. I filled the other pot again and carried it inside, turning my head so that the girls could not see my face. I set the pot next to the kettle on the fire. Then I went outside again, this time with a broom.
Cornelia was throwing stones at the pot, probably hoping to sink it.
‘I'll slap you again if you don't stop.’
‘I'll tell our mother. Maids don't slap us.’ Cornelia threw another stone.
‘Shall I tell your grandmother what you've done?’
A fearful look crossed Cornelia's face. She dropped the stones she held.
A boat was moving along the canal from the direction of the Town Hall. I recognised the man poling from earlier that day — he had delivered his load of bricks and the boat was riding much higher. He grinned when he saw me.
I blushed. ‘Please, sir,’ I began, ‘can you help me get that pot?’
‘Oh, you're looking at me now that you want something from me, are you? There's a change!’
Cornelia was watching me curiously.
I swallowed. ‘I can't reach the pot from here. Perhaps you could —’
The man leaned
