‘What is it, girl?’
‘In the painting there are no lion heads on the chair next to the woman,’ I said.
‘No. There was once a lute sitting on that chair as well. He makes plenty of changes. He doesn't paint just what he sees, but what will suit. Tell me, girl, do you think this painting is done?’
I stared at her. Her question must be a trick but I could not imagine any change that would make it better.
‘Isn't it?’ I faltered.
Maria Thins snorted. ‘He's been working on it for three months. I expect he'll do so for two more months. He will change things. You'll see.’ She looked around. ‘Done your cleaning, have you? Well, then, go on, girl — go to your other tasks. He'll come soon to see how you've done.’
I looked at the painting one last time, but by studying it so hard I felt something slip away. It was like looking at a star in the night sky — if I looked at one directly I could barely see it, but if I looked from the corner of my eye it became much brighter.
I gathered my broom and bucket and cloth. When I left the room, Maria Thins was still standing in front of the painting.
I filled the pots from the canal and set them on the fire, then went to find Tanneke. She was in the room where the girls slept, helping Cornelia to dress while Maertge helped Aleydis and Lisbeth helped herself. Tanneke was not in good spirits, glancing at me only to ignore me as I tried to speak to her. Finally I stood directly in front of her so that she had to look at me. ‘Tanneke, I'll go to the fish stalls now. What would you like today?’
‘Going so early? We always go later in the day.’ Tanneke still did not look at me. She was tying white ribbons into five-pointed stars in Cornelia's hair.
‘I'm free while the water is heating and thought I would go now,’ I replied simply. I did not add that the best cuts were to be had early, even if the butcher or fishmonger promised to set aside things for the family. She should know that. ‘What would you like?’
‘Don't fancy fish today. Go to the butcher's for a mutton joint.’ Tanneke finished with the ribbons and Cornelia jumped up and pushed past me. Tanneke turned away and opened a chest to search for something. I watched her broad back for a moment, the greyish-brown dress pulled tight across it.
She was jealous of me. I had cleaned the studio, where she was not allowed, where no one, it seemed, could go except me and Maria Thins.
When Tanneke straightened, a bonnet in her hand, she said, ‘The master painted me once, you know. Painted me pouring milk. Everyone said it was his best painting.’
‘I'd like to see it,’ I responded. ‘Is it still here?’
‘Oh no, van Ruijven bought it.’
I thought for a moment. ‘So one of Delft's wealthiest men takes pleasure in looking at you each day.’
Tanneke grinned, her pocked face growing even wider. The right words changed her mood in a moment. It was simply up to me to find the words.
I turned to go before her mood could sour. ‘May I come with you?’ Maertge asked.
‘And me?’ Lisbeth added.
‘Not today,’ I said firmly. ‘You have something to eat and help Tanneke.’ I did not want it to become habit for the girls to accompany me. I would use it as a reward for minding me.
I was also longing to walk in familiar streets on my own, not to have a constant reminder of my new life chattering at my side. As I stepped into Market Square, leaving Papists' Corner behind, I breathed in deeply. I had not realised that I had been holding myself in tight all the time I was with the family.
Before going to Pieter's stall I stopped at the butcher I knew, who beamed when he saw me. ‘At last you decide to say hello! What, yesterday you were too grand for the likes of me?’ he teased.
I started to explain my new situation but he interrupted me. ‘Of course I know. Everyone is talking — Jan the tiler's daughter has gone to work for the painter Vermeer. And then I see after one day she is already too proud to speak to old friends!’
‘I have nothing to be so proud of, becoming a maid. My father is ashamed.’
‘Your father was simply unlucky. No one is blaming him. There is no need for you to be ashamed, my dear. Except of course that you are not buying your meat from me.’
‘I have no choice, I'm afraid. That's for my mistress to decide.’
‘Oh, it is, is it? So your buying from Pieter has nothing to do with his handsome son?’
I frowned. ‘I have not seen his son.’
The butcher laughed. ‘You will, you will. Off you go. When you see your mother next tell her to come and see me. I will set aside something for her.’
I thanked him and passed along the stalls to Pieter's. He seemed surprised to see me. ‘Here already, are you? Couldn't wait to get here for more of that tongue?’
‘I'd like a joint of mutton today, please.’
‘Now tell me, Griet, was that not the best tongue you have had?’
I refused to give him the compliment he craved. ‘The master and mistress ate it. They did not remark on it.’
Behind Pieter a young man turned round — he had been cutting into a side of beef at a table behind the stall. He must have been the son, for though he was taller than his father, he had the same bright blue eyes. His blond hair was long and thick with curls, framing a face that made me think of apricots. Only his bloody apron was displeasing to the eye.
His eyes came to rest on me like a butterfly on a flower and I could not keep from blushing. I repeated my request for mutton, keeping my eyes on his father. Pieter rummaged through his meat and pulled out a joint for me, laying it on the counter. Two sets of eyes watched me.
The joint was grey at the edges. I sniffed the meat. ‘This is not fresh,’ I said bluntly. ‘Mistress will be none too pleased that you expect her family to eat meat such as this.’ My tone was haughtier than I had intended. Perhaps it needed to be.
Father and son stared at me. I held the gaze of the father, trying to ignore the son.
At last Pieter turned to his son. ‘Pieter, get me that joint set aside on the cart.’
‘But that's meant for —’ Pieter the son stopped. He disappeared, returning with another joint, which I could immediately see was superior. I nodded. ‘That's better.’
Pieter the son wrapped the joint and placed it in my pail. I thanked him. As I turned to go I caught the glance that passed between father and son. Even then I knew somehow what it meant, and what it would mean for me.
Catharina was sitting on the bench when I got back, feeding Johannes. I showed her the joint and she nodded. As I was about to go in she said in a low voice, ‘My husband has inspected the studio and found the cleaning suited him.’ She did not look at me.
‘Thank you, madam.’ I stepped inside,
