Midnight Blue: A gripping historical novel about the birth of Delft pottery, set in the Dutch Golden Age

By way of reply, I show him my raw, calloused hands. He spares them only a cursory glance before looking me directly in the eye for a long time. His penetrating gaze makes me nervous, even though I don’t let it show. I return his gaze as calmly as possible, only to cast my eyes down when it becomes unbearable.

Finally, Mister Van Nulandt breaks the silence. ‘Tell me about yourself. What brings you to Amsterdam?’

‘I’m a widow, sir. I could have remarried, but I always wanted to live in the city. Friends found me a situation in Alkmaar but it didn’t go through. I had resigned myself to returning to De Rijp when I was fortunate enough to meet your brother. It was as if God steered me into his path.’

This last addition is a nice touch; it emphasises my piety. The paintings around me are all of religious subjects so it should please Van Nulandt. I look up to meet his eyes and see a glimmer of respect. That gives me courage.

‘You could try me out for a few days,’ I say.

His face betrays no emotion. ‘You’re not shy, Catrin Barentsdochter.’

‘I know what I’m capable of, sir.’

Van Nulandt skims the letter again, then sets it aside. ‘I need someone who can keep house and manage the maid. I can give you a monthly salary of twenty stivers with room and board. You’ll have a day off every two weeks. When can you start?’

‘At once, sir.’

‘Good, then I’ll give you a chance, Catrin,’ Adriaan says. ‘I shall introduce you to my wife. Follow me.’

5 (#u18208c5c-ed08-5520-b19b-6e06bd01a38a)

Adriaan van Nulandt leads the way into the passage and walks into a room at the front of the house. Daylight streams in, along with the sounds of the street and the water.

Next to the window a woman is standing at an easel in an attitude of intense concentration. She glances up, annoyed.

‘Brigitta, I’ve come to introduce the new housekeeper. This is Catrin Barentsdochter,’ Adriaan says.

I take a couple of steps into the room and curtsy. Mistress Van Nulandt is still young, around the same age as me, and glances at me without much interest.

‘A pleasure to meet you, madam,’ I venture, when no one says anything.

‘Is she starting today?’ Brigitta asks her husband. Adriaan nods and she smiles contentedly. ‘Good, then Greta will stop coming to disturb me. If you two will excuse me, I have work to do.’ She peers intently at the painting she’s working on and dips her brush in the paint.

Adriaan motions for me to follow him and shows me the house. It is huge. Upstairs are bedrooms and the attic where beds are made up for servants. Downstairs are the reception rooms, along with the entrance hall and parlour, and the private rooms, including the living, breakfast and dining rooms, and the kitchen. Adriaan tells me the parlour is only used to receive guests and that it’s my job to clean it. The maid is not allowed to set foot in there.

‘Be especially careful with these.’ He points to two blue-and-white vases on the floor either side of the hearth. ‘Don’t move them, just work around them. And whatever you do, don’t knock into them. These vases are extremely valuable.’

I gaze at them in wonder. ‘I can understand that, sir. They are magnificent.’

‘They are imported from China and made of porcelain. That’s a special kind of pottery.’

‘Can I have a closer look?’

‘As long as you don’t touch them.’

I make sure I’m careful. Reverentially, I bob down next to one of the vases and look at the exotic scenes painted in different shades of blue on the brilliant white background. I have never seen pottery so white.

‘China,’ I say. ‘That must be a long way away.’

‘On the other side of the world. Come with me.’

I stand up and follow him. It’s strange to be given instructions by the man of the house and not his wife. Brigitta van Nulandt obviously has no interest whatsoever in household matters.

As the master shows me around, I listen closely and stare in wonder at the house. So this is how the rich folk of Amsterdam live: in houses full of paintings, oriental porcelain and silver. The furniture is oak with fine carvings, the bedsteads are hung with velvet curtains, the floor is covered in black and white tiles and the walls are decorated with panelling or more tiles.

Even the kitchen comes as a surprise. It’s much larger than anything I’m used to and has a scullery. There are cupboards for crockery and pans rather than shelves along the walls. The hearth takes up much of the wall and there’s a long table down the middle of the room. A door with the top half propped open leads to a small courtyard.

Adriaan goes outside and I follow him. A girl is hanging out washing and turns to face us.

‘Greta, this is Catrin, the new housekeeper. She’s starting today. I trust you will show her the ropes.’

The girl nods shyly.

Without saying another word, Adriaan walks off, leaving me and Greta to stand in silence.

‘Right then, let’s get to work,’ I say. ‘When you’ve finished hanging out the washing, Greta, come and help me in the kitchen. Then we can get to know each other.’

I smile encouragingly at the girl, turn around and go inside.

Greta has not long turned fifteen. She had to make do without a housekeeper for a while and is thus used to a lot of freedom, but also had double the amount of work.

‘Hester got sick and a couple of days later she was dead. She was getting on a bit, forty or so,’ Greta tells me as she accompanies me to the produce market on Prinsengracht that afternoon. ‘I’m happy you’re here, though. It was much too much work for me on my own.’

‘If there’s a problem, do you go to the master or the mistress?’ I ask.

‘To the master, even though he’s not home much. The mistress gets angry if I disturb her while she’s painting.’

‘She can’t paint all day, surely?’

‘No, but even when she’s finished, she doesn’t want to listen. She’s not interested in housekeeping. It always seems as if she’s only half there.’

I think about the absent way Brigitta looked at me and understand what Greta means. ‘But the master has a brother too, doesn’t he? Do you see much of him?’

‘Yes. When he’s not travelling, he stays with us. The bedroom at the back of the house is his. Master Matthias is ever so kind. He brought me a comb once. I don’t know where from, but it was far away.’

‘How nice. When is Master Matthias coming back?’

‘I think he should be back next week.’

‘Oh. And where are you from, Greta?’

‘From Sloterdijk. It’s a little village near here.’

‘Do you go home often?’

‘When I can. But since Hester passed away, I’ve not been home at all.’

I sneak a sidelong glance and see the girl’s sad face. ‘You’ll be able to go again soon. I’ll arrange it with the master.’