She goes further – picturing Johannes without his clothes, imagining the thing he has underneath the table waiting for her. Her mother has told her what wives can hope for – a rising rod of pain, the chance it won’t go on too long, the wet clam dribble between your legs. There are enough rams and ewes in Assendelft to know exactly what happens. ‘I don’t want to be just that kind of wife,’ she told her mother. ‘There is no other kind,’ came the reply. Seeing her daughter’s expression, Mrs Oortman had softened slightly, taking Nella in her arms and patting her stomach. ‘Your body is the key, my love. Your body is the key.’ When Nella asked what exactly she was supposed to unlock, and how, her mother had demurred. ‘You’ll have a roof over your head, thanks be to God.’
For fear the other two might see these memories cross her face, Nella stares at her plate. ‘Enough about all that,’ Marin says. Nella jumps, as if her sister-in-law has read her mind. Johannes is still talking about the English, swilling the amber ale at the bottom of his glass.
‘Have you spoken to Frans Meermans about his wife’s sugar?’ Marin interrupts. His silence makes her grim. ‘It’s just sitting in the warehouse, Johannes. It arrived from Surinam over a week ago and you still haven’t told them what you’re going to do with it. They’re waiting.’
Johannes puts down his glass. ‘Your interest in Agnes Meermans’ new wealth surprises me,’ he says.
‘I’m not worried about her wealth. I know how Agnes wants to breach these walls.’
‘Always your suspicions! She wants me to distribute her sugar because she knows I’m the best.’
‘Well, sell it and be done with them. Remember what is at stake.’
‘But of all the things I might sell, you push for this! What about lekkerheid, Marin – the craving craze for all things sweet – what might your Pastor say?’ Johannes turns to his wife. ‘My sister thinks sugar is not good for the soul, Nella, but she wants me to sell it anyway. What do you make of that?’
Nella, remembering her rebuffed request for marzipan, feels grateful for his sudden attention. Souls and purses, she thinks, these two are obsessed with souls and purses.
‘I’m merely keeping my head above the flood,’ Marin says, her voice tight. ‘I fear my God, Johannes. Do you?’ Marin grips her fork like a small trident. ‘Please just sell the sugar, brother. It is to our advantage that there is no Guild of Sugar-sellers. Our own prices, to whom we want. Get rid of it and soon. It would be best.’
Johannes stares at the untouched loaf still resting in the middle of the damask. Nella’s stomach rumbles and she clutches it instinctively as if her hand will keep it quiet. ‘Otto would not approve of our new kind of free trade,’ Johannes says, his eyes flicking to the door.
Marin drives her fork tines into the damask cloth. ‘He’s a Dutchman. A pragmatist. He’s never even seen a cane plantation.’
‘He nearly did.’
‘He understands our business as well as we do.’ Her grey eyes bore into his. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Do not speak for him,’ Johannes says. ‘He works for me, not you. And this tablecloth cost thirty guilders, so kindly stop making holes in everything I own.’
‘I was at the docks,’ Marin snaps. ‘The burgomasters drowned three men yesterday morning, one after the other. Hung weights on their necks. Put them in sacks and threw them in the water.’
Somewhere in the hallway, a plate clatters. ‘Rezeki, bad dog!’ comes Cornelia’s cry, but Nella notices both Johannes’ dogs are in the corner of this room, fast asleep. Johannes closes his eyes, and Nella wonders how drowning men have anything to do with stocks of sugar, or Otto’s opinions, or Agnes Meermans trying to breach their walls.
‘I know how a man drowns,’ he murmurs. ‘You seem to forget I’ve had to spend most of my life on the sea.’
There is a warning in Johannes’ voice, but Marin keeps going. ‘I asked the man clearing the dockside why the burgomasters had drowned them. He said they didn’t have the guilders to appease their God.’
Breathless, she stops. Johannes seems almost bereft, sagging in his chair. ‘I thought God forgives all, Marin?’ he says. He doesn’t seem to want an answer to his question.
The air is hot, the atmosphere a bruise. Red-faced, Cornelia appears and clears the plates, and Johannes rises from his chair. The three women look at him expectantly, but he moves out of the room, batting the air with his hand. Marin and Cornelia seem to know what this means, Marin taking up the book she has brought with her to breakfast. Nella eyes the title – Hooft’s play, True Fool.
‘How often does he go away?’ Nella asks.
Marin puts the book down, tutting in displeasure as a page bends the wrong way on the table. ‘My brother leaves. He comes back. He leaves again,’ she sighs. ‘You’ll see. It’s not difficult. Anyone could do it.’
‘I didn’t ask if it was difficult. And who is Frans Meermans?’
‘Cornelia, how is Petronella’s parakeet this morning?’ Marin asks.
‘He’s well, Madame. Well.’ Cornelia avoids Nella’s eye. Today there are no giggles, no sly remarks. She seems tired, as if something is bothering her.
‘He needs clean air,’ says Nella. ‘The kitchen must be so full of cooking fumes. I’d like to fly him round my room.’
‘He’ll peck at something valuable,’ says Marin.
‘He won’t.’
‘He’ll fly out of the window.’
‘I’ll keep it closed.’
Marin slams her book shut and walks out. The maid straightens, narrowing her blue eyes in her mistress’s wake. After a moment’s hesitation, she too leaves the room. Nella slumps back in her chair, staring sightlessly into Johannes’ map. The door is still open, and she can hear Marin and Johannes whispering outside the study.
‘For the love of Christ, Marin. Have you got nothing better to do?’
‘You’ve a wife now. Where are you going?’
‘I also have a business.’
‘What business do you have on a Sunday?’
‘Marin, do you think this house is run by magic? I’m going to check the sugar.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Marin hisses. ‘I won’t allow this.’ Nella feels the tension condensing between the siblings, a second, silent language filling to the brim.
‘What other man lets his sister speak to him like this? Your word is not the law.’
‘Perhaps. But it’s closer than you think.’
Johannes strides out of the front door, and Nella hears the velvet suck of air, the outside once more shut away. She peers round the door and observes her new sister-in-law in the hallway. Marin has covered her face, and her shoulders hunch; a pose of misery.