There was another long silence, then the footsteps walked away from where she lay. As he went she could hear him muttering to himself, 'Dirty little whore, she's probably riddled with the pox, anyway.'
She lay without moving until the darkness was complete, and she heard an owl hoot in the top of the beech tree. Then she stood up and crept through the woods, starting and trembling at every rustle and scurry of the small night creatures.
She did not leave the cottage again for some days. During the day she immersed herself in her father's books. There was one in particular that fascinated her and she read it from the first page to the last, then started again at the beginning. The title was In Darkest Africa. The tales of strange animals and savage tribes enchanted her, and wiled away the long days. She read of great hairy men that lived in the tops of the trees, of a tribe that ate the flesh of other men, and of tiny pygmies with
a single eye in the centre of their foreheads. Reading became the opiate for her fears. One evening she fell asleep at the kitchen table, her golden head on the open book, the flame fluttering in the lamp.
The glimmer of the light showed through the uncurtained window, and from there through a chink in the hedge. Two dark figures, who were passing on the road, stopped and exchanged a few hoarse words. Then they crept through the gate in the hedge. One went to the front door of the cottage while the other circled round to the back.
'Who are you?'
The harsh bellow brought Louisa awake and on her feet in the same instant. 'We know you're in there! Come out now!'
She darted to the back door and struggled with the locking bar, then threw open the door and dashed out into the night. At that moment a heavy masculine hand fell on the back of her neck, and she was lifted by the scruff with her feet dangling and kicking as if she were a newborn kitten.
The man who held her opened the shutter of the bullseye lantern he carried and shone the beam into her face. 'Who are you?' he demanded.
In the lamplight she recognized his red face and bushy whiskers. 'Jan!' she squeaked. 'It's me! Louisa! Louisa Leuven.'
Jan was the van Ritters' footman. The belligerence in his expression faded, slowly replaced by amazement. 'Little Louisa! Is it really you? We all thought you must be dead with the rest of them.'
Aw days later Jan travelled with Louise to Amsterdam in a cart containing some of the salvaged possessions of the van Ritters family. When he led her into the kitchens of the Huis Brabant the servants who had survived crowded round to welcome her. Her prettiness, her sweet manner and sunny nature had always made her a favourite in the servants' quarters, so they grieved with her when they heard that Anne and Hendrick were dead. They could hardly believe that little Louisa, at just ten, had survived without her parents or friends, and had done so on her own resources and resolve. Elise the cook, who had been a dear friend of her mother, immediately took her under her protection.
Louisa had to tell her tale again and again as news of her survival spread, and the other servants, the workers and seamen from the van Ritters' ships and warehouses came to hear it.
Every week Stals, the butler and major-domo of the household, wrote a report to Mijnheer van Ritters in London, where he had taken refuge
from the plague with the remainder of his family. At the end of one report he mentioned that Louisa, the schoolmaster's daughter, had been rescued. Mijnheer was gracious enough to reply, 'See that the child is taken in and set to work in the household. You may pay her as a scullery maid When I return to Amsterdam I shall decide what is to be done with her.'
In early December when the cold weather cleansed the city of the last traces of the plague, Mijnheer van Ritters brought home his family. His wife had been carried away by the plague, but her absence would make no difference to their lives. Out of the twelve children only five had survived the pestilence. One morning, when Mijnheer van Ritters had been over a month in Amsterdam, and had attended to all the more pressing matters that awaited his attention, he ordered Stals to bring Louisa to him.
She hesitated in the doorway to Mijnheer van Ritters' library. He looked up from the thick leather bound ledger in which he was writing. 'Come in, child,' he ordered. 'Come here where I can see you.'
Stals led her to stand in front of the great man's desk. She curtsied to him, and he nodded approval. 'Your father was a good man, and he taught you manners.' He got up and went to stand in front of the tall bay windows. For a minute he looked out through the diamond panes at one of his ships, unloading bales of cotton from the Indies into the warehouse. Then he turned back to study Louisa. She had grown since last he had seen her, and her face and limbs had filled out. He knew that she had had the plague, but she had recovered well. There were no traces on her face of the ravages of the disease. She was a pretty girl, very pretty indeed, he decided. And it was not an insipid beauty: her expression was alert and intelligent. Her eyes were alive, and sparkled with the blue of precious sapphires. Her skin was creamy and unblemished, but her hair was her most attractive attribute: she wore it in two long plaits that hung forward over her shoulders. He asked her a few questions.
She tried to hide her fear and awe of him, and to answer in a sensible manner.
'Are you attending to your lessons, child?'
'I have all my father's books, Mijnheer. I read every night before I sleep.'
'What work are you doing?'
'I wash and peel the vegetables, and I knead the bread, and help Pieter wash and dry the pots and pans, Mijnheer.'
'Are you happy?'
'Oh, yes, Mijnheer. Elise, the cook, is so kind to me, like my own mother.'
'I think we can find something more useful for you to do.' Van Ritters stroked his beard thoughtfully.
Elise and Stals had lectured Louisa on how to behave when she was with him. 'Remember always that he is one of the greatest men in all the land. Always call him 'Your Excellency' or 'Mijnheer'. Curtsy when you greet him and when you leave.'
'Do exactly what he tells you. If he asks a question, answer him directly, but never answer back.'
'Stand straight and don't slump. Keep your hands clasped in front of you, and do not fidget or pick your nose.'
There had been so many instructions that they had confused her. But now, as she stood in front of him, her courage returned. He was dressed in cloth of the finest quality, and his collar was of snowy lace. The buckles on his shoes were pure silver, and the hilt of the dagger on his belt was gold set with glowing rubies. He was tall and his legs in black silk hose were as shapely and as well turned as a man half his age. Although his hair was touched with silver, it was dense and perfectly curled and set. His beard was almost entirely silver, but neatly barbered and shaped in the Vandyke style. There were light laughter lines around his eyes, but the back of his hand as he stroked his pointed beard was smooth and unmarred by the blotches of age. He wore an enormous ruby on his forefinger. Despite his grandeur and dignity his gaze was kind. Somehow she knew she could trust him, just as she could always trust Gentle Jesus to look after her.
'Gertruda needs someone to look after her.' Van Ritters reached a decision. Gertruda was his youngest surviving daughter. She was seven years old, a plain, simple-witted, petulant girl. 'You will be her companion and help her with her lessons. I know you are a bright girl.'
Louisa's spirits fell. She had grown so close to Elise, the motherly woman who had replaced Anne as head cook in the kitchen. She did not want to forsake the aura of warmth and security that cosseted her in the servants' quarters, and have to go upstairs to care for the whining Gertruda. She wanted to protest, but Elise had warned her not to answer back. She hung her head and curtsied.
'Stals, see she is properly dressed. She will be paid as junior nursemaid, and have a room to herself near the nursery.' Van Ritters dismissed them and went back to his desk.
tiisa knew she would have to make the best of her circumstances. There was no alternative. Mijnheer was the lord of her universe. She knew that if she tried to pit herself against his dictates her suffering would be endless. She set herself to win over Gertruda. It was not easy, for the younger girl was demanding and unreasonable. Not content with having Louisa as a slave during the day, she would scream for her in the night when she woke from a nightmare, or even when she wanted to use the chamber-pot. Always uncomplaining and cheerful, Louisa gradually won her over. She taught her simple games, sheltered her from the bullying of her brothers and sisters, sang to her at bedtime, or read her stories. When she was haunted by nightmares, Louisa crawled into her bed, took her in her arms and rocked her back to sleep. Gradually Gertruda abandoned the role of Louisa's tormentor. Her own mother had been a remote, veiled figure whose face she could not remember. Gertruda had found a substitute and she followed Louisa about with puppy like trust. Soon Louisa was able to control her wild tantrums, when she rolled howling on the floor, hurled her food against the wall or tried to throw herself out of the windows into the canal. Nobody had been able to do this before, but with a quiet word Louisa would calm her, then take her by the hand and lead her back to her room. Within minutes she was laughing and clapping her hands, and reciting the chorus of a children's rhyme with Louisa. At first Louisa felt only a sense of duty and obligation towards Gertruda, but slowly this turned to affection and then to a type of motherly
