'I think he's still there.'
'Did you actually see him?'
'I'm not sure,' replied Beatrix. 'But I sense that he's out there.'
'He has been every other day this week. Today should be no different.' Amalia bunched her fists. 'Why is he watching the house? I feel as if I'm a prisoner here.'
'I'm worried about Kees. He's been gone a long time.'
'The market is some distance away.'
'He should have been back by now.'
'He'll have a heavy basket to slow him down.'
'Oh, I hope we don't lose him as well, Miss Amalia,' said Beatrix, turning to face her. 'It's bad enough that your father has gone astray.'
'He's not gone astray, Beatrix. He's been deliberately taken from us and the worst of it is that I have no idea why. You couldn't meet anyone as mild or harmless as Father. He wouldn't hurt a soul.'
'It looks as if somebody might have hurt him!'
'Don't say that,' scolded Amalia. 'We must never give up hope. Even in Paris, the name of Emanuel Janssen compels respect. His reputation has reached every corner of Europe.'
'That may be the trouble, Miss Amalia.'
'What do you mean?'
'Some people might be very jealous of him.'
'Who could be jealous of my father? He's the kindest man in the world. Even his rivals like him. He has no enemies.'
'We're Dutch,' said Beatrix, morosely, 'and Holland is at war with France. We're bound to have enemies.'
'Yet we've lived here for months without any mishap. This is a beautiful, big house and the streets around here are safe to walk in. When people knew what we were doing here, they gave us a welcome. Father is weaving a tapestry by royal appointment.'
'Does the King know that he's disappeared?'
'He must do, Beatrix.'
Amalia wrung her hands. In the time they'd been in Paris, they'd settled into a comfortable routine. While her father and Dopff, his assistant, worked at the loom, she and Beatrix looked after the house. Janssen visited Versailles occasionally to report on progress and to meet some of the other tapestry- makers employed there. Amalia had been thrilled when she had been invited to join her father at a royal garden party. She had never been to such a glittering event and had stared in awe at the ostentation on display. It was an overwhelming spectacle. French nobles and their wives brought a colour and vivacity that made Amsterdam seem dull and lifeless by comparison. When she saw Louis XIV in his finery, moving like a god around the exquisite gardens and acting as a cynosure, she understood why he was called the Sun King. The heady experience had remained a happy memory until now. Suddenly, a dark shadow had been cast over their whole stay in France.
'I thought it was wrong at the start,' grumbled Beatrix. 'We should never have come here. We belong in Amsterdam.'
'Father couldn't refuse such an offer, Beatrix.'
'We betrayed our country.'
'You mustn't think that,' said Amalia, earnestly 'because it's not what happened. Try to remember what my father told you. Art has no boundaries. French painters, musicians and tapestry- makers have worked in our country many times. Why shouldn't someone from Amsterdam work here?'
Beatrix said nothing. It was not her place to argue with her mistress, especially at a time when she was in such distress. It was her job to offer succour. Amalia had grown to like Paris and learn enough French to hold a conversation but their servant had always felt uneasy there. In view of what had now happened, Beatrix was even more perturbed. They were foreigners and being treated as such. She yearned for the security of their home in Amsterdam.
'Let me take a turn at the window,' said Amalia, changing places with her. 'Perhaps I can catch a glimpse of him.'
'I think he stays there all night, Miss Amalia — or someone does. I can feel their eyes watching me.'
Standing back from the shutters, Amalia looked down the street to the nearby corner. People walked to and fro, a horseman trotted by then a cart rumbled past. There was no sign of anyone keeping the house under surveillance. After keeping her vigil for ten minutes, she felt confident that the man was no longer there and she stepped forward to put her head out through the window. It was a grave mistake. The moment she showed herself, a burly figure came around the corner and looked directly up at her as if issuing a challenge. When their eyes met, Amelia felt sick. She had never seen anyone look at her with such malevolence before. His smile was so menacing that it made her flesh creep. She jumped quickly back into the room.
'What is it, Miss Amelia?' asked Beatrix, worriedly.
'He's there.'
'Are you sure?'
'See for yourself,' said Amalia.
Taking care not to get too close to the window, Beatrix gazed down into the street. It was completely empty now. She looked in both directions but saw nobody.
'There's not a soul in sight,' she said.
'He's hiding around the corner.'
'Was it the same man as usual?'
'Yes, Beatrix. He gave me such a fright.'
'Well, he's not there now,' said the servant. 'Wait!' she added as someone came around the corner. She relaxed at once and let out a laugh of relief. 'It's only Kees, back from the market.'
'You'd better go down and let him in.'
Beatrix went out of the room and clattered noisily down the oak staircase. Left alone, Amalia brooded. The brief confrontation with the man outside had shaken her. His eyes had been dark pools of evil. Even though Dopff was back, she didn't feel safe. What troubled her was the thought that the disappearance of her father and the presence of the sinister man outside were in some way linked. She was overcome by a sense of hopelessness. Something else gnawed away at her mind. It was the realisation that her father, who had always been so honest with her, had deceived her.
In the event of anything untoward occurring, he had told her, she was to send word to an address in another part of Paris. At the time, she believed he was referring to an accident that might befall him or a disease he might contract. Her father's words now took on a different construction. It was almost as if he knew that he might be in danger. Amalia had obeyed his command. On the day that he failed to return from Versailles, she had dispatched Dopff with a letter to the address she'd been given. Explaining that her father was now missing, she begged for assistance. Over a week later, she was still waiting. Amalia was in such anguish that she opened her mouth to let out a silent cry of despair.
'Will nobody come to help us?'
Daniel Rawson had crossed the French border with ease. Pacing his horse carefully, he had reached Reims by nightfall and took a room at an inn. Having shed his uniform, he was now posing as a French wine merchant on his way to Paris, and he was dressed accordingly. Some travellers staying at the inn were also heading for the capital so he joined them for safety. His perfect command of the language allowed him to pass for a Frenchman and his knowledge of wines was good enough for him to discuss the subject at length. His companions, a dozen in number, were a mixed bunch. Three were merchants, two were musicians, one was a farmer, two were bankers, each with their wives, and the remaining two were former soldiers, returning to Paris in search of work.
Though Daniel would have liked it to go faster, the convoy kept up a reasonable speed. He spoke to as many of the others as he could and was interested to hear their views of the war.
They came in sharp contradiction to the opinions held in the Allied camp. He was irritated when one of the soldiers held forth about the way that Marshal Villeroi had forced the enemy into a hasty retreat from the River Yssche but Daniel said nothing. To all intents and purposes, he was one of them. When they broke their journey at
