Free The Golden Tulip by Rosalind Laker

his height and the breadth of his shoulders seemed to fill the whole doorway. Aware of being comely herself, she thrust out her breasts and smoothed her apron as she sauntered toward him, glad now that she was not trailing an old sack behind her.
    “Good day to you,
mejuffrouw,
” he said with a wide smile, holding a box out to her. “These are tulip bulbs for Master Visser. He ordered them at my market stall in the spring and asked for them to be delivered when it was time for planting. It was agreed there would be payment when they were delivered.”
    She took the box from him, knowing through long experience how to deal with those optimistic enough to expect ready cash for their goods, although she wished in this case she could have seen his account settled and gained a still wider smile from him. She liked the chiseled look of his facial bones that gave him such a striking countenance, the nose large, the jaw well set, and there was a tan to his complexion that came from the open air and the sunshine of the summer past.
    “What is your name,
mijnheer
?” she asked, as much out of her own curiosity as the need to convey it to her master. Then, when he had told her, she added, “The master is at work in the studio and can’t be disturbed.” It was a phrase that came glibly to her lips whether it happened to be true at the time or not. “I will tell him you were here.”
    This was the point when those who had had to wait overlong for payment in the past began to show aggressiveness and set a foot squarely in the door. This young man merely shrugged, his lively, clear brown eyes under the straight brows holding a twinkle she did not understand, for it was not directed flirtatiously at her, which she would have liked.
    “Very well,” he said casually. “I can’t call back today, but the account is in with the bulbs and I will collect the money next time.”
    She felt a sense of shame that she could not warn him he would probably have to come several times before he saw as much as a stiver. When creditors became ruthlessly demanding she could retaliate forcefully, seizing the first opportunity to slam the door in their faces, but she was certain that Pieter van Doorne was going to be a problem. He would remain polite but persistent, making it harder each time to turn him away without his just dues. Knowing the master, she was sure the most expensive bulbs to be had were in the box she had received. Although it was his personal debt, eventually it might prove to be a matter for Juffrouw Francesca to handle. Usually it was best to try to keep her out of it, because she would empty her own purse of whatever money she had, and it was always little enough.
    “I thank you for calling. Good day to you,
mijnheer.”
    As Pieter left by the way he had come, he smiled to himself. The maidservant had no idea how pleased he had been when she had not fetched a purse to pay him. If luck was with him he would meet the artist’s daughter the next time he called at the house.
    As he retraced his steps along the street, he felt stimulated by the first breath of October, which had left September behind only the day before. The linden trees by the canal were golden and some late blooms still persevered in the flower beds that ran parallel with the water. He had been born in Haarlem and his tulip fields lay southwest of the old town, but recently he had bought a house in Amsterdam. He had always felt at home in the city’s hustle and bustle, its salty atmosphere with ships in the harbor making a forest of masts as far as the eye could see. Trade had caused the city to explode with wealth, and a political crisis in the Spanish Netherlands had brought an influx of Jewish diamond merchants, making Amsterdam the diamond center of the world. The Hague was still the capital and the seat of government, but it was overshadowed by flourishing Amsterdam. It was here that the Dutch East and West India Companies had established rich trade routes