Chapter Ten

Mijnheer de Tailly and her ladies circled Anne, flicking and flapping fabrics, swirling and spinning strings of jewels.

‘Marvellous. That stomacher, with the diamonds and the rose embroidery should cover those stays, yes, and the green overskirt, too …’ Hendrika handed the skirt to one of her ladies and laughed as she went to pick up her wine. ‘Well, darling, you know I can’t pin anything to save my life! You’ll have to do it, you do for me! Do it all! Let’s see you transform the urchin into a glorious creature. I wish we had Rubens here! Look at her skin! That fabulous blonde hair! Look at her bright blue eyes! Look at her innocence!’

The ladies pushed and prodded and Anne wondered why she’d bothered trying to fold herself up to see her face in a door handle when she could’ve waited half an hour and not try at all. Here the mirror showed her everything and, as a multitude of pins went into her costume, she watched her transformation with wonder. ‘Anne, sweetling, stay still and we’ll get these on in no time.’

‘Anne, lovely child, lift your arms.’

‘Anne, darling girl, bend your neck.’

‘Anne, do turn around.’

They tightened stays around her and lifted her little chest and laughed for her lack of bosom, but they were not too unkind, and she did not take it badly. All three ladies were merry, for they smelled strongly of wine, and fussed and played with her until Anne felt like a doll. ‘As for her hair, what to do?’

‘It will grow out.’

‘Of course, it will and, it’ll be luscious gold, will it not?’

‘Here’s my own cap of finest Antwerpern lace, let that be pinned, just so … ‘

In the end, Anne stood before herself in the glass as though she were a grown up and certainly not a nun. The result was fascinating. She couldn’t stop looking at herself. Her pale neck was decorated with a gauzy ruff framing her face, while her chest was covered in the finest of lace fabric to cover her faint décolletage. The stays pressed her front flat and the cream silk stomacher, embroidered with curls of stems patterned with tiny roses and leaves, joined, and contrasted with the pink bodice. The over-gown was pink silk, lifted and patterned by attached bows along the front edge. The underskirt, flowing down from the base of the stomacher, was fine silk embroidered with stem patterns in a pale pink. They had pinned on pink sleeves and lacey cuffs. Although the ladies admired her colour, they’d put some purple paint on her cheeks and lips and done strange things around her eyes. She didn’t look like herself at all. She looked like a small version of Hendrika.

And that, thought Anne, realising suddenly, was exactly what the ladies had been aiming for. Hendrika stood beside her and beamed with happiness. ‘Oh, yes, darling, that is right. That’s very good indeed, you do look a picture. Oh, I’ve just thought of something! I wonder what would happen if I asked the Prioress if I may adopt you? Wouldn’t that be the best of amusements?’

The ladies looked at Hendrika and laughed and laughed and agreed completely! It would be altogether too, too, marvellous!

‘Like a little daughter, don’t you think, ladies? Like a daughter. Like the child I never had. The child I could still have. My child. Anne. Do you think? What do you say? Would you like to be my child? No. No. Don’t answer that. Not right away. Think about it. Think about it. We can go, back to Bruges, as soon as you like, we can be a little family. You can have everything you like. Anything! You can learn painting and music and go about with me, and people would say oh, no! You two simply cannot be mother and daughter! You must be sisters and that’s what we’ll say, we’ll laugh and laugh and say, yes! We are sisters!’

Anne looked at Hendrika’s reflection in the mirror next to hers and said, ‘Can I bring Jeanette and Claude?

‘Jeanette and Claude? What are they?’

‘My sister and brother?’

‘But I thought you were an orphan?’

‘I still have my siblings.’

‘My dear, no, this is just for you. You and me. I’ll be your mother and your sister. And you’ll be so blissfully happy with me you’ll forget all about this place. And we can dress you in silk and lace and embroideries every day and you might even have … a pony! What do you think of that? A pony!’

A pony. Anne was thrilled. She imagined herself talking to a shining creature, who would reach out her nose to talk to her … but then she thought of Claude. And Jeanette. And then weighed the pony light against her siblings.

‘A pony! Imagine!’

‘Not everyone has such generosity of spirit, such kindness, such beneficence, such Christian charity, oh, think of it, all the extraordinary things you can provide for the poor little orphan, Hendrika.’

‘How lucky … ‘

‘Anne. Thank you for coming here today. You see, you don’t have to be a nun. But, dear child, you do have to know how the world operates. How the world, particularly men, sees people from the outside. You need to know, if you look wonderful, you’ll be treated wonderfully! Isn’t that obvious? And now, you’re going to make the most of your looks and I’m the one to help you. If you will have power to control how other people see you and react to you, then you need to be ready.’

Anne felt stunned by this barrage of dreams. She absorbed Hendrika’s exhortations with all her attention, feeling dizzy with this much admiration. Still, the woman would not stop. She went on and on and Anne listened and drank it all in.

‘I’ve no doubt at all you could easily find happiness with a man on this earth, have a family, live as high a status as your face will allow. You’re blessed, my dear girl, with a beauty rarely seen in this part of the world, and I wager, rarely seen anywhere. And yet, I believe you’ve been told by those selfish nuns that your best, and only, option is to marry Christ? I fear they don’t have your best interests at heart. I fear they may not wish you well. Because I think they’re depriving the world of a rare and precious creature. But we won’t let them, will we? We’ll release you from this spiritual prison and you’ll erupt like a vision!’

Anne stared at this miracle with astonishment. She wasn’t a cute cherub. She preferred to dress in boys clothing and practice sword fighting. How could she possibly go to Bruges with this glittering butterfly? She would. Of course, she would. She’d do anything Hendrika told her to do. And she’d do it twice.

But for Jeanette. And Claude. Would she be able to write to them? And send them gifts? She became aware of Hendrika continuing to extoll the virtues of her plan, which Anne agreed, was extremely attractive.

‘You must visit Paris, my darling child. We’ll go. You and me. We’ll travel in a boat upon the Seine. You’ll see the Louvre, where the little King sits under his Mother’s instruction. You’ll see the world, my darling child. We’ll travel everywhere! Amsterdam with all the canals and bridges, and Antwerpen with the bookshops, and Rubens! You must meet Rubens! I’ll write to him at once. I’ll get him to paint you, oh yes! He’ll paint us together. Perhaps it would be beautiful now but later, yes, in ten years or so, he’ll be paying you attention. Every artist will. Society will be knocking down doors just to see you.’

Anne was overwhelmed. And sad. And uncomfortable. She couldn’t stop thinking of Jeanette and Claude. Many pins were sticking into her. She couldn’t even sit down.

The ladies all murmured ‘What a lucky, lucky girl.’

A strong knocking pounded on the door. The little maid entered, closely followed by Marie Therese. There was no announcing her. The thin, bent nun latched her dark fire eyes on Anne and said, ‘Get those clothes off.’

The ladies in waiting looked at Hendrika who smiled at Marie Therese and said, ‘Do you not think she looks marvellous?’

Without saying ‘no’, Marie Therese managed very clearly to spell out her disapproval. ‘She missed None. She must attend Vespers.’

The ladies began to reverse their magic spell and unwind the sleeves from Anne’s thin arms, scratching her with at least seventeen pins in the process. They unpinned the ruff, a wisp of a creation that weighed nothing except for the pins that kept it all on the neck braid. Then there was the lace head cover, the bodice, the stomacher, the over-skirt, the stays, and the petticoat, all removed, folded, and tidied away.

Anne watched Marie Therese, unforgiving and humourless, grown impatient with all these feathers, fussings, and furbelows, sort through the clothes and things on the day bed, looking for Anne’s humble, much washed, and darned items of clothing. The bodice. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes,’ said Anne.

She held up the pocket. ‘Is this yours?’

‘Yes, Marie Therese,’ said Anne, putting out her hand to take it. As she collected it, she felt the crinkle of paper. The pamphlets. Oh, Blessed Lord in Heaven. She still had the pamphlets. As the realisation hit her, some of that shock and dismay must have registered on her face.

Marie Therese also noticed, for, without pause, she took the pocket back and opened it. She pulled the papers out, one by one, and looked at their dramatic covers. ‘What. Are. These?’

Anne was silenced. She was so frightened she became pure fear. There was nothing in her mind but terror. She tried to open her mouth but couldn’t speak.

Marie Therese could. She said, ‘I asked you a question.’

Anne looked up at the tertiary nun and experienced a kind of shrinking perspective where Marie Therese seemed to grow taller and loom above her. The imposing spectre opened her elongated mouth and demanded again, ‘What? Are? These?’

Anne shook her head. She could not get air into her lungs. She opened her mouth but closed it again.

‘Who would draw such pictures?’ Marie Therese looked around the room for an explanation.

Hendrika laughed and said, ‘Oh, Marie Therese, surely, they’re not that bad. I suppose they’re mine, you know. The little girl was just looking after them for me.’

Marie Therese willingly thrust them toward the noblewoman with an outshooting arm so fast and strong it was like an arrow. ‘Is that your work?’

Anne watched the noblewoman, her adoptive mother and sister, so full of joy and confidence take the papers, just papers after all, and gaily bend her eye to them. The gaiety soon changed to disbelief. She’d not ever seen such things either, by her expression. Hendrika looked at Anne with something like the face she might have made if Anne had turned into a huge bat with open mouth and large sharp teeth flying to snarl in her hair. She opened her mouth and uttered a squeak, almost the beginnings of a scream but thought better of it. She thrust her arm back at Marie Therese as though she were punching the bat in the teeth. ‘I have never, ever, seen the like of these before.’ She turned to Anne and demanded, ‘Where on earth … ?’

Marie Therese grabbed the papers and stared at Anne.

Anne found a little voice, barely strong enough to whimper, ‘Found them in the library.’

‘Liar.’ Marie Therese did not look at anyone but Anne. She dragged her out of the room, down the corridors and bumped her down the stairs to the cupboard in the hallway where the irons were kept. She dressed Anne in clothes of chain. So recently had Hendrika’s glittering finery disappeared Anne fancied she was back in the hands of the ladies-maids, but Marie Therese was by no means gentle as she fastened the locks from belt to arms and then the leg irons. She dragged her down the stairs, out of the building, over the gardens, into the dark hole.

In the dark. In the stench. Anne bruised, legs locked together, arms linked to a belt of chain. Her ankles hurt where the irons rubbed against the skin. She’d give anything to be scratched by mere pins now.

Jeanette wouldn’t know what happened to her. She’d promised to talk to her after supper. And now Jeanette wouldn’t know where she was. She’d be looking for her.

Anne felt sure she’d be adopted. She’d be saved. Hendrika had told her she would go to Bruges. That’s what she said. She could have anything. Anything at all. Even a pony. She’d be rescued.

But that did not stop the hot tears.

Nothing stopped her crying.

Hours later Marie Therese opened the door.

Anne hid her eyes from the light.

Marie Therese dragged her to the laundry. She removed the chain belt but kept her restrained. She stripped her, splashed her with water, scrubbing and rubbing her bruised scratched skin hard with rags as though she were a dirty donkey. She felt dirty. Marie Therese told her how dirty she was. And still she was not clean. Marie Therese scrubbed and rubbed at her painted face until Anne was sure she had no skin left.

The nun dried her, put a shift on her, and replaced the waist chain.

Then she dragged her across the garden and into the public building, into the Mother’s office. She dragged her before the Mother. And then she left Anne, still in her leg irons, standing still. Anne tried to stand up straight, but she was shivering with cold, and she had eaten nothing for a long time. And she knew Marie Therese stood just behind her.

The Mother was seated at the big table in the meeting room of her office. The pamphlets were laid out in a semi-circle in front of her.

The Prioress looked at Anne with some sympathy.

Anne began to feel for hope.

The Mother pushed the pamphlets across the table nearer to Anne. ‘Tell me. What are these?’

‘I don’t know, Mother.’

‘What are they about?’

‘I had no time to read them.’

‘Where did you get them?’

‘In the library. When we moved the bookcase.’

Claude came in the door. He stopped in surprise to see Anne. He looked concerned but there was nothing else he could do.

Marie Therese indicated he should stand to the left of Anne.

Anne could not smile at him although she tried.

‘Claude. We’ve asked you here on a serious matter.’ The Mother asked him, ’Have you ever seen these?’ She indicated the pamphlets, still lying on the table, pushed towards Anne.

Claude looked at them for a short time and his back stiffened. Anne could tell he was calculating what was the best thing for him to say. He ventured, ‘No,’ and looked at once to Anne to check if he had said the right thing.

Anne tried to help. ‘But he was busy with Maynard when I was cleaning—’

Marie Therese slapped the back of Anne’s head and said, ‘Quiet.’

Anne thought the Mother may have looked exasperated by Marie Therese’s violence but the way she looked at Anne was much more devastating. Anne could see she was disillusioned. This was something Anne never wanted to see again. Anne couldn’t bear to see the Mother disappointed. It made her tears roll again.

The Mother took in a heave of air and sighed out. ‘Claude. Tell me about moving the bookcase in the library.’

‘It was heavy, and we all had to work together to push. Maynard did most. We left it facing the other shelf to prevent it getting dirty.’

‘And then?’

‘Then, Pierre and I helped Maynard stack the wood for the floor upstairs.’

‘What was Anne doing?’

‘Mother, you know after the fire there’d been all that sand and stuff thrown everywhere. And some of it was still wet and smelled bad. So, she had to work hard cleaning.’

‘But Claude, did you see these there?’

Claude looked uncertainly at Anne before he answered, ‘No.’

‘You were busy.’

‘True, Mother. Anne was working sweeping by herself. We never even looked at her.’

‘What did you think when you found them, Anne?’

‘I didn’t want the others to see them.’

‘Why not?’

‘They were bad pictures.’

‘You put them in your pocket to savour them later by yourself?’

‘I forgot about them!’

‘How could you forget something like these?’

‘Because I had other things to think about.’

‘Like what?’

Anne rapidly thought about Maynard and Jeanette and the owl and Jan and the sword and the beating and tried to filter out what might be suitable for the Mother and Marie Therese to hear, ‘I had to go to prayers, to eat, and mainly, about when I will be adopted.’

The Mother said, ‘Adopted?’

Marie Therese jeered, ‘You?’

Claude echoed, ‘Adopted?’ He looked stunned.

The Mother raised her eyebrow. “By whom?’

‘Hendrika de Tailly. She told me she’d take me to Bruges.’

Marie Therese laughed. A harsh bark of a laugh. There was no cheer in her face. ‘She lied.’

Anne stared at her, a meeting of dread emotion between them.

‘Your precious Hendrika left this morning.’ The nun grimaced in some facial expression that should be a smile but wasn’t. ‘Without you.’

Anne gasped, ‘But—

The Mother tried to intervene, ‘Anne … ‘

‘I told you. You must listen to me!’ Marie Therese continued, ‘Never trust anyone. Ever.’

Anne was overcome. She had believed Hendrika. Something cracked in her chest. Now she would not be adopted. She wouldn’t be going to Bruges. She wouldn’t be going to Paris. She looked at Claude, grateful to have her little family but …

She looked at The Mother. The disappointment was still writ large in the soft mallow face.

Anne felt dizzy. She couldn’t breathe. She tried to take in air but …

Everything went white and faint.

Anne heard the Mother say, ‘Anne … ‘

And then there was nothing.