‘The Abbess Mathilde is acquainted with me of old, and we have a great respect for each other, regardless of religion. I shall be honoured to do her and you a service if I may. And is this the young lady I must accompany?’

  The look of revulsion on her face demonstrated that she was not.

  ‘This is my elder daughter, Maria. We call her Marieke. It is my younger daughter Liese who has chosen to embrace the religious life. Marieke, perhaps you would ask your sister to come downstairs to greet our guest?’

  Marieke mounted the stairs with an ill-concealed lack of enthusiasm. I could see already that this was an unhappy house. Perhaps she disapproved of her pious sister’s choice, either for its own sake or because it had caused worry to their father.

  ‘Let us retire to the parlour,’ Den Uyl suggested. ‘My wife is already there and it will be warmer.’

  He steered me in the right direction by pointing with his staff and holding his other arm out, as if I were a sheep waiting to be penned. I led the way and found a woman sitting by the fire swathed in furs.

  ‘My dear, this is Dr Mercurius, of the University of Leiden, come to discuss with us the arrangements for dear Liese’s transport to the convent.’

  The poor woman tried to rise from her chair.

  ‘I pray you, remain seated,’ he said. ‘The good doctor will understand. My wife suffers from a weakness of the bones that makes standing difficult.’

  ‘Indeed, do not exert yourself on my account,’ I said.

  It crossed my mind that it must be a strong-willed daughter who would desert her mother in this state. Might it be that this was the cause of sisterly friction, as Marieke would be left to carry the burden unaided?

  The door opened and the sisters entered. Liese was a deal shorter than her sister, visibly younger, and rather darker in complexion and hair colour, but neither was unattractive.

  ‘You’ll stay to supper, I hope?’ said Den Uyl. ‘And you are welcome to sleep here if it is convenient for you.’

  ‘I had planned to return tonight,’ I said, quickly calculating whether Pegasus was capable of getting me home before dark — or, indeed, before the weekend.

  ‘The night is drawing in already,’ Den Uyl pointed out. ‘Let us prevail upon you to stay.’

  ‘I would be honoured,’ I said, bowing to the inevitable. ‘But my horse is tied up outside. Perhaps you would be kind enough to bring him in for the night?’

  ‘I will see to it,’ Marieke announced, and left to do so.

  ‘Liese, would you tell Cook that we are one more for supper?’ her father asked.

  While the sisters were gone, their mother asked an awkward question. ‘What can you tell us of the convent, Dr Mercurius?’

  ‘I regret that I have never been there, mevrouw,’ I answered. ‘The Abbess and I met at Maastricht. But a while ago I had occasion to recommend it to a woman who seems to be very happy there.’ Admittedly that might have been because her husband could not have entered to beat her again, but I glossed over that fact. ‘And I have every confidence that it will be well-run. The Abbess is a remarkable woman,’ I added.

  ‘I hear that she was formerly a noblewoman,’ said Den Uyl.

  ‘She was, the younger sister of the family, but renounced wealth and position to enter into the service of God. Very like your younger daughter.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not renouncing any wealth,’ Liese announced brightly as she re-entered the room. ‘There isn’t any for me. My sister is to marry soon and she will need a dowry. We haven’t enough for two.’

  ‘Liese!’ her mother growled.

  ‘Well, it’s true. But don’t worry, I’m not bitter about it. I just thought I should enter the convent now before people start asking awkward questions. I’m not vain enough to suppose that I should have many suitors, but it is as well to manage their expectations. Don’t you agree, Doctor?’

  I hate that sort of question. Agree, and you’re siding with a truculent daughter against her parents; disagree, and you’re in for a silent carriage ride all the way to Germany. Not to mention that if I stayed to work in the library, I should no doubt be subjected to withering looks from a distance, so I just held my peace.

  ‘Liese, it is most unfair of you to bring a guest into these discussions,’ her father insisted. ‘We will say no more of this. Your decision is made, for whatever reason, and reluctantly we have acquiesced. All that remains to be considered is the timing of the journey.’

  ‘You approve of me as your daughter’s escort, then?’ I asked.

  ‘Certainly,’ Den Uyl announced. ‘Most satisfactory. We could not ask for better.’

  ‘And you, juffrouw?’ I turned to Liese. ‘Are you content that I should accompany you?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I am my father’s obedient daughter.’

  Are you really? I asked myself.

  It was a simple supper, and none the worse for that. I am not a gourmand, and often content myself with bread and cheese or herring. On this occasion, we had some fish and cabbage, bread and apples, and some wine. I could not have put my finger on the reason for my notion, but I felt that this was a house where economies were having to be made. I could well believe Liese’s claim that they had money enough for only one dowry.

  Not being a father of daughters (or sons, for that matter) I had never really given much thought to dowries and the machinations that result from them. Poor families such as mine have no use for them. One marries out of affection, lust or desperation. But in grander families there is an expectation that daughters will be sent into marriage with a dowry.

  Some say that it is money paid to the bride in anticipation of her future inheritance, while others say that it is a bribe paid to the groom to take a daughter off one’s hands. Either way, it will finish up in the groom’s pocket. Given that the groom is unlikely to be rich himself, unless his father has already died and he is the heir, the dowry is important in setting the young couple’s home up. A woman who comes with a substantial dowry is much more marriageable and therefore have a wider choice of suitors; which in turn means that if she chooses well (which means if her father chooses well, because you cannot leave decisions of this importance to young women, or so I am told) she assures her good fortune for the whole of her life. By this means rich young women marry rich young men and their families become richer.

  I have no idea what sums were involved in this case, but common sense would dictate that giving Marieke a thousand guilders would ensure a better marriage for her than if each daughter were given five hundred guilders. Liese would lose out, but that was inevitable if Marieke was to be given the best opportunity. I sympathised with the younger sister, but I also had some feeling for her father. It could not have been easy to make that decision, as any man would prefer good dowries for all his daughters.

  The chamber I was given for the night was comfortable, and I soon settled into bed. I had not brought a book, which was a great regret to me, and I could not find one in the room, so I closed my eyes and was soon asleep. I had a vivid dream that night. I dreamed that I had been given a large sum to hold as Liese’s dowry, and had unwisely gambled it on Pegasus to win a race against all the other horses of Pijnacker, which caused me to wake with a start. How glad I was that it was not true!

  Den Uyl and I had agreed that on the following Saturday his daughter would come to Leiden in his carriage. He would ride alongside on a horse to hand her into my care, and then we would continue in the carriage to the convent. The carriage would then return, since I had said that I was willing to make my own arrangements for my return to Leiden. It would be unreasonable to keep the carriage from him for the whole summer, after all.

  The prospect of a good library was enticing. Indeed, I do not think I would have undertaken the task without that particular carrot dangled before me.

  Whom am I kidding? If Abbess Mathilde had asked, I would have walked over hot coals.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The carriage arrived on Saturday morning, and the carriage driver found a porter who in turn found me. Together we manhandled my chest down to the roadside, at which point the carriage driver took over to load it on the shelf of the carriage.

  ‘What have you got in here?’ he muttered, prefaced by a most vulgar expression.

  ‘A few books,’ I said.

  It would not do to run out of reading material on the journey, although I feared that I might be expected to make polite conversation much of the way. I need not have worried; getting a word in proved to be a substantial challenge where Liese den Uyl was concerned. I occasionally felt like offending her just to provoke a period of sulky silence.

  As for Liese, she seemed to have packed most of the contents of her parents’ house in her trunks. Notwithstanding any expectations of a life of poverty, chastity and obedience, she clearly defined poverty rather more loosely than many of us would have done. I could only hope her understanding of chastity and obedience were not as elastic.

  The driver believed that our journey should take between eight and ten days, depending on the road conditions.

  ‘It’s dry enough, God be thanked,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want to try it after heavy rains. The Germans don’t keep their roads in great condition and we have to pass through a lot of woodland. Once it’s wet underfoot there it’s the devil to get it to dry out, begging your pardon, Master.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll make all possible speed,’ I assured him. If not I might have to sit beside him to escape the constant chatter. For reasons that escape me, Liese seemed to believe that I was well informed on the fashions of the ladies of The Hague, although I only went there when summoned by the Stadhouder and left as soon as I could. Anyway, after asking my opinion on gloves, enquiring whether I thought her left shoe needed some repair and where we might have it done, and giving me altogether too much information about ladies’ underthings, she seemed to accept that I was not the repository of much knowledge on these matters.

  At the start of the second day we were compelled to take a ferry between Leimuiden and Oude Wetering. On any other occasion this would have caused no difficulty, but the ferryman was concerned that the horses and carriage were so heavy that he would be unable to take anyone else. The villain even suggested that we should leave our trunks behind for a second trip. I may be unworldly, but even I know that we would never have seen them again if we had done so.

  He had the audacity to say that since he would lose custom by taking us, we should pay a surcharge. He thought double the usual fee would suffice.

  ‘There are no other passengers waiting,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Well, they can see that there isn’t room for them. They’re probably in the inn.’

  ‘In that case I will go to the inn and ask who is waiting. And if there is nobody, I will expect you to take us for the usual price and without delay.’

  Suiting action to the word, I marched into the inn, which was deserted apart from the landlord, who immediately attempted to sell me a second breakfast. Returning to the ferry, I found a man there who claimed he wanted to cross.

  ‘He’s not very big,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Ah, but he’s the straw that breaks the donkey’s back,’ said the ferryman.

  The coachman, whose name, I now discovered, was Frans, called me over and whispered something to me. I returned to the fray with my new information.

  ‘This man is your brother.’

  ‘Well, what if he is? He still wants to cross the river.’

  ‘Where are you going, my good man?’ I demanded.

  The new arrival stuttered a bit, and then threw a village name at me.

  ‘That’s back there,’ said Frans, pointing back the way we had come. ‘We passed through it yesterday evening.’

  ‘I have had enough of this,’ I declared.

  Habitual readers of my memoirs will recall that the Stadhouder once gave me a letter saying that I was acting on his behalf and must not be impeded. He had never asked me to return it, and I carry it with me around the Low Countries. I now produced it.

  ‘This is my commission from the Stadhouder,’ I announced.

  ‘I can’t read,’ the ferryman claimed.

  ‘Then I will fetch someone who can.’

  The innkeeper could read a bit, but his daughter was better at it.

  ‘It says he’s the Stadhouder’s man and anyone who stops him carrying out his duties will go to jail,’ she said.

  The ferryman was unconvinced. ‘So I should lose income to suit the whim of some nob?’

  ‘I am empowered to buy your ferry off you at a fair price,’ I said, because my temper was beginning to fray, which is an unusual occurrence. [Van der Meer lost his place in the document when he slipped off his stool. He must have let his mind wander.] I fished in my pouch. ‘Ten stuivers seems about right to me. There you are. This is now my ferry.’

  ‘Ten stuivers? Daylight robbery!’

  ‘He can do it,’ the innkeeper’s daughter insisted.

  The ferryman reluctantly loaded us up and ferried us to the opposite bank. By the time we had disembarked I had calmed down a bit. ‘I have no further need for the ferry,’ I announced. ‘I’ll sell it back to you for ten stuivers.’

  ‘Five,’ he said. ‘There’s no other offer.’

  ‘If you only offer me five, then I may as well give it to the innkeeper’s daughter for free.’

  He handed me back my ten stuivers. I then paid him his usual fare. The blackguard next held out his hand for a gratuity. Frans stepped forward and gave him a couple of coppers. As we moved away, I expressed my displeasure to Frans.

  ‘You should not reward such villainy!’ I said.

  ‘Indeed not, Master. But I only gave him three stuivers and I took them from his pouch while we were crossing.’

  On a long carriage journey it is important to keep the horses fresh. It is possible to exchange them at various points, but you can never be sure that the horses you receive are the equal of those you leave, and although you can specify that you will collect yours again on your return, some unscrupulous stablemasters will attempt an imposture or simply say that they do not know where your horses have gone. In any event, the horses in this case were not my property, nor the coachman’s, nor Liese’s, so we would not have felt at liberty to make any arrangement with respect to them. For this reason the distance we could cover each day was limited, and it soon became clear that we were more likely to need ten days than eight.

  That was even before we came to the second inn. We proposed to have our main meal after dark, while the horses were unharnessed and resting, and a smaller repast around midday while the horses recovered. In the event Liese found herself unable to meet this plan. If a village or town boasted more than one inn, we had to look at them all so that she could make a selection. Having made our choice, we would select a table — again a matter for prolonged debate in some taverns — and then listen to the landlord describe the fare on offer.

  ‘You have no fowl, then?’ she would say.

  ‘Not today, juffrouw.’

  ‘Pity. I am not in the mood for pork. Perhaps some eggs?’

  ‘I’ll ask in the kitchen.’

  ‘If you would, please.’

  She would not eat shellfish because they once had an unfortunate effect on her digestive system, which she described at length and in appallingly graphic detail, so that I had to ask the coachman to pull up to let me walk around in the fresh air for a few minutes.

  Not many country inns boast two private rooms, so at night any available private room had to be assigned to Liese while the coachman and I slept in whatever other space was free. Near Hilversum I slept on a large table, at least until I rolled off and woke myself up, not to mention the coachman, who was asleep on the floor beside it until I landed on him. In the circumstances I overlooked his insubordinate language.

  The shared experience of managing a young lady forged an unlikely bond between us. I particularly recall a conversation we had while standing outside the carriage while Liese went into the bushes behind us.

  ‘You’re a very patient gentleman, if I may speak so boldly, Master,’ said Frans.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘It must be the religion,’ he continued, ‘for I’d have said a few words I shouldn’t by now if she wasn’t my boss’s daughter.’

  ‘Religion teaches us to try to emulate the best qualities of Our Lord,’ I answered. ‘However difficult we may find it sometimes.’

  ‘I try to keep the Ten Commandments,’ Frans told me. ‘I don’t worship any other gods, and I was never cheeky to my parents. I don’t steal or murder or lie about what my neighbour has been doing.’

  ‘What about making graven images or idols?’

  ‘I’m no good at woodwork. Anyhow, I only get the occasional Sunday afternoon off, and I keep it holy. What’s left?’

  ‘Taking the name of God in vain.’

  ‘I might have done that once or twice,’ he conceded. ‘But I always apologise afterwards.’

  ‘You mustn’t covet your neighbour’s wife, or his donkey, or anything else that is his.’

  ‘Yes, I’m good there. Not a big coveter, never was.’

  ‘And you shall not commit adultery.’

  ‘The lady’s finished. Shall we get back in the carriage?’

  On the fourth evening we came to the village of Garderen. I calculated that we had only covered a third of our journey by then, but Liese was tired and demanded that we stop. I was walking around looking for an inn when I was hailed by the local Reformed minister who spoke very politely to me, declared himself delighted to meet a fellow clergyman, and invited us to stay at his house.