‘I have tried to teach him the same humane beliefs my husband and I subscribe to, but I fear a child is born with his nature already formed.’
‘Indeed, but there are graver matters afoot.’
Spinoza closes both the shutters and the door. ‘You know the Orangists have arrested Cornelius de Witt?’
‘Even an ailing midwife knows this. It disgusts me, it is a trumped-up charge. Cornelius would never have plotted against the life of Prince William. Suddenly all these so-called Republicans are blaming the de Witts for France invading Utrecht. Have people no loyalty?’
‘People have short memories when they are terrified of suddenly finding themselves on the wrong side of a bursting dam. Since the attack against Jan de Witt and the proclamation of William as Stadtholder, I fear the next step will be the assassination of our brave leader and a purging of all who support him. We must be careful, my friend. Hide your books, your pamphlets, your writings. It is more important that we survive to speak out again than die silenced martyrs.’
‘I shall be discreet.’
She breaks into another coughing fit, this time more severe. When she has finished, her handkerchief is bloodstained. Spinoza, rising in alarm, pours her a glass of water.
‘You have medication?’
Ruth nods, but her face has a new tautness, the skin beneath her eyes shadowy and blue.
‘I must leave you to rest. I shall visit again with Jan Rieuwertsz when this summer storm has passed and it is safe to walk the streets wearing the colours of the Republic.’
After he has gone, she collapses on the bed, fever pumping at her temples and in the veins of her wrists.
Published at last, she thinks, as exhilaration tears at her agitated body. Her work is to be recognised, to be of assistance to hundreds of women in the future. It is an impossibility come true. If only she could recover her strength, if not for herself then for her child. Perhaps they will be able to afford a warmer dwelling, a tutor even. Jacob must find a livelihood, a profession that will secure his adulthood. Perhaps she can capitalise on the publication, obtain a small teaching post…? As whom? She laughs at herself—Felix van Jos? She has forgotten her sex again. She must be practical, she must…
Fighting delirium, she tries to clarify her waltzing thoughts, new hopes that refuse to stand still but dance like raindrops splashing onto a sundial while the shadows of time turn regardless.
‘…the baby that will not descend should not be forced. A birthing hook that tears open the matrix will result in the death of both mother and child if it should be made of wood and iron. There is a gentler alternative, a loop of cat gut thickened with wax…’
‘Jacob, will you stop your foolishness!’
Ruth, bent over the small desk, quill in hand, pauses mid-sentence, her pale face shiny with strain. Jacob, who is pushing a whirligig around the room, looks at her, his hand hovering over the toy.
‘You are too old for such childish things,’ she tells him, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.
‘Jacob, sullen, pushes his lip out then kicks the toy into the corner.
‘But, Mama, you said I couldn’t go out to play.’
Ruth lifts herself with difficulty. She is thinner, her skirts hang loose around her hips and beneath her smock her collarbone is a severe arch rising out of a gaunt breast. She looks at her son: the petulant pout she recognises as her own, but it is Detlef’s obstinacy which hangs over the child like a cloud.
‘Come here, I will show you something to amuse you.’
‘No! I am bored! I can’t stay here all the time. It is Rutger’s birthday, you said I could go!’
‘Jacob, you know it is too dangerous.’
‘Why?’
‘Because they have arrested Jan de Witt himself. I explained all this before…’
‘But what does that mean to us?’
Jacob, I am weary. I am only trying to protect you. Come here, I will show you something wonderful.’
Reluctantly, the boy shuffles over to her. For a week now they have been trapped in the small lodging rooms while outside street brawls rage between the Orangists and the Republicans. Battles which began when the young Prince William of Orange finally rebelled against his protector and ordered the arrest of Jan de Witt, the leader of the Republic.
Ruth pulls the magnifying lens towards her then carefully tips a live aphid from a vial onto a glass slide and places the insect beneath the lens.
Jacob climbs onto his mother’s knee. The child is already too big and heavy for her but Ruth smiles into his hair. She has grown to relish moments like this when Jacob, locked in an internal struggle between the restless detachment of boyhood and the need for his mother, reverts to his younger self.