‘What happened to Griet?’ Anna says.

‘If I tell, you must promise never to mention it in my sister’s company. It will be our secret, yes?’ He pauses to consider his next words. ‘Her family were unhappy. They disapproved of her desire to learn the painter’s craft under Catharina’s guidance. She struck a deal with them, promised to marry one of her rich cousins if they allowed her to undertake a year’s apprenticeship first. A few months in, she wrote to inform them she’d changed her mind. She’d fallen in love and would not be coming home as planned. In response, her family sent some men to Sterrenwijck. They charged in around midnight and stole Griet away before anyone had a chance to stop them. I was in Antwerp at the time, but I understand from Catharina and Mrs Hartog that the experience was quite terrifying. The men were rough mercenaries, ex-VOC. No good would have come from confronting them. Henrick wanted to, but Catharina convinced him otherwise and I’m glad, for he’s too old for such things and would likely have been killed.’

‘God in Heaven,’ Anna murmurs. She conjures the thump of men’s boots on the stairs outside her bedroom, Catharina’s frightened face illuminated by a guttering candle, a woman’s muffled scream, trailing off into the dark.

‘Indeed.’ Crispijn touches his forehead, as if the memory pains him. ‘We’ve no idea where they took her. She hasn’t been seen in public since that night, not even in Delft where her family live. They refuse to answer any of my sister’s enquiries. I feel partially responsible. When I introduced Margriet to my sister at a musical gathering a few years ago, I little thought they would become so attached to one another.’

He falls silent as Catharina approaches, holding two goblets. A third is tucked in the crook of her elbow.

‘Here you are,’ she says, handing them out. ‘Dutch courage before we enter the fray.’

‘Miss Tesseltje doesn’t dance,’ Crispijn says, taking a long sip of wine.

‘That’s fortunate,’ Catharina says. ‘Neither of us can claim that excuse. Come, brother.’

They drain their glasses and she threads her arm through Crispijn’s and draws him towards the centre of the room. Anna watches the siblings take their place among the rows of dancers. Most of the guests seem happy to seize the opportunity to make merry, but a few, like Anna, drift instead to the sides of the room where they can observe the action undisturbed. As the dancers weave together, Anna glimpses the young woman she noticed earlier sitting beside an older male companion. The two are arguing. The man’s hand is clamped around the woman’s wrist and his face is contorted with rage. The girl seems to be hissing at him, defiant yet afraid. She tries to shake off his arm and, when that fails, rises up on the tips of her toes until they are roughly the same height. Anna cannot hear what she says, but the father looks shocked. He yanks the girl’s arm, pulling her so hard she stumbles. Anna’s heart lurches; she’s about to cry out when an elderly man in a moth-eaten tailcoat too large for his frame blunders into her sightline. By the time he’s moved off, the pair has disappeared.