‘Did Catharina lend you that dress and those ornaments?’ Maarten asks suddenly. ‘She must have done, for how else could a maid afford such a gown? Six guilders per yard on the exchange.’

Anna blinks, thrown by his line of questioning. ‘The dress was my mother’s,’ she murmurs. ‘I brought it with me from Amsterdam.’

‘And do you have plans to return?’ His voice is commanding; she can tell he is used to being obeyed.

‘I’m very happy living with the van Shurmans,’ she says. ‘My mistress has been painting again and fulfilling commissions. Master Crispijn seems pleased with her progress. I can’t imagine living anywhere else now.’

Her answer seems to disappoint him. ‘You ought not to sell yourself short. A good servant is worth their weight in gold, my mother always said.’

Anna stares. What does her employment with the van Shurmans have to do with him?

Footsteps echo in the hallway and Catharina appears in the doorway, Crispijn shadowing her.

‘There you are,’ she says, her brow wrinkled in irritation. She dabs her sweat-dampened forehead with an embroidered handkerchief. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere. It’s time to leave. The dancers have drunk themselves into a rotten stupor. They’ve set up gambling tables and their bets grow wilder by the second. I have no wish to lose all my money to some former English lord without a stuiver to his name.’

She takes one step into the room, then sees Maarten. A look of shock crosses her face, replaced swiftly by disgust. There is a terrible, awkward silence before Crispijn coughs and pushes past Catharina to stand between them, as if he half expects them to fly at each other, fists raised to strike.

‘Good evening, Maarten,’ he mutters, making the smallest of bows which Maarten doesn’t return.

‘You’ve met our new hireling,’ Crispijn says, nodding at Anna. ‘We’re grateful to God for sending Miss Tesseltje to us.’

Although Maarten’s gaze remains fixed on Catharina, he addresses the whole room. ‘Yes, we’ve met. I’ve just finished thanking her for her assistance with Blanche. She was having a choking fit. If Miss Tesseltje hadn’t come along, I fear my new wife might have suffered a terrible fate.’

‘Your wife?’ Catharina asks.

Seeming to remember herself, Blanche stumbles forward and sinks into a deep curtsey. Catharina stares down at her, eyebrows raised before folding her arms, looking scornful. ‘When I saw you earlier, I assumed she was your niece. Nobody here would marry you so you cast your net wider, did you? Where did you find her? In England? Did you pick her up in one of those infamous parliamentarian fire sales, along with a glut of the King’s paintings?’

‘I’m an officer now, Madam,’ Maarten says, stiffly. ‘And my wife is a Lady, the daughter of a former Earl. You might show us some respect. The Governor has chosen me for a special assignment. I’m to manage his estate in Sumatra. It’s a large plantation house, requiring good, hard-working staff as well as decoration. That’s why I’m here. I was tasked with securing a wealth of artworks and furnishings from the estate sales of exiled nobles. I have the furnishings. Now I need only secure the staff and I can return.’