A white, keloid scar over her left eyebrow was the only outward indication of any physical damage, but the story of her fate echoed inside my head. If I lifted her woollen tunic, would I find her celluloid skin peeled back, the soft flesh ruptured by the deadly tip of a spear? When she ran out onto that muddy battlefield for the last time, did she have any inkling what the future might bring? Did she pray to some higher power to grant her immortality, sensing that her remains would one day inspire this modern curio of plastic skin and teeth? Maja’s bones had lain hidden for a thousand years until a team of people prised them out of the earth and set about piecing together the clues of her life and death. Anna Tesseltje and Catharina van Shurman died so long ago, their bones were nothing but dust. A silk dress was all that connected them to each other and to the world of 17th-century Holland. Liam might be happy with a premature media announcement, but Anna and Catharina deserved better. I was not ready to relinquish control of the project just to soothe Liam’s wounded ego. We would simply have to keep digging for the truth.

9

Anna

An hour before Maarten Horst and his wife are due to arrive for the first portrait sitting, Crispijn stands up from the breakfast table and announces he is leaving.

‘Where are you going? When will you return?’ Catharina demands to know. She flicks back the bell-shaped sleeves of her painter’s smock and rotates her wrists impatiently, peering through the open doorway of the breakfast room into the entrance corridor as if she can already hear voices.

‘I’m destined for Amsterdam,’ Crispijn says, pulling on his riding gloves. He turns to Anna. ‘You may contact me there, if you need me. I’ll be staying with my good friend Doctor Wijck. He is the night-sky enthusiast I told you about.’

‘Playing with your telescopes again?’ Catharina murmurs, although she sounds distracted, still gazing past him at the empty corridor.

Crispijn shakes his head. ‘I’ve no wish to stay here and watch you debase yourself at Maarten’s feet. Unless you’ve changed your mind?’

His words seem to snap Catharina from her reverie. She glares at him as she stands, facing him so they are eye to eye. ‘You are right to take your high morals elsewhere. I’m doing this for Griet – not for you, and certainly not for me. Maarten knows where she is. We must convince him to help us find her.’

Crispijn nods gravely, as if this is the answer he expected. With one last bow to Anna, he settles his wide-brimmed hat on his head and disappears into the corridor. The front door slams. There is the jingle of a horse’s reins, then the clatter of hooves on the drive.