‘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.

Anna scans the faces of the crowd. On some level, she knows she should mind her own business, but she cannot rid herself of a terrible sense of foreboding. Right before she vanished, the girl’s gaze had connected with Anna’s. In that brief communion, Anna sensed a desperate cry for assistance, a longing for help. She’s about to go off in search of them when two English courtiers stride over, blocking her path.

‘You are Lady van Shurman’s new companion,’ one woman says, peering hungrily at Anna through bleary, bloodshot eyes. Her voice is slightly slurred. ‘Is it true, what they say about her? That she is a… well. Don’t pretend you haven’t heard.’

Anna stares at her in confusion.