Catharina’s cheeks redden. She opens her mouth to speak, but snaps it shut as Crispijn shoots her a warning look. She staggers a little as she turns, reaching for her brother’s arm, and Anna follows in the siblings’ wake as they cross the threshold. Her skin prickles and she feels the soft threads of destiny binding the two groups together. She fingers the skirt of her mother’s dress for the protection it offers, a talisman against Maarten’s dark, brooding energy and Blanche’s awkwardness.

On their way back to Sterrenwijck, Catharina is restless. Twisting her hands together, she jostles her leg up and down and her gaze swivels from one window to the other, as if the darkness holds hidden worlds of possibilities only she can discern. Crispijn seems more concerned about the impression Maarten left on Anna than he does about Catharina’s restlessness.

‘I apologise for Maarten’s behaviour. He makes everyone uncomfortable. We’ve known each other for years, ever since we were children. We used to play together until our families fell out over a disagreement. There was some talk of money, a loan gone horribly wrong. Our parents refused to have anything to do with Maarten’s family after that.’

‘I was so relieved when Father finally forbade them from visiting,’ Catharina says. ‘Maarten liked to sit on me. I was only small and I wasn’t strong enough to push him off. I had to wait for Crispijn to come along and rescue me. Maarten always lied afterwards, saying he’d tripped and fallen, blaming me for being clumsy and getting in his way. Father would have been so angry if he’d known. He refused to hear any suggestion of Maarten marrying into the family. It was proposed by his family when I turned nineteen, but Father simply laughed it off and said he would as soon as make a deal with the devil than have anything to do with the Horsts.’

‘I think he beats his wife,’ Anna says, quietly. ‘Maarten, I mean. I saw him choking her. He lied afterwards, said she was unwell, that he was trying to help her.’

Catharina stares from Anna’s face to Crispijn’s, open-mouthed. At last, she shakes her head. ‘He’s a tyrant. I would not have married him for all the spices in the Orient. I can’t believe he even asked. But then he has never cared for anyone’s opinion except his own. When I saw him sitting there tonight, I swear my blood ran cold. But I didn’t want to acknowledge him nor give him the satisfaction of thinking I’d noticed. That poor girl.’

‘What do we know about her family?’ Crispijn asks. ‘I’ve never heard of them, never seen them at court. It sounds as if they sold the girl to Maarten to absolve their debts and then abandoned her in a foreign place.’