Anna is with Crispijn in the library when the letter arrives, delivered by Henrick into the mistress’s eager hands. She appears in the doorway, looking half-wild, spirals of copper hair escaping from her woollen cap.

‘I’ve found her,’ she cries, waving the missive triumphantly.

‘Who?’ Crispijn says, but Anna can tell that, like her, he has already guessed. Even Catharina ignores the question. Crossing the library in three swift bounds, she falls at her brother’s feet.

‘Our Sacred Lady of Bruges.’ Catharina wrinkles her nose. ‘It’s situated next to a swamp. An hour’s journey from Antwerp. That’s why it has been difficult to find any record of it. But I have it now. An old friend sent his manservant at my request to scour the area and report back. Griet is there, within the convent’s walls. He saw her with his own eyes. She is alive, praise be to God.’ Catharina exhales a long sigh, shuts her eyes and clasps the letter to her chest.

Crispijn clears his throat. He looks at Anna, who tucks away under a cushion the book she has been reading to him. There will be no more reading today. Since his return to Sterrenwijck, he has complained of headaches and dizzy spells and, with Catharina busy searching for Griet, armed with the information Blanche Horst divulged during their last, fated sitting, Anna has been tasked with entertaining him and ensuring his needs are met. He claims his eyesight has been affected by the vast amount of snow he had to wade through up north, the frigid lakes stretching all the way to the cold North Sea. He can walk around on his own well enough, but occasionally, a sudden sharp head pain leading to a bout of dizziness will set in, meaning Anna has to stay nearby in order to offer him her arm and help him to a chair. He finds reading and writing difficult so she has taken over these tasks, too. Crispijn assures her the condition is temporary.

‘Snow blindness,’ he told her, his mouth twisted in a humourless smile. ‘It’s common among travellers. Doctor Wijck says it will go away on its own within a matter of weeks.’