When the coach stops at the resting place near the Town Hall, Catharina is the first to climb out. Anna follows her, stretching out her aching back and blinking in the watery light reflecting off the wide, curving river they have followed to arrive here at their destination. Anna looks about her, momentarily forgetting their purpose, awed by the sheer spectacle of the place. Ghent reminds her a little of Amsterdam with its stately architecture and its ringed canals mirroring the austere frontage of tall houses, but here the Catholic churches are not hidden in little side streets and alleyways. They are dazzling tributes to the divine, stained glass in every window, the saints’ miraculous deeds flooded by warm sunlight. The trio make their way to the inn Crispijn has booked, a place called De Zwaan. Crispijn pays a boy to carry their bags upstairs, although they haven’t brought much between them, just a change of clothes and one of Griet’s old frocks. The room itself is sparse, lacking the warmth and character of Sterrenwijck’s living quarters. Two lumpy mattresses propped on narrow cots are pressed against the walls and the ceiling is stained black. But it’s clean enough for one night. Anna stands beside Catharina on the threadbare rug, worry gnawing at her gut.

‘My room will be down the hall,’ Crispijn tells them. He looks worn out by the long journey, dark shadows circling his eyes. Yet he draws himself up and glances at Anna. ‘We should get going.’

Impulsively, Catharina springs forward and hugs first Anna and then her brother. Surprise crosses Crispijn’s face and he returns her embrace awkwardly. But Anna thinks the gesture is pleasing to him. When they draw apart, he is smiling like his old self. ‘We will find her,’ he assures his sister. He offers Anna his arm.

‘Mrs Pieterson?’

Anna hesitates, then grasps it. It’s only acting, she thinks. Like the players at the Queen’s masque. I am Mrs Pieterson, wife of Willem Pieterson, Margriet’s sister-in-law. God will overlook this sin; He will understand I am doing this for the greater good.

‘I never realised what a handsome pair you make,’ Catharina says. She looks small and lonely, standing by herself in the centre of the drab room. Anna knows she longs to go with them, but they cannot risk taking her in case she is recognised. ‘I’ll pray for Griet’s safe delivery and yours.’

The paintwork on the carriage Crispijn has arranged to take them out to the convent is a glossy black, even finer than the one they own back at Sterrenwijck. The coachman wears a tall hat and a suit made of fine black linen.

‘I thought it best to choose something grand,’ Crispijn says as they bump along, leaving the city of Ghent behind and heading out towards the marshes. ‘Something that signifies our wealth.’