‘I want nothing that reminds me of this place,’ she mutters. Her voice has a nasal quality to it, as though she has a permanent cold. She takes a hesitant step through the open doorway and then seems to lost her balance. Anna grips one arm, Crispijn the other. Together they guide her up the dirt path to where the carriage and the horseman are waiting. They help Griet clamber into the carriage and, once she is safely inside, Crispijn offers Anna his arm. As she swings herself up into the body of the coach, he kisses her cheek, a light, soft gesture which so surprises her she cannot formulate a response.

Catharina is pacing the bedroom of the inn when Anna and Crispijn return at last. Afternoon sunlight, muted by its passage through the grubby windows, illuminates her wild hair. She has used her fingers to comb it, Anna sees, and tried to dress it as Mrs Hartog would have, pinning it in tight ringlets, but the effect is one of dishevelment. It seems to matter little. As Anna and Crispijn lead the exhausted Griet inside, Catharina shrieks and runs towards her.

‘What have they done to you, my beauty?’ she says, leaning forward to embrace her friend. Griet allows herself to be held for a long time. Eventually she pushes Catharina off her, wincing.

‘You’re suffocating me.’

Catharina looks chastened. ‘Forgive me,’ she says. She sits down on a chair, her eyes searching Griet’s face hungrily. Griet accepts the scented washcloth Anna holds out and buries her face in the folds.

‘It smells so clean,’ she says, lifting her chin. She scratches her hip through the grey material of her shift. ‘I will need new clothes. The bedding was infested with foul lice.’

‘We brought them,’ Catharina says, gesturing at Anna to fetch the clothes. Crispijn clears his throat, excusing himself.

‘I’ll be in my quarters if you need me,’ he says.

Griet takes the fresh clothing, looking Anna up and down as if she has only just noticed her properly.

‘Who are you?’ she says, as she pulls off her grey shift and drops it on the floor. Anna blushes, averts her gaze, but not before she’s glimpsed thin ribs jutting beneath small breasts, the flex of muscled forearms.

‘This is Anna Tesseltje,’ Catharina says. ‘She’s my companion. Crispijn arranged the hiring of her. She has become a friend. You can trust her. And Crispijn enjoys her company.’

Griet’s mouth curves in a smile. ‘So I see.’ She takes Catharina’s hand. ‘So what’s to become of me?’

Catharina hesitates. ‘We can talk about that later.’

‘I would rather discuss it now.’

Catharina sighs. ‘You are to join the retinue of the Queen’s daughter, Elisabeth, in France as one of her ladies-in-waiting. We have arranged your passage. A man and his wife are due to arrive here tomorrow morning to escort you.’

‘France?’ Griet sounds shocked.