Dear Mistress van Shurman,

Please accept our humblest thanks for this great bounty. We will use the funds to repair the orphanage these poor children so badly require. There is a child here we would love you to meet. Her name is Brechtje, and she is a most precious star among the celestial currents, a comfort to all who know her. She would make a good model or muse for one of your paintings, if you could ever convince her to sit still. Please visit us, if you can ever spare the time. We pray that your heart is light and your paintbrush swift and true.

Ever yours,

Agneta Corrin

I sat back, my head spinning with visions of stars, silk dresses and cold glass tears. Agneta’s letter had fired my imagination. Had the two women eventually met? Why had Catharina taken a sudden interest in the Texel orphans? I could only assume she had felt some kind of connection to Texel after Anna’s death. The truth was that, unless more correspondence came to light, we would probably never know the truth. And maybe that was OK. It was those cracks within the past that let in the light of possibility, small tears in the fabric of the past.

17

Anna

Anna wakes and sleeps. Wakes and sleeps. She cannot seem to keep her head above the water. She struggles, feels a cool hand on her forehead. Sleeps again. Fire races through her body in a vengeful arc, then departs without warning, leaving her clammy and cold as a pebble in the rain. She is chasing Lijsbeth through the meat hall, her nose full of the butcher’s stink, the sour tang of raw flesh and bloody entrails. Lijsbeth laughs, throws a teasing glance over her shoulder, deliberately slows her pace until they are close enough to touch. Anna stretches out her hand, grasps only air. The scene shifts and she is sitting beside Crispijn in the lush, green gardens at Sterrenwijck. The taste of strawberries on her tongue. Looking down, she sees the fruit is full of maggots. She screams, spits the mouthful out, claws at her tongue.

‘Hush.’ A soft voice in the darkness. Anna swims towards it, surfaces, gasping for blessed air. Liquid trickles down her chin. Warm broth.

She looks around, wide-eyed. She is sitting in a small room, its windows patched with rags. There is a strong stench in the room of butcher’s meat and the waft of it makes her nauseous. She gags.

‘Hush.’ It’s night-time. An old woman’s face appears in the blackness, lit from below by a guttering flame. Anna squints at her in the gloom. Do they know each other? It’s the woman from the beach, she realises. Outside, rain hammers the roof, pelting down in icy blasts.