It was frightening to watch his memories scatter like fish, darting this way and that with no reason or logic to net them. To serve him a platter of food, only to return later to find the meal untouched. He refused to wash himself in the tepid water Anna hauled upstairs. Lijsbeth wouldn’t let him leave the house in such a disordered state. Instead, she forced Anna to stand guard outside his door as if he were a common criminal. She sent all the servants away, insisting they could better care for him themselves. Things were left to fester. Enquiries went unanswered, invoices unpaid, goods which had been acquired months before sat gathering dust inside her father’s warehouse.

One afternoon, while Anna was scrubbing dishes, she heard Master Honig, his overseer, pacing in the front room.

‘The fish is rotting inside the barrels. The men need paying. What would you have me do? What’s wrong with him? When will he be well again?’

‘Soon,’ Lijsbeth answered, stoutly. ‘He’s eaten some bad cheese and cannot rise from his bed. Leave the invoices; I’ll see that he gets them. Tell the men they must be patient. Remind them they are lucky to have employment in these hard times. Remind them what God says in the Bible.’

‘God doesn’t put food in hungry bellies, Lijsbeth. Has the doctor examined him?’

‘Of course. What do you take me for? It is exactly as I tell you – a bad meal, improperly prepared.’

Anna imagined her sister’s face settling into its familiar affectation of innocence. Lijsbeth had always been a proficient liar. When they were children, it was Lijsbeth who spoke up if a vase was shattered, knocked carelessly off a shelf while they played. Lijsbeth who stared down the maids and blamed the accident on the household cat. But Master Honig was a man of experience, not a servant teetering on the brink of exhaustion. He had not been around when Anna was born. If he had, it’s unlikely the accident in Texel would have been allowed to happen. Anna heard him clear his throat. Her own throat hurt, as if she’d swallowed a flying insect. She wanted to creep to the door, but her arms were trapped in the greasy sink, stray cups and spoons escaping her witless grasp. Master Honig spoke forcefully, with the authority and self-assurance of someone who had weathered many storms. Anna pictured his hands clenched as if he clutched an invisible ship’s wheel, a gesture she’d seen him make countless times when her father was in better health and the two men were engaged in heated debate over some business decision.