For a while now, she has begun to suspect her presence is the primary cause of their family’s suffering. It started the night she was born when she somehow caused those ships to sink and her father’s men to drown. Why else would he have given her that name, if not to warn everyone that she is bad luck? She cursed her mother’s womb, too. Each subsequent child planted there after her birth withered and died before it could fruit. When they carried out her mother’s corpse, she overheard the midwife tell the doctor that the birth had been monstrous. So ill-formed was her infant brother, his blackened head would not fit through the opening. The midwife had no choice but to remove him piece by piece. It was unsurprising that Anna’s mother had not survived the procedure. She died in agony while twelve-year-old Anna slept on in a nearby bedroom, dreaming of selfish things – dolls and dresses and sliced apples drenched in sugary syrup. Anna hasn’t confided her suspicions to Lijsbeth or the pastor of their new church. He is nothing at all like gentle Pastor Bruin. Pastor Van Leersun is a dour, taciturn man whose bleak sermons seem designed to punish the parishioners for circumstances beyond their control. She does not feel comfortable confessing her worries to a man like that, even though he is one of God’s chosen apostles. Lijsbeth would frown at Anna’s suggestion of superstitious mysticism. She would say that, despite their troubles, they are lucky God has seen fit to grant them a roof, four walls, enough food to survive. But how long can they go on like this, Anna wants to ask her. How long can this purgatory last?

She clears her throat. ‘Can I help?’

Lijsbeth hawks and spits into a chamberpot. ‘No,’ she rasps, the sound of her laboured breathing partially muffled by the curtain.

‘Perhaps you should stay home and rest,’ Anna says.

‘How nice to have the luxury,’ Lijsbeth says, bitterly. ‘And what excuse do you propose I send the van Vliets? They will never hire me again.’

‘Why don’t you take the de Witts, then?’ Anna tries to make the suggestion sound as if it has only just occurred to her. ‘The wife and sons are away so there’s only him. Shirts and aprons.’

Lisbjeth grunts. ‘And have him pity me? Thank you, no. You forget, I was his favourite before you came along. No, you must see to the de Witts. I’m heading to the van Vliets. They’re hosting a supper party tonight for the goldsmiths’ guild and their maid will need help cleaning the linen and sponging all the furniture. It’s not a task they trust to just anybody, you know.’