She returns to the collar, pressing the hot metal into the fabric, inhaling the hissing steam.

A sudden tap on the doorframe.

‘Master de Witt would like to see you.’ The young man blushes, seemingly unable to meet her gaze. What a doe-eyed milksop! she thinks, then feels a stab of guilt. She follows him out of the kitchen. De Witt’s workshop is a wonderment of coloured inks and half-finished sketches, wooden stamps and copperplates shining like mirrored suns. Somewhere under bundles of dried herbs and half-hatched tulip bulbs and hand-blown glass orbs, there is a desk. Cornelis sits behind it, holding an open letter. He strokes his thumb along the blackened edge.

‘Do you fancy a change in situation?’ he says.

Anna stares at him in confusion. ‘Sir?’

He smooths out the letter. ‘A gentleman of my acquaintance seeks a lady’s companion for his sister. He wrote to me, asking if I knew anyone. I thought of you.’

‘Me, sir?’

She wonders if this is some kind of joke. But Cornelis de Witt is not a man to whom humour comes easily or often and his face is as bland and open as ever, not even the shadow of a beard to hide a smirk behind.

‘The lady lives at Sterrenwijck, a property outside The Hague. She’s an artist. They call her the Tenth Muse, although her real name is Catharina van Shurman. You must have seen her work around, although you might not recognise it. She goes by a number of different monikers. It’s part of her mystery. She was a child prodigy.’ A grin splits his face. ‘She must be nearing forty now. Her twin brother, too; he is the one who contacted me. His name is Crispijn. We haven’t spoken in person for some time, only corresponded through letters, but I trust him whole-heartedly. He will pay your travel expenses and is offering a generous wage. You would live with them at Sterrenwijk. You’ve visited The Hague before?’

Anna shakes her head. Her father travelled there a few times a year to pay his respects to the Stadholder and represent the family’s business interests, but he always returned in a black mood, complaining about the late nights and uncomfortable tavern beds and the endless parade of foreign courtiers and nobles fleeing the English war for the safety of the United Provinces. Their English accents unnerved him. He could never grasp what they were saying and he always suspected they were laughing behind his back.

‘Are there no better candidates?’ Anna says.

Cornelis frowns.

‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,’ she adds, quickly. ‘But there must be others who are better suited. I have no training as a companion. I can’t imagine I will be able to contribute much, unless Master van Shurman intends for me to assist with the laundry.’