Mrs Hartog insists on lingering in the doorway as if Anna is a child who cannot be trusted to undress herself. Placing her bundle of belongings on the floor, Anna strips off her soiled clothes and slips on the nightgown laid out for her on the bed. The clean nightgown smells of linseed oil, both woody and exotic. Anna wants to bury her face into its folds. Instead, she says her prayers and climbs onto the mattress.

The housekeeper leaves the candle burning in its plated holder by the bed.

‘I’ve lived here most of my life,’ she says. ‘I joined the household when the old gentleman, Madam’s father, was in his prime. I can find my way about in the dark.’

Anna watches her figure vanish, swallowed up by shadow. The candlelight flickers across the flocked wallpaper. Her head spins with images of Father and Lijsbeth, now safe in God’s keeping. She thinks of Wolfert, imagines his gentle exhalation at the foot of her bed, his soft body, its comforting topography of lumps and bumps. Her head begins to nod on the pillow and then, just as the curtain of sleep descends, she hears a door slam somewhere in the house below. She sits bolt upright, straining to hear more. But the house is quiet, as if the deep silence of the woods outside has found its way indoors.

6

Jo

‘You’re absolutely sure you won’t come?’

Outside the divers’ clubhouse, Liam leaned against the boot of his hire car, arms folded over his chest. The wind had whipped his uncombed hair into a tempest but I resisted the urge to flatten it with my hand. Only a few days ago, he’d accused me of mothering him. ‘It was just a misunderstanding,’ he said. When I raised my eyebrows, he turned away.

We’d been standing in almost the same spot we were at now. Five days had passed since we’d arrived on Texel to assess the dress and the other artefacts. Now, exhausted after hours of taking photographs and documenting their condition, we’d headed outside to get some fresh air and the conversation had turned to Liam’s meeting with the vice-chancellor.

‘I think the words you’re looking for are “fucked” and “up”’ I said. ‘Making a pass at the vice-chancellor’s niece? Have you lost your mind? It’s completely inappropriate.’

‘She’s an adult. And she’s not even enrolled there.’

‘Either way, it’s gross. You should have known better. What would you even talk about? Interdisciplinary approaches to material culture? An analysis of research methods? Anthropology versus ethnography?’

Liam’s gaze narrowed. ‘Not everyone is as obsessed with their work as you are, Jo.’

‘I’m not obsessed.’

‘Do you even have any other interests? You can’t exactly claim diving as a hobby anymore. How long did you say it had been since you dived? A year? Longer?’