Chapter Nine
GRIETE HOUSE, ANTWERP, 1615
Clara strolled along the gravel paths between the parterre garden’s low clipped hedges in the morning sunshine, unmindful of Adela’s chatter beside her, imagining herself at her easel, building translucent layers to make the velvet texture of a crimson rose petal. Chewing her lip, she added the final shining drop of moisture.
‘You’re fretting again.’
Clara jumped. ‘Jesu.’ She had been avoiding that very thing by taking her mind elsewhere. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope for good news, for there had been very little of it in Osias’s last letter. And she had not heard from Nico in Leiden at all, though they had been parted for many months.
‘Monsieur Beerts will be safe. I pray for him every night.’ Adela squeezed Clara’s hand.
‘Ade
