There’s nothing like that anywhere in our country. The only real colour in Amsterdam is right here in front of us.’
She pointed to the vivid tapestry on the loom. They were in the large workshop at the rear of the house, the place where Janssen created his masterpieces, sewing them fromthe back and viewing the front of the tapestry in a mirror to make sure that he was keeping exactly to the design. Though she loved watching her father at work, Amalia had no ambitions to emulate him. She restricted herself to needlework, seeing it as a female accomplishment rather than a source of income. Weaving tapestries was an art practised by men like her father, a self-effacing genius whose handsewn work hung in several European palaces. Whenever she thought about the future – and she did so most days – she never envisaged having to toil at a loom or sew battle scenes with meticulous skill. Her abiding fantasy was one of domestic bliss with a certain British officer.
Her father was well aware of her high expectations.
‘When did you last hear from Captain Rawson?’ he asked.
‘It must be almost a month now, Father.’
‘I suspect that you can tell me the correct day and the precise hour when his letter arrived.’
‘I’m always so pleased to hear from him,’ she said, cheerfully.
‘Well, don’t fret if there’s a long wait for the next letter. The captain moves around so much that it’s difficult for him to write to anyone, especially when he’s on French territory. You simply have to be patient, Amalia.’
‘I accept that.’
‘And you must prepare yourself for the possibility of bad news.’
She frowned. ‘Why should I do that?’
‘Captain Rawson is a soldier .’
‘He knows how to look after himself, Father.’
‘When he goes into battle, anything can happen.’
‘Daniel is always very careful.’
‘Yet he sometimes puts courage before caution,’ said Janssen. ‘Look how he contrived to rescue me from the Bastille. He took the most terrible risks to do that. A careful man wouldn’t even have tried to get me out of there.’
‘Things are different now.’
There was such a hopeful note in her voice that her father couldn’t bring himself to contradict her. He’d seen the way that she and Daniel Rawson had fallen in love and had given their romance his blessing. At the same time, however, he was realistic enough to know that a soldier’s life could come to a sudden end at any moment. Daniel never hid from action. Instead, he deliberately went out in search of it. When he’d been commissioned to make a tapestry depicting the battle of Ramillies, Janssen had been delighted to have Daniel as his adviser but he’d quailed at some of the details he’d learnt. Glorious victories were based on blood and agony. Even during such a triumphant battle, there’d been hideous deaths among the Allies as well and many who survived were afflicted with horrendous injuries. Given the way he’d taken part in a cavalry charge – a fact that Janssen chose to keep from Amalia – Daniel could easily have been one of the casualties at Ramillies.Next time, fortune might not favour the daring captain.
Loving his daughter dearly, Janssen didn’t want to dash her hopes. He was an old man now, his hair and beard silvered by time, his shoulders rounded by long years at his loom. Most of his life was behind him. Amalia, however, had a whole future ahead of her and Janssen wanted it to be as happy and fulfilled as possible. On almost every test of suitability, Daniel Rawson would make an ideal husband for her. What cast a menacing shadow over any thoughts of marriage was the fact that he was engaged in a war that had already claimed thousands and thousands of victims. Janssen prayed that Amalia would not be one more stricken woman, doomed to pass her days by weeping over the grave of her dead lover.
‘Yes,’ he said, summoning up a grin. ‘Things are different now.’
‘Daniel leads a charmed life,’
She pointed to the vivid tapestry on the loom. They were in the large workshop at the rear of the house, the place where Janssen created his masterpieces, sewing them fromthe back and viewing the front of the tapestry in a mirror to make sure that he was keeping exactly to the design. Though she loved watching her father at work, Amalia had no ambitions to emulate him. She restricted herself to needlework, seeing it as a female accomplishment rather than a source of income. Weaving tapestries was an art practised by men like her father, a self-effacing genius whose handsewn work hung in several European palaces. Whenever she thought about the future – and she did so most days – she never envisaged having to toil at a loom or sew battle scenes with meticulous skill. Her abiding fantasy was one of domestic bliss with a certain British officer.
Her father was well aware of her high expectations.
‘When did you last hear from Captain Rawson?’ he asked.
‘It must be almost a month now, Father.’
‘I suspect that you can tell me the correct day and the precise hour when his letter arrived.’
‘I’m always so pleased to hear from him,’ she said, cheerfully.
‘Well, don’t fret if there’s a long wait for the next letter. The captain moves around so much that it’s difficult for him to write to anyone, especially when he’s on French territory. You simply have to be patient, Amalia.’
‘I accept that.’
‘And you must prepare yourself for the possibility of bad news.’
She frowned. ‘Why should I do that?’
‘Captain Rawson is a soldier .’
‘He knows how to look after himself, Father.’
‘When he goes into battle, anything can happen.’
‘Daniel is always very careful.’
‘Yet he sometimes puts courage before caution,’ said Janssen. ‘Look how he contrived to rescue me from the Bastille. He took the most terrible risks to do that. A careful man wouldn’t even have tried to get me out of there.’
‘Things are different now.’
There was such a hopeful note in her voice that her father couldn’t bring himself to contradict her. He’d seen the way that she and Daniel Rawson had fallen in love and had given their romance his blessing. At the same time, however, he was realistic enough to know that a soldier’s life could come to a sudden end at any moment. Daniel never hid from action. Instead, he deliberately went out in search of it. When he’d been commissioned to make a tapestry depicting the battle of Ramillies, Janssen had been delighted to have Daniel as his adviser but he’d quailed at some of the details he’d learnt. Glorious victories were based on blood and agony. Even during such a triumphant battle, there’d been hideous deaths among the Allies as well and many who survived were afflicted with horrendous injuries. Given the way he’d taken part in a cavalry charge – a fact that Janssen chose to keep from Amalia – Daniel could easily have been one of the casualties at Ramillies.Next time, fortune might not favour the daring captain.
Loving his daughter dearly, Janssen didn’t want to dash her hopes. He was an old man now, his hair and beard silvered by time, his shoulders rounded by long years at his loom. Most of his life was behind him. Amalia, however, had a whole future ahead of her and Janssen wanted it to be as happy and fulfilled as possible. On almost every test of suitability, Daniel Rawson would make an ideal husband for her. What cast a menacing shadow over any thoughts of marriage was the fact that he was engaged in a war that had already claimed thousands and thousands of victims. Janssen prayed that Amalia would not be one more stricken woman, doomed to pass her days by weeping over the grave of her dead lover.
‘Yes,’ he said, summoning up a grin. ‘Things are different now.’
‘Daniel leads a charmed life,’
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