The Shallow Seas by Dawn Farnham Page A

Holland was a tiny nation, but what enterprise, what vision! Fifty fleets a year, 150 trading ships, 40 warships, 20,000 seamen, 10,000 soldiers, 50,000 employees from all over Europe. With all this it still managed to pay a dividend of 40 percent. Remarkable.”
    Charlotte felt the admiration in Tigran’s voice and smiled at this enthusiasm. He noticed and laughed, embarrassed.
    â€œMy apologies,” he said and bowed slightly. “I confess to an admiration for such a people. The Dutch then had a great intellectual curiosity, and the VOC profits paid for arts and inventions. Their religious tolerance allowed my Armenian family to find refuge and a new life in Amsterdam. My father taught me to admire Holland, and I was sorry not to have gone to Amsterdam for my education.”
    From the hall the doors led to the terrace and, on either side, the white marble staircase curved to the upper landing. Charlotte could see it needed care, for in parts the white limewash was dingy, and some of the tiling was chipped. It needed attention, a woman’s attention. She would have liked to know more about the original Japanese mistress of this house, about the extraordinary circumstances that had led her, much like Charlotte, to become the first lady of such a place. Before she could carry these reflections further, however, Tigran took her hand and led her to the main door.

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    A wide-bodied, big-wheeled carriage with a white calico sunroof stood waiting. The two ponies were pretty black-and-white kumingans , ubiquitous in Java. They appeared slight and fine-boned, yet they were strong and resilient, capable, Charlotte knew, of pulling heavy loads. The shafts of the carriage were shining black and bore at the heads finely wrought silver garuda birds, their wings flung back imperiously in flight. Tigran held on to Charlotte’s hand to help her in. Then he took the reins, and they turned onto the road around the house and out onto a broad avenue of monumental saman trees which formed a shady canopy over their heads and cast a dappled light on the road which would take them down to the river. As they clipped along in the morning breeze, a faint sound came to her ears. It was a gamelan orchestra playing somewhere out of sight, the sound of gongs and bells carried on the air. It was almost magical, as if the music were being played by invisible nymphs or carried down from the spheres. Then Tigran astonished her as he began to recite a poem.
    â€œ Thus spoke the Genius, as He stept along ,
    And bade these lawns to Peace and Truth belong;
    Down the steep slopes He led with modest skill
    The willing pathway, and the truant rill ,
    Stretch’d o’er the marshy vale yon willowy mound ,
    Where shines the lake amid the tufted ground …”
    Charlotte looked at him and laughed, and he grinned broadly.
    â€œYou see, Madame, not just an ignorant dull Indiesman. My English tutor put poetry into my head. I’m sure you cannot name it? Eh? Eh?”
    Charlotte laughed out loud. She could not.
    â€œErasmus Darwin, 1731 to 1802, The Botanic Garden . Very long and very difficult for a poor half-Dutch boy. I have forgotten much, but some just stays. I learned words like effulgent and adamantine , though I am still not sure what they mean. Are you not impressed?”
    Charlotte bowed her admiration.
    At the end of the avenue, the view of the river opened out. Charlotte saw the Japanese bridge, and Tigran stopped briefly. It was unusual but incredibly lovely, she thought, with its faded red wooden balustrade. Its curved shape was mirrored below in a constantly changing and intricate shadowy distortion of itself as the river ran over the stones, forming small waterfalls and pools. The sound was like bells, and the windrush in leaves. Here on the river she understood why the estate had been named Brieswijk. She could see the gnarled shapes of trees and old bushes, quite unlike jungle flora. The Kali Krukut was a swift