by Betty Neels
They had had a final rehearsal, Lucia had been whisked off to her bed by her nurse and Cressida was helping the children to tidy the room when the door opened and the doctor walked in.
His, ‘Hello,’ was addressed to everyone in the room. ‘I was sent up on my own; everyone’s bustling about downstairs.’
The children surged round him, for he had known the whole family for some years, all talking at once.
‘English,’ warned Cressida, raising her voice to be heard.
‘Just for a minute we speak Fries, dear Cressy,’ said Willum. ‘It is Christmas.’ He gave her a wide smile. ‘And we have not seen Oom Aldrik for some time.’
‘All right. Ten minutes, then. I’m going to see Nurse about something.’
She whisked herself out of the room without looking at the doctor. She had been so delighted to see him; she supposed it was the unexpectedness of his arrival which had made her feel so excited. She had imagined him to be in England by now—perhaps he wasn’t going after all. Nicola, she felt sure, had very persuasive powers.
She found Anna, Baby’s nurse, in the night nursery. Her small charge already asleep, she was tidying the chest of drawers, but she looked up as Cressida put her head round the door and gave a reluctant smile. They got on well now, but for the first few days Cressida had been hard put to it to convince the nurse that she had no intention of interfering with little Lucia’s routine. For half an hour each day she came to the nursery and taught the moppet simple English but always with Anna there too.
Cressida marshalled her scanty knowledge of Dutch, seeking permission for Lucia to stay up a little later on Christmas Eve so that she might sing the carol with her brothers and sisters. It took a few minutes to make herself understood and another few minutes while they exchanged remarks about the weather, and, having shown willing, as it were, Cressida went back to the playroom.
The doctor was still there. ‘Ah, good, Cressy, will you come downstairs with me? There’s something I want to give you...’
‘It may be for us; is it?’ asked Friso.
‘That’s something you’ll know on Christmas morning, and don’t tease Cressy to find out what it is, for she won’t tell.’
The little girls kissed him and the boys shook his hand and screamed, ‘Happy Christmas!’ as he opened the door and ushered Cressida through.
He made no effort to go downstairs but stood looking down at her.
‘Do you not wish that you were coming with me to England?’ he asked.
She didn’t answer at once while she thought about it. ‘Well, I’d love to go home, but only if my stepmother wasn’t there, if you see what I mean, and I’d like to see Moggy, but I’m really happy here. I felt, well, a stranger in Leiden, but here I feel quite at home, which is funny because half the time I don’t understand a word of what anyone says.’
He laughed, ‘I’m not surprised, Fries is a strange language, and the Hollanders don’t understand it either. Will you be free at Christmas?’
‘Heavens, no. The house will be full of family and there are four more children coming.’
‘I must make it up to you when I get back...’
‘Thank you, you’re very kind, but there’s no need. I mean, you’ve done such a lot for me already and you don’t have much time and when you do you must have friends—and things to do...’
‘Am I being snubbed, Cressy?’ he asked blandly.
“Snubbed?’ She was so shocked at the idea that she put a hand on his arm. ‘How could I ever snub you? I don’t know what I should have done without you.’
She stared up into his face, suddenly and blindingly aware that she didn’t know what she would do without him; moreover the prospect of it didn’t bear thinking about. She said slowly, ‘I think you don’t need to be concerned about me any longer, I mean you can forget me without feeling you need to bother. I don’t think I am explaining myself very well but you’ve your own life and it’s quite different from mine... Oh, dear, I really can’t explain...’
‘Then don’t try,’ he advised her briskly. ‘Enjoy life here and have a happy Christmas.’ He patted her hand in a big-brotherly way and added, ‘Come down to the hall and get the parcel I’ve got for the children. I still have to call on the van der Bronses and then go to Janslum before I drive down to the ferry.’
She longed to ask him if Nicola was going with him but all she said was, ‘I hope you have a lovely Christmas and please remember me to Lady Merrill.’
She went downstairs and he gave her a brightly wrapped box. ‘I’d be grateful if you’d hide it away for them.’ She wished very much that he would kiss her but he didn’t, he wished her goodbye and went in search of Beatrix ter Beemstra, and within a few minutes he had driven himself away.
Cressida went slowly back upstairs, hid the box under the bed in her room and went back to the children. They were all excited and noisy and she had her hands full for the next twenty minutes or so, calming them down and making sure that they were clean and neat for their supper, a meal everyone was to share for once seeing that the household was involved in getting ready for the guests who were coming in the morning. The meal over, she got them to their beds and then went to Mevrouw ter Beemstra’s room to pin up a dress that she had discovered at the last minute was too long.
Mevrouw ter Beemstra stood patiently while Cressida pinned, a little puzzled because Cressida was so quiet and pale. ‘You feel well?’ she asked anxiously. ‘You are to tell me if there is anything? You are not unhappy?’
Cressida assured her that she had never felt better and there was nothing the matter. She made her voice cheerful, adding, ‘I’m looking forward to Christmas very much; it’s such fun with children, isn’t it?’
Mevrouw ter Beemstra had been pursuing her own train of thought. ‘Of course, Aldrik came to see you and I think that you wish that you could have gone to England with him? Is that not so? Such a kind man, he brought the children a present—he never forgets.’
Cressida, her mouth full of pins, was unable to answer. He’d forgotten her, hadn’t he? Telling her to enjoy life in that brisk manner. At the moment she felt as though she would never enjoy life again as long as she lived and if this was how one felt when one found oneself in love then the quicker one fell out of love again the better.
She sat back on her heels to see the effect of her work and began a bright conversation with her employer which put that kind lady’s mind at rest, and then she took the dress along to Anna, who sewed beautifully and was waiting with a needle and thread. Since it was quite late by now Cressida took herself off to bed and had a nice comfortable cry before she went to sleep. She woke up quite early in the morning feeling sensible and clear-headed about the whole thing. It was most unfortunate that she should have fallen in love with the doctor but that wouldn’t and mustn’t alter the mild friendship he had shown towards her, and now that she had made it clear that she was nicely settled in a job and perfectly happy he could forget her, and, no doubt, in the course of time, marry Nicola. It was a fate she didn’t want for him, but if he loved the woman there was nothing she could do about it. If, on the other hand, he didn’t love her, then, Cressida decided, she would do her best to stop him getting married. She had no idea how she was going to do this but it was an uplifting thought and carried her through an extremely busy morning. The four children arrived before lunch and since there were now so many they were to have their meal in the playroom with Cressida presiding. Quite a tableful, she conceded, handing out plates of soup and acting as mediator between the two older boys and their cousins. The little girls were over-excited too and she was relieved when the meal was finished and she could get them into hats and coats and allow them to stream into the garden to fight each other with snowballs, and, with her help, make a series of snowmen.
It was too cold to stay out for long, so she shepherded them indoors
again, saw to their tea and then sent them all to collect the presents they had parcelled up so laboriously. They were to be put under the Christmas tree that evening and handed out in the morning and there was a good deal of stealthy coming and going until all the presents were arranged on a table in the hall ready for Mijnheer ter Beemstra to put under the tree later that evening. Since it was such a special day all the children were to stay up for supper which meant scrambling into best clothes, and, for the girls, having their hair arranged just so. Cressida barely had time to get into the grey jersey dress, of which she was heartily sick, and do her own face and hair before the gong sounded and she lined up the children and set them in a tidy queue to go down to the drawing-room, bringing up the rear with Anna and little Lucia.
The drawing-room was a large room very full of people. Cressida had been introduced to everyone who had arrived but now they all looked alike to her; moreover, the women were wearing smart, expensive dresses. She stuck out like a sore thumb, and she wished that she had a uniform like Anna. She was a sensible girl, though; she had no intention of spoiling her evening by moaning over her unsuitable clothes. She made the rounds with the children, shaking hands with everyone and exchanging small talk, and found herself presently with a glass in her hand, talking to a rather fierce old gentleman who reminded her that he was Mevrouw ter Beemstra’s father. He spoke English but insisted that she tried out her few words of Dutch. ‘If you are going to stay here,’ he rumbled, ‘you’ll have to speak the language.’ He studied her face. ‘I hear the children are doing well. You like teaching?’
‘Well, I don’t teach much, you know, just speak English all the time and they learn bits of poetry and that sort of thing. They’re nice children and very quick.’
They were joined by an elderly lady, one of the aunts, Cressida supposed, who asked her how she liked Friesland, and since her English was only a little better than Cressida’s Dutch the old gentleman amused himself helping them out until the gong went again and they trooped into the dining-room.
It looked very festive with tinsel decorations and a lovely centrepiece of holly and Christmas roses, and as well as the large dining table a smaller one had been set at right angles to it and here the children sat with Cressida at one end and Anna at the other.
The meal was a leisurely one, and, since the children were there, not elaborate: soup, little pastry parcels which were filled with smoked salmon, roast pheasant with straw potatoes and braised celery and finally ices topped with whipped cream and nuts. Lucia was half asleep by the time they had finished but she woke at once when Willum reminded her in a loud voice that they were going to sing their carol. Carefully coached by Cressida, he got to his feet and announced that if everyone would go to the drawing-room they would be entertained with a Christmas carol, whereupon everyone clapped and made haste to do as he asked, followed, when everyone was settled, by the children. There was a grand piano in the drawing-room, Cressida sat down at it as the children filed into their places and she began on the well-known tune. The children sang beautifully. One of them, she wasn’t sure which one, was tone deaf, but it hardly showed and they had learnt the words carefully. The applause was deafening and they sang it all over again before doing the rounds once more, bidding everyone goodnight. As they were going out of the room Mevrouw ter Beemstra said, ‘Do come down again if you like, Cressida.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It is already late but if you wish...’
Cressida thanked her, but agreed that it was late, she didn’t add that there were ten children to see into their beds, which, even with Anna’s help, would take quite some time. She wished the room in general goodnight and went upstairs, where the more rebellious of the children had to be rounded up, stood over while they cleaned their teeth and then tucked up in bed.
She went to bed herself almost at once, too tired to do more than wonder if Aldrik had reached his grandmother’s house safely. Also she wondered if and when she would see him again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CRESSIDA WAS SO tired at the end of Christmas Day that she could have fallen on to her bed and gone to sleep without even bothering to undress, but she resisted the urge to do this, undressed, had a bath and got into bed, where she lay sleepily reviewing her day. It had been an exceedingly busy one but she had enjoyed every minute of it. The children had been a handful, of course; keeping the peace between ten children all tearing open their presents at the same time when they should have been having their breakfast had been a Herculean task, but, as Mevrouw ter Beemstra had pointed out, they would never have sat through morning church otherwise and going to church in the village on Christmas morning was a tradition which had to be maintained. There had been no turkey or Christmas pudding at lunch, but vegetable soup followed by goose with red cabbage and then a spectacular dessert of ice-cream, whipped cream and fresh pineapple had proved excellent substitutes, and there had been champagne for the grown-ups and fruit drinks for the children. There was no question of a respite after the meal; the children had been buttoned into their outdoor clothes again and left loose in the garden with Cressida in charge. What afternoon there was left had been more than filled by the need to assist the smaller ones to learn to ride their tricycles and bicycles, set up a target so that the older boys could try out their air pistols and keep the peace between the little girls, casting eyes on each other’s dolls and wanting them. They had had tea in the playroom and then played grandmother’s footsteps and hunt the slipper, games they had never heard of but which Cressida remembered very well from her own childhood and which tired them out nicely. They had had their supper in the small sitting-room leading from the drawing-room and the next hour or so was entirely taken up with marshalling them tidily so that they could say goodnight to the grown-ups in the drawing-room and then be coaxed to their beds after their baths. Cressida reflected that she could have gone to bed herself then quite happily but the ter Beemstras had insisted that she should join everyone else for a buffet supper, so she had changed into the grey jersey and gone back downstairs, where she had been instantly made at home by Mevrouw ter Beemstra, handed from countless cousins and aunts and uncles once again and thanked for the care she had had for the children.
She was plied with drink too and delicious bits and pieces, and presently found herself sitting by the domine, a youngish man with a rather stern face. His English was good and he was interested in her; she found herself talking freely to him although she said nothing about her unfortunate stay with Jonkvrouw van Germert, but she did talk about the doctor because he was always at the back of her mind and thinking about him wasn’t enough. The domine listened gravely. ‘You have been lucky to have found such a good and kind friend,’ he had told her. ‘You will be grateful to him for the rest of your life.’
‘Yes, I expect I shall,’ Cressida had said quietly. Her companion had made it seem as though the doctor had been an episode in her life to be remembered with gratitude but never to be revived.
She had wished everyone goodnight presently and gone up to her room and to her bed. It had really been a very happy day, she muttered sleepily; she had had presents too, handkerchiefs and notepaper and a charming silver bracelet. She should have been feeling happy. It was strange therefore that she should cry herself to sleep.
She woke during the night. ‘He could have sent me a Christmas card,’ she said sadly, and presently she went to sleep again.
She was up early and soon was urging the children out of their beds and into their clothes and all the while the doctor loomed at the back of her mind, and that despite the fact that she had wakened with the intention of thinking no more about him.
* * *
AN INTENTION NOT upheld by Aldrik van der Linus, however. He had thought of her constantly and in answer to his grandmother’s discreet probings had made no bones about telling her that it was his intention to marry Cressida.
His grandmother received the news without su
rprise. ‘A sweet girl,’ she had told him, ‘and very sensible too. Has she any idea...?’
‘No. I had hoped that we would become friends and in a sense we are, but although she doesn’t blame me for her unfortunate stay with Jonkvrouw van Germert she is under the impression that I intend to marry Nicola. I shall need to go carefully.’
‘You have made things clear to Nicola?’
‘Yes, if by that you mean that she doesn’t expect to marry me; indeed she assured me that she had never considered me as a prospective husband and was only too delighted that I had fallen in love at last.’
To which his grandmother made no reply. Men, reflected that lady silently, could be so blind, and the cleverer they were the blinder they seemed to be. Nicola, she had no doubt, had every intention of marrying him; he was too good a prize to give up. She said merely, ‘You must be relieved that Cressida is so happy.’
‘Indeed I am. I shall go and see her as soon as possible after I get back to Janslum. I have some patients to see in Leiden and a short list at the hospital but I should be able to manage a day or two after that.’
* * *
CRESSIDA, UNAWARE OF this, busied herself with the children, thankful when the four young visitors departed for their homes once more. Six, she reflected, were manageable, but ten were a bit too much.
The weather was still wintry with flurries of snow and biting winds, but the children seemed impervious to this; wrapped in her elderly winter coat and a pair of borrowed wellies, a woolly cap pulled down over her ears and a scarf tied round her neck, she accompanied them on expeditions to many nearby canals and a small lake, where they donned their skates and spent hours racing to and fro, and after the first day, realising that she would freeze to death if she didn’t do something about it, she prevailed upon Willum to lend her a pair of old skates—Friesian skates, he told her in his careful English, just right for learners—and with his help and a good deal of encouragement from the other children she ventured upon the ice. Of course she fell over a great deal, to be hauled to her feet with commendable patience by Willum or Jacobus, but the by the end of the second day she was able to stagger a few steps on her own and even manage a short distance with the boys, once they were on either side of her, clasping her hands, before she lost her nerve and fell, spiralling slowly on to the ice.
