by Betty Neels
‘You want me to go to London and look after a little child? It’s kind of you to think of me, Mr van der Beek, but I’m not a nanny and what am I going to do with the aunts?’
‘You’re a sensible young woman and I believe you like children. As for the aunts, would they consent to spending a week or two here with Miss Murch, who I’m sure will be delighted to have their company…?’
‘Yes, well—they’re not used to doing anything around the house; they never have done you see and now they are too old…’
The stare he turned on her should have shrivelled her up. ‘My dear Patience, we are perhaps at cross purposes. I am proposing that your aunts should stay here as my guests; Miss Murch will look after them as such and they will lack for nothing. You can be easy on that score.’
‘Oh, sorry. It’s kind of you to think of that…’
‘I’m not being kind, I am arranging this to suit my sister and myself! I shall be driving to London tomorrow afternoon and I hope that you will agree to come with me.’
‘For how long?’
‘Two weeks. My sister will be going back to Holland then, and Nanny should be back before that although not able to do much. In any case, arrangements can be made in Holland. That is not my concern.’ He smiled at her with such charm that her heart danced against her ribs. ‘Please do come, Patience.’
‘Yes. All right, provided that the aunts are happy about it. Does Miss Murch know?’
‘Not yet. It wasn’t until you came into the room just now that I saw what could be done. You had better go home and talk to the aunts; bring them here directly after lunch tomorrow.’ He frowned. ‘No, better still, I’ll fetch you, you can have half an hour to settle them in before we leave. It’s rather short notice… I’ll phone the garage and arrange for a taxi to be available should they wish to go back home to the house in the village to fetch something.’ He added, ‘And church, of course. I’ll talk to Miss Murch; you can safely leave everything to me.’
Patience nodded; she was sure of that.
The aunts were not to be hurried into instant agreement, although Patience could see that they liked the idea. They had never said so but she was aware that they disliked the little house they now lived in and longed for the comfort and spaciousness of their old home. They agreed, presently, making it sound as though they were conferring a favour upon Mr van der Beek and pronouncing themselves satisfied that the work she was to do in London was quite suitable. The discussion having been brought to a satisfactory conclusion, she set about packing their cases and, that done, seived through her own wardrobe, seeking the best of what she had, folding it away neatly into the old-fashioned leather suitcase which had been her mother’s. It was as heavy as lead, but well polished, and it had class.
They were called for promptly by a suave Mr van der Beek, driven to the house, and the aunts handed over to Miss Murch, who received them with proper deference, led them away to their old bedrooms and offered to unpack for them. Mr van der Beek had obviously given his instructions, thought Patience; she fancied that her aunts were going to live in great comfort for the next two weeks. She spent a little time with them, bade them goodbye, exchanged civilities with Miss Murch and got into the car once more, her luggage in the boot and Basil on the back seat.
‘It’s a two-hour drive,’ observed Mr van der Beek laconically and didn’t speak again for a long time. He drove down through Ipswich and Colchester and on to Chelmsford and, the journey three parts done, stopped in a small village just south of that town. ‘Tea?’ he asked. ‘There’s a nice little place here where they make delicious buttered toast.’
Patience’s mouth watered; lunch seemed a very long time ago and it had been a scanty one and she longed for a cup of tea. He urged her inside to a table by the window and said matter-of-factly, ‘Off you go. I’ll order, shall I?’
She went; she had been rehearsing several suitable sentences to utter, feeling shy, but he hadn’t needed even a hint. Of course, he had a sister…
When she got back the teapot was on the table and a covered dish, housing, she hoped, the buttered toast. He got up as she reached him and pulled out her chair. ‘Mind Basil, he’s hiding underneath.’
‘Oh, do they mind him being here?’
‘No one minds Basil. He’s had a bowl of water and a biscuit already.’ He smiled across the little table at her; she really looked quite pretty in the caramel and cream dress and she was delightfully restful; Marijke would like her. Making up for his long silence on the journey, he embarked on a gentle conversation about nothing much until they were ready to leave.
It was the rush-hour in London by the time they reached that city. Mr van der Beek picked his way through the traffic, nipping up and down obscure streets, confusing Patience, who had a scant knowledge of the place anyway, but always driving west until they reached Chiswick and the quiet surroundings of his home.
Patience, being helped out of the car, clutched his arm. ‘Look,’ she told him, ‘there’s the river—what a wonderful spot. You wouldn’t know that it was London, would you?’ She turned to look at the house. ‘Is it really yours?’
He gave her an amused glance. ‘Yes, it is. Why? Are you surprised?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not really, it’s right for you, isn’t it? It’s just that I have always thought of you living in one of those modern flats with balconies and a man at the door.’
‘Heaven forbid. I’m flattered that you have spared me a thought, Patience.’
She blushed, wishing she could say something witty in reply, but he didn’t seem to notice her awkwardness, urging her across the pavement to where the house door stood open. Dobbs was there, beaming a welcome, silently agreeing with Miss Murch’s opinion that Patience was a nice young lady, a bit old-fashioned but that didn’t matter; nor did it matter she had no looks worth mentioning. He had been warned by her to keep a fatherly eye on Patience, something he was prepared to do in any case since it would please Miss Murch.
He admitted them to the house, bowed politely over the hand held out to him by Patience, and informed them that Mevrouw ter Katte was in the sitting-room with the little girl. He needed to raise his voice to tell them this for the childish voice, raised in furious screams, made normal speech impossible.
Mr van der Beek turned to Patience. ‘You see how necessary it is to have you here to restore peace to my house? We have arrived not a moment too soon.’
The infantile bellows increased. ‘Perhaps if we were to say hello?’
With Dobbs preceding them they crossed the hall and went into a room at the back of the house. It was not a large room but it was very comfortably furnished and sitting in one of the wing chairs was Mr van der Beek’s sister: a fair-haired girl with a beautiful face and eyes of a very bright blue. Her hair was curly and cut short and at the moment very untidy. She gave a small scream when she saw them. ‘Julius—you’ve come…’ She broke into Dutch and then switched back to English. ‘Sorry; I was so pleased to see Julius—you must be Patience. I am so grateful to you—Rosie’s being a handful…’
She lifted her face for her brother’s kiss and held out a hand to Patience. ‘Usually I can cope but I’m feeling a bit—how do you say?—off colour.’
Mr van der Beek had swung his niece off his sister’s lap and sat her in the crook of his arm. ‘Where’s Rinus?’
‘He’s gone for a walk.’
‘The coward. You’re tired, lieveling. Shall we throw this tiresome young lady into her bed and have a quiet talk about ways and means? How is Nanny?’
‘She’s got a secondary infection.’ Mevrouw ter Katte looked at Patience. ‘Do you suppose that you could manage just for a week or two?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Patience. She had lost her heart to the tear-stained cherub leaning against her uncle’s shoulder. ‘Though you will have to tell me how you like things do
ne. If she will come with me now I’ll undress her and bath her and get her into bed.’
‘You don’t know where everything is,’ the cherub’s mother said wistfully.
‘I’ll take Rosie upstairs and show Patience round at the same time. You stay here and have a drink ready for us when we come down; we shall need it.’
Rosie had stopped bawling and her doleful sniffs had given way to giggles as she was borne up the gracefully curved staircase at the back of the hall. The house was larger than it appeared to be from the outside; the square landing had several doors leading from it and there was a narrow passage towards the back of the house. Mr van der Beek opened a door at the end of it to disclose a pretty little room overlooking a good-sized garden behind the house. ‘You will be next door,’ he told Patience, ‘in Nanny’s room. The bathroom is on the other side.’
He sat down on the side of the small bed with Rosie on his knee. ‘If you get a bath ready we’ll dunk her and pop her into bed.’
Patience looked doubtfully at him. ‘I could manage,’ she began.
‘I know—but a little help won’t come amiss on your first day here. She’s a friendly child but only if she likes you.’
Fate was kind. Rosie consented to be undressed by Patience, was bathed, robed in a nightgown and popped into her bed while her uncle sat in the small easy-chair by the window. Once she was tucked up, he kissed her goodnight, observed that she would be asleep in five minutes and then went away.
Well, really, thought Patience crossly, Now what am I supposed to do once Rosie is asleep?
However, Rosie wasn’t quite ready to sleep yet. ‘Sing,’ she demanded in a small voice.
So Patience sang, dredging up memories of nursery rhymes and working her way through all those she could remember and then, since she had come to an end, embarking on ‘My old man’s a dustman.’
Mr van der Beek, coming back upstairs to see how she was faring, stood listening to her clear gentle voice and choked back a laugh. She finished the verse and, since there was silence now, he went in. ‘Asleep?’
When she nodded he said, ‘Good, sorry to throw you in at the deep end like this but we arrived at the right moment and it was best to take advantage of it. Dobbs told the housemaid—her name’s Jenny—to unpack your things, so please come down as soon as you’ve tidied yourself.’
He bent over the bed for a moment and then went away and Patience went to her own room, which was a little larger than Rosie’s and charming with its pastel colours and the pretty lampshades. She did her face and her hair, took another look at Rosie and went downstairs. Dobbs was in the hall.
‘In here, miss,’ he begged, and opened the drawing-room door. Mr van der Beek was there and so was his sister and her husband, a big thickset man with pale hair and a pleasant rugged face.
The men got up. ‘Patience, this is Rinus ter Katte,’ and, when they had shaken hands, ‘Sit down, do, and have a drink. After dinner we must have a talk.’
Patience was enchanted with the room and presently when they crossed the hall to the dining-room she found it equally beautiful; William and Mary, she guessed, with some handsome marquetry. The table, covered in a damask cloth, was set with heavy silver and fine china and the glasses were old—she knew that because there were two just like them in Aunt Bessy’s corner cupboard—baluster wine glasses, eighteenth-century and valuable. Aunt Bessy always said that they would pay for her funeral and that of Aunt Polly and were on no account to be sold for any other purpose, but here they were in everyday use…
Patience was hungry; she did full justice to the tiny onion tarts, the tarragon chicken accompanied by creamed potatoes and a variety of vegetables followed by an apple tart and cream and finally cheese and biscuits. All the while Mevrouw ter Katte talked, sometimes in Dutch, excusing herself first. ‘For I am rusty in my English—it is good that you are here, Patience, for I can practise with you.’ She beamed across the table, her pretty face friendly.
‘Now we will go and sit by the fire and explain everything to you.’
When they were sitting over their coffee presently, she began, ‘This is how it was arranged with Nanny but if you do not like it you say so, yes?’
She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Do not think that I leave Rosie always with her nurse. That is not so but I have not been well, you understand. I become tired easily and that is not good for the baby. I will have Rosie after breakfast for one hour or so and then I will like to go out with my husband, perhaps to lunch, to shop…if you will care for her until—after tea perhaps? We will have her then for an hour or so before you put her to bed. Is that agreeable to you?’ She looked anxious. ‘You will have very little time for yourself and you must think that I am a selfish woman, but indeed I am not.’
‘I think it will do you a great deal of good to go out and shop and enjoy yourself,’ said Patience, ‘and you’re not selfish. I’m sure Rosie will be great fun; I only hope that I’ll be a good nanny.’ She hesitated. ‘Your own nanny doesn’t mind?’
‘She is glad that there is someone to help me. I have been to see her today and she expressed relief. It is most unfortunate that she is ill.’
The two men hadn’t said a word and presently Mr van der Beek took himself off to sit in his study, wishing Patience goodnight as he went. ‘I shall be at the hospital all day tomorrow and won’t see you until the evening,’ he observed as he went.
It had been a long day; Patience took herself off to bed, first peeping into the room next door to make sure that Rosie slept. Her bed had been turned down, the curtains drawn, her nightie laid on the pillow, a bottle of spring water and a glass arranged on a little tray on the bedside table. Very welcoming. She had a leisurely bath and got into bed, mindful of the fact that small children woke early.
Rosie was no exception; Patience wakened to find Rosie crouching beside her, prodding her with small gentle fingers. Neither spoke much of the other’s language but they managed very nicely and presently Patience got up, sat Rosie in the middle of the bed while she dressed and then dressed her and crept through the quiet house down to the kitchen and out into the garden behind the house. It was chilly, but a bright morning, and they capered around on the smooth lawn behind the flowerbeds, and Mr van der Beek, preparing to take himself and Basil for a quick walk before breakfast, wasted a good deal of time watching them from the window. He heard them creeping indoors again while he was at the table but made no attempt to see them; for one thing he had no time to spare and for another he had promised himself that he would see as little of Patience as possible—the girl was becoming an obsession, something he would not allow in his ordered life.
She and Rosie breakfasted in a little room which she supposed was a kind of day nursery. It was cosily furnished with a nice big table, a magnificent rocking horse and a dolls’ house which Rosie was still too small to appreciate although Patience couldn’t wait to open its doors.
They breakfasted happily enough. Jenny bore a laden tray upstairs and Rosie, secure in her high chair, fed herself after a fashion. She was a charming child and well-behaved for the most part. Patience cleaned her up after their meal and bore her down to the dining-room where her mother and father were finishing their breakfast.
Mevrouw ter Katte looked rested. ‘All is well?’ she wanted to know. ‘Now we shall play with Rosie and you will please be free for an hour. If you will come for her at half-past ten? Julius said that if you wish you should walk along the river and take the air.’
So Patience put on a jacket and walked briskly, enjoying the sight of the river. It was surprisingly quiet; she supposed that the shops and main streets lay somewhere behind the house. Tomorrow she might explore a bit but for today she was content just to look around her. It was all very different from Themelswick—no wonder Miss Murch had had such difficulty in settling down. She couldn’t think why Mr van der Beek needed to leave such
a lovely spot in order to obtain peace and quiet, but perhaps he had a great many friends and a busy social life. Perhaps, too, she would learn something of that while she was in the house.
Rosie was quite happy to go with her when she got back to the house; there was a small public garden close by, Dobbs told her, and she could take Rosie there in her pushchair. ‘Her nanny takes a ball and they play for half an hour or so. Rosie has her dinner about midday—unless you wish otherwise I will serve your lunch at the same time, miss, then you will have a little time to yourself while Rosie has her nap.’
The day went well and the moppet was happy enough with Patience, gabbling away in her mother tongue, listening with every appearance of understanding to Patience’s replies in plain English. Midday dinner, an unknown hazard, went off smoothly. Patience ate her own light meal at the same time and settled Rosie for her nap. She slept at once and Patience cast around for something to do while she slept. She would have liked a book to read but she didn’t like to go downstairs and look for one; she didn’t know where to look anyway. There was a window overlooking the garden at the end of the passage where their rooms were; she opened it and hung out, admiring its well-planned spaciousness.
‘He must have a great deal of money.’ She spoke out loud for there was no one around and a voice, any voice, even her own, would be welcome. ‘He’s a lucky man.’
‘Indeed he is,’ said Mr van der Beek, so close to her that when she bounced round, breathless with sudden fright, she found her face in his waistcoat.
‘You really must not do that,’ she hissed at him. ‘I might have screamed and wakened Rosie.’
