Little Girl Lost

by Val Wood

  ‘What would you like to do?’ Frederik asked. ‘Cross the bridge to the Spa or follow the path down the cliff to the sands?’

  ‘Oh, can we cross the bridge, please? I’ve never been across such a long one!’ In fact the only bridge she had ever crossed was Hull’s North Bridge that spanned the River Hull as they began their journey this morning, heading out of town towards Holderness and the coastal road.

  As they stepped on to the bridge she looked down into the valley below and thought that she had never been so high, either. She felt quite dizzy as she watched the carriages pass below them, and she clutched her father’s hand as they crossed.

  They passed the Spa terrace and promenade, where Frederik lifted his hat to the ladies who were taking tea, and then went down the steps to the sands. Men and women were strolling together or standing in groups chatting; children were racing about with kites, balls and bats, and dogs were chasing and barking at the waves. Above them, heavy-winged seabirds were swooping and screeching and making much more noise than those that flew along the Humber or above the docks in Hull.

  ‘Come along then, Margriet; let’s take off our shoes and stockings.’ Frederik sounded very boyish. ‘We’ll have a paddle in the sea.’

  Margriet gazed at him in astonishment. ‘Really?’ she asked. ‘Is it allowed?’

  He laughed. ‘Of course it’s allowed.’ He hopped about on one foot and then the other to take off his leather shoes. ‘Come on, there are lots of people in the sea. Don’t be coy.’

  Margriet blinked, and then sat down on the sands to unlace her boots. ‘If you’re sure it’s all right, Papa. I’m not sure Mama—’

  ‘It’s perfectly all right,’ he said, slipping his feet out of the stirrups that kept his fine wool trousers neat and tight, and rolled the legs up to his knees, showing his pale calves. Throwing caution to the wind, he shrugged off his grey frock coat and put it over his arm. ‘We’re on holiday, so we’re allowed to do all kinds of things we wouldn’t do at home.’

  Margriet looked up at him as she took off her shoes and stockings. Never had she seen her papa in such a state of undress. She giggled; he looked so comical standing there on one foot, taking off his stockings, in his rolled-up trousers, white waistcoat and pale grey cravat. It was a good thing, she thought, that Mama wasn’t there to see him – especially when he removed his top hat, stuffed his stockings into it, and crammed it back on his head.

  Cautiously they entered the water. Margriet’s giggles ended abruptly and she shrieked, clutching her father’s arm. ‘It’s so cold! Ah!’ She stumbled back as a foam-crested wave headed towards them, and then stopped and jumped over it instead. Frederik smiled. It was good to see her so full of high spirits. This was what had been missing from her life, the chance to be a child and not a miniature adult. He thought back to his own childhood and realized how lucky he had been.

  He jumped over the next wave with her. The tide was coming in and the sea was becoming boisterous. Further north were the bathing huts; women were sheltered from public view by tent-like canvas canopies, but men were swimming in the open sea, some in costumes like his and others naked to the waist. He smiled again. That was how he and his brother used to swim in the dykes, but not his sister: that was one pleasure that she was not allowed as they grew up, even though their mother was so broad-minded; Anna had to bathe in long drawers and a tunic top.

  Margriet shrieked again as the waves became bigger, and grabbed her father’s arm once more. He struggled to keep hold of his clothing and shoes, and as he stumbled a breeze caught his hat and took it tumbling along the sands. He set off in hot pursuit and saw it hurtling towards a man and a group of children who were playing beach cricket. The man caught it and held it up in the air. It was Hendrik Sanderson.

  ‘I have a thing, a very fine thing,’ he called. ‘Who is the owner of this fine thing? Frederik! How very nice to see you.’ He held out his rather sandy hand as Frederik approached. ‘So you were able to find a house?’

  Frederik shook his hand and took the hat, looking back at Margriet still trying to catch his windblown stockings by the water’s edge. ‘We were, thanks to you. It’s quite delightful. We’ve only just arrived, so Margriet and I escaped whilst my wife is organizing the maid and unpacking. This is Margriet’s first visit to the seaside.’

  ‘Oh, she must be introduced to my daughters. Imogen! Julia!’ He called to two young girls. ‘There’s another friend for you. Go over and say hello to Margriet.’

  The two girls looked across to where Margriet had just trapped the second stocking. ‘We know her,’ Julia shouted. ‘She’s coming to our school.’

  ‘Do you know how to play cricket?’ Imogen asked as Margriet approached.

  Margriet paused for only a second. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think so.’

  ‘I’m afraid we must get back,’ Frederik said, and then felt guilty when Imogen as well as Margriet looked very disappointed. Hendrik looked from one to the other.

  ‘Why don’t you leave Margriet with us and we’ll bring her back in half an hour or so?’ he said. ‘We’ll be packing up by then.’

  Frederik saw Margriet’s pleading eyes and agreed. He gave Hendrik the address, rolled down his trousers and walked back across the sands to put on his shoes and stockings. He brushed down his coat before putting it on and placed his hat at a jaunty angle on his head. When he looked back towards the cricketers, Margriet had abandoned her coat and bonnet and was barefoot with the bat in her hand, looking as if she had been playing the game all her life. She did not look his way, and he was smiling as he made his way back to the cottage, sand crunching between his toes.

  ‘You left her?’ Rosamund was horrified when he explained that Margriet was still playing on the sands. ‘But are they suitable children for her to be associating with?’

  ‘I know their father and he was there,’ he said irritably. ‘He won’t leave her alone, and she will be associating with the girls at Miss Barker’s dame school in another month.’

  She was somewhat mollified by his explanation, and when Sanderson arrived at the house with four dishevelled cricketers she relaxed enough to ask Frederik to invite him in to be introduced.

  Sanderson declined her offer to be seated and said they must be getting back, as the children would need to bathe before their supper.

  ‘Of course. Your wife will be waiting for you.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think she’ll be back yet. She’s gone walking up to the castle and across the cliffs to the North Bay. Alice likes to walk, but the children were eager to play cricket.’

  Rosamund seemed bewildered. ‘Are you holidaying with friends?’

  ‘Sometimes we do, but not this time.’

  Rosamund wanted to ask if Mrs Sanderson had gone walking with a companion or a maid, but sensed that it might be considered an intrusion. Sanderson, however, seemed to read her thoughts.

  ‘My wife is very sociable,’ he said tolerantly, ‘but also quite comfortable with her own company. She’s happy to walk alone whilst I take care of the children.’

  ‘I see.’ Rosamund quite clearly did not see, and after a moment’s hesitation she asked, ‘Are you not afraid for her well-being or her reputation, sir?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, Mrs Vandergroene, I am not. Alice is a very capable and competent woman and would not thank me if I thought her any less.’ Incredulous, she raised her eyebrows, and he added, ‘She believes that she has every right to walk unaccompanied if she wishes to do so, and she wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.’

  Both men realized that their wives would be quite incompatible.

  ‘I don’t understand him,’ Rosamund said after the Sandersons had left. ‘What kind of man is he to let his wife go jaunting off on her own? Did you say he was half Dutch?’ She raised her chin as if to say that perhaps that accounted for the lack of discernment. ‘Does he not realize how bad it looks, let alone the fact that something disastrous could happen to her? Do they not have a maid who could
accompany her?’

  ‘I understand that they do,’ Frederik sighed, bored with the conversation almost before it had begun, ‘but you heard him: his wife is capable of going out alone.’ He put such heavy emphasis on the word ‘capable’ that Rosamund, raising her chin, remarked sharply that she too was quite capable, but would not dream of doing such a thing.

  ‘You care too much about what others might think, Rosamund,’ he said wearily, ‘when it really doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Well, it matters to me,’ she protested. ‘I am beginning to wonder if their children are suitable companions for Margriet after all. And what’s more, Frederik, I will not be inviting Mrs Sanderson to join me for tea on the Spa terrace. Do not expect it of me.’

  Frederik had not yet met Mrs Sanderson, but he responded to his wife’s determined expression with an ironic bow. ‘Such a pity, my dear,’ he said in mock sorrow. ‘I’m sure she will be quite devastated if perchance she should hear of it.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The month at Scarborough was wonderful for Margriet once her mother had reluctantly agreed that the Sanderson children were well mannered and well behaved, and allowed Margriet to be in their company. Rosamund’s own daily routine began when Florrie walked her to the Spa terrace and settled her at a table. She then dismissed the maid to do whatever she wanted for an hour, but said that she must return to walk with her down to the sands where Frederik and Margriet were engaged in games with the Sanderson family. It was on one such occasion that Mrs Sanderson came across to introduce herself.

  She might have been warned by her husband of Rosamund’s sensibilities, for she was perfectly charming, and not at all controversial. ‘Mrs Vandergroene,’ she said, ‘I am thinking of bathing tomorrow. Would you care to join me?’

  Rosamund had been intrigued by the bathing huts, and sufficiently interested to have walked quite close to where they were lined up in the sea to assure herself that the canopies were perfectly private and the occupants invisible to anyone on the sands.

  Alice Sanderson saw her hesitation. ‘The bathers are quite secluded,’ she advised her. ‘No one can see them, except of course those who are already in the sea, but the swimmers tend not to come near the huts; the water isn’t deep enough.’

  ‘I – I can’t swim,’ Rosamund told her, ‘although I feel sure I would like to bathe if I felt I wouldn’t fall.’

  ‘There’s a rope to hold on to, and a female attendant to help you in. It’s great fun, and very exhilarating.’ She nodded towards Florrie, waiting at a respectful distance. ‘Your maid could come too. There are bathing costumes for hire if she doesn’t have one.’

  ‘Oh, I bought one for her,’ Rosamund said. ‘I thought she could accompany me into the water.’

  ‘Well there we are then. Shall we say at about eleven? I believe the weather is staying warm for the whole week.’

  The next morning Florrie packed a bag with the bathing costumes and escorted Rosamund down to the sands. Frederik and Margriet had gone ahead; the Sanderson children had promised to teach Margriet to swim and Frederik had also taken his costume. Rosamund didn’t want her husband or daughter to see her embarrassment.

  There was room for four in the hut but Mrs Sanderson commandeered one for the three of them. It had a door at each end, one for entering fully clothed and the other to be exited once the machine was pulled into the sea. It was painted white on the inside and had mirrored cupboards for personal belongings such as hairbrushes and combs. A drawer held clean towels and there was a rubber bag for wet towels and costumes after bathing; the floor was peppered with holes to allow any water to drain away.

  Once they were on board the doors were closed, and the horse-drawn hut rumbled forward across the sands and into the sea. Rosamund sat on a bench whilst Florrie helped her out of her stockings and petticoats. Then Florrie unfastened her mistress’s corset and withdrew it, slipped the pantaloons beneath her unbuttoned gown, popped the tunic over her head and withdrew the gown so that Rosamund was never seen uncovered. Mrs Sanderson had no such modesty; she was not wearing corset or stockings but only a simple gown with one petticoat, and these she removed before pulling on her knee-length pantaloons and tunic, unafraid of showing her nakedness.

  Mrs Sanderson must have been aware of Rosamund’s shock; Florrie gave her a sidelong glance before she began her own undressing. Mrs Sanderson smiled. ‘Don’t mind me, my dear,’ she said. ‘We’re all the same under our clothing. If Mrs Vandergroene were not here today I would swim naked, like the men. Some women do, you know.’

  ‘Surely not, Mrs Sanderson!’ Rosamund was horrified.

  ‘If we were pulled well out into the sea, yes indeed.’ She tucked her hair under a swimming hat. ‘No one can see your body when you’re under water, and it’s such a liberating feeling to be unrestricted by clothing.’ She sighed. ‘But there we are, prudery reigns, I’m afraid. Come along then, ladies, we’ve arrived. Shall we bathe?’

  She opened the door and dived straight into the water, coming up gasping. ‘Wonderful,’ she cried, and dipping in again she swam away.

  Rosamund clung to the attendant who helped her down the steps and into the water. It was freezing cold and came above her waist. She screamed. ‘Oh, no, I can’t bear it, it’s so cold! Let me out. Let me out!’

  ‘Get back out again then, ma’am,’ the woman said, ‘and then come back in. It’s not so bad a second time. Come on, miss,’ she said to Florrie, who was dithering above them. ‘Just jump in; you’ll not drown.’

  Florrie took a deep breath and, used to obeying orders, did as she was told. The splash as she jumped in made Rosamund shriek.

  ‘Mama, Mama! Florrie, look at me!’

  Rosamund, her teeth chattering, looked around for her daughter, and as she did so the attendant pulled her into the water again. It wasn’t true that it wasn’t as bad the second time. It was.

  ‘Mama, I’m swimming!’

  Rosamund steeled herself to look up and saw Margriet on her father’s back as he swam only yards away from her. ‘Oh, be careful, be careful,’ she cried out. ‘The water is deep.’

  ‘No it’s not.’ Frederik laughed and stood up, showing that the water only came to his waist. Margriet clung on to his back.

  ‘It’s such fun, Mama. I can nearly swim.’

  After five more minutes Rosamund got out, shivering uncontrollably. Health-giving or not, nothing would ever induce her to sea bathe again. She sat on the bench and waited. Where was Florence, the wretched girl? The attendant seemed to have disappeared too, and Rosamund wondered how long she would have to wait. She rubbed her feet and legs with a towel and then, not liking the feel of wet clothing on her, she wrapped the towel round her waist and pulled off the pantaloons and tunic.

  ‘So undignified,’ she muttered, but as she rubbed her arms and shoulders her body began to glow. Knowing she couldn’t fasten her corset by herself, she slipped on her petticoat and then her gown and jacket, and soon she was warm.

  Florrie had loved the water, she said, as they walked back up the hill towards the Spa for a cup of hot chocolate. She and Mrs Sanderson would have stayed in longer if it hadn’t been for Rosamund’s insistence that she had had quite enough, thank you, and must be pulled back up the beach. To make up for it, Rosamund had rescinded her vow and invited Mrs Sanderson to join her for a hot drink, but Mrs Sanderson had politely declined.

  For Margriet the month went far too quickly. She had made great friends of the Sanderson children, and Mrs Sanderson had taken them up to the castle several times and didn’t seem to mind if they climbed on the ancient walls. Frederik saw a huge difference in his daughter. Rosamund did too; the girl was showing another side of her personality, a merry, unrestrained side, not one Rosamund felt she could understand. Sometimes she was disobedient too, removing her bonnet when she thought her mother wasn’t watching and ignoring Rosamund’s warnings that her face would freckle in the sun. For some reason Margriet didn’t seem to care about freckles.

&
nbsp; On the last day before they were due to go home, Frederik and Hendrik Sanderson sat side by side on the sands watching the boats coming in to the harbour and keeping an eye on their children, who were playing a game of Catch.

  ‘I’m so grateful to you for telling me about the letting agent,’ Frederik said. ‘This holiday has been wonderful for Margriet; she was such a solitary little girl before she met your children.’

  ‘She’s your only child?’ Hendrik asked. ‘That’s a pity.’

  Frederik nodded. ‘Yes. We haven’t been fortunate enough to have more.’ He paused. Rosamund’s frigidity wasn’t a subject for discussion. Even here on holiday she had rejected his loving advances, alarmed that Florrie or Margriet might hear in the small cottage. He wasn’t the kind of man to insist, but he was frustrated and often felt depressed by the situation. It was grounds for separation, but he couldn’t do that either. Rosamund would die of shame and humiliation.

  ‘We’re expecting another.’ Hendrik drew on a cigar and blew smoke rings in the air. ‘Alice is delighted, and I am too. She’s had a couple of miscarriages since Julia was born and so we waited until she was fully recovered.’ He grinned. ‘It was difficult, but she threatened me with all kinds of ghastly accidents if I should stray. Not that I ever would. She’s my whole life.’

  Frederik thought of Alice Sanderson swimming in the sea and trooping off with the children for adventures at the castle, which meant a steep walk up the headland and some strenuous games at the top. On the way back she led them through the boat yards to explore the old streets and the harbour before she treated them to tea and cake. The children were exhausted by the time they reached their lodgings again, but she didn’t appear to be.

  ‘She’s an amazing woman,’ he murmured. ‘I trust everything will go well this time.’