Little Girl Lost

by Val Wood

  Hendrik nodded. ‘So do I. It must be rotten being a woman and having to go through all that. It frightens me to death even thinking of it.’

  ‘It frightens women too, I should think,’ Frederik said, knowing that it frightened Rosamund.

  The next morning they all met to say goodbye before the Vandergroenes departed for home. The seabirds screeched overhead and Margriet was sure they were saying ‘Don’t go. Don’t go’. She was so pleased to have met Imogen and Julia and built up a friendship before starting school that she shouted and waved when she saw them, and was admonished by her mother for being unruly.

  Most of their luggage had already gone off in the cart. Florrie was helped up to sit beside the driver of the clarence and Margriet hopped from one foot to another as she waited for her father to assist her mother into the carriage. The driver cracked his whip and the carriage jerked as they drew away, and Margriet craned out of the window for the last glimpse of the sea, eagerly remarking on what she could see. Her mother interrupted. ‘Settle down now, Margriet. The holiday has come to an end. There will be no more lax behaviour, only decorum, if you please. Remember your manners.’

  Margriet pressed her lips together. ‘Yes, Mama.’ She sat back on her little seat and glanced across at her father. He had his head back against the seat and his eyes were closed, but he slowly opened one of them and pulled his mouth down into a comical pout, and she felt a bubble of mirth creeping up which she hastily changed into a cough.

  ‘I’ve had such a lovely time,’ she said. ‘I do hope we can come to Scarborough next year. Although,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘Mrs Sanderson is going to have a new baby, so perhaps they won’t be able to come. It won’t be able to play on the sands with us for quite a long time.’

  Rosamund drew in a breath. ‘What! Whoever told you that?’ She put her hand to her forehead. ‘Oh, my word! I can’t believe I’m hearing such a thing from my own child’s lips.’

  Margriet opened and closed her mouth. What had she said? She looked from her mother to her father. Rosamund seemed on the point of collapse, whilst her father’s face was set. He reached over and put his hand on hers. ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured.

  Margriet thought he was cross, and miserably wondered if she was the unwitting cause of his anger and her mother’s obvious distress. But he turned to her mother. ‘Rosamund,’ he said patiently, ‘the Sanderson children are aware of the happy news, which they learned from their parents. I too was told by Hendrik that his wife is with child after several difficult years. For them it is a time for rejoicing.’

  Rosamund cast him a cold glance. ‘It is not a subject for general discussion and certainly not for children to know. I am once again forced to consider the suitability of Margriet’s attending the same school as the Sanderson children. They are not a good influence.’

  ‘Is that so?’ he muttered so quietly that Margriet barely heard him. ‘We will discuss this at home, but I am telling you now that I will have the final say on the matter.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Frederik longed to return to Netherlands and visit Cornelia, yet he had no real reason to do so. He was busy in his Hull office; there had been many orders whilst he’d been away and although his staff was capable of dealing with enquiries and ongoing business he liked to follow up new contacts with either a personal letter or a visit. He decided that he wouldn’t sail to Netherlands again until at least the end of September, by which time Margriet would be settled in her new school.

  He told Rosamund that he would walk Margriet to school with Florrie every day for a week, until she was sure that their daughter was in no danger of running into any unsavoury character who might ruin her reputation before she even possessed one. September began with Margriet enthusiastically ready for school early each morning and at the end of the day eager to tell of the things she had been taught. Florrie collected her every afternoon, and on the way home they would stop to chat to people she knew and tell them about Scarborough.

  Frederik wrote to Cornelia, asking how she was and insisting that she should not hesitate to ask him for help or advice if she should need it, or just write in friendship, he hoped. Do not think that you must have a reason to correspond, he urged her. I am your friend too, as I was Nicolaas’s.

  He asked about her children and added that he expected to be in Netherlands at the end of September and would like to call on her if it was convenient.

  I want to see her now. The thought tormented him, and if she had written to say he might visit whenever he liked he would have booked a passage immediately.

  During his discussion with Rosamund he had told her that as he was not sleeping well due to his overload of work, he would move into the guest room so as not to disturb her. He thought he detected a note of relief as she replied, ‘Of course, Frederik. I quite understand, and you must be careful not to become overtired. I have noticed that you’ve been rather on edge since our return from Scarborough.’

  And there was every reason for him to be so, he thought irritably, since he had seen at close quarters how a happily married couple might behave. Perhaps the Sandersons were unusual in their open fondness for each other, but it was what he wanted for himself; friendship and affection was surely not too much to expect in a marriage, especially within the bedroom.

  The month for him passed slowly, unlike for Margriet, who found the weekends irksome and couldn’t wait for Mondays. She gobbled up her lessons and made great advances in reading, writing and arithmetic, but especially in storytelling. Miss Barker asked her one day to read out something she had written on the history of Hull.

  ‘It’s quite short,’ Margriet explained as she stood up in front of the small class. ‘If there was time I could make it longer?’

  She looked hopefully at Miss Barker, and was disappointed when the teacher said, ‘Perhaps you will write another episode for another time. For the moment just read what you have written, as the others too have stories to tell.’

  Margriet cleared her throat. ‘This is the tale of a little girl who lives – lived,’ she corrected herself, ‘with her parents quite close to here in a street named Land of Green Ginger. Her playground was the garden which used to belong to King Henry VIII, who had a beautiful palace in Hull hundreds of years ago.’

  As she told the story of the little girl and her friend playing with her pets in the royal gardens, she was reminded that she hadn’t thought of Anneliese for some time, and not at all since she had returned from Scarborough and started school. She decided that she would call on her, and wondered if she could persuade Florrie to let her walk home alone one day as the Sanderson girls did.

  ‘Thank you, Margriet,’ Miss Barker said, when she had finished. ‘That was very interesting. Can you tell us if your story is true? This is a history lesson, after all.’

  Margriet hesitated for a second and cleared her throat again. ‘It’s true about King Henry,’ she said, ‘and …’ She remembered playing in the garden with Anneliese and curtseying as the ladies of the court walked by, but the picture wasn’t quite as sharp in her memory as it had once been. ‘I – yes,’ she said, not wanting to deny her friend. ‘I think it’s true about Anneliese.’

  ‘Anneliese?’ Miss Barker asked. ‘Was that the name of the little girl?’

  ‘Yes,’ Margriet whispered. ‘It is.’

  ‘And what was the name of her friend?’

  Margriet let out a whispered breath. ‘I don’t know, Miss Barker.’ She didn’t want to tell an untruth, but she knew that if she confessed that she was the other child in the story Miss Barker would not believe it. Yet it is most sincerely true, she reassured herself, and she would visit again just to prove it.

  Towards the end of September Frederik received a letter from Cornelia saying that they were looking forward to his visit. I am feeling much better and more settled in my new life, she wrote, and although it is not long since Nicolaas’s death I am slowly adjusting. Please come when you can.

  So that h
e didn’t appear too eager he waited until the final days of the month before booking his passage. Margriet didn’t make as much fuss as usual and he was pleased that she was enjoying school so much as not to miss him. Rosamund said she had many things to do whilst he was away, luncheons to attend, card parties and so on, and added gaily that she needn’t feel guilty seeing as he was away and Margriet was at school. Frederik was puzzled by this, as he hadn’t realized that she ever did feel any guilt, or had any reason to.

  He stayed with his mother whilst attending to business in Amsterdam, and then left for Gouda early one morning, telling his mother that he might be late back that evening.

  ‘What takes you to Gouda?’ she asked. ‘Is there much business there?’

  ‘Not a great deal,’ he said honestly. ‘But whilst I am there I will call on Nicolaas’s widow.’

  ‘Ah!’ she said perceptively. ‘Be careful for her reputation, Frederik. A woman in her position is vulnerable to gossip.’

  ‘Her children are there,’ he said huffily, very conscious of her shrewd insight. ‘And I am – was – Nicolaas’s friend.’

  ‘Even so,’ she murmured. ‘Even so.’

  And of course she was right, he thought as he journeyed again by train and cabriolet. How was it that his mother could always read him like a book? Cornelia would not want any gossip-mongering to reflect on her or her children. What a fool he was, he thought. What an absolute fool.

  Because of his mother’s warning and his own deliberations, and then discovering that Hans and Klara were not at home to be a safeguard against tittle-tattle, he was awkward and reticent during the visit. They had coffee and made light conversation, he not wanting to speak of Nicolaas because he felt guilty about his feelings towards Cornelia, and she, somehow, absorbing his reserve and only asking him about business and talking about her garden, saying she was not looking forward to the winter ahead.

  When he finally rose to leave, she gazed at him for a moment and then said softly, ‘I realize it is difficult for you to come here, Frederik, now that your memory of Nicolaas is fading and you must continue with your life, as I must with mine.’ She lowered her eyes, and when she lifted them again he saw that they were moist. ‘Please don’t feel obliged to call every time you come to Gouda. I know that Nicolaas probably asked you to support me, but I don’t expect it, even though I appreciate your friendship and hope that it will always continue.’

  He gazed back at her. What? His lips formed the word but he didn’t speak it. Did she mean that she didn’t want him to come any more? Had he said something he shouldn’t? Offended her in some way? But how could he bear not to see her?

  Although he was conscious of the maid clattering pans and crockery somewhere in the distance, he felt that he was trapped in a bubble, unable to connect, unable to say or do what he wanted most of all. He reached for her hand and held it. It was soft and warm and he tried to tell himself that she wasn’t excluding but excusing him.

  ‘Frederik?’ she said.

  ‘I …’ He sought to find some kind of expression. ‘Do you not want me to visit?’

  ‘Of course I want you to come,’ she said huskily. ‘I look forward to your visits. But you seem distant today, not your usual self. I don’t want you to think that you have to call on me; I understand that you are a busy man with your own commitments.’

  His relief was so enormous that he gently kissed her hand before lowering it. ‘I am a little ill at ease,’ he explained. ‘I’m staying with my mother in Amsterdam and told her that I was coming to see you. She warned me that I must be careful of your reputation; she said that you might be the subject of gossip if I called too often.’

  She laughed. ‘And so I might be,’ she said. ‘But I care nothing for gossips. My friends understand me and are loyal, and that is what counts. So you will still visit, and not just because you feel obliged to? The children would like to see you too; Hans will be disappointed that he has missed you today.’

  ‘Will he be here tomorrow? I can come back.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘Come after school, as we would like to discuss his future education. I’m sorry,’ she gave a wry smile, ‘but, as your mother will understand and to dispel her anxiety, I cannot ask you to stay. Not just yet, anyway.’

  His mood had lifted completely; he felt light-hearted and happy. Not only was he coming back tomorrow, but he was welcome at any time. He was heartened to think that at some time in the future … not just yet, but soon, perhaps, he could spend a much longer time with her, for wasn’t that exactly what he had promised Nicolaas?

  He tapped on the roof of the cab to attract the driver’s attention. ‘Take me to the cheese market first, if you please,’ he said, thinking that he would placate his mother by buying her a wheel of cheese, even though his brother was in the cheese business. Gouda was famous for its cheese, as well as for the manufacture of clay pipes and he remembered that his father had enjoyed a pipe of tobacco.

  The rounds of cheese were laid out on sheets in the centre of the marketplace and he paused for a few minutes listening to the cries of the porters in their straw hats as they extolled the perfection of their product. The big buyers would have made their choice in the morning, negotiated a price, and on agreement clapped hands with the sellers before the cheese was taken off to the weigh house. During the afternoon it was the turn of small shopkeepers and huisvrouwen to purchase what they needed. He chose a small mature wheel for his mother, knowing her preference, and then a larger vintage one to take home to Hull, justifying, at least to himself, his visit to the town. He decided that he would not tell his mother that he was returning the following day.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Margriet had sent her first letter to her Dutch grandmother, beginning it with Dear Grootmoeder, but Gerda Vandergroene had written back to say that Margriet should call her Oma, as her other grandchildren did. In her second letter, Margriet wrote about school and how much she loved it and about her friends Imogen and Julia who had Dutch blood the same as she had. Then she told Gerda about her friend Anneliese Lindegroen who lived in the next street.

  She’s a proper little Dutch girl, she wrote, because she was born in Amsterdam. I don’t know why they live here in Hull, but it is something to do with ginger. I think her father grows it in his garden and then sells it.

  When Frederik returned to his mother’s house after his second visit to Cornelia Margriet’s letter had arrived, and Gerda said she was pleased that her granddaughter had made a Dutch friend. ‘Do they speak Dutch together?’ she asked.

  ‘Imogen and Julia?’ Frederik said. ‘I think they only know a few words, the same as Margriet. Their father’s mother is Dutch but as she lives in The Hague they don’t see her very often.’

  ‘Nee, nee,’ Gerda protested. ‘This little girl lives with her parents near to you. She’s called Anneliese. Her father grows ginger, apparently, which I was surprised to hear. I didn’t know there were gardens to your houses.’

  Frederik laughed. ‘There aren’t,’ he said. ‘Margriet is telling stories.’ He explained about their walk in Hull. ‘She has taken it to heart. I thought she had created this friend because she was lonely, but she’s at school with other children now and still talks about her.’

  ‘It’s rather sweet,’ his mother said indulgently. ‘There’s no need to worry about such a thing. She will grow out of it eventually.’

  He didn’t worry about it very much as Margriet seemed to be content, and neither did he mention it to Rosamund on his return home; he and his wife seemed to have little to talk about and his departure from their bedroom had brought them to a point where they rarely spoke to each other except for a few desultory words at supper. He had on a few occasions knocked on her door at bedtime and hearing no refusal from within had gone inside. He had whispered her name but she was always either asleep or feigning it.

  Sometimes he had gone in without waiting for a reply and found her either sitting at her dressing table or reading in be
d. When he asked if he might stay, she made the excuse of a headache, or implied that it was untimely. He didn’t argue or plead with her but simply turned round and walked out. As he sat on the edge of the spare bed with his chin in his hand he pondered on his options in this impossible situation. He could leave her and set up another house, but what then of Margriet? He would never abandon his daughter, and neither would he take her away from her mother as was his right, but how could he go away on business knowing that Rosamund virtually ignored the child in his absence? It was a dilemma. He was angry and frustrated and he determined that he must speak seriously again to Rosamund, perhaps even tell her this was not normal behaviour and frighten her with the possibility of divorce. He thought of when they had first been introduced and how charmed he had been by her serenity and calm manner. He had had a vision of returning home in the evenings or from his travels abroad to be greeted by a loving and welcoming wife; instead he had found that she was indifferent to his views, had no opinions of her own and rejected his loving advances. He was patient with her in the beginning, but after giving birth to Margriet she seemed to think her duty was done, and even though he patiently explained that he would be careful not to get her pregnant again she wouldn’t even discuss it, finding the whole matter quite distasteful.

  He did not feel that he was an immoral man, but he knew without a shadow of doubt that if temptation should ever come his way, he would undoubtedly fall. His greatest fear was that he would make his feelings for Cornelia apparent without intending to, thus losing her friendship and trust. He liked her children, too. Hans in particular was becoming easier with him, and had asked him questions about when he and his father were in school together.

  ‘I shall miss him when he goes away to school,’ Cornelia had said, ‘for I think he will have to board rather than spend so much time travelling there and back every day. What do you think, Frederik? Will boarding suit him?’ He had been flattered that she should ask his opinion, even knowing that she and Hans would make the final decision.