by Val Wood
Christmas came swiftly. The Vandergroene family went to the Christmas service at St Mary’s and came straight back home as the weather was so cold. After Boxing Day the holiday dragged for Margriet, who was bored and wished she could go back to school. Frederik set her some work to do each morning involving either arithmetic or history, and then one day he went to her room and told her that he would be going back to Netherlands in January. She sighed and said plaintively that she would be glad when she was old enough to visit her grandmother. Frederik considered this, and then went downstairs.
He found Florrie in the dining room polishing the table and chairs and asked her if she knew where her mistress was.
‘In ’upstairs sitting room, sir,’ she said. ‘I’ll be taking her coffee up in ten minutes.’
It struck him that Rosamund hadn’t asked if he would like to join her. ‘Perhaps I’ll have some too,’ he said, ‘and then Margriet and I will go for a walk before luncheon.’
‘Very good, sir.’ Florrie smiled, and straightened her apron.
She was a presentable young woman, Frederik thought as he nodded and smiled back. She was fairly tall and robust and carried herself well. ‘Tell me, Florrie – do you prefer Florrie? I’ve noticed that Mrs Vandergroene always calls you Florence and Margriet says Florrie.’
‘I don’t mind, sir,’ she said. ‘Florrie’s more friendly, isn’t it, but ’mistress prefers Florence.’
‘I was wondering, Florrie.’ He put his hand to his beard and scratched thoughtfully and she studied him warily. ‘Have you ever travelled – abroad, I mean?’
‘Me, sir? No, sir, except when we went to Scarborough. That’s ’furthest abroad I’ve ever been.’
‘So you don’t know if you’d be seasick if you went on a ship?’
Florrie’s mouth went slack and then she closed it and grinned. ‘No I don’t, sir, but I’d give it a try if ’opportunity came up.’
‘Mmm,’ he said vaguely, smiling in return. ‘Would you? Very good, Florrie, thank you.’
Frederik went upstairs to seek out his wife and Florrie finished her dusting in double quick time and scurried down into the kitchen. ‘Guess what!’ she said in an awed whisper. ‘Master’s just asked me if I’m a good sailor. What do you think that means?’
Mrs Simmonds was sitting with Cook at the scrubbed table, both of them waiting for Lily to make their coffee. She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Best be careful, Florrie. What sort o’ question is that? I know that Mr Vandergroene is a gentleman, but even so you shouldn’t risk your reputation by travelling on a ship wi’ a married man.’
‘She hasn’t got a reputation,’ Cook said bluntly, ‘so how can she risk it? And besides, ’master hasn’t said why he wants to know.’
‘I think he’s thinking of Margriet,’ Florrie said. ‘She’s told me that he’s going to take her to see her Dutch granny one day. I reckon that’s what he’s planning. Mistress won’t go cos she gets seasick and he can’t tek ’little lass on her own.’ She heaved a breath. ‘I hope I’m right. I’d love to go with ’em.’
Mrs Simmonds grunted disparagingly. ‘What clothes would you wear for that sort of trip?’
‘Same as I wore for Scarborough. Nowt wrong wi’ them, is there?’ She turned to the kitchen maid. ‘Come on, Lily, look sharp. I’m supposed to be tekkin’ coffee upstairs.’ She went to the sink to wash her hands, then changed her apron and tidied her hair. ‘This might be a good opportunity for me and I’ll tek it if it’s offered.’
Upstairs, Rosamund seemed startled when Frederik came into the sitting room. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d gone out.’
‘No, not yet. I’ve been upstairs with Margriet. She’s very bored with being banished to her room.’
Rosamund put down her sewing. ‘She isn’t banished,’ she said curtly. ‘She is in her own room as I am in mine.’
‘And so do you mind if I join you?’ he said, taking a seat anyway.
‘Of course not. It’s not often that you’re here.’
‘It’s still the Christmas holiday, in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘Why would I have forgotten?’ She seemed astonished at his remark. ‘We still have the Boxing Day ham to finish.’
He sighed. ‘Rosamund, I’ve been thinking—’ He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Florrie came in with a tray of coffee and biscuits.
‘Beg pardon, ma’am,’ she said. ‘I’ve tekken ’liberty of bringing in these Dutch biscuits that you brought home after your last trip, sir. I recall you said they were your favourites. I thought they’d mek a change from Christmas cake.’
‘Oh, yes indeed.’ Frederik sat up. ‘Spice biscuits,’ he said. ‘My mother always makes them for the start of the St Nicholas feast, Florrie, which begins earlier than Christmas in England.’ He took one of the star-shaped biscuits and bit into it. ‘I hope you’ve tried them down in the kitchen. Cook will like them, I think – they’re full of nutmeg and cloves. Perhaps she’d like to try her hand at baking some?’
‘I’ll tell her, sir,’ Florrie said, dipping her knee.
‘Perhaps you’d ask Margriet to come down? She can have some hot milk with us.’
Florrie glanced at Rosamund’s stony expression, and said that she would.
‘You are very familiar with Florence,’ Rosamund said coldly when the girl had left the room. ‘You really had no need to tell her what your mother does.’
Frederik took another biscuit, determined not to argue with her. ‘I thought she might be interested. Shall I pour or will you? Anyway, as I was about to say—’
‘I’ll pour.’ Rosamund picked up the coffee pot, which was heavier than usual as Florrie had brought a larger pot than when she had coffee alone; she gave an impatient tsk with her tongue as she gripped the handle.
‘I thought,’ Frederik went on, ‘that I’d take Margriet to meet my mother at Easter.’
‘Alone!’ Rosamund drew in a breath. ‘How can you possibly do that? You know that I—’
‘Not alone,’ he interrupted. ‘Of course not. I thought I would ask Florrie to accompany her.’ He paused for a moment for his suggestion to sink in. ‘She seems to be fond of Margriet judging by the way she took care of her in Scarborough, and I think she’d be the perfect travelling companion for her.’
‘But – she’s a housemaid.’ Rosamund was astounded. ‘She’s not a suitable companion at all. She doesn’t speak well—’ She would have brought up several other reasons that would preclude a housemaid from travelling with their daughter, but Frederik interrupted her.
‘Margriet likes her,’ he said. ‘Florrie would look after her on board ship and she’d fit in perfectly at my mother’s house. My mother wouldn’t notice her local accent at all, as her own English is limited.’
Rosamund’s lip curled. ‘I dare say,’ she replied in a low voice, but said no more as the door opened and Margriet came in.
‘Florrie said I’d to come down for some hot milk,’ she said, as if astonished.
‘And biscuits,’ her father said, and put out his arm for her to come closer. ‘It’s still Christmas after all – or at least it’s only just over.’
‘I’ll know it’s over when you go back to Amsterdam, Papa.’ Margriet hovered over which shape of biscuit to choose: a star, a heart or the wheel. ‘I wish I could go with you.’
‘Your mama and I were just this minute talking about that,’ Frederik said, ‘and …’ He paused. ‘We have decided that at Easter, if the weather is good, perhaps you might make the journey with me.’ He smiled at her obvious delight. ‘You will of course be much older by then, as I seem to remember you have another birthday coming along very soon. You’ll be very grown up. What do you think about that?’
‘Oh, Papa,’ she squealed. ‘I think you are joking of me again!’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On his next visit to Amsterdam, Frederik told his mother of his plan to bring Margriet at Easter, and as he had expected she was as delighted as Margri
et had been. Gerda’s apartment was roomy, with spacious living and dining rooms and three bedrooms, so there was space for both Margriet and the maid.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said. ‘I will tell your sister and we will arrange outings for the children.’
Before he had left home Frederik had asked Florrie if she would be willing to travel with Margriet and stay for the duration of her holiday. ‘We’ll arrange temporary help here whilst you are away,’ he told her, and wondered why he was discussing this when his wife should be dealing with it. But Florrie was thrilled, even though he saw that she was trying not to show it.
‘It’ll be a pleasure, sir,’ she had said, quite flushed with excitement. ‘And – erm, I’ll speak to ’mistress, shall I, sir, as to what Miss Margriet will need to tek with her? Like we did for Scarborough?’
‘Indeed yes.’ He’d made a mental note to ask Rosamund to buy a suitable gown for Florrie and a warm coat or cloak for travelling if she hadn’t already got one.
Rosamund hadn’t been pleased, but since it wouldn’t do for Margriet to be travelling with anyone unsuitably dressed she had taken Florrie to buy a ready-made dark blue gown and a warm coat that would be eminently suitable for a governess or companion or someone in a similar situation. So that’s all arranged, he thought as he travelled once more towards Gouda. It’s something for Margriet to look forward to.
He hadn’t told Cornelia that he would be calling; the weather was cold and icy, the dykes were frozen and the roads treacherous, but the trains to Utrecht were running and he’d decided impetuously that morning that he would make the journey, hoping that he would find a driver willing to take him on the final stage to Gouda. He told his mother not to expect him back that evening; he would find hotel accommodation.
‘Yes, yes, you must do that,’ she urged. ‘Do not travel tonight – there will be a hard frost. Have you forgotten our winters?’ He kissed her cheek and said that he hadn’t forgotten, wondering how Cornelia and her children had coped over their first winter holiday period without Nicolaas.
The train was on time in Utrecht and he made a few calls, not selling or buying but simply acknowledging his thanks for his customers’ support throughout the year and assuring them of his; keeping in touch he felt was an important part of business.
The sky began to darken by mid-afternoon and he felt an icy chill, a threat of snow or a blizzard. He pulled his fur hat over his ears and looked about for a cabmen’s stand to enquire if there was a hackney driver willing to take him to Gouda. There were some who flatly refused on the grounds of the worsening weather, but eventually one offered to take him and asked for twice the usual price.
He agreed, deciding that he would find an inn or a lodging house in Gouda and travel back to Amsterdam the next day. As they began the journey the snow started to fall and soon became a blizzard, so that he could barely see his surroundings through the carriage window. The driver knew the district, and slowed his horse at the end of Cornelia’s lane to ask his passenger if he would walk the rest of the way.
‘For I won’t be able to turn round, sir, and if I got stuck you’d have to give me a bed for the night.’
‘No, this is fine, thank you.’ Frederik gave him an extra coin for his trouble. ‘Take care on the way back.’ The driver tipped his hat and cracked his whip and Frederik heard the slush and grind of wheels turning through the deepening snow.
The shutters at Cornelia’s windows were firmly closed and bolted, and he couldn’t see a light. He cursed beneath his breath for not having written to say he was coming, but he hadn’t wanted her to stay at home on his account. He knocked sharply on the door and hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind, listening for footsteps within. Then he heard her voice through the door.
‘Ja, wie is daar?’ Who is there?
‘It’s Frederik!’ he called back.
He heard the sound of the lock being drawn back and a key being turned, and the door opened. ‘I’m so sorry, Cornelia,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
‘Come in, come in.’ She was holding up a lamp, and drew the door wider when she saw him. ‘Whatever are you doing out on such a night?’ She sounded agitated, not like her usual self, and he wondered if he had alarmed her.
He tapped the snow off his boots and shook his hat before entering the hallway. ‘I was in Utrecht, and thought that—’
‘No need to explain.’ She brushed off his apologies. ‘You are welcome, as always.’ She took his coat and hat and hung them on a coat stand. ‘Come up. I have made a sitting room upstairs for the winter. It’s very warm and cosy.’
Indeed it was, he agreed. In a small room at the top of the stairs a wood stove stood on a tiled hearth and was sending out radiant heat. A small sofa with a rumpled wool blanket was where Cornelia must have been sitting, for there was an open book on it, and there were two easy chairs made welcoming with soft cushions and shawls. A brightly coloured rug lay on the wood floor, adorned by a black cat stretched out in perfect luxury who didn’t even turn her head to look at him.
‘You’re alone!’ He was perturbed.
There was a pot of coffee on a side table; after asking him to be seated she took a cup and saucer from a cupboard before answering. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘The children are staying with my mother for a few days and I’ve sent Miriam home. Her mother is sick and the weather is set to worsen. You were lucky to get here.’
She poured him a cup of thick black aromatic coffee and he drank it gratefully, warming himself by the stove. Cornelia sat on the sofa, and kicking off her slippers drew her feet up beneath her skirts.
‘I’ve disturbed you. I should have written,’ he murmured. ‘But I wasn’t sure if I would be able to come.’ Which was a lie, he thought. I knew I would come. I can’t keep away. ‘Had I known that you were alone—’
‘You wouldn’t have come?’ she said abruptly.
He turned his head to look at her directly and saw then that she wasn’t wearing black, but a plum-coloured gown. Her hair was tied back loosely with a ribbon. ‘It wouldn’t have been fitting, would it?’
She gave him a wry, derisive half-smile. ‘Fitting?’ It was almost an admonishment. ‘I suppose not, but you see that I am not wearing mourning attire, at least not at home. Going out I wear a dark cloak and bonnet, but you cannot imagine how black drags my children down.’ Her voice rose slightly. ‘They are afraid to laugh or act normally. They whisper, and tiptoe about, and so I have put aside my black clothes for their sake and I don’t care a jot what people say, for my children are more important to me than the views of any tittle-tattling gossip who doesn’t know anything about me.’
It was the first time that he had ever heard her speak with such bitterness, and he guessed it was because she was feeling the effect of being without Nicolaas; she could no longer maintain the brave face she had put on during his illness and following his death. He saw that her eyes were red, as if she had been crying.
She spoke about Hans and Klara, how she had explained to them that their father would have wanted them to continue with their lives, to have fun with their friends, and suddenly there was a great outpouring of grief, anger and hard words, as if a dam with a hairline crack had burst and a torrent of foaming water had rushed through.
She kept wiping her eyes and between sobs repeated, ‘Sorry. Sorry. Forgive me.’
Frederik put down his cup and moving towards the sofa sat down next to her, drawing her towards him so that his arm was around her.
‘Shh, shh,’ he murmured as she put her head against his chest and sobbed. ‘No need to say sorry. Let it all out.’
Her tears wet his jacket and shirt as she wept and said how sad she was, and he closed his eyes and felt the warmth and softness of her as she leaned against him and he felt no guilt whatsoever, for hadn’t Nicolaas asked him to take care of her?
‘She deserves happiness,’ he had said, and that he wanted her to find love again. But Frederik also recalled that Nicolaas had said that
Cornelia would be vulnerable for some time, and that he hated the thought that someone might take advantage of her. But wasn’t that what Frederik was doing? Was holding her in his arms and offering her comfort a prelude to something less innocent? He determined that Cornelia should never be given reason to suspect his integrity.
Cornelia drew away and put her feet to the floor. Frederik gave her his large clean handkerchief and she took it and blew her nose. ‘Whatever will you think of me, Frederik?’ she said shakily. ‘I am sorry if I’ve embarrassed you. So very sorry. This has been building up and up, and I have been so cross and sharp with everyone; that’s why I sent the children to my mother. Why should they spend time with such a miserable wretch as me? And poor Miriam couldn’t do anything right for me, so I sent her home so that I could drown alone in my misery.’
He patted her shoulder in sympathy. ‘And then I came barging in and disturbed you.’
She turned a tear-stained face towards him. ‘I’m glad that you were here,’ she said, her voice hoarse with crying. ‘I’m only sorry that you had to witness my distress.’
‘It was quite natural,’ he said softly. ‘You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t able to show it.’
‘I’m so lonely, Frederik,’ she said simply. ‘I’m used to being loved, and that has been taken away from me.’
He swallowed. ‘You and Nicolaas had a very special marriage,’ he said softly, and as she nodded he saw her eyes fill up again. ‘How lucky you were.’
‘We did,’ she said. ‘And we were lucky. I know that eventually I will believe that, but at present it makes it more difficult. Do you understand what I mean?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ He did, of course. To be so close to someone and then lose them must be heartbreaking.
‘Do you have a good marriage, Frederik?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘If I’m honest, we don’t. Not like you and Nicolaas, which was why I said how lucky you were.’
