by Val Wood
Frederik picked her up and swung her in a circle until her skirts flew out and she had to cling on to her bonnet. ‘Oh, Papa, I’m so pleased to see you. I’ve lots of things to tell you. Did you see my grandmother? I sent her a letter.’
‘I saw her, she loved your letter and she’s looking forward to your visit.’ He turned to the maid. ‘Do you want to get off, Florrie? I’ll bring Miss Margriet home.’
‘Oh, thank you, sir,’ Florrie said. ‘I have an errand to see to.’ She hadn’t, of course, but it would be foolish to pass up the opportunity to do a little window shopping and maybe stop for a gossip if she ran into a friend.
As they walked, Frederik told Margriet about the snow he had encountered in Netherlands and how much colder it was there than here. ‘But when we go in the spring it will be warmer, though it might be rather windy. It’s a very flat country and there are no mountains to stop the wind.’
‘And there are lots of ditches to keep the water out, aren’t there? I remember you telling me, Papa.’
‘Good girl,’ he said, pleased that she had been listening. ‘Dykes, we call them, but yes, they are ditches.’
He led Margriet towards a coffee house. He didn’t want to go back to the house yet. He’d arrived early this morning and gone straight to his office before heading home at midday. Rosamund had been about to leave to have luncheon with Lydia Percival followed by a game of bezique; she offered to send word that she couldn’t come and stay at home with him for a light lunch of bread and beef, but it was said in such a way that he knew that cancelling her luncheon would displease her. This is a pretty kettle of fish, he had thought. How have we come to this, tiptoeing around each other and not wanting to be in each other’s company?
‘Are we going to have coffee?’ Margriet asked.
‘I am going to have coffee,’ he said, ‘and you can have hot chocolate and a piece of cake.’
He wanted to think and he could do that whilst Margriet looked around the coffee house and told him what she had been doing at school. He was filled with a warm glow whenever he remembered Cornelia and her reaction to his kiss as he’d said goodbye to her.
She had touched his face tenderly. ‘I took advantage of you,’ she had said softly. ‘It was unfair.’
He’d smiled and nodded. ‘You most certainly did. It was a wicked thing to do.’ He had been trying to keep the moment light, not wanting her to think that he might expect more than she was prepared to give if she invited him to visit again.
She had blushed and lowered her eyes, then smiled and looked up. ‘You’re teasing me.’
‘When I tease Margriet she says to me, “Papa, you are joking of me,”’ he told her. ‘But I don’t want you to be embarrassed. I want to come again. To be your loving friend. Would that be permissible?’
She murmured, ‘Yes, I would like that, Frederik. I would like that very much.’ She raised her head towards his and he bent to receive her kiss. ‘Thank you.’
He had been euphoric. The warmth of the kiss, even though on his cheek, had been enough to carry him through the snow until he managed to hail a cab to take him to Utrecht. The train to Amsterdam was late and it was early evening by the time he reached his mother’s apartment, cold and hungry and wanting only to eat and retire to bed. The next day he had boarded the ferry and spent another restless night as the ship tossed and rolled on a big sea and several times he almost fell out of his bunk.
‘And so, Papa,’ Margriet was saying, ‘I am going to ask Mama if I can give away some of my clothes to the poor children.’
He stared at her. What on earth was she talking about?
‘Because it’s winter now and they must be very cold if they haven’t any warm clothes to wear.’ She noticed his uncomprehending look. ‘The children!’ she emphasized. ‘The ones I’ve been talking about.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Of course. Indeed you must ask your mama.’
As they were leaving, Margriet asked, ‘Can we go the long way round, Papa? Past where the king’s palace used to be and then home along Silver Street? Florrie always cuts across the square because she says it’s quicker.’
‘It is quicker,’ he said. ‘But Florrie has duties to get back to and hasn’t time to go the long way round.’ He looked down at her and took hold of her hand as they crossed the road. ‘Why do you want to go this way?’
She chewed on her lip. ‘Erm – because I haven’t been that way for ages. I only ever go along there with you and it’s so interesting.’
Amused, he was sure she had another reason. How was it he always agreed with her suggestions? Was he spoiling his only daughter? He thought he probably was, but then why not? It was unlikely that he would have another child and he wanted Margriet to know that she was loved, that she could ask him and discuss with him anything she wished.
They continued along Lowgate and away from the shelter of the church, feeling the chill of the wind blowing at their backs from the estuary; then they turned into Silver Street to walk towards Whitefriargate. They had almost reached the top of Land of Green Ginger when someone hailed Frederik.
‘Vandergroene! Just the man I need.’ It was Farrell, a business associate, a wholesale supplier of goods. ‘I was talking about you only the other day. I’d like to have a discussion with you.’
‘All right. I’ll come along to your office. Would next week be early enough? I only arrived back from Amsterdam today.’
‘It’s Netherlands I want to discuss,’ Farrell told him.
Casting a glance at her father, Margriet cautiously moved away a little, taking a few steps at a time until she was at the top of Land of Green Ginger.
‘Margriet. Wait there,’ her father called to her. ‘Don’t wander off.’
‘I won’t,’ she called back, but she edged just a little down the street until she could see Anneliese’s house. She glanced back at her father and his associate and saw that they were walking slowly in her direction, talking earnestly as they did so.
She’s not there, she thought as she looked up at the house; perhaps they’re away, maybe in Netherlands. Where do they buy their ginger from, I wonder? Or do they grow it here? Then she glimpsed a movement at an upstairs window, a small hand on the curtain and a child’s face; she lifted her own hand to wave. There she is! I think she’s been waiting to see me and it’s such a long time since I was here.
Her father and Mr Farrell were standing beside her, still chatting. ‘I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing,’ she heard her father say. ‘There’s quite a brisk trade already but room for more. We’ll probably be too late for this spring, but I will enquire.’
Margriet glanced up when he went on, ‘I see that house is still empty. Why is that, do you suppose? It’s a good solid building.’
‘A bit of a mystery about it, so I understand,’ Farrell answered. ‘I heard tell it’s believed to be haunted.’
‘Really!’ Her father laughed.
Margriet turned. They were looking at Anneliese’s house, and Anneliese had dropped the curtain.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Rosamund wasn’t back from her outing. Margriet ran upstairs to take off her outdoor clothing and change into her slippers, then ran down again to talk to her father before her mother returned.
‘Papa, what does haunted mean?’
He waggled the lobes of his ears to show he knew she’d been eavesdropping. ‘What do you think it means?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever heard the word before.’
‘Have you heard of ghosts?’
‘Y-yes, I’ve read ghost stories. They’re very eerie and might frighten little children.’
He stretched out his legs in front of the fire. ‘Well, that’s what haunted means. If someone believes that there’s a ghost in an empty building, they say that it’s haunted.’ He put his hands in the air and made a whoo-ing sound, like an owl.
She was about to say that it was Anneliese’s house he and Mr Farrell had been talkin
g about, and if Anneliese lived there how could there be a ghost? But then she remembered that her father didn’t know about Anneliese or Mevrouw Lindegroen and decided that she would approach the subject in a different way.
‘Papa, you know when we were talking about Land of Green Ginger?’
‘Were we?’
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘You remember – about growing ginger.’
‘No, I don’t remember,’ he said. ‘But go on.’ He heard the front door open and close and the murmur of voices and knew that Rosamund was home. Margriet had heard them too and said hastily, ‘Oh, I just wondered if we could grow some?’ Her eyes travelled the room and Frederik knew that she hadn’t been going to ask that at all but something else entirely, something she didn’t want to discuss in front of her mother.
When Rosamund came into the sitting room, Margriet was sitting demurely and swinging her crossed ankles. She smiled sweetly at her mother and got up to offer her her chair.
‘Thank you, Margriet,’ Rosamund said, taking it. ‘Have you had an interesting day at school?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Margriet said enthusiastically. ‘I have. We’ve been learning about the deserving poor.’
Rosamund glanced at Frederik, who raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Really? Well, how very – erm, commendable. What subject does that come under?’
Margriet pressed her lips together, not properly understanding, but her father broke in. ‘The Poor Law, wasn’t it, Margriet?’
Margriet’s expression cleared. ‘Yes, I think that’s what it was, and,’ she hurried on before her mother lost interest, ‘we have to think about the poor people among us. So can we give them some of our things that we don’t need any more, Mama? Like old clothes and boots?’
‘Well, I – we don’t know any poor people, Margriet. And in any case I already give clothing and suchlike to Florence and Mrs Simmonds to pass on to anyone they might know.’
Margriet considered. She had hoped to present a parcel of clothing or a small bag of money to the first poor person that she happened to chance upon, but now it seemed that might not be possible.
Florrie knocked on the door. ‘Beg pardon, madam, sir, but Miss Margriet’s afternoon tea is ready. Shall I serve it here or upstairs?’
‘I’d like it upstairs, please, Florrie, if that’s all right, Mama?’ Margriet said. ‘I have some reading homework to do.’ She knew that would please her mother.
Frederik hid a smile. Little minx, he thought. She hadn’t at all; she was just bored. She needed the company of other children; he could see the difference in her since she started school.
Upstairs in her bedroom, Margriet opened her wardrobe door and looked at the clothes hanging there, then went to fetch a stool to stand on. She began to move the dresses and coats she didn’t like to one side, pushing them close together and carefully rearranging those that she liked, spreading them apart so that no one would notice that she had moved any. At some point, she decided, she would ask Florrie to take those she didn’t like and give them away to the deserving poor.
When Florrie came upstairs with her tray, she was sitting reading. She put down her book. ‘Florrie,’ she said, ‘don’t you wish that Easter would hurry up and come so that we could go away to Netherlands?’
Florrie arranged the contents of the tray on a small table. ‘I’m looking forward to it, Miss Margriet. It’ll be very exciting for me.’
‘And for me too,’ Margriet said. ‘I have never met my grandmother before. I’m to call her Oma, which is a pet name for grandmother.’
‘Oh!’ Florrie grinned. ‘I used to call mine Gran.’ She changed the subject. ‘We’ll have to sort out ’clothes you’re to tek, won’t we? You’ll need a large trunk.’
‘I expect so,’ Margriet agreed vaguely. ‘I can’t wait.’
Florrie too was eager to be going. This was her chance. She had been listening in to her employers’ conversation, not to eavesdrop but to improve her own use of language, knowing that if she wanted to better herself she needed to improve her deportment. Her imagination began to soar as she thought of the applications she might write, telling of looking after her charge both at home and abroad. She thought too of a time when she didn’t have to dust and polish and run errands and help in the kitchen. She’d had enough of being a maid of all work.
At the beginning of April Florrie began to prepare Margriet’s trunk and her own canvas bag. The clothes that Margriet had put to one side, telling her mother that she had outgrown them, Florrie was charged with finding a suitable home for, which she did, giving them to her own nieces, and Margriet was satisfied that she had done something to help the poor.
The day before they were due to sail, Margriet suddenly felt sorry for her mother, about to be left alone. ‘Wouldn’t you like to come, Mama?’ she asked. ‘I wish you would.’
Frederik felt a sudden charge of unease. Conscience-stricken, he realized that he was praying she would say no.
‘Much as I would love to,’ Rosamund sounded grieved, ‘I fear I would be too ill. I wouldn’t dare to make the return journey home.’
‘Mama won’t be on her own for long,’ Frederik told Margriet. ‘I won’t be staying a whole month as you will, Daisy. I shall come home and keep her company.’
A whole month! Florrie hid a smile. Mrs Simmonds had been most put out when given this information and had nerved herself to speak to Mrs Vandergroene, saying she must have more help than had been originally arranged.
‘I didn’t know it was going to be so long, ma’am,’ she said peevishly.
‘No, Mrs Simmonds,’ Rosamund had sighed. ‘Neither did I.’ She had wondered whether she would miss her daughter’s presence. Being without Frederik for a week or more didn’t disturb her, because it meant that the threat of any night-time visit to her bedroom was removed. Indeed, he rarely made such visits now, and it was a huge relief to be done with such disagreeable occasions, although she did sometimes wonder if he had found consolation elsewhere. Her friend Lydia had reliably informed her that a man had to find comfort with another woman if his wife wasn’t willing, and although Rosamund had pretended incredulity that a wife should so behave, she decided that perhaps she wouldn’t mind too much if Frederik did take a mistress, although she thought that he was probably far too honourable to do such a thing.
She walked with them to the dockside, accompanied by the new temporary maid. Jane, she thought, was very presentable; someone she would be happy to be seen with when she went shopping.
Margriet was so excited she could barely keep still as they waited for the luggage to be taken aboard, hopping about on first one foot and then the other. Then it was their turn to cross the gangplank. She felt quite tearful as she kissed her mother goodbye, but once on board she waved her hand cheerfully and went below with Florrie and a steward to find their cabin.
Florrie heaved a deep breath. ‘I’m a bit fearful, Miss Margriet,’ she said, ‘I don’t mind admitting. I’ve never sailed afore.’
‘I’ve never sailed before either, Florrie,’ Margriet said. ‘But I’m sure we’ll be all right. We’ll just have to be brave.’
‘We will,’ Florrie agreed. She thought for a moment, and then said, ‘Do you think you could call me Florence, Miss Margriet? I think perhaps it would more proper now I’m your travelling companion.’
Margriet agreed, but when she told her father he laughed and said that Florrie was going up in the world.
Florrie was slightly sick as they emerged into the German Ocean, but she soon became used to the rise and fall of the ship and joined Margriet and her father for a short stroll along the deck before going below for supper. Margriet wasn’t queasy at all and slept soundly in her bunk that night.
Frederik did not sleep well; deep in the pit of his stomach he had a churning sensation at the thought of seeing Cornelia again. He wondered whether he should take Margriet to meet her and, if he did, would Margriet mention the visit to Rosamund on their return? And if she did, he thought, lying in
his bunk with his arms stretched above his head, would it matter? Surely he was allowed friends, just as Rosamund was. So, perhaps he would do it. He sighed. On the other hand, perhaps not.
CHAPTER TWENTY
On disembarking in Amsterdam, Frederik ordered a carriage to take them to his mother’s apartment. Margriet was filled with excitement and Florrie was apprehensive.
‘You’ll like my mother, Florrie,’ Frederik said. ‘You needn’t be nervous.’
‘What should I call her, sir?’ Florrie asked. ‘Do I say ma’am, like in England?’
‘You say mevrouw – muh-frow. You’ll soon become used to it,’ he added, seeing consternation written on her face. ‘And you can also say alstublieft – alst oo bleeft – for “if you please, ma’am”.’
‘I’ll never get used to it, sir.’ Florrie was beginning to panic.
‘I’ll help you, Florrie,’ Margriet said. ‘Florence, I mean.’ She giggled. ‘We’ll practise together, because I can’t speak Dutch either.’
Gerda swept her granddaughter up in her arms when they arrived, giving her a great squeeze and several kisses and then patting Florrie on the shoulder in welcome so that the girl immediately felt more comfortable but still unsure of what role was expected of her. Gerda too had taken the trouble to improve her English. ‘I will call you Floris,’ she said to Florrie. ‘It means the same.’
Frederik stayed until midday to have lunch with them and was surprised when his mother set a place for Florrie. He saw that Florrie was slightly embarrassed, but she helped to dish up and when they were finished at table she cleared away and washed the dishes, taking it upon herself to become a servant once more. It will be all right, he thought, standing up to leave.
‘I must go,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow or the day after. Will you be all right without your papa, little Daisy?’
‘Of course she will,’ his mother answered. ‘This afternoon, Margriet, we are going to meet your tante Anna, and your cousins are going to show you the flower gardens.’
