Little Girl Lost (15 page)

‘I did, thank you. And you?'

She murmured that she had, keeping her eyes lowered, and poured him coffee, thick, black and aromatic, and as they sat down Miriam turned from the stove with a dish piled high with pancakes, a jug of syrup and a dish of apple butter to spread on them.

‘Cornelia, are you going to tell me that you made these?' he said teasingly.

‘Well, actually, no, Miriam made them. But I can.' She laughed. ‘They are a favourite with Hans and Klara.' She passed him the plate to help himself and dropped her voice when Miriam left the room. ‘Frederik! Whatever do you think of me? I behaved so stupidly last night. Please forgive me. I am mortified.'

He reached for her hand. ‘There's no need. You were unhappy, and needed comfort.' Gently he squeezed her fingers. ‘There's no harm done.'

‘You could have taken advantage of me.' Her voice broke. ‘And yet you didn't.'

He smiled and, lifting her hand to his lips, whispered, ‘Believe me, Cornelia, I was very tempted. I wanted to.'

‘Don't joke,' she said, drawing her hand away, but it broke the tension. ‘Eat your pancakes.'

Miriam put her head round the door when they had almost finished eating and told Cornelia she was leaving and would see her the next day. Frederik stood up, wiping his mouth with a napkin, and thanked her for the lovely breakfast.

‘I told her she needn't stay, as there's nothing much to do,' Cornelia said as she heard the front door close. ‘The children will be home tomorrow and we'll be back to normal.' She took a deep breath. ‘As I was saying, I'm so embarrassed. So ashamed of what I asked of you. I cannot believe that I was so weak.'

‘Don't be,' he said firmly. ‘I am honoured that you trusted me. I'm glad I was here.' He couldn't tell her that he wasn't joking when he said that he was tempted, and really did want her. It was too soon, far too soon to say that he had fallen in love with her. She wasn't ready to hear it – might not ever be ready.

She helped him on with his greatcoat and handed him his hat, then said, ‘Thank you again for coming, Frederik.' She smiled up at him. ‘You arrived in my hour of need, and …' she hesitated, ‘you exceeded the bonds of friendship.'

Silently he gazed at her, remembering the warmth of her body next to his, seeing now the pale flush of her cheeks, her soulful grey eyes, her soft lips curved in a half-smile, and without thinking of the consequences he bent his head and kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

Back at school at last, Margriet proudly told Miss Barker and the other pupils that she was being allowed to visit her Dutch grandmother at Easter because she was now old enough to travel without her mother. ‘I'm quite grown up now,' she proclaimed.

Julia said that she was very jealous as she could barely remember her own Dutch grandmother, but added that she didn't mind too much now they had a new baby brother. She and Imogen had been allowed to help bathe him, and could talk of little else.

‘I wish I could have one. Where did he come from?' Margriet asked during morning break as they drank their milk. ‘I mean, how did your mama get him?'

Imogen looked at her and said solemnly, ‘He was sleeping inside Mama until it was time for him to come out.'

‘Inside her!' Margriet was astonished. ‘But how did he get in there? Wasn't he too big?' She had seen the new baby, Hugh, in his perambulator when Mrs Sanderson and a nursemaid had come to collect her daughters from school.

Julia wiped her mouth free of milk with the back of her hand. ‘He wasn't as big then as he is now. He was only a little seed when he first went in.'

Margriet opened her mouth to ask further questions but Miss Barker called them to attention and they went back to their desks. Margriet's mind was working hard. Who could she ask about this mystery? Not her mother; she had made her feelings plain when Margriet had told her that Mrs Sanderson was going to have another baby and Margriet had gathered that it wasn't something to be talked about. It was a big secret, she decided, but perhaps her grandmother would tell her when she went to visit.

Miss Barker, after much thought, had decided that the time had come for her well-off charges to be told about children who were less fortunate than they were; those whose parents could barely afford to buy bread for their tables or shoes for their feet, let alone pay for their children to sit in a comfortable schoolroom, learn their tables and go home afterwards to a good meal and a warm bed. It was time her privileged pupils were taught about real life.

After learning about the many difficulties that the poor faced every day, the children were subdued. Margriet put up her hand for permission to speak. ‘Miss Barker, I'm going to ask my papa if he has any spare money they could have, and ask Mama if I could give away a pair of boots that are too small for me now.'

‘Very commendable, Margriet.' Miss Barker smiled. Catch children whilst they were open to suggestion and teach them about humility and humanity before they became caught up in the complacent world of adulthood, and perhaps they wouldn't turn into copies of their parents. On the other hand, she did not want them to think that handing out money or a pair of old boots would solve the problems of a society where some people were starving and others feasting on roast pheasant and syllabub.

She knew there were exceptions: the Sandersons, for instance. Mrs Sanderson was an educated and articulate woman, who with her husband's support funded food kitchens in the winter and took young girls from the workhouse into her employ, and no one but a few knew of it. She did not advertise her philanthropy as some did.

When Florrie came to collect Margriet at four o'clock the child was buzzing with ideas about helping the poor and needed a ready ear. Florrie listened and nodded or pursed her lips as her charge suggested asking Cook to make extra bread every day, and collecting clothes that they didn't often wear to give away. And as soon as Papa returned from Amsterdam she would ask if he had some money to spare.

Florrie hid a grin. She didn't have any money to give away, and her only decent clothes were the ones her employer provided, which she certainly wasn't going to hand out to all and sundry. Besides, she was beginning to form ideas of her own about bettering herself, once she had been to Amsterdam.

‘Well,' she said, as Margriet took a breath. ‘If you want to ask your papa for something, Miss Margriet, look ahead of you, and here's your chance.'

Margriet lifted her eyes and there striding towards them was her father. He was smiling, she was pleased to see, for he had seemed rather sad lately, and he was waving to her. With a squeak of joy, she dropped Florrie's hand and ran to meet him.

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.

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.