Little Girl Lost (20 page)

He was only halfway through it when he felt movement beneath his feet. We're away; good. Let's hope for a steady voyage.

Captain Simpson came up as he was finishing the cocoa; his face was rimed with coal dust and sweat. ‘It was touch and go,' he said, reaching for a cup and the kettle. ‘Damned boiler, although 'fireman says it's not the boiler, but the coal. Reckons it's not right, that it doesn't lay well, but I telled him it's 'best Yorkshire coal, can't better it. I should know – I worked as a coal trimmer before I got my own vessel.'

He quickly drank from his cup and put it down. ‘Once we're out of port you'd be better off going below. It's going to be a stormy night. One passenger's already changed his mind and gone ashore.' He grinned. ‘It's the tough ones who stick it out.'

‘Do you think it will be bad?'

Simpson lifted his head to look at him. ‘Aye. Reckon we'll have to batten down. But we'll be all right, God willing.'

Amen to that, Frederik thought. Maybe I should have waited after all. We all make mistakes; maybe this is one of mine.

He began to suspect that it was the worst mistake he had ever made when they were struck by the towering waves of the open sea and he was thrown out of his bunk, crashing to the floor. He climbed back in again and felt the churning of the cocoa he had drunk and wanted to be sick. It was pitch dark in the cabin and he wondered if there was a bucket should he need one.

He lay still, trying to sleep, but once more the ship tilted and he slid off the bunk again. Sighing, he took the blanket and pillow off the bunk and arranged them on the floor. He didn't sleep, what with the pitch and roll of the ship and the shouts of the crew, but at some point he must have dropped into an uneasy doze that was full of voices calling things like ‘bear down' or ‘luff to starboard'; at other times he thought he could hear Margriet calling ‘Papa, where are you?' and Lia crying ‘Frederik!'

Someone banged on his door. ‘You all right, sir?'

‘I think so.' Frederik raised himself up on his elbow as Captain Simpson entered. ‘Where are we? How much longer?'

The skipper's face was grey with fatigue. ‘We can see land, but it'll be a while yet. We're still having problems with the boiler. It's making too much steam.'

Fredrik frowned. ‘Isn't that good?'

‘No, it's overheating. Might even blow. Put on your warmest gear and come up on deck. We might need every man to the pumps.'

‘Dear God!' Frederik scrambled to his feet and put on his boots. He was still dressed in his jumper and trousers, and pulling on hat, coat and scarf he staggered after the captain to the nearest companionway. Up on deck the wind thundered through the sails and the sky couldn't be seen from the deep troughs of heavy seas.

The captain gave him a length of rope and told him to fasten it round his waist and tie the other end to a spar or a bulwark so he wouldn't be washed overboard. And if he did that, he thought, and the ship went down, then he'd go with it. He said as much to the skipper, who said, ‘Aye, or we might all be blown to kingdom come,' and ran to the stern and disappeared below.

Frederik clasped his hands tightly together and only then noticed the other passenger further along the deck. He appeared to be muttering prayers.

Is it too late for prayers? he thought. Have I lived a good enough life? What do I believe? That if I should go down with this ship I will one day be with my loved ones again?

Margriet.
He gave a small sob. What would become of her if he should die? Who would take care of her? Lia was a strong woman, but how would she cope with the loss of a second love? But Margriet –
mijn lieveling dochter
. Rosamund won't be able to manage. Would his mother take her if he should be lost? He tried not to think of it, to be positive, but dear God in heaven, what a stupid mistake. To rush home as if time was so important that life should be put at risk.

There came a sudden explosion as the boiler blew and black smoke issued from the aft companionway; a figure staggered out with his clothing on fire and then the captain behind him. Frederik started towards them to help.

‘No! Get back!' It was the skipper's voice, husky as if scorched. ‘Abandon ship! Save yourselves!'

Then came another bigger, mightier explosion and the sea and the sky were filled with searing light and roaring flames that turned the crashing towering waves to scarlet and the ship to matchwood, and Frederik knew no more.

It was Hendrik Sanderson who first heard the rumour that a ship had gone down between Amsterdam and Hull. He caught snatches of the seamen's conversation on his voyage home the next day, and noticed that some of them were searching the surrounding sea with telescopes. Eventually, feeling uneasy, he found his way to the bridge to make enquiries of the captain.

‘It's true,' the captain told him. ‘It's feared that a ship is lost. There were reports early this morning that an explosion was heard last night close to the English shore.'

‘What kind of ship? Have you heard?'

‘No, I'm sorry, I don't know anything more. But there was debris suggesting it was a small vessel, perhaps a cargo packet.'

Hendrik turned away feeling sick to his stomach. It couldn't be. Surely not. He couldn't curb his anxiety for the rest of the voyage and as soon as they were berthed in Hull he made his way to the Dock Office to enquire. But they couldn't or were unwilling to say whether a ship was missing.

‘Come back later, sir, if you would. We'll have a better idea once we've logged everyone in. Many ships might have delayed their sailings because of the weather and not arrived back yet.'

It gave him some small hope, but he was still uneasy. At home he confessed his fears to his wife, who put her arms round him and held him tight. ‘Thank God you didn't take that ship,' she wept. ‘We must hold fast to the hope that it wasn't Frederik's.'

But although Hendrik nodded, he didn't feel much hope, for when he had asked the shipping clerk if the
Mary Brown
had returned, the man had evaded his question.

He had coffee with Alice and then made his way to Frederik's office by the dockside, where he asked to speak to the manager.

‘I might be worrying unnecessarily, Reynoldson, but have you heard anything from Mr Vandergroene? I met him in Amsterdam the night before last.' He cleared his throat. ‘I, erm, that is …' He took a deep breath. ‘The passenger ferry was cancelled, and he said he was going to come home on the
Mary Brown
. I don't suppose …' He didn't need to say any more, for the expression on the manager's face told him all he needed to know.

‘Is there a chance that he changed his mind, sir?' Reynoldson asked in a low voice. ‘Perhaps took a ship the next morning?'

‘Would he not be home by now? And if he had taken the passenger ship I would have seen him; it wasn't full. But you're right, he might have changed his mind; we must hope that he did.'

‘Yes,' Reynoldson murmured. ‘And if our worst fears are realized … as you are a friend of Frederik's would you be so kind as to accompany me and whoever in authority might need to be there when we visit Mrs Vandergroene? I – that is …' It was as if he had run out of words to say.

Poor man, Sanderson thought. He's overwhelmed. He knows more about the missing ship than he's admitting. ‘As soon as you have news, one way or another, will you send for me?' he said quietly, and Reynoldson nodded and opened the door to see him out.

A message came the following morning, confirming his fears. Alice asked her husband if he would like her to go with him to visit Rosamund, along with Reynoldson and the official from the port authority. ‘Or will there be too many of us?'

‘I'm fearful of upsetting you in your condition,' he said. ‘I don't want anything to happen to you.'

She rested his hand on her belly. ‘This child is quite safe and you know that I am strong, but I'm thinking of Margriet. That poor child adored her father.'

Rosamund's reaction was much worse than they expected. After her initial refusal to believe the news, she began to scream at them, demanding that Florence go at once and bring Margriet home from school.

‘What are we to do?' she shrieked. ‘How can we survive alone? This can't be right. There's been a mistake!'

Alice whispered to her husband that she would go to fetch Margriet herself and that Florrie should go at once to the Vandergroenes' doctor and ask him to come to Rosamund immediately. He didn't want her to go alone, but after speaking to the maid Alice came back into the room and whispered that the two of them would go together as the doctor's residence was close by the school.

‘What's happened, ma'am?' Florrie asked as they went down the steps and headed towards Market Place. ‘What's wrong with 'mistress?'

‘It's unhappy news, I'm afraid, my dear.' Alice linked her arm. ‘You must be strong, not only to assist Mrs Vandergroene but most of all to help Margriet, for it will be more than she can bear.' She told Florrie what had happened, patting her hand and uttering soothing murmurings as the girl began to weep.

They called in at the doctor's first and delivered their message, and when they reached the dame school Alice explained to Miss Barker the reason why they were there. The teacher took them into her own small sitting room and brought Margriet to them.

‘Margriet, my dear,' Alice said gently, ‘I'm so sorry to have to tell you that the ship your father was travelling on is missing. I have come to take you home to be with your mama.'

Margriet seemed confused by the term ‘missing' and wrinkled her brow, pressing her lips together. ‘But Papa will be all right, won't he? He'll find his way home again?'

‘I don't know, my dear,' Alice said softly, and added a small lie. ‘We are waiting for news. But you must be prepared to be strong and help your mama.' Although, she thought, it should be the other way round.

When they arrived back in Parliament Street, the doctor's carriage was outside the door and the doctor had already administered a strong sedative to Rosamund. She was calmer, but on seeing Margriet she gave a moan and uttered, ‘Margriet! We are lost. What will become of us without your papa?'

Margriet stared silently at the solemn group of adults gathered there. Her lips moved, but nothing came out until she eventually whispered, ‘Papa!'

Rosamund refused to let Margriet out of her sight until one day in April, when the regular doctor wasn't able to come and his younger colleague came in his place. Dr Johnston took due note of Rosamund's full mourning gown of black bombazine, the widow's white cap and the black pearls around her neck, and having already wondered at the amount of medication she had been taking for several weeks, reduced it. He also noticed Margriet's pallor, dull eyes and monosyllabic answers to his questions.

‘I understand that you have had a tragedy in your lives, Mrs Vandergroene,' he said quietly, ‘and this has brought great sorrow to you and your daughter.'

‘I don't want to talk about it,' Rosamund said bitterly. ‘It makes it worse.'

‘I understand,' he answered softly. ‘But I was thinking of your daughter. Margriet, is it?' He turned to the little girl. ‘A very pretty name. You were called after a flower?'

Margriet nodded. She too was wearing a black dress to her ankles and a black ribbon in her hair. ‘It's Marguerite in English.' Her voice was so husky that he could barely hear her.

‘Ah! And Margriet is …?'

‘Dutch,' she whispered, and then, with her eyes filling with tears, she said, ‘Papa sometimes calls – called me Daisy.' As she spoke a trickle of tears ran down her cheeks.

‘How lovely,' he said. ‘And what a wonderful memory for you; one you will always keep.'

She nodded again and took a white handkerchief edged with black stitching from her skirt pocket to dry her eyes.

Dr Johnston sighed, and then, as if considering the matter, asked, ‘But what do flowers need to make them grow, Margriet?'

She blinked and gazed at him. ‘Rain,' she murmured.

He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘And what else?'

Margriet's lips parted. ‘Warmth – and sunshine.'

‘That's right.' He looked to the windows. The blinds were half drawn so that very little light was coming into the sitting room. ‘On a day like today when it's very sunny and bright, the seeds and plants will be stretching themselves and growing, which is what you should be doing.' He turned to Rosamund. ‘Might I suggest that your daughter takes a short walk as it's such a lovely day? I would guess that she hasn't been out much lately.'

‘She can't!' Rosamund was scandalized. ‘We're in mourning.'

‘Yes, I realize that, Mrs Vandergroene,' he said patiently, ‘and I wasn't suggesting that you went with her, of course not. But perhaps Miss Margriet might go out with one of the servants to stretch her limbs and gain a little colour in her cheeks.'

Margriet gazed towards her mother. She'd like that. She had spent so much time inside the house that her mind was dull; she couldn't think of anything except that her darling papa hadn't come back as she had so vainly hoped. She had written to her
oma
to say as much, and Gerda had written back to say she must always keep him in her heart.

‘She is extremely pale,' the doctor was saying, ‘and we don't want her to become ill, do we?'

‘Well, no, I suppose not,' Rosamund said. ‘But, well, I'm not sure if it would be acceptable. It has not been very long since – since … well, only a few weeks.'

‘Acceptable? To whom, Mrs Vandergroene?'

‘Why, society, of course! We must conform.'

‘But your daughter is surely too young to be out in society? And is it not more important to consider her health rather than what other people might think of a little girl who is simply taking a walk with a servant?'