Little Girl Lost (24 page)

Margriet had told her mother at Christmas that she didn't want to mark her forthcoming birthday. ‘It's almost a year since Papa – since Papa …' She swallowed. She didn't want to say the words. If she said the words it would make it true that her father wouldn't be coming back, and she still clung to the hope that he had been washed ashore on some tiny island and was living off fish from the sea and rabbits he could snare and cook over a fire.

She had said as much to Miss Barker one day when the teacher had taken her to her own room after she had been overcome by a fit of weeping for no reason that she could explain, except that it was just a few days before her twelfth birthday and her father wouldn't be here to share it.

‘It's very hard to lose someone you love, Margriet,' Miss Barker had said gently, holding her pupil's hand. ‘But if you try to accept it, then you will find that the pain will lessen eventually.'

It was then that Margriet had told her about her father being washed up on an island. ‘He might be waiting for a boat to rescue him,' she sniffled.

Miss Barker sat thinking for a moment, and then got up and went to her bookshelf. She brought down an atlas and put it on the table.

‘Come here, Margriet, and let us look at the area of the German Ocean – which is sometimes called the North Sea – between Hull and Amsterdam and see if we can find an island. We know, don't we, that many fishing boats go out to sea from this town and head off towards the Arctic regions. So if seamen saw an island they would mark it on a chart. Rather as Sunk Island in the Humber is marked.'

Margriet nodded eagerly and wiped her tears. Then her eyes filled up again as she remembered that the boy Billy had said that his father had been lost at sea, so he must have meant drowned. She gave a small shudder, and Miss Barker, seeing it, took a shawl from the back of a chair and draped it round her shoulders before opening the atlas at the appropriate page.

‘So, now, Margriet.' She sat the child down and bent over her. ‘Here is a map of the British Isles. Tell me what you see.'

Margriet scanned the map. ‘We're very small, aren't we, Miss Barker?' Her finger traced up the coastline. ‘But here's an island, and another! Orkney,' she said, peering at the tiny print, ‘and Shetland.'

‘But look where we are, Margriet,' said Miss Barker, taking hold of Margriet's hand and bringing her finger back down to the small spit of land pointing into the sea. ‘Here is Hull, and across this stretch of water is Amsterdam.'

Margriet stared at the width of water separating England and Netherlands. It seemed as if a mere stride would cross it, but she had sailed over the sea to visit her grandmother and she had seen it at Scarborough, and knew that in reality it was very wide; too wide to stride across and deep enough to hide a ship beneath its waves.

‘Yes,' she whispered. ‘I understand now. There are no islands where he might have been washed ashore.'

‘No,' Miss Barker said softly. ‘But you must try to think that whatever happened was an accident and couldn't have been foreseen. Your father, being the man he was, brought you up to be a good, kind and clever girl, and he would have wanted you to continue doing all the things he taught you.'

‘And do you think he's watching over me, as the parson said?'

‘I don't know,' the teacher said honestly. ‘Perhaps when you're grown up you will discover for yourself whether or not you believe that to be true.'

Margriet took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, Miss Barker,' she said. ‘I feel better now that I understand more, although I'm still sad. I think I always will be.'

Miss Barker shook her head. ‘Your papa wouldn't want that,' she said. ‘I think that above all else he would want you to be happy, and to think of him with joy.'

‘Oh, yes, and I do. There won't ever be anyone else like him.'

Miss Barker, remembering the handsome, charming man who was so keen to have his only daughter educated, said, ‘You are quite right, Margriet. There won't ever be anyone quite like him.'

Strangely enough, Margriet did feel better and more grown up now that she had reached twelve, and she was determined to learn as much as she could so that her father would have been proud of her. Although she had told her mother she didn't want a birthday present or a special tea for her birthday, her mother, who wasn't in the habit of giving surprises, had one for Margriet.

‘I know you said you didn't want to mark your birthday, but I decided that you deserved something,' she said and gave a smile, hunching up her shoulders. ‘I've booked a house at Scarborough,' she went on. ‘For a month, in August. I know how much you enjoy being there and by then I won't have to wear black all the time, although I might still wear a black hat and veil. I think I quite suit black, and it will go very well with grey.'

Margriet had mixed feelings about staying in Scarborough without her father. She asked Julia whether the Sandersons would be going this year and Julia said she hoped they would be, now that baby Richard was old enough to play on the sands without putting sand in his mouth and eating it.

By mid March, Margriet and Julia walked home together every day, parting at the top of Parliament Street, where Julia continued on to Albion Street. Occasionally Margriet would surreptitiously turn back and head for Land of Green Ginger. She rarely saw Anneliese, though, which she put down to the fact that the days were much lighter now and the family was probably out in their garden tending the ginger plants. Sometimes she caught a glimpse of Billy or one of the girls whose name she didn't know, but they didn't seem to notice her and always looked to be in a hurry as they scurried off into one of the many narrow passageways.

And so the winter and spring passed. Rosamund had received a letter from Gerda saying that she would like Margriet to visit her, but had replied that it was too soon and not convenient at present, and in any case they were going away in the summer. She didn't tell Margriet of the request and neither did she pass on the letter that came for Margriet shortly afterwards.

She began to hold one or two more lunches at home whilst Margriet was at school and gradually eased herself back into society, even on two occasions accepting invitations to Lydia's card parties, which Lydia assured her would be very discreet. The only other guests were people Rosamund knew, and one of these was Lydia's brother, William Ramsey, who was his usual courteous and solicitous self, asking about her health and telling her how delighted he was to see her looking so well.

When school broke up for the summer holidays, Margriet felt quite excited at the thought of going to Scarborough, although she wondered how they would manage their luggage without her father. Florrie was going with them again, and she told Margriet that the coach driver had said he would bring along his lad to help them. They were taking a smaller house this time, as the one they had rented previously wasn't available, and although her mother was cross about it Margriet was pleased. She didn't want to be in a house where she and her father had enjoyed previous holidays so much.

‘Hmm,' Florrie said down in the kitchen. ‘Can't think why 'mistress would have wanted 'bigger house just for 'two of them. It isn't as if she'll be entertaining.' Then she pursed her lips and muttered, ‘Or mebbe she will be.'

‘Why, who would she entertain?' Mrs Simmonds asked. ‘Unless it's them folks as she's had here for luncheon.'

‘In that case I should be going 'stead of Florrie,' Cook said. ‘She can't cook like I can.'

‘And neither can you mek 'beds and keep 'place tidy like I can,' Florrie pointed out. ‘Nor I don't think you'd fancy tekkin' Miss Margriet swimming in 'sea like I do.'

‘No,' Cook huffed. ‘That I would not, not at any price.'

But their curiosity deepened when a few days before they were due to depart Rosamund asked Cook if she would cook a ham for them to take so that they could use it for cold meat instead of having to buy it. She also asked her to make biscuits and a cake just in case she invited any ladies for morning coffee.

‘You see!' Florrie said. ‘What did I say?' But who would she ask, she wondered. As far as she knew her mistress wasn't acquainted with anybody in Scarborough except the Sandersons, and somehow Florrie didn't think it would be them.

When they arrived in St Nicholas Cliff Margriet helped Florrie to unpack. They put foodstuffs and crockery in the cupboards and cutlery in drawers, for as usual her mother had insisted that they bring their own and not use any that were left in the house, and then she helped to make up the beds. She had her own room and Florrie had a small room next door, whilst her mother had the larger bedroom, but there was no upstairs sitting room this time, only the parlour downstairs and a very small dining room and kitchen. Margriet thought it cosy but her mother puckered up her lips and tutted.

When all was done, the three of them walked across the Spa bridge. Rosamund went straight to the Spa terrace and sat at one of the tables to order tea, but Margriet was anxious to go down to the sands.

‘You'd better go with her, Florence,' Rosamund said. ‘Come back in about half an hour and we'll take a stroll. There will be plenty of time for playing, Margriet. We've got a whole month.'

Margriet pouted. ‘It's not going to be the same,' she huffed as she and Florrie walked down the steep path. ‘Mama's going to want me to be with her all the time.'

‘No, she won't, miss,' Florrie reassured her. ‘Your mama is probably feeling just as lonely being here without your papa as you and me are.' She caught hold of Margriet's hand. ‘We all miss him, you know, even us down in 'kitchen.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry.' Margriet was immediately repentant. ‘Of course you do. And poor Mama. How sad she must be feeling. We'll just take a short walk on the sands, shall we, Florrie, and then go back and keep her company?'

Florrie nodded, and looked up the cliff, but could no longer make out Mrs Vandergroene on the terrace. She sighed, silently agreeing with her charge. The holiday wouldn't be the same at all; the only saving of it, as far as she could see, would be when the Sandersons arrived.

It was going to be very boring, Rosamund decided, unless more people arrived. Previously she had chatted with other ladies taking lunch or tea on the terrace, but today there was no one. She felt very lonely, and hoped that Scarborough hadn't lost any of its charm. Perhaps it had been a mistake coming back so soon, but she had genuinely thought it would be good for Margriet to come and meet other children; soon, Rosamund thought, she would be too big to be playing on the sands. Maybe in another year she would not want to be building sandcastles or digging dams. Yes, perhaps next year Margriet would accompany her on strolls around the town or in the flower gardens, or doing some window shopping, and wouldn't even think of wanting to play cricket or swim in the sea.

She was beginning to get restless, and also a little chilly. Margriet and Florence had been gone almost half an hour; it was time they were back. She stood by the rail and looked out across the sands. There were very few people about, only some who were walking their dogs, and she couldn't see Margriet or Florence at all. She looked down the various paths that led to the sands; perhaps they were walking up and temporarily hidden from sight. She took a deep breath and turned back to her table, and then stood stock still.

‘Mrs Vandergroene! How are you?'

She put her hand to her throat. ‘Mr Ramsey! Goodness. I didn't expect to see you here. You're a long way from home.'

William Ramsey took off his smart black silk hat and bowed. ‘I am indeed, as you are too.'

‘We come to Scarborough every August. Except last year, of course.' She cast him a pensive glance. ‘But I felt I should make an effort this year for the sake of my daughter.'

‘Of course.' He put out his hand, indicating that she should retake her seat at the table. ‘And how is your little girl?'

‘We are all having to, Mr Ramsey. There is nothing else for it.'

‘Indeed,' he said. ‘Well, this holiday will do wonders for you both. You do know that my sister is coming to Scarborough?'

‘She said she wasn't sure.' Had Lydia said for certain? She had intimated once or twice that they might be coming, and that was why she had brought the ham, but she was sure Lydia hadn't confirmed it.

‘Oh, she can be such a scatterbrain sometimes,' he said indulgently. ‘Yes, they've booked in at a small hotel in the Crescent and I'm staying there too, except that she gave me the wrong date. She and Vincent are arriving tomorrow, not today as she told me.'

‘Oh, how lovely. I shall look forward to seeing them, and I'm delighted of course to see you too. How long are you staying?'

‘Sadly only a few days, so it's a shame that I'll be kicking my heels until they arrive tomorrow evening.' He hesitated. ‘I wonder – would it be permissible to meet you for coffee tomorrow? Or lunch?' His eyebrows rose. ‘You are out of mourning? Being a mere man I'm not sure of the indications of dress.'

Rosamund was wearing a grey gown with black vertical stripes down the skirt and a grey hat with a black spotted veil. ‘I am advised that as it is eighteen months since my husband's demise I may now consider myself to be out of full mourning and free to be seen in select society.'

‘Really?' His eyebrows twitched. ‘And would taking coffee with a gentleman be considered select society or will you be shunned for ever more?'

Rosamund considered. Apart from the Sandersons, there would be no one here who knew her from home. The ladies she had chatted to previously were strangers, and as Lydia and Vincent were coming what harm would it do to have coffee out here in the open air with Lydia's brother? It would be almost as if they had met by chance. She wasn't too sure about lunch, but certainly coffee would be perfectly safe.