Little Girl Lost (27 page)

His mother looked sad and he wished he hadn't mentioned it yet, realizing it was too soon, but his school tutors were keen to have him make up his mind about a university scholarship. Instead, he wanted to be out in the world and making his living.

Lia shook her head. ‘I don't honestly know, Hans,' she said, ‘but I do know that had Freddy been here he would have been delighted.' Then she smiled, her eyes lighting up her face. ‘But how foolish they would be to refuse you. What a loss it would be to them not to take on my brave, handsome, clever son. You should write and tell them about yourself, your father and your connection with his friend Frederik, and see what happens.'

Gerda Vandergroene read Lia's letter telling her that she had moved to Amsterdam and was pleased. She would call, she thought. Lia had taken a positive step, and Gerda was interested in that son of hers whom Frederik had been so taken with. She sighed. She was more than disappointed in her English daughter-in-law, whom she suspected of deliberately stopping Margriet from writing to her. Margriet had never replied to her letters, though she sometimes wrote as if she had never heard from her grandmother, asking,
Will you please write to me, Oma?
as she had recently on a postcard showing sea and a sandy beach. Margriet had forgotten to put a stamp on it and Gerda had had to pay extra postage. Not that she minded that, but she thought it was strange.

Lia would have made Frederik happy; unlike Rosamund, she was warm and loving. Gerda sighed again. Life, she thought. Life was hard sometimes, so she would welcome Lia, show her that it was all right to fight back.

It wasn't fair, Margriet fumed. Nothing was going right. The odious Mr Ramsey was forever trying to worm his way into her favour and she was having none of it. For her thirteenth birthday he had bought her a fur muff and matching hat, telling her that now she was almost a young lady she could wear something fashionable that would keep her warm and cosy too. She'd thanked him but she definitely wouldn't wear them. She'd moaned to Florrie that it would be like wearing a dead cat.

And that was another thing. Florrie had chosen to tell her on her birthday of all days that she was leaving at the end of the month and going to live at the Sandersons' house to look after the younger boys and the new baby when it came. She had gone now and her mother had brought Jane back as a permanent housemaid, and Jane had barely anything to say to Margriet.

Florrie had said she could go and see her at the Sandersons' whenever she wanted, Mrs Sanderson had said so, but she didn't want to; it would only remind her of how everyone was deserting her. That meant not only Florrie, who had been with them for as long as she could remember, but Julia too, as she had left school at Christmas.

Margriet wouldn't mind leaving school in July either, she thought glumly, for the girl who had taken Julia's place was only seven, and too young for conversation. But what would she do? Her mother was taken up with Mr Ramsey; he was always in Parliament Street, and Margriet wished he would go back to his own house. And then she was struck with the terrible fear that her mother might marry him and he would live with them all the time. She would run away if he did, she decided. He's all smiles and chatter but he doesn't mean it. He's only pretending.

She said goodbye to Miss Barker at the beginning of the summer holidays. She would miss the teacher, who had taught her so much and was always willing to listen to any problem that her pupils might have.

‘You are a bright and clever girl, Margriet,' Miss Barker said. ‘I have written to your mother suggesting that you would profit immensely by going on to another school for young ladies. Do you think you'd like that?'

‘I don't know, Miss Barker. I don't know anyone who has done that, but I might like it. And I don't know what else I could do.'

‘Well, perhaps your mother has ideas of her own. You will need to discuss them with her.' She put out her hand. ‘Come to me for advice, Margriet, if ever you feel the need.'

Her mother had indeed some ideas of her own. When Margriet arrived home her mother was sitting in the window watching out for her. ‘Well, Margriet, you finished school today!' she said enthusiastically as her daughter came into the sitting room and slumped into a chair. ‘Don't slouch, child. It is so ungainly. You must try to remember that you are almost a young woman now.'

‘Are we going to Scarborough this summer, Mama?' she asked, ignoring her mother's admonishment. ‘I don't really want to. The Sandersons won't be there, not now they've got a new baby. It's another boy,' she added. ‘I've seen Florrie pushing the bassinet. He's called Conrad.'

‘Really?' Her mother was totally uninterested, as Margriet had known she would be. ‘No, we're not going to Scarborough this year. We have other plans.'

We? Margriet thought uneasily. We haven't discussed any other plans. ‘So are we going somewhere else? I'd like to visit Oma. I think she might not be well, because she hardly ever writes to me.'

‘I don't know why you would think she's ill,' her mother answered. ‘But no, you can't. Had Florence still been here I might have considered it, but as she's not—'

‘When I'm old enough I'll go alone,' Margriet said defiantly. ‘Once I'm twenty-one, I can.'

Rosamund drew in a deep breath. This was not going to plan. She had realized there might be difficulties with what she was going to say but Margriet's desire to visit her grandmother was nothing to do with the subject in hand. ‘When you're old enough we will find a companion to travel with you, but in the meantime I have some news for you.' She gave a nervous smile. ‘I'm sure you will be delighted.'

Margriet frowned, narrowing her eyes. ‘What news?'

Rosamund folded her hands across her lap. ‘As you know, Mr Ramsey has been calling frequently since last summer, and we have become – we have become – shall I say – close. Yesterday when he called …' She hesitated. It was a big step to take and she had taken her time over her answer, debating whether or not it was the right thing to do. He had been very understanding, saying she must not hurry her decision, that he was a patient man and would wait, but then he had smiled and said he hoped she would not keep him waiting too long, for he was very fond of her and surely she must want someone to look after her as Frederik had done so ably.

She had agreed that it was a lonely life and then, impulsively, which was not like her at all, had said that she would marry him. It would be so very nice to hand over the decision-making to someone else, she had thought. Frederik had never harassed her over accounts, never questioned her expenditure – not that she'd ever been a spendthrift, she thought. But now Mr Clayton, the accountant Hugh Webster had appointed to keep an eye on her shares in Frederik's company, kept sending her sheets of figures that she didn't understand and asking her if they were satisfactory and was there anything she'd like to discuss.

‘Yes?' Margriet stood up from her chair as if about to take flight. ‘When he called …?'

‘He asked me to marry him,' Rosamund said simply.

Margriet drew in a breath. ‘You didn't – you didn't say you would? You can't! What about Papa? What about me?' Her voice broke. ‘Mama! What about me?'

Rosamund put out her hand but Margriet stepped back, crossing her arms in front of her chest as if to ward her off. ‘No.' She shook her head. ‘No!'

‘Margriet! Dear! Your papa is gone.' Rosamund's voice cracked too as she spoke. ‘Don't think that I don't miss him, because I do, but I need someone in my life and so do you. Mr Ramsey will look after us both. He has promised that he will and he says we won't have to move, but can stay here and perhaps travel – you'd like that. He's mentioned going to France and London – what do you think of that? We've never been.'

Margriet looked miserably at her mother and shook her head. She didn't want to go anywhere with Mr Ramsey. If her mother wanted to go, she would stay at home alone. Or … ‘Miss Barker said I'd benefit from going to another school,' she blurted out. ‘I'd like to do that.'

‘Well, we'll see,' her mother said. ‘We'll discuss it in due course.'

What she meant was that Mr Ramsey would decide, Margriet thought, resolving immediately that she would do the opposite of what he wanted. He's not my father and he's not going to make decisions about me. ‘I'm going to my room,' she said. ‘I need to think about my future.'

She ran upstairs and climbed on to the high bed. Sliding beneath the blankets, she pulled them over her head and curled into a ball. She felt betrayed by everyone, not only her mother but by Florrie and, yes, her father too for leaving her alone.

‘Why?' She began to sob. ‘Why did you have to go on that ship and not come back? Papa! Why did you leave me?' She sobbed and sobbed until her chest ached. Her stomach and head ached too but eventually she felt herself slipping away into sleep. When she woke up, she thought drowsily, perhaps she'd be grown up and able to do whatever she wanted with her life. She put the tip of her thumb into her mouth for comfort as she used to when she was an infant. Or perhaps she would be a child again and none of this would have happened. Papa would still be alive and she'd ask him not to go away. As she drifted towards slumber, she thought she heard the slam of the front door, the pause in the hall as he gave his coat to Florrie or hung it on the coat stand, and then his light tread on the stair as he ran up to see her. The sound stopped outside her door, and she smiled as with a deep contended sigh she fell asleep.

Downstairs, Rosamund thought wryly of Margriet's last comment. There was no need for her to think about her future as it was already planned out, just as her own had been. She would grow up, learn how to behave, meet some suitable young man whom she would marry and live the rest of her life in comparative ease, without too many difficulties. It was unfortunate that Frederik had been taken so young, leaving her to make decisions on her own, but now Mr Ramsey could fulfil that role and everything would fall into place again.

Margriet slept until the following morning. She was vaguely aware of Jane coming in to mend the fire and draw the curtains and then, unusually, she thought that her mother came in too, bending over her to move wisps of hair from her face and turning down the lamp, but still she didn't stir until the door opened again and Jane came in with a breakfast tray. ‘Your mother said you should have breakfast in bed, miss, as you're not very well.'

‘Thank you.' Margriet sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘I'm perfectly well. Just tired, that's all.'

‘Mebbe you're starting your flux, Miss Margriet.' Jane put the tray on the bed and then drew back the curtains. ‘I'm allus tired at that time of 'month. No chance of stopping in bed for me, o' course.'

‘Perhaps I am,' Margriet said, not going to admit to Jane that she had only recently discovered what the flux entailed. ‘Bring me up what is necessary, will you, please.'

Jane bobbed her knee. ‘Yes, miss.'

Margriet drank her tea and ate the toast and thought that nothing had changed from the evening before. She was still neither child nor adult. If her mother really did mean to marry Mr Ramsey, then she'd have to put up with him, but she wouldn't go away to school, she decided. If she left him here with her mother, she was afraid he'd take over the house. She would educate herself, she thought – ask her mother to take out a subscription at the library and borrow books from there. She'd seek Miss Barker's advice on what to read.

When she finally rose from bed, she knew that her life had changed after all. She washed, brushed her hair and from her wardrobe took a striped fine wool dress that she wore on the rare occasions when she went out visiting with her mother. It had a front-buttoned bodice so she was able to fasten it herself, and beneath it she wore two petticoats so that the skirt was full. She tied a ribbon in her hair and went downstairs to her mother, who was in her sitting room writing letters. She looked very nice, Margriet thought, in a pearl grey gown, and much brighter-eyed than she had for some time; perhaps she too had been unhappy.

‘Margriet,' her mother said. ‘Are you going somewhere?'

‘No, Mama, I am not, at least not yet, but I might later. I'd like to talk to you about several things, but first of all I must tell you that today I have reached womanhood.'

Womanhood. Rosamund mouthed the word. Then she put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh dear,' she whispered. ‘You poor dear girl.'

Rosamund took out a year's subscription at the library. It seemed that she was willing to do anything to keep Margriet sweet before her impending marriage. Margriet and Mr Ramsey had little to say to one another as Margriet generally left the room whenever he visited, but the die was cast and a wedding was arranged for mid-October with a quiet ceremony at St Mary's Church.

‘Do I have to be there, Mama?' Margriet asked.

‘Of course you do. You're not old enough to be a witness so Mr Ramsey has asked Mr and Mrs Percival, but I'd like you to be there. Perhaps you can hold my flowers.'

It was not what she wanted, but she realized there was no other option, unless Rosamund changed her mind at the last minute. But Rosamund wasn't likely to do that, as Mr Ramsey had bought her both an engagement and a wedding ring and jokingly told her that she was now committed and there was no getting out of it. Rosamund had asked her dressmaker to style her a new gown of deep violet with a pink rosebud pattern. It had deep flounces at the hem, a silk fringe on the bodice and three-quarter sleeves, beneath which she wore silk mittens. For Margriet she ordered a white-spotted ankle-length muslin with long sleeves edged with lace, a matching silk shawl with pale green tassels, and white slippers for her feet.