Little Girl Lost (3 page)

‘I'll ring for Florence,' Rosamund said. ‘If you'll excuse me, Frederik, I must take a powder before I get ready. I have a beastly headache starting and I want to nip it in the bud if I can.' She gave a stoical sigh. ‘I don't want to spoil our walk by making us all come home again.'

‘No indeed,' Frederik agreed. ‘But the fresh air will do you good.'

‘Oh, I don't think so,' his wife murmured. ‘There are so many infections lurking about, with that dreadful workhouse at the bottom of the street. Something should be done about it. It isn't right to have it situated so close to where decent people live.'

Frederik nodded. He had heard this opinion often; it seemed to be the only topic that Rosamund discussed.

By the time Margriet met him in the hall wearing her coat and her newly trimmed bonnet, he was waiting with increasing impatience for Rosamund to come down and say she was ready. Half the morning had been wasted, and he wished he had gone into the office. Then Florrie came hurrying downstairs, followed by Miss Ripley.

‘Beg pardon, sir.' Florrie dipped her knee. ‘The mistress isn't well and asks to be excused from coming out – her headache … She says that Miss Ripley could go with you instead.'

‘I see,' Frederik murmured. ‘And what does Miss Ripley say about that?'

Florrie glanced at the governess and the three of them waited for her to speak. Her nose twitched and she uttered something that could have been a hesitant stammering excuse or an apologetic erm.

‘You don't have to come, Miss Ripley,' Margriet said kindly, giving her an option to refuse. ‘You might prefer to go home.'

‘Of course you'd like to go home,' Frederik said firmly, ‘or indeed anywhere you please. You can have the rest of the morning off, and goodness me,' he glanced at his pocket watch, ‘how the day is flying by. Off you go.'

As Miss Ripley rushed out of the door as if worried he might have a change of heart, Florrie asked, ‘Shall I tell Mrs Vandergroene of the new arrangements, sir?'

Frederik stood for a moment as if considering, then said, ‘No, I don't think so. She's better resting, don't you agree? Best not to disturb her in the slightest.'

‘Very good, sir.' Florrie seemed relieved. She smiled at Margriet. ‘Don't you go losing that pretty bonnet, Miss Margriet,' she said, ‘for you'd never get it back again.'

Margriet put her hand into her father's. ‘I won't, Florrie,' she said. ‘Thank you. I'll take great care of it.'

When father and daughter had left the house, Florrie heaved a sigh and went into the kitchen. Cook was rolling pastry and Mrs Simmonds was drinking a cup of coffee.

‘Mistress is in bed,' she said, ‘and 'master has tekken Miss Margriet out. We might get a bit o' peace for an hour or so.' Cutting a slice of bread and smearing it with marmalade, she said, ‘I think that this is not a very happy household.'

‘Well, that doesn't concern us,' Mrs Simmonds said sharply. ‘Though I feel sorry for 'little lass in 'middle of it.'

‘She's happy today.' Florrie took a bite from her bread and munched appreciatively. ‘And who wouldn't be with such a papa? She told me when I was dressing her this morning that they were going to look at 'king's palace and when I said I'd never heard of such a place she told me that King Henry used to live here.'

‘He's teaching her history, then,' Mrs Simmonds said. ‘But I can't think it'll be of much use to her. She'll be married off to somebody when she's old enough and be in 'same role as her mother.' She curled her lip. ‘And live a most useful life.'

Margriet and her father walked along Parliament Street and crossed into Quay Street, where they stood looking at the busy dock in front of them. It was packed tightly with sailing ships, steamers and schooners, barges and tug boats with barely any space between them.

‘Hull is a great shipping town,' he told her, ‘and when this dock was built it was the largest in the country. That was when they made Parliament Street, to give access to it from Whitefriargate. The ships come in to the River Hull from the sea and the Humber and unload here. You know where the Humber Dock and the Junction Dock are, don't you?'

Margriet shook her head.

‘The Junction Dock is at the top of Whitefriargate, a mere two-minute walk from our house. How is it that you don't know? It links together the other two. It's a ring of docks.' He shook his head; it was remiss of him not to have shown her before. Had she been a son and not a daughter he would have done so.

‘I'm sorry, Papa,' she said, looking crestfallen. ‘I didn't know. But please, when are we going to see the king's palace?'

He laughed. She was still a child and believed in fairy stories, so he would take her. ‘First of all we will go back into Parliament Street,' he said, ‘and I will show you a secret place.'

‘Oh?'

‘You have probably passed it with your mama or Florrie and not even noticed it, although I'm sure Florrie must know it.'

They walked back a few yards and Frederik paused by a narrow opening between the buildings. ‘This is a short cut, a passageway through to another part of the town.' He gazed down at her. ‘Shall we take a look?'

Margriet peered down the entrance and clutched her father's hand. ‘I don't know. It's very dark.'

‘It's dark because the buildings are high and no sunlight can get in, that's all. Shall we try?'

‘All right,' she agreed, ‘but I don't think that Mama would have liked it.'

‘I'm quite sure she wouldn't, but there's nothing to fear, Margriet, or I wouldn't bring you.'

She knew that was true; Papa would never let her come to any harm. She followed him trustfully, holding on to the hand he held out behind him. It was too narrow for them to walk side by side so she kept as close as possible without treading on his heels.

There were doorways along the passage, leading into houses, she supposed, and as Papa had said the buildings were very high, but some had windows at the very top to catch what little light there was. They turned a corner that brought them into a slightly wider area, where the buildings had yards and washing hanging out and children playing in the dirt; her father said it was called Duncan's Entry. A few moments later she could see an opening ahead of them leading out into a sunny, busy street.

‘Once upon an ancient time,' her father began, ‘by the confluence of the River Hull and the Humber estuary, the monks of Meaux owned a piece of land and on it a hamlet they named Wyke. The people of Wyke lived in wooden houses and there were no paved or cobbled streets such as we have today, but only the rough earth. Then one day King Edward I realized that Wyke was well protected from any enemies coming from across the sea and bought it from the monks. He called it King's Town upon Hull, but everyone came to know it as Hull.'

‘Oh,' Margriet said, disappointed. ‘So it wasn't King Henry after all? And what about the palace?'

Frederik took firm hold of her hand as they walked on; the road was busy with carriages and traps and carters' vans. ‘The reason that the king wanted it was because of its position,' he went on. ‘He enclosed the town with boundary walls, gates and a moat, and where there was no wall there was the barrier of the estuary and the River Hull to keep the people safe from any invaders.' He looked down to see if she was listening, and she appeared to be. ‘And over the centuries,' he continued, ‘inside these walls, various royal personages came and made improvements. Rich merchants and ship owners lived in High Street, and there were craftsmen, wood carvers and silversmiths, and warehouses full of goods to trade with other countries. Most important of all was Holy Trinity Church in Market Place, where shopkeepers and stallholders clustered around it selling their wares, much as they do today.'

‘I sometimes go there with Florrie,' she said eagerly, as if wanting to be included in this rich tapestry of life.

Her father nodded. ‘It became a bustling medieval town, and,' he paused dramatically, ‘many important people lived here.'

‘Like the king!' Margriet piped up as they came to the top of Silver Street.

He stopped and pointed out the old church of St Mary's and now she knew they had walked in a circle and were not far from home. Here were shops selling silver and gold jewellery and regalia where her mother liked to linger.

‘Noble families like the De la Poles served under many kings, and one of them, the earl of Suffolk, built a mansion which he called Suffolk Palace.'

‘For the kings to stay in when they visited!' Margriet exclaimed. ‘So where is it, Papa?'

‘It was right here where we are standing,' he said, ‘and it was a splendid building with a great gateway and a fine tower.'

Margriet looked about her, but there was no splendid palace, only some commercial buildings that she had seen before and hardly noticed. She turned a disappointed face to her father.

‘I think that's enough history for the time being,' he said, smiling. ‘Let's take a walk down High Street by the Old Harbour and look at the ships, and then we'll go to the pier to see the Humber. Perhaps we might stop for a dish of ice cream,
ja
?'

‘
Ja
,' she agreed, and thought how she loved being out with him.

From High Street he led her down one of the staiths to look at the congested River Hull, clogged with barges and cobles and fishing vessels. The wharf was stacked with wooden crates and coils of ropes and all the paraphernalia of shipping, too dangerous, Frederik considered, for Margriet to walk along, so they cut back into High Street again, heading for the Vittoria Hotel and the promised ice cream.

They were sitting at a window table overlooking the estuary, Frederik sipping coffee and Margriet scraping her dish for the last of the ice cream, when a figure loomed beside them.

‘Vandergroene!' The man was stocky and rather portly, as if he lived well, and was holding out his hand. Frederik stood up to greet him and shake it.

‘Webster! How are you? Won't you join us? This is my daughter Margriet. Margriet, this is my lawyer, Mr Hugh Webster.'

Hugh Webster gave a polite bow. ‘Charmed to meet you, Miss Vandergroene. How are you?'

‘Very well, sir, thank you.' Margriet gave a slight nod of her head, as she had seen her mother do on meeting an acquaintance, and then offered her hand, which Mr Webster bent over.

‘Delighted,' he smiled, before seating himself. ‘This is a great pleasure.' He turned to her father. ‘So, not working today, Frederik?'

‘No. I decided I would take the day off and enjoy the company of my wife and daughter. Unfortunately, Rosamund felt unwell and was unable to join us.'

Webster glanced at Margriet. ‘So you have your papa all to yourself?'

Margriet couldn't help but give a happy smile. ‘Papa is telling me about the kings who used to live here. Or at least …' She hesitated. They hadn't quite got to that part. ‘They had a palace here, so I expect they stayed sometimes.'

‘Really?' Mr Webster seemed astonished. ‘I didn't know that.'

‘Opposite St Mary's Church,' she informed him. ‘But it isn't there now.'

‘Teaching history, are you?' Webster asked Frederik. ‘How is it that you know so much about a town you weren't born in?'

‘I've known Hull for many years.' Frederik ordered another pot of coffee for them both and a lemonade for Margriet, who sat happily in her chair looking out at the choppy estuary waters and feeling very grown up sitting here with her father and his friend. ‘I first came here when I was eighteen and about to join the family company. We had recently opened a Hull office. I liked the town and got to know it very well on my visits, and five years later I married Rosamund and came to live here.'

‘I see. I hadn't realized you had known it so long, longer even than I,' Webster observed, ‘for I have been here only five or six years.' He leaned confidentially towards Frederik. ‘Speaking of marriage, do you recall the broker Smithson? He died about two years ago?'

‘I do remember,
ja
; he left substantial assets to his widow, or so I heard.'

‘You heard correctly. He was not my client, so I am free to speak of it.' Webster lowered his voice. ‘His widow married a much younger man shortly after her mourning period was over; I have recently learned that within six months he has spent practically all her money, has taken a mistress, and is now threatening to sell the house to raise capital, which will leave the former Mrs Smithson and her two daughters virtually penniless.'

He gazed keenly at Frederik. ‘Smithson was not well advised. I suppose he thought that as his wife was of middle age she would not be tempted by another suitor after his death, but he was quite wrong. I tell you this, Frederik, as I am telling all my clients, to be sure your will is watertight, however fit and hearty you may be at present.' He smiled at Margriet, who was listening to the conversation with her head on one side. ‘You must take steps to ensure that if, heaven forbid, anything should happen to you, your wife and daughter will be secure.'

At last the lawyer rose from his seat. ‘I'll see you some time soon, Frederik, and we'll sort out the details.' He turned to Margriet. ‘I won't detain you from your activities any longer, Miss Vandergroene. It has been a great pleasure meeting you and I am always at your service.' He gave her a courtly bow of his head, his hand to his chest.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘I'm much obliged.'

Frederik gave an indulgent smile and shook hands with Webster, who murmured ‘Charming' as he left them.

Frederik turned to his daughter. ‘Shall we continue our walk, Margriet, or are you tired?'

‘Oh, no,' she assured him. ‘I want to know what comes next.'