Little Girl Lost (32 page)

Later, she went to Rosamund's room to say goodnight and found her mother already in bed, her hair loose about her shoulders. She looked sad and vulnerable.

‘I don't know what we shall do, Margriet,' she said tearfully. ‘Where will we get an income if all the shares are gone? If the house is sold, I fear we won't see a penny of the money. I don't know which way to turn.'

‘Would Grandmother Vandergroene help us?' Margriet suggested. She knew that her mother hadn't seen her own parents since Frederik's death; when she had written to tell them of it, Rosamund's mother had replied to say that they hoped Frederik had provided for her and her child as they were unable to assist them.

‘I wouldn't think so,' her mother said wearily. ‘My fault, for I haven't kept in touch with her.'

‘But I have, Mama. I write every month. She wouldn't want us to be destitute.' The word keeps cropping up, Margriet thought. I think that destitution is in front of us.

‘Do you?' Her mother seemed surprised. ‘I didn't know.' Since her marriage she had failed to notice that Margriet and her Dutch grandmother had been corresponding regularly. Oma was the one person who seemed to understand how much she missed her father, Margriet thought, and she always closed her letters with the wish or promise that they would meet again soon. If they did have to sell the house, she would write and tell her and ask her advice.

She decided that she too would go to bed and read. She was absorbed in the history books of old Hull and had found a section on Whitefriargate and why it was so called. She snuggled down beneath her blankets, intent on thinking of something other than the predicament in which she and her mother found themselves. Reading would take her mind off it. If she had to find employment, perhaps she could be a governess like Miss Ripley, she thought, and she could only do that if she absorbed knowledge.

She turned a page; there was an illustration of monks with tonsured heads and dressed in flowing white robes. They were Carmelite friars but often called White Friars because of the colour of their robes. ‘We practically live on Whitefriargate,' she murmured to herself, ‘and I never thought to question why.'

Sleep was beginning to overtake her but she kept on reading, blinking her eyes to keep awake. Her thoughts began to wander. She pictured the old monks and wondered where their monastery had been; she thought of Miss Ripley and whether she could ask her advice about obtaining a position. But not yet, her common sense told her; you are not old enough. So where would they live if Mr Ramsey sold the house? Who would take them in? She closed her eyes. Who did they know?

A voice whispered in her ear and at first she couldn't understand the words; then it became clearer. ‘Come and live with us, Margriet, and bring your
moeder
too.'

She sat up. ‘Anneliese?' she whispered. ‘Is it you?' The room was dim but firelight shadows danced on the walls and she could see the girl quite clearly sitting in the chair by the fire. She was older now and had lost her round childish features. Beneath a white winged cap, two long fair plaits hung over her embroidered bodice and she wore a white apron over her black skirt. Plain wooden clogs were on her feet.

‘Anneliese,' Margriet whispered. ‘I haven't seen you for such a long time. Where have you been?'

Anneliese turned to her. ‘I've been here all the time,' she said softly. ‘Growing up just like you. I'm sorry you lost your papa, but you must be strong. I have spoken to
mijn moeder en vader
and they say you can come and help me in the garden and your
moeder
can help in the kitchen. Will you come?'

Margriet saw again in her mind the king's garden they had walked in when she was so much younger; the small circular lawns and the neat box hedges that surrounded them, the trees heavy with blossom and the bright patches of flowers. She heard the birdsong and the voices of the ladies and gentlemen of the court as they strolled in the sun.

‘Where is the king?' she asked. ‘Should we ask permission to visit his garden again?'

‘No.' The room seemed to be getting darker and Anneliese was diminishing and becoming difficult to see. ‘We are too old now to play in his garden, Margriet. You can help me in our garden.'

‘But what shall I do? Anneliese,' she pleaded, ‘don't go! What shall I do in your garden?'

Anneliese smiled as she gradually faded from sight. ‘Why, grow things! That's what you do in a garden; we'll plant flowers and shrubs, and tulip bulbs and ginger!'

Christmas passed quietly. William Ramsey didn't come and Margriet and her mother dined alone; they ate sparingly as Rosamund was nervous about owing money to the butcher, but neither did she want to alert the servants to their predicament. It was January when Ramsey came again. For some reason he couldn't get his key into the lock and he had to ring the bell. Mrs Simmonds answered the door and he strode past her into the hallway, bellowing, ‘What's going on? Rosamund! Rosamund! I need to speak to you.' Plainly he had been drinking; his face was flushed and there was the smell of strong ale on him.

Mrs Simmonds calmly folded her hands in front of her. ‘Good day, Mr Ramsey. Please follow me, sir; 'mistress is in 'sitting room. She has a visitor, but asked that you be shown through if you called.'

‘Called? What's that supposed to mean? Get out of my way.'

Rosamund was sitting by the fire and Margriet opposite her. On the sofa sat the visitor: the lawyer Hugh Webster. He didn't rise when Ramsey barged in, but gave a smug smile. ‘I rather thought you'd be here before the day was out, Ramsey, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time. I explained everything thoroughly this morning.'

Margriet watched from her chair. Events had moved swiftly since Ramsey's last visit. She had gone with her mother to see the lawyer as Mr Blackstone had advised, and Hugh Webster was more than willing to discuss their situation. It had transpired that since then Ramsey had consulted his own York lawyer, who had asked him to obtain a copy of his wife's deceased husband's will before he put the wheels in motion for the sale of the house. Ramsey came to Hull but not to see his wife; he had made an appointment to consult Webster. When Webster was advised by his clerk of the pending appointment and the reason for it, he came immediately to visit Rosamund and brought a locksmith with him to change the lock on the door.

‘Forgive me, dear lady, but I can't stay now,' he'd told her. ‘I am in a great rush as I have much reading matter to peruse, but trust me when I say that all is not lost. The money in the bank has gone, it is true, and you won't get that back, but do allow me to have your lock changed to protect the contents of your house. Mr Ramsey will most certainly come to see you after he has heard what I have to say.'

Rosamund was very confused; Webster seemed to be very buoyed up by the whole situation, but she allowed the lock to be changed as he suggested, and told him that she wasn't so much worried about the house contents as about the house itself. ‘Mr Ramsey wants to sell it!' she exclaimed.

The lawyer had nodded sagely. ‘So my clerk informed me when Ramsey made the appointment. We have heard many rumours about Mr Ramsey, sad to say. My clerk, who is the soul of discretion, always has his ear to the ground – not that you would know it, for he has the look of a very mild and unassuming kind of man. I will call on you as soon as I've spoken to Ramsey. If he arrives before I do, then stay calm and act as if you know nothing. It would be a good idea to have your daughter with you.'

As Rosamund didn't know anything, the second part of his instruction would not be difficult to follow, but keeping calm was a different matter altogether. Fortunately, Mr Webster reached the house a few minutes before William's tempestuous entry, and although her colour fluctuated she was able to maintain her composure.

‘I'm going to fight this in the courts.' Ramsey pointed a stabbing finger at Webster and then at Rosamund. ‘Don't think you can get away with it. In common law everything a woman brings to a marriage belongs to her husband.'

Rosamund clutched her hands together. ‘Yes,' she murmured nervously. ‘So I believe.'

Webster stretched out his legs. ‘Have you come to bully your wife?' he asked mildly.

‘No!' Ramsey retaliated. ‘I only want what's legally mine. I won't leave her without a roof over her head.'

‘Indeed you won't.' Webster sat up. ‘You are obliged to ensure that she doesn't have to rely on the workhouse for accommodation.' Rosamund shuddered, but he went on, ‘But as I have already explained to you, you can't have this one. This property belongs to her daughter, Miss Margriet Vandergroene, willed to her by her father, Frederik Vandergroene. The only money that Mrs Vandergroene has left from your spending spree is the dowry her father gave on the occasion of her first marriage, and is untouchable by anyone but her.'

Ramsey glowered at him. ‘There'll be a way round it. I'll speak to my lawyer.'

‘Jameson, isn't it?' Webster said. ‘I have received a letter from him asking to see the original will, but he has no just cause to examine it. It is no concern of his, or yours either for that matter, but speak to him by all means. I remember him,' he murmured idly, as if recalling an incident. ‘Did you not use him once before over a certain racing scandal? Did you escape prison that time?' He left the question hanging. ‘I forget the details. He might take you on if he thinks you can afford his fees on a case he can't win.'

William Ramsey spun round, uttering an oath that made Rosamund blush and Margriet open her mouth in astonishment, and left, slamming the doors behind him.

Webster stood up. ‘May I ring the bell for coffee, Mrs Vandergroene? I feel we may need some refreshment whilst I explain the ins and outs.'

‘Oh! Forgive me.' Rosamund was flustered. ‘Margriet, can you—'

Margriet was already on her feet and reaching for the bell on the wall. She went out to meet Jane in the hall. ‘Ask Mrs Simmonds to serve coffee and Dutch biscuits, if Cook has made any, and to bring the brandy decanter and two glasses, please.' Then she stood for a moment outside the sitting room door to get her breath, and reach some understanding of what she had heard. ‘
Lieveling Papa
,' she whispered. ‘Why did you think of that? How did you guess something like this might happen?' She felt choked by the knowledge that her father had had the foresight to make sure they were safe after he was gone.

Mr Webster looked up when she went back into the room. He was standing with his back to the fire and had lifted his coat tails, which made her smile.

‘Now, my dear Miss Vandergroene. Do you recall when we first met?'

Margriet shook her head. ‘No, sir, I don't think so.'

‘Well, perhaps that's not surprising, for you were only' – he waved his hand vaguely on a level with his waist – ‘so big! You were with your papa, and you told me about a king's palace in Hull. Do you remember now?'

‘Yes,' she said, animated. ‘Now I do. Papa had taken me to the Vittoria Hotel near the pier and bought me a dish of ice cream.'

He nodded. ‘That was when I told your papa about a certain widow left penniless by her second husband, and the perils that can ensue if families are not well advised.' He turned to Rosamund. ‘Frederik came to see me and we redrew his will in favour of Margriet; not doubting for a moment that she would take care of you if such a situation should arise, as indeed it has.' He sighed. ‘Of course, we did not expect his death so early in life, but fortunately everything was in place before the tragedy occurred.'

Mrs Simmonds knocked and came in with the tray. Mr Webster looked on approvingly as Margriet poured coffee for her mother and herself and brandy for him. When she handed him the glass he swirled the liquid round and sniffed it appreciatively before taking a sip. ‘Excellent,' he purred. ‘Excellent.'

‘Frederik had a good supplier,' Rosamund said. ‘I drink very little myself, but I know that this is of top quality.' She made a mental note to send a couple of bottles to the lawyer's office.

‘Now,' he said, sitting down again and turning to Rosamund. ‘Some more good news. The shares that you held in Frederik's company and which Ramsey sold; he was told that there was a ready buyer who was prepared to buy immediately if the price was right, and since Ramsey needed the cash he sold them at below the market value. That buyer was myself, on Margriet's behalf, as instructed in Frederik's will. I have all the paperwork,' he added.

‘So, if Margriet agrees, bearing in mind that as a minor she must be advised by me, you could buy back those shares with money from your dowry which has lain untouched since you first received it on the occasion of your first marriage. You do not have to decide now,' he said. ‘There is no hurry.'

‘But if I did that, could William claim them as he did before?' Rosamund asked diffidently.

Webster nodded. ‘He could.'

‘In that case,
no
,' she said. ‘And yet I must have money, and there will be none from Mr Ramsey.' Rosamund drank her coffee and then picked up her glass. For almost the first time in her life she was thinking for herself. ‘I can't divorce him, can I?'

He shook his head. ‘Sadly, no. But he can divorce you if you give him cause, and if he chooses to and if he can afford to, which I doubt.'

That wasn't fair, Margriet thought. Why should women be so – so … She sought for the word to describe the position in which women could find themselves. Inferior, she thought, but said out loud, ‘Subordinate! Is that the right word for women, Mr Webster, in relation to men?'

He gazed at her. ‘I'm afraid it does describe the position in which they can find themselves, certainly.'

‘In that case I might never marry,' she exclaimed. ‘There would always be the worry that my husband could take everything.'