Little Girl Lost (38 page)

But Rosamund stroked Margriet's head. ‘I shan't mind too much,' she said quietly, ‘if it means I can undo the mistakes I have made in my foolishness.'

They both sat mulling over the circumstances, until Rosamund remembered something and gave herself a little shake. ‘But that is not all my news,' she said. ‘I had another visitor, the day after you left; your ships must have crossed mid-sea.' She smiled. ‘It was Mr Hans Jansen, the son of a friend of your father's. Do you remember him? He said you had met some years ago, when Frederik took you to Netherlands.'

‘We did,' Margriet said. ‘And did he tell you that he is working for the Vandergroene Company in Amsterdam? His mother and sister live there now and I met them again on this visit.'

‘He was a charming young man,' Rosamund said. ‘He reminded me of your father, not in looks but in manner, although your papa would have been older than him when he and I first met.'

‘He'll be about nineteen or twenty, I think,' Margriet said. ‘His sister is maybe seventeen, a little older than me.'

‘And are they a good family?' Rosamund asked cautiously.

Margriet laughed. ‘I believe so,' she said. ‘He's the only son. Don't start matchmaking, Mama, please! Oma Vandergroene has begun already.'

‘Has she?' Her mother looked askance.

‘Hans Jansen, it seems, is just perfect. But you might as well know now that I don't intend to marry. Not if I have to give everything I own to my husband.'

Margriet invited her mother to look over the clothes she had brought back from Amsterdam; it was time to explain the plans she had for the street children. ‘Except they are not children now,' she said. ‘They are my age if not a little older, except for Jim, who's maybe about twelve.'

‘And they live on the streets?' her mother asked dubiously. ‘Where? They must surely have a roof over their heads?'

‘I think perhaps a doorway if they can find one, but sometimes they're moved on. People think they make the town look untidy.'

Rosamund said nothing. That was what she had always thought when she hurried past homeless people. She had told herself that someone should do something about them, but it had never crossed her mind that it should be her. And now her daughter was considering helping them, might even be putting herself in danger by mixing with them.

‘Are you intending to wear these clothes to attract attention to their plight? I don't see what good it would do.'

‘No, Mama,' Margriet said patiently. ‘I'm going to try to show them a way that they can help themselves to make a living without waiting for charity.'

That night, before she climbed into bed, she hung the skirts, tops and trousers on hangers on her wardrobe door so that they wouldn't crease. She was hoping that if her friends agreed to dress up in this way people would notice them and buy from them, so that they would feel they were earning money rather than begging for it, and gain some self-respect. She was nervous, but Mrs Sanderson believed in the idea and Florrie was going to ask if she would allow them to meet at her house.

So many ideas were buzzing in her head as she planned what she would say to Billy and the girls the next day that she tossed from side to side in bed, unable to sleep. She looked at her clock and it was twelve o'clock and then it was two, and when she was finally drifting off she thought she heard someone knocking on her door. She got up and looked out on the landing but there was no one there; she listened at her mother's door but all was silence. Then she heard the knocking again and went back to her room for her dressing robe, put it on and padded barefoot down the stairs.

‘Who is it?' she whispered at the front door and a voice answered but she couldn't make out what it said. She held her ear to the wood. ‘Who?'

‘Anneliese. Open the door.'

She drew back the bolt and turned the key, opening the door a crack. Anneliese was dressed as usual in her traditional garments. ‘You're back,' she said. ‘I've been looking for you. Come along.' She held out her hand. ‘I've something to show you.'

Margriet closed the door quietly behind her and followed Anneliese down the steps. The street was quiet and there were no people about, and although it wasn't dark there was a grey mist hovering, making the street and houses shadowy, and clouds were covering the moon.

‘Where are we going?' Margriet asked as she was led towards the top of the street, where there didn't appear to be a way out because of the dilapidated buildings in front of them, but Anneliese put her finger to her lips. ‘Shh,' she said. ‘Not anywhere you will remember.'

The moon suddenly appeared from behind a cloud and lit up the street. ‘It's the Lenten moon,' Anneliese murmured. ‘The last of the winter.'

Margriet was confused. This was her own street where she had lived all her life, but now she barely recognized it. It was smaller and narrower than it should be, and had passages and alleyways off it that she had never noticed before. ‘Where are we?' she asked. Anneliese didn't answer, but took her hand and led her down one of the alleyways, which led into another, both of which had buildings on each side with small yards in front and in each yard were children playing who didn't look at them as they passed. They went up another narrow alley and came out on the road where Margriet thought the Old Dock would be. Except that it wasn't.

‘I don't know this place,' she told Anneliese. ‘I'm lost.'

‘Don't you see? Look.' Anneliese pointed across the open space in front of them. ‘Here is where the dock will be,' and then Margriet saw men working with picks and shovels, and wheelbarrows full of soil and debris that had come out of the earth; there were markers and ropes and fences to show where the dock would be and in the distance were allotments and trees and shrubs.

‘These gardens will be gone soon,' Anneliese told Margriet, ‘but I'll show you some others. That's what you like, isn't it? You like to see the gardens?'

‘There aren't any,' Margriet said. ‘There used to be.'

‘No, they're still here if you know where to look, and allotments too where people can grow vegetables as well as flowers.'

Anneliese set off in an easterly direction and Margriet tried to make sense of where they were going. Their clogs clattered on the cobbles and Margriet looked down at her black skirt. She couldn't remember putting it or the clogs on. She touched her head and found she was wearing one of the starched caps. Anneliese, she noticed, was wearing a white bonnet with a frill that covered the back of her neck.

‘This is the back of Land of Green Ginger.' Anneliese pointed. ‘Look, there is Hanover Square and Manor Alley where you can get to my house, and here are the gardens where my father grows his tulips and ginger.'

And there they were. Small gardens, it was true, but they were filled with colourful red and yellow tulips and white narcissi, blue hyacinths and some bluebells too, and in between the flowers were the thin green shoots of ginger. Margriet clasped her hands together in delight. ‘How lovely,' she exclaimed, and wondered if these were the same gardens she had glimpsed on the day she had been to the Vandergroene offices and then wandered into Anneliese's house.

‘Have I seen these gardens before, Anneliese?' she asked.

Anneliese shook her head and smiled. ‘No, you're not old enough.'

‘Did you come to Amsterdam with me?'

‘Yes, of course I did,' she said. ‘Don't I come everywhere with you?'

The next morning Margriet's mother came into her bedroom. She was fully dressed and had already had her breakfast.

‘Margriet, are you awake?'

Margriet turned her head and opened her eyes to see her mother standing by the bed, looking anxious.

‘Jane said you were fast asleep when she came to open the curtains so she didn't disturb you. Are you unwell?'

Margriet pulled herself out from under the bedclothes and stared around the room, seeing the Dutch costumes hooked on the wardrobe and one black skirt half off its hanger as if put there in a hurry. She frowned. Had she worn it?

She gazed glassily at her mother. ‘Tired, I think. Am I going somewhere today?'

‘You said you were meeting those children. Margriet, I'm having second thoughts about this. Perhaps you should cancel the arrangements; you don't seem yourself.'

Margriet threw back the sheets and swung her legs out of bed. ‘I'm not unwell, Mama. I – I had a restless night, that's all. I'll be all right as soon as I've had breakfast. May I have coffee and Oma's
poffertjes
?'

‘What? What are they?'

Margriet huffed out a breath. ‘Sorry! I'm still half asleep. Oma gave me little pancakes for breakfast and that's what she called them. I'll have porridge as usual, please. I'll be down in ten minutes, Mama. I'm perfectly all right, really.'

She hadn't meant to sleep so late and still felt tired and headachy, her mind hazy with something only half remembered. Did she really go out walking with Anneliese in the dead of night? She drew back the curtains and looked up and down Parliament Street. It looked the same as usual and yet she remembered – what? A different street from this one; much older, with dilapidated buildings and no way through to the dock. But there was no dock, there were no ships.

She sat on the edge of the bed. What's happening to me? Why does Anneliese take me on these journeys? Her comprehension, now that she was no longer a child, told her that she was imagining these things, and yet she was loath to lose her friend, real or not. She could see her so clearly; she had grown up with her.

Cook had said that the porridge was now cold and not worth eating, so she'd prepared some rashers of bacon and lambs' kidneys which were hot and waiting under a dish on the dresser.

‘I asked Cook about the pancakes,' her mother told her, ‘and she says she'll make some for tomorrow's breakfast.'

‘Really?' Margriet was once more surprised that her mother had taken the trouble over what was probably a sudden and obscure whim on her own part. ‘Thank you, Mama.'

Just before noon, Margriet packed the Dutch garments and white caps into two parcels and set off for Market Place. I hope they all come, she thought. What if they didn't? What if Billy thought she was just playing a game and didn't bother to tell the others? Maybe he thought she was just a rich girl with nothing better to do.

But he was there, with Jim, Betty and Mabel, all waiting by the church gate or sitting on the low wall. Margriet approached them diffidently. ‘I've had an idea,' she said. ‘I hope you think it's a good one. It's to help you earn a living. Or at least, it's a start, and it might lead to better things.'

‘I've got a job,' Billy said. ‘I'm me own master. Don't have to kowtow to anybody except 'customers.'

‘You mean like carrying people's luggage or looking after somebody's horse and carriage and hoping you'll be given a copper or two?'

‘Yeh,' he said defiantly. ‘Just like that.'

Margriet nodded. ‘Then I think you could be put in charge of this plan and make it work, because I can't, not without you.' She turned to the girls. Betty was concentrating on biting her nails and Mabel was sitting on the church wall idly swinging her legs. ‘Not without any of you. Oh, and the other thing is that we can talk about it at the Sandersons' house.'

Instantly they were alert and ready to go. ‘Is Sandy in on this then?' Billy asked eagerly. ‘Cos if she is then it'll be all right.'

‘She doesn't know all the details yet, but yes, she approves.'

They were ready to move off immediately, and Margriet wondered if they were motivated by the prospect of food at the Sandersons'. Billy offered to carry her parcels, and she handed them over to him. ‘Don't drop them in a puddle, Billy, whatever you do.' Then she asked him if his handcart would be available.

‘Aye, it will be if 'wheel doesn't drop off,' he said. ‘Why? Will there be summat to carry?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘There will be, but I think the cart will need a lick of paint first.'

‘Oh, I can do that,' he said, ‘except that I've no money for paint.'

‘All right. We'll have to make a list of what we need, but we'll go over everything once you've heard about the plan. If you don't like it, well,' she gave a little shrug, ‘it will only be a pipe dream.'

Billy looked sideways at her as they walked along Whitefriargate. ‘This means a lot to you, doesn't it?' His forehead wrinkled as he considered. ‘Are you doing this just for us?'

‘I think I'm doing it for myself as well, Billy. For all of us.'

As they had hoped, Mrs Sanderson had provided food. Huge plates containing beef and chicken and thick slices of bread were ready and waiting on a flowered tablecloth on her dining room table, along with pots of jam and marmalade and two types of cake.

‘Eat up,' she said heartily, ‘and then we'll hear what Miss Margriet has to say about her project. I'm going to talk to her while you have breakfast.'

‘Don't you know about it, Sandy?' Billy asked. ‘We thought you did.'

‘Only some of it,' she said. ‘But it sounds like a wonderful idea if you can make it work.'

Margriet smiled, pleased Mrs Sanderson had said that. It would make the others think it was their concern and not just hers.

When she thought they had almost eaten their fill, Margriet picked up her bundles and slipped out of the room and upstairs to Julia's bedroom, as agreed with Mrs Sanderson. Julia was waiting for her.

‘I can't wait to hear all about it,' she said. ‘Can I help you change?'

Margriet slipped out of her own clothes and into the costume and Julia quickly plaited her hair and pinned the cap on her head. ‘Oh,' she said excitedly, ‘how lovely.' She took another breath. ‘Oh, Margriet, can I have one too? I'm a quarter Dutch after all.'