Little Girl Lost (8 page)

How strange it was, he thought, that women like Florrie had more freedom than someone like Rosamund, who considered it unseemly to walk along the street alone, without the company of a maidservant, even during daylight hours. He gave a deep sigh. Would it ever be any different?

‘And what shall we tell Miss Ripley, Papa? I think she will be sad if she can't come to teach me any more.'

‘Mama will explain that you will be going to school next term … but we are jumping our hedges too soon. First we have to go and see Miss Barker and find out if she is willing to take you as a pupil.'

‘Oh.' Margriet considered. ‘You mean she might not? Then I must practise my curtsey and how to say how-de-do to please her.'

Frederik laughed and patted her cheek. ‘I think, Daisy, that you will impress Miss Barker more if you ask her what she will be teaching you than if you can do a wobble-free curtsey!'

Frederik decided that he would act in the manner of a masterful husband even though it went against his better nature, and he insisted that Rosamund went with them to meet Miss Barker. Rosamund said little after the initial greeting, but Frederik noticed her surveying the parlour that served as a schoolroom and the five children – three girls and two boys – sitting at the table with books and slates in front of them. A young woman of about eighteen sat with them.

‘This is my assistant, Miss Chambers,' Miss Barker said, and the young woman got up to shake hands. ‘As you will see, I take only five pupils, but we shall be losing George this summer, and so will have room for another.' She smiled at one of the boys. ‘He will be attending Hull Grammar School in the autumn. We are all very proud of him.'

The boy tried to hide a grin, but it was easy to see that he was pleased by the praise.

‘Sanderson's son?' Frederik asked. ‘It was Sanderson who recommended you to me.'

‘Ah! Did he? That is very gratifying.' She took them back into her office, which doubled as another schoolroom; there were exercise books on the table, a small desk with an oil lamp, and in one corner a pianoforte and stool. When they were seated, she turned to Margriet. ‘It's Margriet, isn't it? How old are you?'

Margriet got to her feet and gave a small dip of the knee. ‘I'm six, Miss Barker.'

‘Ah, so you know my name.'

‘Yes, Papa told me.'

Miss Barker nodded. ‘And is there anything you'd like to ask me? Anything you'd like to know or are anxious about?'

Margriet worked her mouth as she thought. ‘I'm not anxious about anything, but I wondered if you will be telling us about King Henry?'

Miss Barker raised her dark eyebrows. ‘Which King Henry?'

Margriet's lips shaped into an orb, and she glanced at her father. She only knew of one. ‘The one who had a palace in Hull.'

‘Henry VIII? I see. You are interested in history, are you?'

‘Papa took me to see where the palace and the gardens used to be, but it was a long time ago so the palace isn't here any more, although the gardens … the gardens might be.' She paused. ‘At least – I think I know where they are, and that the ladies of the court like to walk in them.'

‘You know where they
were
, I think, Margriet,' Miss Barker suggested. ‘They would have been built upon long ago.'

Margriet pressed her lips together. ‘Yes,' she murmured. ‘That's what I meant.'

Before they left, Miss Barker asked Margriet to go back to the other room and say hello to the other students whilst she spoke to her parents. ‘She seems a very bright intelligent child,' she said, when the door had closed behind her. ‘I think she will make a welcome addition to our school. I was intrigued by her question about the royal palace; there are few adults who know of its existence, let alone a child.'

‘But I must expect the cane for not telling her which King Henry came here,' Frederik said contritely.

Miss Barker gave a faint smile. ‘There is no such thing as the cane in my school, Mr Vandergroene, not even for the boys.' She looked at Rosamund. ‘Is there anything you would like to ask, Mrs Vandergroene?'

Frederik held his breath, hoping Rosamund wouldn't mention decorum or ladylike manners. ‘I think my husband has covered everything that is necessary, Miss Barker,' she said after a moment. ‘Thank you for your courtesy.'

Miss Ripley was informed that her services would not be required after the end of July, which gave her ample time to look for another position before the following term began. ‘We will of course give you an excellent reference,' Rosamund told her. ‘Had it been left to me I would have asked you to stay much longer; we have found nothing lacking in your teaching of Margriet.' She gave the merest lift of her shoulders as if to say that the matter was out of her hands. Miss Ripley was disappointed, but understood very well that Mr Vandergroene would want a higher education for his daughter than she could give. She would send an advertisement to ‘Positions Required' in the local newspaper; Mrs Vandergroene promised that she would enquire amongst her friends and acquaintances for suitable situations but Miss Ripley privately thought it highly unlikely that her employer would take such trouble.

Barely a month after Frederik's return from Netherlands, Mrs Simmonds brought him a letter bearing a Dutch postage stamp. He didn't recognize the writing; it was a bold though shaky hand, and with some dread he guessed just whom it was from and what its contents must be.

It was from Cornelia telling him of the death of Nicolaas.

I write to advise you as I promised I would. The funeral will be held in two days, but I do not expect you to come at such short notice. If you feel you can visit us at some time in the future, then my children and I will be more than pleased to welcome such a good friend.

He saw by the date of the postmark that he would be too late for the funeral, but nevertheless he decided he would sail that same evening and stay with his mother. Rosamund expressed surprise. ‘Surely Mrs Jansen will not be receiving visitors so soon after her husband's death? Is that the Dutch custom?' She gave a little shudder. ‘I wouldn't be able to face anyone.'

‘Would you not be comforted by sincere well-wishers?' he asked. ‘Would you not be glad of the fact that friends wanted to offer their help and condolences?'

‘Oh, no!' she said. ‘I would want to hide away in a darkened room.'

Frederik gave a wry smile. ‘I am heartened,
nee
, gratified, Rosamund, that you would miss me so much!'

She gazed at him blankly, and he realized that she wasn't thinking of her feelings if such a tragedy should take place, but of the unfortunate situation she would be left in.

‘Well,' he sighed. ‘I am going on this evening's tide, and even if I should be turned away at the door I will at least have tried to offer some comfort and support.'

He told Margriet why he was going away again so soon and she said how sad the lady must be. ‘I would cry, Papa. I expect her children will cry too, now that they have no papa.' Her own eyes filled with tears. ‘Please will you tell them that I am very sad for them?'

‘I will, Margriet, and I'm sure they will take strength from your kind thoughts.' He kissed the top of her head. ‘I will return soon.'

When the ship docked the next morning he called first of all on his mother, and then took a train to Utrecht and a cabriolet to Cornelia's house. The window shutters were closed and he wondered if Rosamund had been right after all and he was calling too soon.

He gave a cautious knock on the front door and inhaled the sweet perfume of the roses and honeysuckle that were climbing up around it. A moment later the door was opened by Klara, who was dressed in white threaded with black ribbon, and gazed silently up at him as if not recognizing him.

‘Hello, Klara,' he said quietly. ‘I'm Frederik Vandergroene. Do you remember me? I was a good friend of your father's. Would you give your mother my kind respects, and ask if I might call at a convenient time?'

She nodded and said, ‘Please wait one moment,' and leaving the door ajar she turned away and pattered down the hall. He heard her voice and then her mother's and then Cornelia came hurrying to greet him.

‘Oh, Frederik, how kind of you to come so quickly. Please come in. Klara said she was sorry she didn't recognize you.'

‘Not at all; I didn't expect her to,' he said. He thought how regal and dignified Cornelia looked. Although her face was pale, accentuated by the deep black of her gown, she smiled at him as she led him to the kitchen. He looked up the stairs as he passed and remembered helping Nicolaas down them so that he could eat with them at the table, and was suddenly devastated by his loss.

He put his hands to his eyes, and as Cornelia turned to ask him to be seated he murmured, ‘Forgive me. I came to offer comfort and find that I am in need of it too.'

She patted his shoulder in a maternal manner, but didn't say anything, allowing him to sit quietly until he had suppressed his emotion. Klara sat on the arm of her mother's chair until Cornelia whispered something to her. The child dipped her knee to Frederik and left the room.

‘I'm sorry.' He cleared his throat. ‘When I received your letter I was saddened, although the news was not unexpected, but now, here in your home, his loss has hit me hard.'

‘I understand,' she said softly. ‘I, of course, had time to adjust to the inevitable, and yet when it came—' She broke off, fingering a black pendant at her neck, and paused a moment before continuing. ‘It was harder than I thought. But I am so glad that you are here. So very glad.'

‘My wife thought it too soon to come,' Frederik told her. ‘That you wouldn't wish to be disturbed until your mourning period was over.'

‘I would not wish my friends to stay away,' she said simply. ‘I want us to share our happier memories. Nicolaas requested a simple funeral ceremony and asked me not to observe a long period of mourning. He knew that it is not in my nature to be sombre. I will wear black for a year, so as not to shock my neighbours, but I know Nicolaas would not mind if I began quietly to go out again after six months.' She gazed into the middle distance. ‘But I am worried about Hans. He misses his father very much. I am not able to comfort him.'

‘He's young, but too old to want to show his feelings in front of others. He's hovering between boy and man, I think?'

‘He is,' she agreed. ‘I believe he considers that he is now the man of the house and should be taking on responsibilities, but he's not ready for them.'

‘Would he allow me to speak to him? Perhaps I could tell him about his father when he was a boy?' Frederik glanced out of the window overlooking the garden. The shutters were open here and the sun shone brightly through the glass; Hans was pacing about with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets.

‘You could try,' Cornelia said. ‘Yes, please. Perhaps now, whilst I prepare coffee and cake.'

Frederik got up immediately and Cornelia pointed to the door leading out to the garden. Outside, he closed his eyes and stood with his head back for a moment or two before opening his eyes and looking about him. Hans was watching him.

As if startled, Frederik said, ‘Hans. I'm sorry. Did I disturb you?' He took a step towards the boy and held out his hand. ‘I am so very sorry about your father. We were friends from when we were young, you know – younger than I imagine you are now.'

Awkwardly, Hans returned a limp handshake and nodded briefly.

‘I admit it was very difficult for me in the house,' Frederik confided. ‘I don't want to upset your mother, but I couldn't help but dwell on the last time I was here, not thinking that—' He pressed his lips together and swallowed, filled with a genuine emotion. ‘That's why I came outside. I'm sorry to disturb you,' he said again. ‘It must be much more difficult for you.'

Hans nodded again. ‘You have children, don't you? How would they feel?'

‘A daughter,' Frederik said. ‘Margriet asked me to tell you that she is very sad for you and your sister.'

‘Please thank her, sir,' Hans muttered. ‘Most of our friends haven't spoken to us, although some have sent cards.'

‘That's because they don't know what to say. They're afraid of upsetting or embarrassing you. When you get older you are able to control your feelings better.' He chanced a weak smile. ‘Well, that's the theory, but it doesn't always work.' He looked away as a single tear rolled down the boy's cheek. ‘My own father died only a short time ago, and although it doesn't compare to losing a father when you're as young as you are, I found that having a good weep alone in my room helped me to cope later when I was in the company of others. And talking about him helped,' he added hurriedly, fearful that Hans was about to take his advice and bolt away, ‘because it made sure that I didn't forget all the witty things he used to say. And that applies to my friendship with your father too. I'd very much like to talk to you about him one day, if you would permit me.'

‘Yes,' Hans croaked. ‘Of course. Will you excuse me, sir?' and he dashed for the house door.

Frederik wandered around the garden, bending to examine the roses and running his fingers through lavender and marjoram to release the pungent aroma. Cornelia came outside carrying a tray, and they sat at a small wrought-iron table where she poured them both coffee from a jug.

He smiled. ‘Don't you have servants, Cornelia?'

‘You know I do. But why would I interrupt their cleaning and polishing and scrubbing floors, work that I don't like to do, just to do something simple like making coffee or baking cake? Besides,' she laughed, ‘it keeps them on their toes. They see that I can manage some things and so do their utmost to show me how much better they are at the others than I am.'