Little Girl Lost (22 page)

Miriam came in then with a tray of coffee and cakes, and when she had put them down on the table Lia caught her by the hand and told her who her visitors were and whispered that Freddy was no more, that his ship had gone down in the sea. Miriam pressed a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. ‘He brought such happiness with him,
mevrouw
,' she said to Gerda. ‘How will we ever recover?'

‘You see?' Lia said, when Miriam had gone, weeping, back to the kitchen. ‘How everyone loved him. I don't know how I will break the news to my children – they will be devastated for the second time in their young lives. And dear little Margriet, how she adored her father.'

Anna had told Lia about the memorial service, and that they intended to call on Margriet and her mother. ‘We would be pleased if you would come to the service with us,' she said. ‘You could be part of our family; no one would know who you were.'

Lia had shaken her head; she had no place there.

‘We don't think that Rosamund will attend,' Gerda had explained. ‘It won't be expected of her, so if you should wish …?'

‘No. Thank you, but no,' Lia had said. ‘If I came it would be too final a parting. I will say my goodbye to him here. Here in the place where I know he was happy.'

Gerda had given a wistful smile. ‘I am so glad that we came, for I see now that he would have been content here with you. Alas, it was not meant to be. But one day, perhaps, we could bring Margriet again to visit you?'

Lia had told Klara when she came home from school and the child had cried, but she was young and resilient and had told her mother she would write to Margriet when she could find some comforting words to say. She was yet to write them. Lia had written to Hans at school and he had asked for leave of absence to be with her, and she was touched by his generosity of spirit that he would think to do so.

Now, as she sat alone in her garden on the day that the memorial service was to be held in Hull, she wondered how she would fill her life. The love that she and Frederik had shared had been brief, unlike the longer love she had known with Nicolaas. The two could not be compared for each was different, but both were so special that she felt she had been singled out for happiness. This morning she had lit two candles on her table, one for each of them. How blessed she had been, she thought, but there would be no other. Only the love of her children would comfort and support her now.

Rosamund had allowed Florrie to take Margriet to call at the Sanderson house. Margriet had enjoyed the visit, especially on being allowed to see the new baby, another boy, but when they called a second time they were told that the family had gone to Scarborough for the whole of August and this had made her miserable again. That was one of the reasons Rosamund had decided that Margriet should go back to school in September; it had been her own judgement and she felt rather smug about it. Dr Johnston had stressed that Margriet shouldn't be confined to the house and she had discussed the matter with her friend Lydia Percival, who had called to see her. Lydia had concurred that it was within the bounds of protocol; no one would think it improper. Margriet was still only a child, after all.

‘Dr Johnston!' she had exclaimed. ‘The young doctor? He's charming, is he not? If only I had some medical reason to ask him to call, but unfortunately I am in good health and of course I couldn't invite him to a soirée. It wouldn't be at all the thing.'

Rosamund had sighed as she gazed down at her black bombazine and crape, longing for the time when she could go into half mourning and wear grey or mauve. She had ordered a sweet little dress for Margriet in black and white that she could wear for school, and the child had perked up considerably.

‘You know, I've been thinking, my dear.' Lydia had called again and was having coffee with her one late-November morning. ‘I know that you can't go out yet – the year won't be up until February, will it? – but I see no earthly reason why you shouldn't invite one or two friends here. It wouldn't be as if you were stepping out into company. Don't you agree?' She helped herself to another biscuit. ‘Your biscuits are always so delicious.'

Rosamund nodded and said vaguely, ‘It's a Dutch recipe. Cook likes to make them in Frederik's memory. So, what was it you were saying? You think I could invite friends here?'

‘Indeed! Only those you know well, of course, and only those who would be discreet. And it must be before Christmas comes too close, so it couldn't possibly be considered to be any kind of celebration.'

Rosamund gave a little gasp. ‘Oh, I wouldn't want anyone to think that. Certainly not. I still feel Frederik's loss deeply.' And, she thought, it was true: not hearing his key in the lock or his footsteps on the stairs and Margriet's feet running down to greet him. The poor child missed him so much. Allowing her back to school had been the right thing to do.

‘But perhaps two or three people,' she went on, ‘no more than four would be acceptable, I suppose.' She mused over whom to invite. Lydia, of course, as it had been her suggestion, and her husband, but who else? ‘You and Vincent would come, Lydia, wouldn't you?'

‘Vinny will come if he's not tied up, you know how he is with his clubs and what not. Let's think who else would be suitable.' She put a finger to her mouth and idly brushed away a biscuit crumb. ‘I have an idea,' she said triumphantly. ‘My brother William is coming to visit us the week after next. I've lined up one or two parties for him. I don't know if you've ever met him, Rosamund; he's younger than me, about your age I should think, and he would be the perfect guest. He's not from this area, he lives near York, so you needn't worry that he'd tell anyone round here where he'd been.'

‘Oh, but he wouldn't want to be visiting a widow still in mourning, surely? And will he not have his wife with him?'

‘Not yet married, m'dear. He can't seem to find anyone he's really attracted to. I've tried introducing him to suitable young women but I've given up. I dare say he'll remain a bachelor all his life!'

Rosamund considered. She would be comfortable with Lydia and Vincent. Lydia was never short of conversation and never really expected any comment on her wisdom, her husband often fell asleep in company, and if she brought her brother he wouldn't be worried about being set up in any matchmaking scheme as she was still in mourning. It would be a start, she thought, to easing herself back to a normal life.

‘I've just remembered something that Vinny asked me to tell you,' Lydia said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘If you need his advice on money matters, or anything at all, he will always be glad to give it.' She lowered her voice sympathetically. ‘We ladies are hardly competent to be thrust so unexpectedly into such issues.'

‘Oh, please thank Vincent very much. It's kind of him to offer, but Frederik was meticulous about such things. His lawyer came to see me and explained that I would have no worries on that score, and of course the business is very strong.'

‘Such a relief,' Lydia exclaimed. ‘Whom do you use?'

‘Hugh Webster,' she said. ‘He has an office here in Parliament Street. He seems very efficient.'

Lydia pulled a face of disapproval. ‘They all do,' she answered, standing up to leave. ‘But there are some who line their pockets, so one must be careful. I'll ask Vincent's opinion of him.'

After bidding Lydia farewell, Rosamund wavered over whether she should invite her guests for the morning or the afternoon, and after some indecision decided that she would ask them to come for a light luncheon and eat in the dining room. The room needed an airing as it hadn't been used since Frederik had died.

She discussed with Cook what would be required. ‘I think cold chicken and ham, don't you? And possibly veal cutlets as well, do you think, Cook, as gentlemen have larger appetites than ladies?'

Cook suggested that she could serve the cutlets hot with mashed potatoes and peas, and perhaps begin the meal with a consommé as the weather was becoming very cold.

‘Excellent,' Rosamund nodded.

Later, down in the kitchen, Cook told the others that the mistress had looked quite merry as she decided that rather than serve a dessert they would have coffee and cake and then adjourn to the sitting room for a game of cards.

‘Well,' Florrie said. ‘What do you mek of that?'

Rosamund was quite excited about the prospect. So bored had she become with her life that on the day of the visit she sent Florrie out for flowers to grace the dining room table. ‘I'm not sure what will be available now,' she said. ‘If there are no flowers in the market then bring some greenery – ivy,' she stipulated, ‘not holly, for red berries will appear far too frivolous.'

Florrie came back with a trail of ivy and a small bunch of white and purple winter pansies that Rosamund deemed very suitable as a centrepiece. It was as Rosamund was placing the small oval dish holding them on the table that it suddenly struck her that she had never taken as much trouble arranging the table for Frederik as she was doing now for her guests. She stood with her hands clasped lightly together beneath her chin, wondering whether she had been as considerate towards him in their marriage as she might have been. She did not move until Florrie came in with the table settings, and then she blinked as if a dusty mote had flown into her eye.

The cabriolet carrying her guests arrived at twelve fifteen. Florrie opened the door to them and dipped her knee to Mrs Percival, whom she had met several times. She dipped again to the gentlemen, guessing Mr Percival to be the portly one with the full set of whiskers who handed her his top hat and coat without looking at her. The other, a dark stocky man with a short beard and piercing blue eyes that appraised her from top to toe, also handed her his hat and murmured a greeting.

Hiding a smile as she guessed he'd been told to be on his best behaviour, she led them into the drawing room, where Rosamund was sitting quietly waiting, a magazine on her knee as if she had been reading. She rose gracefully as Florrie announced her visitors, greeting Lydia and Vincent and holding out her hand as Lydia introduced her brother, William Ramsey.

He bent over her fingers, and kept hold of them as he murmured that he was sorry to hear of her loss. She blinked rapidly to clear her tears as she accepted his condolences.

‘Please, do be seated,' she said, and the men lifted their coat tails as they perched on graceful chairs while Lydia and she sat side by side on the sofa.

‘Well, this is very nice, Rosamund,' Lydia said. ‘You are looking much brighter already. You have been quite dragged down recently.'

‘Hardly surprising, Lydia,' her brother remarked reprovingly. ‘Mrs Vandergroene has been through a very difficult time, and a sad one. It isn't something one can shake off like a bad cold, you know.'

Rosamund looked gratefully at him. It was gratifying to know that someone understood. She didn't think that Lydia ever had, although she remonstrated now, saying that her remark had been misconstrued.

‘I wasn't trying to belittle what Rosamund has been through,' she said petulantly. ‘I understand, of course I do. I was merely trying to say that the loss of dear Frederik was taking its toll on her. It is especially difficult for women, you know, William; gentlemen can't possibly imagine what it must be like to be housebound for so long. That is why I suggested that Rosamund should invite one or two friends in for company.'

‘Quite right,' Vincent muttered, looking around longingly for a glass of something. Florrie appeared as if on cue, with a tray of decanters and glasses that she placed on a side table.

‘Leave them, please, Florence. Perhaps the gentlemen will be so good as to do the honours.' Rosamund glanced at William Ramsey as she spoke, hoping he would offer rather than the ungainly Vincent, who she was sure would upset the whole table.

William Ramsey rose immediately. ‘My pleasure,' he said. ‘Ladies, what can I offer you?' He looked at the tray. ‘Sherry? Whisky? I think this jug might contain lemonade.'

‘I'll have sherry, please, William,' Lydia said. ‘Rosamund, won't you have the same?' she added as if she were the hostess.

‘I will, thank you, just a small one.' Rosamund smiled at William Ramsey and gave a little sigh. How nice it was to be looked after again; she had almost forgotten how much she missed being asked her preference for this or that. Again she thought how considerate Frederik had always been and how heedless, alas, she had been of it.

The gentlemen's cutlets were cooked to perfection, slightly pink and very tender, and the potatoes were creamy with a hint of herbs. Lydia chose the chicken, and Rosamund decided on a thin slice of ham with a small amount of potato. When they had finished and William Ramsey had sent his compliments to the cook they adjourned to the sitting room, where a bright fire was burning. Florrie had drawn the chairs to the fireside and lit the lamps so that the room was very cosy and inviting.

‘Delightful,' William said.

‘Would you care for cards?' Rosamund asked him.

‘I'd like just to chat,' he answered, before his sister could comment. ‘We can play cards any time, can't we? Oh, I'm sorry, of course you haven't been able to, Mrs Vandergroene. What would you like to do?'

‘Well, actually I would quite like to talk,' she said. ‘It's some time since I had any conversation, although Lydia does come and keep me up to date when she can.' She leaned forward. ‘What brings you to Hull, Mr Ramsey? Are you here on business?'

‘No, I'm not in business.' He uncrossed his legs and stretched a little. ‘I'm here to visit Lydia and Vincent. I generally come before the Christmas festivities begin and before the roads become impassable should it snow.'

Vincent Percival grunted. ‘If you will drive a curricle,' he said. ‘You'd be better with a brougham in winter.'