Little Girl Lost (33 page)

‘No,' Rosamund objected. ‘Not all men are like William Ramsey. Think of your papa, how he considered us constantly, more than I ever knew.' Tears began to run down her cheeks and she started to sob, with relief that her ordeal might be over and with regret that she had never understood how kind, considerate and understanding Frederik had been. ‘There will be someone worthy of you, Margriet. Someone, somewhere.'

Margriet put down her cup and sat by her mother with her arm round her shoulder, and was surprised a few moments later when Rosamund, wiping away her tears, said, ‘Margriet, would you mind stepping into the hall for a moment whilst I speak to Mr Webster privately? I want to say something not for your ears.'

Webster seemed surprised too but didn't comment, and Margriet left the room. As the door closed firmly behind her, Rosamund took a sobbing breath. ‘Mr Webster, I hope you will forgive me, for I am unused to speaking of my private life, but it seems to me that I have very few options.' She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and looked down into her lap. ‘I do not wish to spend the rest of my life tied to a man I neither admire nor trust. It might well be that Mr Ramsey will come to the conclusion that he doesn't want to be with me either, and so I would like to end this marriage.'

‘But the scandal,' Webster said. ‘Does that not bother you?'

She gave a little laugh. ‘At one time the scandal would have been abhorrent to me, but not any more. It would be a nine-day wonder. However, there are no grounds for him to divorce me, so how can we get round that?'

He frowned. ‘A divorce would be out of the question. Only the wealthy can contemplate it and it is a very difficult and contentious situation even for them. A separation, perhaps, on the grounds of infidelity, but I can't see you contemplating anything as sordid as setting up that kind of scene.' He shook his head. ‘No, dear lady, I do not see how it can be done.'

‘Well then, there is only one thing that I can think of, and that is to blackmail him with innuendo and insinuation.'

‘I don't understand. About what?'

Rosamund hesitated. ‘His manhood,' she said softly. ‘I rather think that he might be vulnerable on that score.' She recalled the woman, Marie-Louise, at their wedding breakfast who she suspected he might have known intimately. Her voice dropped even lower. ‘William Ramsey has not once shared my bed, not even on our wedding night.'

‘Ah!' He let out a breath. ‘An annulment, then, for non-consummation of marriage, and a mutually agreed parting. Yes, my brave lady, I think we can run with that. He wouldn't want it talked about; that would be a scandal indeed. He might turn it on its head, of course, and say that you were the one who denied him.'

‘That is a possibility I am prepared to endure,' she said firmly. ‘I will scupper Mr Ramsey's boat and see him flounder once and for all.'

Margriet lay flat on her stomach on the floor of her room, her nose to one map and surrounded by several others. ‘Oh, Papa,' she breathed. ‘You were right all along. Here they are, just as you said.' It was as if he were in the room with her, smiling and cajoling and saying,
Well, of course I was right. Would I tell my little Daisy an untruth?

She had persuaded the librarian to let her borrow the maps for one day only; he had become quite friendly since he realized that Margriet was serious about her desire to learn what had gone before, as history was his favourite subject.

‘I'm interested in finding out where Henry VIII had his palace,' Margriet told him. ‘I believe it belonged to a wealthy family before him.'

The librarian looked over his round-rimmed spectacles at her. ‘Yes, the De la Poles. It was built for them when they lost their home to the sea at Ravenspurn.' He handed her the maps. ‘You may take these on condition that you bring them back tomorrow without fail. I'll lend you more then.'

What she had found now on Robert Thew's map of 1784 delighted her, for here was her own Parliament Street designated as Mug-House Entry as her father had told her, but even better was the area behind Land of Green Ginger, filled with sketches of bushy trees and hedges.

‘The king's gardens,' she murmured. ‘And was it here that you grew the ginger, Anneliese? Will I ever know?' For in her heart she was beginning to suspect that Anneliese was a figment of her imagination, a spectre of her dreams.

‘Haven't I told you already?' The familiar whisper came in her ear, and she turned her head to see Anneliese sitting in her chair. She smiled at her. ‘Don't stop believing in me, Margriet,' she said softly.

‘I won't,' Margriet breathed. ‘Not ever.'

She turned back to the maps. ‘Let's see what you have to show me, Mr Speed,' she murmured, looking at the name of the mapmaker and the date, 1610, even earlier than the previous one. ‘It's almost too small to read, and there are no recognizable streets.' The old walls and gates of Hull, the Citadel, and the towers of two churches were shown, with ships in the Humber and windmills outside the walls; just like Netherlands, she thought. ‘And what's this?' She peered closer. ‘Another church? No.' She ran her finger down the index and took a breath. ‘King's Place! I've found it! But now it's gone, other buildings have been built over it. There's nothing now but the place names.'

Something else was niggling away. It was something to do with what Anneliese had said about her garden and growing shrubs and bulbs and ginger. What? What was it? She turned to ask her what she had meant, but she had gone, and Margriet's mother was calling for her.

‘Margriet? Had you forgotten we have an appointment with Mr Webster?' Rosamund was ready to go out.

Margriet had lost track of the time, but it didn't take long to scramble into her coat and bonnet. Mr Webster's office was only a few minutes' walk away at the top of Parliament Street, and when the lawyer had sent his clerk to arrange a meeting Margriet had suggested that an outing would do them both good, rather than summoning the lawyer to come to them. Somewhat to her surprise, her mother had agreed, and the appointment had been made.

Webster had recommended that they should ask Ramsey to send her a monthly allowance as she had no other income. ‘He won't like it, of course, but if his lawyer has any sense he will advise him to do so,' he had said. It was now the end of March and a letter had been received from Ramsey's lawyer, Jameson, and they were meeting with Webster to hear the outcome.

As they walked up the street towards the lawyer's office, Margriet said, ‘Mama, I'm sure we don't have to worry too much about managing, even if Mr Ramsey defaults on any payment to you, as I can sell some of
my
shares that Papa left me, and we can live on the money that they bring.'

Her mother wasn't happy about that suggestion and said that her father had probably intended them for her dowry.

‘Then I'll have to consider very carefully before I marry,' Margriet observed, ‘and not choose a spendthrift like Mr Ramsey.'

Rosamund flinched. Margriet was right, of course; she should have been more careful and spoken to the lawyer before entering into another marriage contract. How disastrous it could have been but for Webster's forethought and Frederik's wisdom in taking his advice. The last thing she wanted was to spend Margriet's inheritance, for she would never be able to pay it back. She had done some serious thinking since her catastrophic marriage and realized how easily she might have found herself in an even more difficult situation. When Mr Webster had said that Ramsey had an obligation to keep her from the workhouse, she had had the grace to feel ashamed that she had once regarded its inmates as simply undesirable and unworthy. Now she wondered what circumstances had brought them so low.

‘We are a little further forward,' Webster told them when they were seated in his private rooms. ‘I have received a letter from Ramsey's lawyer, and Jameson says that in principle Ramsey will agree to an annulment of the marriage.' He glanced at Margriet. ‘Do you wish me to continue this discussion in front of your daughter, Mrs Ramsey?'

Rosamund hesitated, and caught Margriet's questioning glance. She considered for a moment and then said, ‘In view of Margriet's sensible suggestions regarding our situation and livelihood, I think she's grown up enough to hear what Mr Ramsey has to say.' She turned to Margriet. ‘But if you are embarrassed by the subject, which in truth is not something I would wish you to hear under normal circumstances, please feel free to leave the room and wait outside.'

Margriet nodded, and wondered what it might be. She was sorry for her mother; she had always been so genteel and sensitive, but the trauma of this marriage had changed her.

‘Very well.' Webster shifted papers about his desk. ‘The premise is that Ramsey will consider an annulment of your marriage on the condition that you say it is you who have refused to consummate the marriage and not him.'

Rosamund gave a wry smile. ‘I thought as much. He will not want damaging aspersions cast on his …' She hesitated, thinking of Margriet.

‘Quite so.' Webster cleared his throat. ‘I agree. I'm considering …' He paused and folded his hands in front of him. ‘I think we should give Ramsey a little more time to consider his position should you refuse before we send an answer, but I suggest I tell Jameson to advise him to arrange the details of your allowance immediately, as you are suffering under unfavourable monetary circumstances. In the meantime I will make a few enquiries of my own into the state of his affairs.'

Margriet accompanied her mother home, but then hesitated in the hallway. ‘Mama, I'm going to take a walk. I don't need Jane with me,' she added hastily, ‘I'm only stretching my legs as far as Market Place. I won't be long.' She opened the door before her mother could object. ‘I think you should ring for tea and take a rest. That meeting was very stressful.'

Her mother didn't make any objection and Margriet escaped. She quite often slipped out alone now. We live two minutes from the town, she thought, where is the harm in it?

She also supposed that her mother might like a little time alone to consider Ramsey's suggestion. What a dreadful man he was, using their marriage for his own selfish needs.

It was Tuesday, market day, and the area in front of Holy Trinity Church was thronging with people buying produce from the stalls. The vendors were shouting out the wonderful quality of their goods and the cheap price, and the customers were bargaining for a better one. Margriet wandered between the stalls, enjoying the liveliness and bustle of it all.

‘Buy a bunch o' flowers, miss? Brighten up your life.'

Margriet turned. It was Betty, holding out a spray of yellow daffodils. She didn't have a stall but by her feet was a metal bucket holding a few bunches of rather battered-looking narcissi. ‘Betty!' Margriet smiled, but Betty avoided her eye.

‘Hello, miss,' she muttered. ‘Will you buy a bunch o' daffies?'

‘I'd love to,' Margriet said, and was struck by the relief on the girl's face. She hadn't intended to buy anything, but she had a few coins in her purse. ‘How much are they?'

‘Onny a copper,' Betty mumbled. ‘Whatever you can afford.'

‘Here we are.' Margriet held out a sixpence. ‘I'll give them to my mother.'

Betty hesitated. ‘They ain't as much as that,' she said.

‘Then I'll take two bunches, please. She loves flowers.'

Betty chose the best of the daffodils and handed them to her.

‘Where do you buy your flowers?' Margriet asked curiously. She hoped they hadn't cost much, because they were not good specimens.

‘I didn't buy them,' the girl admitted. ‘Old Tom on 'flower stall give 'em to me. They're from Sat'day's market.'

‘Oh, I see.' That would account for their bedraggled appearance. ‘It's nice to see you again, Betty. You do remember me, don't you? I came to the fair with you.'

Betty nodded. ‘Yeh. But Billy said it were best not to talk to you.'

‘Oh!' Margriet was incredibly hurt. ‘Why? Did he say?'

Betty nodded again. ‘He said you weren't like us.'

Margriet sighed. ‘I suppose I'm not,' she said, ‘but that doesn't mean you can't talk to me. I mean, it's not my fault, is it?'

Betty appeared to consider. ‘No, suppose not. I'll tell him.'

Margriet left her and went in search of the flower stall Betty had mentioned. An elderly man was standing behind it, and looked across at her. ‘Lovely daffies here, miss. Better than them you've just bought.'

‘I haven't much money with me,' she admitted. ‘But I was wondering where you bought your flowers.'

He took off his hat and scratched his head. ‘Why, from them as brings 'em in from abroad, miss. These weren't grown here; it's a bit early for English flowers.' He picked up a bunch of deep red tulips. ‘Now see these beauties, not fully opened yet. They're picked while they're still closed up, then start to open on 'ship that brings 'em over from Holland, and by 'time I collect 'em from Farrell's warehouse they're almost ready. Beautiful, they are.' He gazed at the flowers admiringly. ‘Dutch tulips; can't beat 'em.'

‘I know,' she said breathlessly. ‘And where is the warehouse?'

He frowned. ‘Public can't buy from there, onny us that sells 'em on. Tradesfolk, you know.'

‘Yes. Yes, of course. I understand. Thank you. I'll come again on Saturday and buy some.' She laughed. ‘I'll remember to bring some money with me next time.'

‘Aye, it's no use coming to 'market without a copper or two, miss.'

It was as she was walking away that something struck her. Farrell, he'd said. She knew that name, but how? And then she remembered. He was the man who had said that the house in Land of Green Ginger was haunted. Old memories swirled in her head. He had wanted to discuss something with Frederik, but she couldn't remember what.