Little Girl Lost

by Val Wood

When they arrived in St Nicholas Cliff Margriet helped Florrie to unpack. They put foodstuffs and crockery in the cupboards and cutlery in drawers, for as usual her mother had insisted that they bring their own and not use any that were left in the house, and then she helped to make up the beds. She had her own room and Florrie had a small room next door, whilst her mother had the larger bedroom, but there was no upstairs sitting room this time, only the parlour downstairs and a very small dining room and kitchen. Margriet thought it cosy but her mother puckered up her lips and tutted.

  When all was done, the three of them walked across the Spa bridge. Rosamund went straight to the Spa terrace and sat at one of the tables to order tea, but Margriet was anxious to go down to the sands.

  ‘You’d better go with her, Florence,’ Rosamund said. ‘Come back in about half an hour and we’ll take a stroll. There will be plenty of time for playing, Margriet. We’ve got a whole month.’

  Margriet pouted. ‘It’s not going to be the same,’ she huffed as she and Florrie walked down the steep path. ‘Mama’s going to want me to be with her all the time.’

  ‘No, she won’t, miss,’ Florrie reassured her. ‘Your mama is probably feeling just as lonely being here without your papa as you and me are.’ She caught hold of Margriet’s hand. ‘We all miss him, you know, even us down in ’kitchen.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Margriet was immediately repentant. ‘Of course you do. And poor Mama. How sad she must be feeling. We’ll just take a short walk on the sands, shall we, Florrie, and then go back and keep her company?’

  Florrie nodded, and looked up the cliff, but could no longer make out Mrs Vandergroene on the terrace. She sighed, silently agreeing with her charge. The holiday wouldn’t be the same at all; the only saving of it, as far as she could see, would be when the Sandersons arrived.

  It was going to be very boring, Rosamund decided, unless more people arrived. Previously she had chatted with other ladies taking lunch or tea on the terrace, but today there was no one. She felt very lonely, and hoped that Scarborough hadn’t lost any of its charm. Perhaps it had been a mistake coming back so soon, but she had genuinely thought it would be good for Margriet to come and meet other children; soon, Rosamund thought, she would be too big to be playing on the sands. Maybe in another year she would not want to be building sandcastles or digging dams. Yes, perhaps next year Margriet would accompany her on strolls around the town or in the flower gardens, or doing some window shopping, and wouldn’t even think of wanting to play cricket or swim in the sea.

  She was beginning to get restless, and also a little chilly. Margriet and Florence had been gone almost half an hour; it was time they were back. She stood by the rail and looked out across the sands. There were very few people about, only some who were walking their dogs, and she couldn’t see Margriet or Florence at all. She looked down the various paths that led to the sands; perhaps they were walking up and temporarily hidden from sight. She took a deep breath and turned back to her table, and then stood stock still.

  ‘Mrs Vandergroene! How are you?’

  She put her hand to her throat. ‘Mr Ramsey! Goodness. I didn’t expect to see you here. You’re a long way from home.’

  William Ramsey took off his smart black silk hat and bowed. ‘I am indeed, as you are too.’

  ‘We come to Scarborough every August. Except last year, of course.’ She cast him a pensive glance. ‘But I felt I should make an effort this year for the sake of my daughter.’

  ‘Of course.’ He put out his hand, indicating that she should retake her seat at the table. ‘And how is your little girl?’

  ‘We are all having to, Mr Ramsey. There is nothing else for it.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘Well, this holiday will do wonders for you both. You do know that my sister is coming to Scarborough?’

  ‘She said she wasn’t sure.’ Had Lydia said for certain? She had intimated once or twice that they might be coming, and that was why she had brought the ham, but she was sure Lydia hadn’t confirmed it.

  ‘Oh, she can be such a scatterbrain sometimes,’ he said indulgently. ‘Yes, they’ve booked in at a small hotel in the Crescent and I’m staying there too, except that she gave me the wrong date. She and Vincent are arriving tomorrow, not today as she told me.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely. I shall look forward to seeing them, and I’m delighted of course to see you too. How long are you staying?’

  ‘Sadly only a few days, so it’s a shame that I’ll be kicking my heels until they arrive tomorrow evening.’ He hesitated. ‘I wonder – would it be permissible to meet you for coffee tomorrow? Or lunch?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘You are out of mourning? Being a mere man I’m not sure of the indications of dress.’

  Rosamund was wearing a grey gown with black vertical stripes down the skirt and a grey hat with a black spotted veil. ‘I am advised that as it is eighteen months since my husband’s demise I may now consider myself to be out of full mourning and free to be seen in select society.’

  ‘Really?’ His eyebrows twitched. ‘And would taking coffee with a gentleman be considered select society or will you be shunned for ever more?’

  Rosamund considered. Apart from the Sandersons, there would be no one here who knew her from home. The ladies she had chatted to previously were strangers, and as Lydia and Vincent were coming what harm would it do to have coffee out here in the open air with Lydia’s brother? It would be almost as if they had met by chance. She wasn’t too sure about lunch, but certainly coffee would be perfectly safe.

  She smiled at him and then looked away. ‘I think that coffee tomorrow would be perfectly acceptable, Mr Ramsey.’ She gave a trilling laugh. ‘Even if it might be considered by some to be living dangerously!’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Rosamund dressed carefully the next morning in a lilac two-piece: a buttoned fitted jacket and a full skirt, both trimmed with black piping. On her head she wore the same grey hat and veil as yesterday.

  ‘You look very nice, ma’am,’ Florrie said, as she helped her fasten the tiny buttons. ‘It must be such a relief to wear some colour after black.’

  ‘I think it’s quite appropriate though, wouldn’t you say?’ Rosamund said. ‘Lilac is perfectly suitable after eighteen months of mourning.’

  She had never before asked Florrie’s opinion about anything, but there was no one else she could ask except Lydia, whose opinions were so entirely her own that she couldn’t be relied upon.

  ‘I think it’s time you came back into ’world, ma’am.’ Florrie picked up the dainty hat and adjusted the veil. ‘Whatever colour you’re wearing doesn’t mean you’re not thinking about ’person you’ve lost.’

  ‘How right you are, Florence. I have to get back to some kind of normality.’ Rosamund perched the hat on her head and pulled the veil over her eyes. Tomorrow, she decided, she would exchange the veil for a grey one. The black spots made her feel dizzy and she wasn’t sure that they were very flattering after all. Not that she was looking to attract anyone, but it would be nice to have some male company for a day or two and Mr Ramsey was very charming and considerate. Very like Frederik in some ways, she thought.

  Rosamund hadn’t known many young men in her girlhood. She never really knew what to talk about with young men. Her mother had put her off with odd remarks and whispered conversations with her older sisters when they were contemplating marriage, and Rosamund had never really known what to expect from a male companion.

  ‘Trot along then, Margriet,’ she said gaily after choosing a table on the terrace close by the railing and overlooking the sands. ‘I’ve brought a book to read, and if I get tired of it then I’ll take a stroll down to meet you.’

  ‘Do you want me to come back for you, ma’am?’ Florrie asked.

  ‘No, no,’ Rosamund assured her. ‘I will come down alone. I’ll be perfectly safe; we’re in full view, after all.’

  Florrie was astounded by the change in her mistress. Amazing, she thought, what a change of clothing could
bring about, or maybe it was the Scarborough air. It was supposed to be very bracing. Margriet was racing ahead with her skirts flying, for she had spotted Julia on the sands, and Florrie hoped that her mother wasn’t watching, as she was sure to say that it was most unseemly.

  Julia was chasing after Hugh, then came George carrying a picnic hamper, Imogen carrying a rug and behind her Mr Sanderson carrying various pieces of paraphernalia, whilst Mrs Sanderson brought up the rear of the cavalcade holding on to the toddler Richard.

  Florrie smiled. Margriet would have fun after all. She hailed them as she reached the sands, catching up with Mrs Sanderson, who had stopped to take off her shoes. ‘Mrs Sanderson; how are you, ma’am?’

  ‘I’m well, thank you, Florrie. I’m so glad that Mrs Vandergroene decided to come this year. Margriet was looking very peaky the last time I saw her.’

  ‘Yes. They’re both in need of some fresh air and a change of surroundings.’

  ‘I’m quite sure they are,’ Mrs Sanderson agreed. ‘I’ve told Mr Sanderson that should he depart this earth before me I won’t spend long in widow’s weeds, and he agrees with me. After all, men can go back to work or business straight away if their wives die first, so I really don’t think it fair that women should sit at home all day wearing black and never seeing anybody. It’s not natural. Phew!’ She exhaled.

  ‘Are you all right, ma’am?’

  ‘Oh – yes, after a fashion. I’m tired, that’s all. I’ll be all right.’

  ‘Let me take your bag, ma’am. Is Polly not with you?’

  Mrs Sanderson stopped to take a breath and handed over her bag. ‘No, she gave in her notice. She couldn’t handle Hughie. My husband says he should go away to school but I don’t want that. Not yet, anyway. He’s all right when George is here to entertain him but not when George is away at school, and Miss Barker can’t take him for another year.’ She glanced thoughtfully at Florrie. ‘Polly wasn’t firm enough with the young ones. They need someone a bit older yet young enough to keep them occupied. Goodness,’ she said, setting off again, ‘I really need this holiday.’

  The Sandersons spread themselves about on the sands with their blankets and picnic baskets and Mrs Sanderson invited Florrie to sit with them. Margriet and Julia were already paddling in the sea and then both girls came racing back to ask if they could swim.

  ‘We haven’t brought a change of clothes for you, Miss Margriet,’ Florrie said. ‘You’ll have to dry off in the sun.’

  ‘That’s all right, I don’t mind,’ Margriet said, and off they dashed again.

  ‘I’d better go in too and keep an eye on them,’ Mr Sanderson told his wife. ‘Will you be all right with Hughie or shall I take him in?’

  ‘Take him, darling, will you? He’s old enough to learn now.’

  ‘Oh, yes, do take him, Papa,’ Imogen pleaded. ‘Then we can have some peace for half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll come too,’ George said. ‘Come on, trouble.’ He grabbed his young brother. ‘Let’s go and swim.’

  The three of them headed towards the bathing machines and Mrs Sanderson sighed.

  ‘Are you going to swim, ma’am?’ Florrie asked her. ‘I don’t mind looking after ’baby and all the things here.’

  ‘Oh, that would be nice,’ she said. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t mind? What about you, Immi? Would you like a swim?’

  ‘Later.’ Imogen, who was growing into an attractive young woman, looked about her. ‘I’d quite like to take a stroll towards the lighthouse and the harbour and see what’s happening, if that’s all right, Mama?’

  ‘Of course, dear. Just be careful who you speak to.’ Mrs Sanderson, so daring herself, was cautious over her daughters’ welfare. She watched Imogen walk away across the sands and then turned to Florrie. ‘It is a worry,’ she said. ‘Trying to find the balance between giving a daughter freedom and making sure she’s safe.’

  ‘I think you do it better than anyone else I know, ma’am,’ Florrie said quietly.

  Mrs Sanderson nodded. ‘Immi’s very sensible and I want her to have as many opportunities as her brother. It’s not fair that women should not be allowed to do things that are well within their capabilities. I don’t suppose …’ She hesitated. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t say this when you’re working for someone else, but if ever you thought of a change of employment, Florrie; I would be very pleased to discuss it with you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Florrie was almost lost for words at the proposal. Her hopes of bettering herself had been dashed when Mr Vandergroene had died, for she knew she couldn’t leave Margriet to cope with her grief alone. Her mistress, Florrie considered, would be no help to the child at all. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘perhaps when Mrs Vandergroene is out of mourning …’

  Mrs Sanderson smiled. ‘You are a very caring young woman,’ she said. ‘I knew that already, and now you’re thinking of Margriet. I quite understand. I’m managing, but would dearly like someone reliable to help with the two boys until they go to school. Well, let’s talk again. Maybe early next year, if you think you might be interested. What is your role now?’

  Florrie pondered. ‘General maid of all work, ma’am,’ she said. ‘Housemaid, companion to Mrs Vandergroene, and chaperon to Miss Margriet.’

  ‘Dogsbody?’ Mrs Sanderson laughed. ‘I thought as much,’ and Florrie laughed too. ‘Well, you wouldn’t be that in my house. I have house and kitchen staff already, and as soon as the younger children are old enough to travel we shall venture further abroad for our holidays. To France to begin with; nothing like hearing a foreign language to improve speaking skills.’

  ‘Oh, yes, ma’am, I quite agree. When I was in Netherlands with Miss Margriet—’

  ‘Ah, of course. I’d forgotten that you’d travelled abroad already. Excellent! Well, have a think about it, but right now,’ she got to her feet, ‘I’m going to take advantage of your generous offer and take a dip in the briny. Won’t be long.’

  At midday the Sanderson family gathered for their picnic. ‘Margriet can stay for lunch if she’d like,’ Mrs Sanderson told Florrie, ‘and you too, of course. There’s plenty of food – we brought our cook with us. There’s chicken and ham and pies and lots of cake—’

  ‘Oh, please, may I, Florrie? I’m still very damp and Mama might not be pleased.’

  Florrie gave a wry grin. Little minx, she thought, but why not? And there was no doubt that Mrs Vandergroene would dislike very much seeing her daughter dishevelled and wet.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Sanderson.’ Florrie got to her feet and dashed the sand off her skirt. ‘Mrs Vandergroene said she might walk down to join us, but as she hasn’t I’ll go up and see if she needs anything.’

  Mrs Sanderson nodded. ‘Margriet will be fine with us. Immi, pass Margriet a plate and some chicken.’

  Florrie saw Margriet look up and glance at Imogen as if she were about to ask her something, but she didn’t. ‘I’ll come back later,’ she said. ‘Be good, Miss Margriet.’ She turned to walk back along the hot sands and up the steep cliff.

  The sun was beating down and she was hot and sticky by the time she got back to the Spa terrace, but Mrs Vandergroene wasn’t there. She must have gone back to the house, Florrie thought. She looked over the railing and saw all the Sanderson family and Margriet sitting together eating their lunch and thought that her mistress might have seen them too and decided to go off on her own. Or perhaps she had just got tired of waiting for them to come back. Whatever the reason, Florrie thought, it was a considerable improvement on previous holidays, when she had been at her mistress’s beck and call because she wouldn’t go out on her own.

  As she walked back up St Nicholas Cliff a man was coming towards her. He looked like a gentleman by the manner of his dress; he was wearing a top hat and jauntily swinging a cane. She moved to one side of the footpath to give him room and as he passed he didn’t lift his hat but gave her a saucy wink.

  Blooming cheek, she thought. Who did these swells think they were? And this one looked fa
miliar. She walked on towards the house, and as she went up the path to the door she remembered where she had seen him. Stunned, she saw Mrs Vandergroene through the parlour window, gazing at her own reflection in the mirror on the wall.

  He’s been here! Mr Ramsey. Mrs Percival’s brother. He’s been here visiting Mrs Vandergroene!

  ‘I’m sorry if I’m late back, ma’am,’ she said as she entered the parlour. ‘I lost track of ’time.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right, Florence,’ her mistress said. ‘I’ve had quite a nice morning chatting to – people. In fact I’ve had an invitation to supper tonight. Mr and Mrs Percival have invited me over to the hotel where they’re staying. An early supper, about six.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice, ma’am. I’ll see to Miss Margriet’s supper.’

  ‘Margriet! Where is she?’

  ‘Having lunch on ’sands with ’Sanderson family. I’ll go back later to collect her. Could she take her swimming costume tomorrow, ma’am? She really wants to swim, and all the others are going in.’

  ‘I’m really not sure about that, Florence. I don’t know if it’s safe.’

  ‘I’ll go in with her, ma’am.’

  ‘Will you? Well, perhaps … I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Very well, ma’am. Would you like a drink now and something to eat?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. I’ve had coffee and a cake, and I’ll be eating early.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Did Mr and Mrs Percival arrive this morning?’

  ‘Erm, no, they haven’t actually arrived yet. I – I had a message to say they would be here this evening and would like me to dine with them. They’ll send a carriage for me.’

  ‘Well, that will be very nice, ma’am,’ Florrie repeated. ‘Very nice indeed.’

  And that evening as she filled the tub for a very tired and sandy Margriet’s bath, she reflected that it would indeed be very nice for her mistress to go out into company. Mrs Vandergroene had even said she would be perfectly all right to drive alone for the short distance to the Crescent. Except, Florrie thought, as she sponged Margriet down with soapy water, dried her and then popped her nightgown over her head before putting her to bed, she wasn’t alone on the carriage journey – another figure had been waiting inside.