Little Girl Lost

by Val Wood

  Margriet wouldn’t mind leaving school in July either, she thought glumly, for the girl who had taken Julia’s place was only seven, and too young for conversation. But what would she do? Her mother was taken up with Mr Ramsey; he was always in Parliament Street, and Margriet wished he would go back to his own house. And then she was struck with the terrible fear that her mother might marry him and he would live with them all the time. She would run away if he did, she decided. He’s all smiles and chatter but he doesn’t mean it. He’s only pretending.

  She said goodbye to Miss Barker at the beginning of the summer holidays. She would miss the teacher, who had taught her so much and was always willing to listen to any problem that her pupils might have.

  ‘You are a bright and clever girl, Margriet,’ Miss Barker said. ‘I have written to your mother suggesting that you would profit immensely by going on to another school for young ladies. Do you think you’d like that?’

  ‘I don’t know, Miss Barker. I don’t know anyone who has done that, but I might like it. And I don’t know what else I could do.’

  ‘Well, perhaps your mother has ideas of her own. You will need to discuss them with her.’ She put out her hand. ‘Come to me for advice, Margriet, if ever you feel the need.’

  Her mother had indeed some ideas of her own. When Margriet arrived home her mother was sitting in the window watching out for her. ‘Well, Margriet, you finished school today!’ she said enthusiastically as her daughter came into the sitting room and slumped into a chair. ‘Don’t slouch, child. It is so ungainly. You must try to remember that you are almost a young woman now.’

  ‘Are we going to Scarborough this summer, Mama?’ she asked, ignoring her mother’s admonishment. ‘I don’t really want to. The Sandersons won’t be there, not now they’ve got a new baby. It’s another boy,’ she added. ‘I’ve seen Florrie pushing the bassinet. He’s called Conrad.’

  ‘Really?’ Her mother was totally uninterested, as Margriet had known she would be. ‘No, we’re not going to Scarborough this year. We have other plans.’

  We? Margriet thought uneasily. We haven’t discussed any other plans. ‘So are we going somewhere else? I’d like to visit Oma. I think she might not be well, because she hardly ever writes to me.’

  ‘I don’t know why you would think she’s ill,’ her mother answered. ‘But no, you can’t. Had Florence still been here I might have considered it, but as she’s not—’

  ‘When I’m old enough I’ll go alone,’ Margriet said defiantly. ‘Once I’m twenty-one, I can.’

  Rosamund drew in a deep breath. This was not going to plan. She had realized there might be difficulties with what she was going to say but Margriet’s desire to visit her grandmother was nothing to do with the subject in hand. ‘When you’re old enough we will find a companion to travel with you, but in the meantime I have some news for you.’ She gave a nervous smile. ‘I’m sure you will be delighted.’

  Margriet frowned, narrowing her eyes. ‘What news?’

  Rosamund folded her hands across her lap. ‘As you know, Mr Ramsey has been calling frequently since last summer, and we have become – we have become – shall I say – close. Yesterday when he called …’ She hesitated. It was a big step to take and she had taken her time over her answer, debating whether or not it was the right thing to do. He had been very understanding, saying she must not hurry her decision, that he was a patient man and would wait, but then he had smiled and said he hoped she would not keep him waiting too long, for he was very fond of her and surely she must want someone to look after her as Frederik had done so ably.

  She had agreed that it was a lonely life and then, impulsively, which was not like her at all, had said that she would marry him. It would be so very nice to hand over the decision-making to someone else, she had thought. Frederik had never harassed her over accounts, never questioned her expenditure – not that she’d ever been a spendthrift, she thought. But now Mr Clayton, the accountant Hugh Webster had appointed to keep an eye on her shares in Frederik’s company, kept sending her sheets of figures that she didn’t understand and asking her if they were satisfactory and was there anything she’d like to discuss.

  ‘Yes?’ Margriet stood up from her chair as if about to take flight. ‘When he called …?’

  ‘He asked me to marry him,’ Rosamund said simply.

  Margriet drew in a breath. ‘You didn’t – you didn’t say you would? You can’t! What about Papa? What about me?’ Her voice broke. ‘Mama! What about me?’

  Rosamund put out her hand but Margriet stepped back, crossing her arms in front of her chest as if to ward her off. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No!’

  ‘Margriet! Dear! Your papa is gone.’ Rosamund’s voice cracked too as she spoke. ‘Don’t think that I don’t miss him, because I do, but I need someone in my life and so do you. Mr Ramsey will look after us both. He has promised that he will and he says we won’t have to move, but can stay here and perhaps travel – you’d like that. He’s mentioned going to France and London – what do you think of that? We’ve never been.’

  Margriet looked miserably at her mother and shook her head. She didn’t want to go anywhere with Mr Ramsey. If her mother wanted to go, she would stay at home alone. Or … ‘Miss Barker said I’d benefit from going to another school,’ she blurted out. ‘I’d like to do that.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see,’ her mother said. ‘We’ll discuss it in due course.’

  What she meant was that Mr Ramsey would decide, Margriet thought, resolving immediately that she would do the opposite of what he wanted. He’s not my father and he’s not going to make decisions about me. ‘I’m going to my room,’ she said. ‘I need to think about my future.’

  She ran upstairs and climbed on to the high bed. Sliding beneath the blankets, she pulled them over her head and curled into a ball. She felt betrayed by everyone, not only her mother but by Florrie and, yes, her father too for leaving her alone.

  ‘Why?’ She began to sob. ‘Why did you have to go on that ship and not come back? Papa! Why did you leave me?’ She sobbed and sobbed until her chest ached. Her stomach and head ached too but eventually she felt herself slipping away into sleep. When she woke up, she thought drowsily, perhaps she’d be grown up and able to do whatever she wanted with her life. She put the tip of her thumb into her mouth for comfort as she used to when she was an infant. Or perhaps she would be a child again and none of this would have happened. Papa would still be alive and she’d ask him not to go away. As she drifted towards slumber, she thought she heard the slam of the front door, the pause in the hall as he gave his coat to Florrie or hung it on the coat stand, and then his light tread on the stair as he ran up to see her. The sound stopped outside her door, and she smiled as with a deep contended sigh she fell asleep.

  Downstairs, Rosamund thought wryly of Margriet’s last comment. There was no need for her to think about her future as it was already planned out, just as her own had been. She would grow up, learn how to behave, meet some suitable young man whom she would marry and live the rest of her life in comparative ease, without too many difficulties. It was unfortunate that Frederik had been taken so young, leaving her to make decisions on her own, but now Mr Ramsey could fulfil that role and everything would fall into place again.

  Margriet slept until the following morning. She was vaguely aware of Jane coming in to mend the fire and draw the curtains and then, unusually, she thought that her mother came in too, bending over her to move wisps of hair from her face and turning down the lamp, but still she didn’t stir until the door opened again and Jane came in with a breakfast tray. ‘Your mother said you should have breakfast in bed, miss, as you’re not very well.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Margriet sat up and rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m perfectly well. Just tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Mebbe you’re starting your flux, Miss Margriet.’ Jane put the tray on the bed and then drew back the curtains. ‘I’m allus tired at that time of ’month. No chance of stopping in
bed for me, o’ course.’

  ‘Perhaps I am,’ Margriet said, not going to admit to Jane that she had only recently discovered what the flux entailed. ‘Bring me up what is necessary, will you, please.’

  Jane bobbed her knee. ‘Yes, miss.’

  Margriet drank her tea and ate the toast and thought that nothing had changed from the evening before. She was still neither child nor adult. If her mother really did mean to marry Mr Ramsey, then she’d have to put up with him, but she wouldn’t go away to school, she decided. If she left him here with her mother, she was afraid he’d take over the house. She would educate herself, she thought – ask her mother to take out a subscription at the library and borrow books from there. She’d seek Miss Barker’s advice on what to read.

  When she finally rose from bed, she knew that her life had changed after all. She washed, brushed her hair and from her wardrobe took a striped fine wool dress that she wore on the rare occasions when she went out visiting with her mother. It had a front-buttoned bodice so she was able to fasten it herself, and beneath it she wore two petticoats so that the skirt was full. She tied a ribbon in her hair and went downstairs to her mother, who was in her sitting room writing letters. She looked very nice, Margriet thought, in a pearl grey gown, and much brighter-eyed than she had for some time; perhaps she too had been unhappy.

  ‘Margriet,’ her mother said. ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘No, Mama, I am not, at least not yet, but I might later. I’d like to talk to you about several things, but first of all I must tell you that today I have reached womanhood.’

  Womanhood. Rosamund mouthed the word. Then she put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh dear,’ she whispered. ‘You poor dear girl.’

  Rosamund took out a year’s subscription at the library. It seemed that she was willing to do anything to keep Margriet sweet before her impending marriage. Margriet and Mr Ramsey had little to say to one another as Margriet generally left the room whenever he visited, but the die was cast and a wedding was arranged for mid-October with a quiet ceremony at St Mary’s Church.

  ‘Do I have to be there, Mama?’ Margriet asked.

  ‘Of course you do. You’re not old enough to be a witness so Mr Ramsey has asked Mr and Mrs Percival, but I’d like you to be there. Perhaps you can hold my flowers.’

  It was not what she wanted, but she realized there was no other option, unless Rosamund changed her mind at the last minute. But Rosamund wasn’t likely to do that, as Mr Ramsey had bought her both an engagement and a wedding ring and jokingly told her that she was now committed and there was no getting out of it. Rosamund had asked her dressmaker to style her a new gown of deep violet with a pink rosebud pattern. It had deep flounces at the hem, a silk fringe on the bodice and three-quarter sleeves, beneath which she wore silk mittens. For Margriet she ordered a white-spotted ankle-length muslin with long sleeves edged with lace, a matching silk shawl with pale green tassels, and white slippers for her feet.

  There were just five of them at the ceremony. Mr Ramsey hadn’t wanted a fuss, Rosamund said, and she didn’t mind as it was not very long since she came out of mourning. Afterwards they went for a celebratory luncheon in a private room at a local inn; Mr Percival and Mr Ramsey had too much to drink but Mrs Percival was rather quiet, Margriet thought, and not her usual talkative self.

  When they all arrived back home, Rosamund had excused herself for a moment and Mr Ramsey had sidled up to Margriet. Seizing one of her curls, he twirled it round his finger and whispered to her that he had a favour to ask. He said that he had booked a room in a hotel in York for the night as he wanted to take her mother to the races the next day.

  ‘What do you think?’ he murmured. ‘Are you old enough to stay at home by yourself with just the servants to look after you?’

  She backed away from him and declared that of course she was.

  ‘Oh, good,’ he said. ‘Because I have another present coming for your mama, and,’ he reached for a small box that he’d placed on one of the side tables, ‘this is for you.’

  ‘What is it?’ She didn’t want to take it. He needn’t think that he could wheedle himself into her affections by giving her more presents.

  ‘Open it. Go on. Every young lady likes receiving gifts, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I’ll wait for Mama to come back,’ she said, and sat down opposite Mrs Percival, who was gazing into the fire.

  Presently Lydia looked up, and glancing at her brother said, ‘Just watch what you’re doing, William, or you’ll come a cropper.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lydia.’ He turned as Rosamund came back into the room, followed by Jane and Mrs Simmonds with trays of glasses and decanters.

  When the servants had gone, he served wine for everyone and Mr Percival staggered to his feet and said, ‘A toast! A toast to the happy pair.’ He took a slurp of wine, spilling much of it down his waistcoat. ‘A long and profitable life.’

  Both men raised their glasses, and then Mr Ramsey raised his again and said, ‘And to our daughter Margriet, who looks so very charming.’

  Aghast, Margriet stared at him. ‘But I’m not your daughter,’ she gasped. ‘And I never will be. I’m Margriet Vandergroene. Frederik Vandergroene’s daughter.’ She put down the glass of lemonade she’d asked for and would have dashed out of the room, but William Ramsey seemed to have anticipated her flight and caught her arm, forestalling her, his fingertips firm on her wrist.

  ‘Not in flesh, I quite agree,’ he said calmly. ‘But I trust, Margriet, that you will be as obedient a daughter as if you were my very own.’ He smiled at her, but he had narrowed his eyes. ‘Now, my dear, open your present.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  When Margriet reluctantly opened Mr Ramsey’s box it was to reveal a sparkling bracelet of glittering stones. Her mother exclaimed at its prettiness when she showed it to her, and Mrs Percival murmured, ‘How lovely,’ but didn’t show as much enthusiasm as might have been expected.

  Margriet whispered her thanks and fortunately attention was diverted from her when Mr Ramsey turned to the window, glanced out and said triumphantly, ‘Now it’s your turn, Rosamund. Here is your wedding gift arriving. Come and look.’

  Everyone rushed to the window. Margriet followed more slowly and was astonished to see her mother grow pale and put her hand to her mouth.

  ‘But William,’ she said. ‘I have never driven.’

  Margriet looked out and saw by the steps a smart black and green two-horse curricle and a liveried driver.

  ‘I will teach you,’ Mr Ramsey said. ‘Don’t you love it? I’ve had my eye on this for some time.’

  ‘Very smart, dear boy,’ Vincent Percival said, glancing at his wife. ‘Isn’t it, Lydia?’

  ‘Very nice,’ she murmured. ‘Is it new?’

  ‘Of course it’s new! Would I buy second-hand for my new wife?’

  Rosamund gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s very generous of you, William, but if there’s a coachie, why do I have to learn to drive?’

  ‘Oh, he’s only delivering it. We won’t be keeping him; there’s only room for two in any case, and now the best thing of all is that we are going off to the York races in it, so hurry and pack an overnight bag and we’ll be off.’

  Rosamund glanced about her as if not quite knowing what was happening. ‘Come, Margriet,’ she said. ‘What will we take?’

  ‘Margriet isn’t coming,’ her husband said. ‘We have an understanding, haven’t we, m’dear?’ He gave Margriet a complicit glance and dumbly she nodded.

  ‘I’ll come and help you pack, Mama,’ she murmured, and led the way out of the room, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. ‘He told me that he was taking you to York tonight so that you could go to the races tomorrow, and asked me if I’d be all right on my own. He didn’t say anything about buying a carriage.’

  ‘Will you be all right?’ her mother whispered. ‘If it’s only for one night? Mrs Simmonds is here, and Jane. They’ll look after you.’
/>   ‘Yes, I’ll be all right,’ she said defiantly. ‘I don’t need anyone to look after me.’

  They decided what her mother would wear at the races and rang the bell for Jane to pack the valise, and then Margriet helped her mother to change into something suitable for driving to York. The seats of the curricle were set high and Rosamund didn’t think she would be splashed if the road was muddy, but Margriet suggested she take a blanket in case the weather was cold on their return the next day.

  ‘How sensible you are, Margriet.’ Her mother was quite tearful. ‘My little girl is grown up after all.’

  But I’m not, she thought as she stood on the top step and watched Mr Ramsey hand her mother into the curricle. I’m not grown up at all. Mr Ramsey went to the other side of the curricle, handed an envelope to the driver, who pocketed it and hurried off, and then climbed in himself. He stood on the small platform, waved the whip in farewell and shook the reins. Her mother waved also, but nervously, Margriet thought, and she held on to the side of the vehicle as the horses moved off to the top of Parliament Street and then turned left and out of sight.

  Margriet raced down the steps and up the street, her muslin skirt flying as she ran to watch the curricle’s progress along the road. She couldn’t see her mother beneath the hood but could make out Mr Ramsey’s top hat and an arm as he flourished the whip, causing several people to scurry out of the way, until the carriage was finally lost to view.

  She walked slowly back to the house. Mr and Mrs Percival were standing on the steps waiting for her.

  ‘My dear,’ Lydia Percival said. ‘We were wondering if you might like to return home with us for tonight rather than stay alone. You are very welcome.’

  Margriet shook her head. ‘No thank you, Mrs Percival,’ she said politely. ‘I have several things to attend to,’ which was a lie. ‘And I also have some studying to do.’ This wasn’t exactly the truth either, but it might be.