by Val Wood
‘What has brought this on now, Mama?’ Margriet asked softly. ‘Something has upset you.’
Rosamund nodded. ‘I was sitting here alone and I suddenly thought that if I didn’t act now that was how I would be for the rest of my life: alone.’
‘You’ll always have me,’ Margriet assured her, but her mother shook her head.
‘You have a right to your own life, not one that is for ever tied to mine.’ She saw that Margriet was about to say something and hurried on. ‘Whatever path you choose, you won’t waste your life as I have done. So,’ she took a breath, ‘I put on my coat and hat and ventured out.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes.’ Rosamund lifted her head. ‘Quite alone. I thought that if you could do it, and Mrs Sanderson often goes out by herself – I’ve seen her from the window – then why shouldn’t I?’
‘Bravo, Mama,’ Margriet said softly.
‘And it was a revelation, such freedom! I actually wouldn’t have cared if Lydia Percival should have seen me without a maid accompanying me. But I didn’t see anyone I knew, which was rather disappointing.’ She sighed. ‘However, I came to Market Place and saw your – your …’ she hesitated, ‘friends from the streets and thought how energetic and busy they were, and – and clean. Then I saw Mrs Sanderson and her daughter, and Florence too, who was very surprised to see me, and I wondered …’ Again she hesitated. ‘I wondered, if Mrs Sanderson hasn’t done so already, perhaps we, that is if you and she agree, could form a committee to help other young people?’
Margriet was astonished. Mrs Sanderson had in fact broached the subject with her already, but she was already committed to other projects and would need more help if she were to take on another. ‘What a wonderful thought, Mama.’ Impulsively she got up and kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘But why did that make you cry?’
‘Because I saw you speaking to the young Dutchman, Mr Jansen,’ her mother said wistfully. ‘And I saw how he looked at you, and knew that sooner or later your life would be changing, if not with him, then with someone like him.’
Margriet sat up straight in her chair. She couldn’t believe that after all the trouble her mother had had with Mr Ramsey she could say such a thing. It was true she found Hans very personable, but she hoped that it would be possible for a grown woman to have a gentleman friend without marriage coming into it.
‘Do not even think of it, Mama,’ she said. ‘I am not considering marriage. Papa left me this house so that you and I could be safe and comfortable, and although we won’t have much money until I come of age, we’ll manage. So why would I consider marrying anyone knowing that a husband can claim everything I own?’
‘But Margriet, your papa—’
‘Wanted us to be secure and if he hadn’t planned for that then Mr Ramsey would have taken everything we owned.’ Margriet hadn’t realized that she had raised her voice, nor that she was so angry that English law condoned such an unjust state of affairs. ‘And,’ she went on, ‘although Hans Jansen is very pleasant and I would very much like him for a friend, and, by the way, I have invited him for supper tonight, I will not be considering marriage with him or with anyone else, ever!’
They had a very agreeable evening, for Cook had excelled herself on being told that a young Dutch gentleman was coming for supper. ‘I’ll give him English lamb,’ she told Mrs Simmonds. ‘I won’t try anything Dutch tonight, but maybe if he comes again, then I might.’
‘You could try those little pancakes for a dessert,’ the housekeeper said. ‘Those might impress him.’
Cook pressed a floury hand to her forehead. ‘Are we trying to impress him? Surely Miss Margriet is too young to consider a suitor?’
Mrs Simmonds pursed her mouth. ‘Well, this is ’second time he’s been. He called when Miss Margriet was away visiting her gran in Amsterdam. Besides, you know what folk such as ’mistress are like – they make plans well in advance.’
Upstairs, Rosamund was very conscious of the need not to appear to be making plans but to treat Hans as she might any visitor. She asked him about his work with the Vandergroene Company and expressed surprise and pleasure when he said that he was coming to work in the Hull office.
‘I won’t be here permanently,’ he explained, glancing at Margriet, ‘but it is very good experience for me and will also improve my English.’ He too knew that he had to tread cautiously, and when Rosamund went on to ask about his mother and sister he answered as briefly as he could, careful not to reveal that he knew far more than he could possibly tell her.
And then, to Margriet’s astonishment, her mother asked if he had ever met Margriet’s grandmother, who also lived in Amsterdam. He said that he had, having introduced himself when he joined the company. ‘I was told that she took an active interest in her son’s business, and as we live within a short distance of her I thought it polite to do so.’
‘Good,’ Rosamund said. ‘It’s nice to know that Margriet has contact with her Dutch relatives, and friends too. So very important, is it not?’
Margriet was astounded. Her mother had been averse to any contact between Margriet and her oma for years. It was almost as if she had been jealous of her. Now she was positively encouraging the bond, so when Margriet said goodnight to Hans and asked him to come again, she meant it. She wanted him to be her friend, and she thought from the way he pressed her hand that that was what he wanted too.
She didn’t go to sleep straight away that night, but lay wide awake, thinking of the day and how successful it had been. The shoppers in the market, on seeing the young people in the Dutch costumes, had stopped to talk to them and then bought flowers. Betty, Mabel and Julia had flitted about between the stalls – and so had Anneliese. Anneliese had obstructed Hans as he walked towards her.
‘I tried to push him away,’ a voice whispered in her ear.
Margriet shook her head and covered her ears. ‘I must stop this,’ she muttered. ‘I’m too old for childish games.’
‘I am not a game,’ Anneliese said. ‘We don’t need him. I’m your friend, not him. Tell him to go away.’
‘No.’ Margriet spoke aloud. ‘I won’t.’
‘Please! Let’s go to my house. You like it there. You can come and see my garden again.’
Margriet shuffled down under the sheets and blankets and covered her ears. ‘No. Go away. You’re not real.’
But Anneliese’s soft voice persisted. ‘But of course I am. Margriet, please come with me,’ and as Margriet drifted to sleep she knew that she would; she would once again be drawn into Anneliese’s world.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Despite her hopes, Margriet saw Hans only once or twice more that year, as he was still working in the Amsterdam office. Aarden had vetoed the move to Hull, saying that he wasn’t ready to give Hans to England yet and he should travel to France and Germany first. Although Hans appreciated all the experience he was getting in those countries, he longed to see Margriet again. On the rare occasions when he could find an excuse to do so, he would visit the Hull office and call to see her and her mother.
Margriet, Rosamund, Mrs Sanderson and Imogen set up a committee for the welfare of the street children, and were joined by two other well-meaning ladies and three retired gentlemen. From the evening that Hans came for supper it became increasingly apparent to Margriet that her mother had completely changed her outlook on life and was no longer the formal, shallow person she had been. She was still fearful of giving offence and maintained her standards of good manners and refinement, but she was warmer and kinder than she had ever been, and was touched and pleased by how people now responded to her.
Margriet suggested inviting Billy on to the committee too, as he knew more than anyone what the street children needed if they didn’t want to live in the workhouse: a roof over their heads, a chance of paid work, and food. ‘It doesn’t seem like much to ask, does it?’ Rosamund said at the first meeting. ‘Not when the rest of society expects and receives those things as a right.’
/> Margriet had smiled at the comment and thought how her mother’s eyes had been opened to what was just and what was not. She had become stronger because of Ramsey’s behaviour. Mr Webster was still pursuing his enquiries, but he occasionally called to inform her mother of his progress, telling her that he hoped to have news very shortly.
It was almost Christmas, and Margriet and her mother were looking forward to a better one than they had had in recent years. Margriet had received a letter from her grandmother, and another from Hans. She had asked her mother if it was all right to receive his letters, and Rosamund had told her that Hans had already written to her, to ask her permission to correspond with her daughter.
‘He’s a friend, Mama,’ Margriet had insisted. ‘Nothing more. Please don’t think I have changed my mind about marriage, because I haven’t.’
‘You are still far too young to consider marriage in any case,’ her mother said prosaically, ‘so I am not thinking about it. Perhaps you would care to read your friend’s letters aloud?’
Margriet was taken aback. It was not that there was anything in them that her mother might take exception to – he merely described where he had been and told her how cold it was in Amsterdam now that winter was here – but they were private letters, written for her.
But someone else in Margriet’s life took exception to her receiving them. Anneliese had begun to visit her more frequently at night and became cross when Margriet didn’t want to talk to her. Strangely, she always seemed to know when Margriet had received a letter from Hans, or replied to one, for she bombarded Margriet with commands insisting that she must tell him to go away.
‘But I can’t,’ Margriet said miserably, her pillow wet with tears. ‘I don’t want him to go away. He’s my friend.’
‘I’m your friend,’ Anneliese said vehemently. ‘You don’t need another.’ Margriet knew that Anneliese would soon become even angrier, for in his last letter Hans had told her that he would be coming to work in the Hull office early in the following year.
It was Christmas Eve afternoon, and they had just lit the lamps when the doorbell rang. Rosamund stiffened; she had not yet got over her fear of Ramsey’s returning and causing trouble. Margriet looked out of the window into the street and remarked that it wasn’t Ramsey, unless he had walked, as there was no carriage there.
Jane knocked and opened the door. ‘It’s Mr Webster, ma’am. He asks if it’s too late to call.’
‘Oh, no, not at all. Please show him up; and make tea, will you please, Jane?’
Mr Webster was shown in; there was a covering of snowflakes on his shoulders and top hat. He apologized profusely for the lateness of the hour. ‘I would not have come so late on a Christmas Eve, dear lady,’ he said, ‘except that I have in this last half-hour received a messenger directly from York. He brought me news from Ramsey’s lawyer, who, I might add, is Ramsey’s lawyer no longer. The man has flown.’
‘Flown?’ Rosamund said breathlessly. ‘Ramsey?’
‘The same,’ the lawyer said, chuckling. ‘Last seen boarding a ferry to France with his wife and children scurrying after him.’
‘So what does it mean for my mother?’ Margriet asked urgently.
‘It means that Ramsey is a bigamist and that your mama is free of him, though not of the scandal. But as he was a York resident and not from Hull, it is the York newspapers that will run it – indeed are already running it, for bigamy is a rare felony. By the time Christmas is over his escapades will be old news and of no interest to the readers of the Hull Packet or Advertiser. It also means,’ he continued, warming to his subject as he was invited to take a seat, ‘that he is unlikely to return to these shores. If he does, the law will have him, not on one count but on two, for he is being chased by another lady – and I use the appellation lightly – whom he also married. The only thing in his favour, begging your pardon, madam, is that it appears he did not consummate that marriage either.’
Margriet saw by her mother’s drained and ashen face that she was on the point of collapse, such was her relief at hearing the long-awaited news. ‘And if by chance he dared to come back?’ she asked quietly.
‘Then he has no claim on your mother, none whatsoever. I propose, if I may, dear lady,’ he went on, turning to Rosamund, ‘that you insert a small advertisement in the newspapers to say that henceforth you are to be known only as Mrs Vandergroene, and no other name will be recognized.’
In late February, Hans wrote to say he was now working in the Hull office and had obtained comfortable lodgings in the town. ‘I am at present travelling with one of my colleagues, but I hope to call and see you one day soon.’
Margriet was delighted to hear from him, but tried not to think of him too often in order to keep Anneliese quiet. She sometimes thought she must be hovering on the verge of delirium, for surely this was not normal. For the first time she began to wonder why she could still see an imaginary childhood friend, whom she herself had named Anneliese. As she slipped between the bedsheets that night, she thought she knew that Anneliese was not real, but imaginary, and yet she appeared when she least expected her. As a child she had conjured up a companion because she was lonely, but she was no longer lonely.
‘But I’m lonely,’ Anneliese whispered. ‘You don’t think about that, do you? Just because you have new friends doesn’t mean you can abandon me. Come with me, Margriet. Come out and play.’
Margriet sat up and saw Anneliese sitting at the foot of her bed. ‘I don’t want to. Anneliese, please stop. I’m grown up now and you must grow up too.’ She stopped speaking as Anneliese began to weep at her words and her form became shadowy and indistinct. ‘I’m sorry,’ Margriet said, reaching out a hand towards her. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but you must try to understand.’
Where Anneliese had been sitting was a shadow, dissolving like grey mist over water, but Margriet knew she was still there. She hadn’t gone away; she was still there, waiting for her.
When Hans arrived back at the Hull office at the beginning of March he was greeted by the news that there had been an outbreak of influenza in the town and that they should avoid crowds. ‘It has been in Amsterdam also,’ Hans said, ‘as has cholera, but it was contained.’
After finishing work for the day he went back to his lodgings in a house in Grimsby Lane, that ran between Market Place and High Street, run by a widow and her daughter. He dropped his bag there, wrote a note to Margriet, changed his formal business coat for a casual one and went out again, his intention being to put the note through the Vandergroenes’ letter box, asking if he might call the next day, a Saturday.
He looked up at the topmost windows of the tall house in Parliament Street and thought he saw a shadow against one of them. He waved a hand in case it was Margriet, ran up the steps, and slipped the envelope through the letter box before turning and striding down the street again. He would have supper at a hostelry in the town, and then go back to his lodgings for an early night. The last few weeks had been very busy, with much travelling and many meetings with potential clients.
The next morning he rose, had breakfast and wandered into the town. He bought a posy of flowers from a girl at a stall who smiled and thanked him as he paid her, and then made his way to Parliament Street. He was shown into the sitting room, where Mrs Vandergroene greeted him warmly, and he remarked how well she looked as he handed her the posy.
‘I am very well indeed,’ she said. ‘Thank you. How very nice of you to call. Won’t you be seated? Margriet will be down very shortly. She was up late this morning, but seemingly she didn’t sleep well. In fact I heard her call out once and went to her, but she didn’t wake – dreaming, I suppose.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I wondered if you would allow her to come for a short walk with me this morning, Mrs Vandergroene, just into town or by the river. Perhaps you would like to come too?’
‘Oh, no, thank you, it’s still far too cold for me. But perhaps you should avoid the river,’ she said cautiously. ‘I under
stand there is influenza in the town, and the Old Harbour is always packed with ships and boats. You can’t be too careful: foreign sailors and travellers might well be carrying the infection. You could of course walk by the estuary, if you don’t consider it too far. It is very open there, if very breezy. Margriet used to like going there with her papa when she was a child.’
Hans hid a wry smile as she spoke; she obviously didn’t think of him as a foreigner or a traveller, even though he was foreign and indeed had been travelling. The door opened and Margriet came in and greeted him, then apologized for her lateness. He was struck immediately by her pallor and dull eyes. He gave a short formal bow. ‘How nice to see you, Margriet,’ he said. ‘I asked your mother if you might like a short walk, but I understand that you have not slept well, so perhaps …’ His question hung in the air, weighted with his disappointment that she might not come.
She sank down on the sofa. ‘It’s true that I didn’t sleep well, I often don’t, but a walk in the fresh air might waken me up. I might be very dull company, though.’
He assured her that she wouldn’t be, and then was startled when she asked if he had arrived back from his travels this morning. ‘Yesterday,’ he said. ‘Did you not receive my note asking if I might call?’
Margriet looked at her mother, who shook her head. ‘I’m sorry,’ Margriet said. ‘I did not. When did you send it?’
‘Last evening at about six thirty. I brought it myself. Did I not see you in an upstairs window?’
She smiled. ‘No. Mama and I were having supper at that time.’
‘I waved. One of the maids perhaps, looking out?’