Little Girl Lost (34 page)

She walked on down Market Place towards Queen Street and the pier. This was a commercial district, with warehouses, hotels, jewellers, cutlers, coffee houses and tea merchants jostling cheek by jowl and the butchers' shambles tucked through an archway. Surely it was somewhere in this vicinity that her father's office had been situated? He had brought her with him once or twice when she was a child.

The memory clicked into place. Mr Farrell. He had wanted to speak to her father about importing tulip bulbs from Netherlands.

That was it, she thought. That was what Anneliese had said. She said that we could grow flowers and shrubs and plant tulip bulbs and ginger. But we can't grow tulips or anything else, because … Her head spun. Anneliese doesn't realize that we haven't got a garden. There are no gardens here any more.

Hans Jansen straightened his jacket, smoothed his hair and rang the bell on Mevrouw Vandergroene's door.

She had been sitting in her window looking out and had seen him walking down the road by the canal. How handsome he had become, she thought as she greeted him at the door, urging him to come in and saying how good it was to see him. He followed her upstairs to her cosy, cluttered sitting room and returned the compliment.

He sat down as invited and waited for her to return with coffee and cake. His
oma
was just like her: as soon as anyone knocked on the door the kettle which always seemed to be on the boil was deployed for making coffee and a freshly baked cake was lifted from the cake tin.

‘It's very good to see you,' she said again as she poured thick black coffee. ‘How is Cornelia? Does she keep busy?'

‘Yes, she does; she has started to paint again. She said she used to enjoy it when she was young, but she stopped when she got married and had my sister and me and concentrated on her garden, which she loved. Now that she doesn't have a garden any more she has started to paint landscapes, mainly tulip fields, dykes and windmills.' He laughed. ‘And she's good. Very good indeed.'

‘Ah, I'm so pleased.' Gerda eased herself into a chair. ‘And your
oma
?'

He took another sip of coffee, which was so strong it set his heart racing. ‘She's well. She sits in her window and knits kettle holders and sometimes warm jumpers for anyone who wants them; she's started sewing again too. Did you know she used to be a seamstress?' He put his hands on his jacket. ‘She made this for me, and dresses and skirts for Klara and my
moeder
. She also spins, and when spring comes she puts on her traditional costume and sits outside spinning or knitting and people stop to talk to her. Visitors to Amsterdam always ask her what is she making.'

‘Well, my word,' Gerda exclaimed. ‘She puts me to shame. And you, what are you doing? You have finished your education, I expect.'

‘That's why I have called today,
mevrouw
. I came to tell you that on Monday I begin my first week at the Vandergroene Company of importers and exporters.'

‘Splendid!' She clapped her hands. ‘I'm so pleased that it has at last come to pass. Frederik told me that he thought you would do very well.'

‘I am so grateful that he mentioned my name to Gerben Aarden all those years ago. Aarden actually made a note to remind me if I didn't get in touch myself. I knew I wanted to work rather than go to university, but I did do a year of business studies that I thought would help me in commerce. So here I am, and I can't wait to start. Best of all, I know that my father would have been delighted that I will be working in his old friend's company. It's sad that neither of them is here any longer to know of it.'

He paused, wondering if he should have referred to her son's death in front of her, but she nodded. ‘Frederik would have been delighted too, I know.'

‘Do you hear much of Margriet?' he asked. ‘Like Klara, she must be growing up fast.'

She smiled to herself at Hans speaking as if he were already an adult, but, she thought fondly, he is still a boy. ‘She was fifteen in January,' she said, ‘and I hear from her quite often; every four or five weeks, perhaps. Her mother had some ill luck in her second marriage.' Her mouth curled downwards. ‘She was never very aware; not a woman of the world. Brought up in a very sheltered household, and I suppose Frederik spoilt her too. I don't know the details – Margriet doesn't tell me too much in her letters, but it seems that her new husband took advantage of her. Rosamund's lawyer is handling her affairs so I hope
he
knows what he is doing, even if she doesn't. But Margriet will be all right – I will make sure that she is.'

‘I hope so,' he said. ‘If ever I get the chance to travel across to England to visit the Hull office, perhaps it might be possible to visit?'

Gerda looked at him. That would be very nice, she thought. She must visit his
oma
and find out more about him. He seemed a fine upstanding young man, handsome, honest-looking, ambitious too, she thought. A good prospect for some young lady.

She nodded and gave a small sigh. ‘I'm sure it would be possible. You must let me know if you do go. I live in hope that Margriet might visit me one day, but her mother doesn't travel and her previous companion has found employment elsewhere, which is a pity for I liked her very much.'

He left then, telling her that he would let himself out. Outside, he turned and gave her a cheery wave before walking away.

Yes, she mused. She must visit his
oma
, and his
moeder
too, and have a little chat about those young people.

Margriet was sitting on a bench at the pier looking out at the muddy brown waters of the Humber. Many ideas were swirling in her head, some of them prompted by Betty and her bedraggled flowers, but after finding King's Place on the map, it was Anneliese who was at the forefront of her mind.

Anneliese couldn't be a ghost, she decided, because surely if she were she wouldn't be visible in the Parliament Street house but only at hers. Besides, she looked different now that she was older, and Margriet thought that if she were a ghost she would stay the same age as she had been the first time. She wore more grown-up traditional Dutch clothes, too. And that thought gave Margriet yet another idea.

‘Hello, miss!'

Margriet looked up to see Billy and the young boy she had seen with him on the day Ramsey had thrown him a coin. ‘Hello, Billy,' she said, smiling at them both.

‘This is my brother Jim,' Billy said. He lowered his eyes. ‘I've just seen Betty,' he muttered. ‘She says you were upset that I'd said we shouldn't talk to you.' He kicked at a stone. ‘I didn't mean owt. It's just that I didn't want 'lasses to get any fancy ideas about you.'

Margriet frowned. ‘What kind of fancy ideas?'

He shrugged. ‘Well, they can't really be friends wi' you, can they? I mean, you live in one o' them grand houses in Parli'ment Street, don't you?'

‘Yes, I do. But we can still talk, can't we? I don't have many friends, and I get lonely sometimes.'

‘Do you?' He seemed astonished. ‘I'd never have thought it.'

‘I know the Sandersons – Sandy and Immi,' she told him. ‘Immi's sister Julia is my friend. We went to school together, but I don't see so much of her since we left.'

He nodded. ‘She helps her ma wi 'soup kitchen in 'winter,' he volunteered. ‘Why don't you call and see her? She lives in Albion Street.'

‘Yes, I know,' she said, and thought Billy very well informed. ‘Billy, how do you earn money?'

He shrugged. ‘I'm willing to do owt. Run errands for traders, hold hosses' heads like I did for that gent outside your house, though it was hardly worth my time for 'pittance he give me.'

‘He hasn't any money left,' she said. ‘He spent it all on that fancy carriage and pair.' She thought for a minute. ‘If something came up, something that might make a difference to your life, and your friends', would you take a chance?'

He laughed. ‘Yeh, like a shot. Course we would, wouldn't we, Jim?'

The younger boy was wearing a cut-down coat and a flat hat that came well over his eyes and ears, but he stretched his neck and head back to see her from under it and said ‘
Yeh
', just as Billy had done.

She asked Billy if he knew where the import and export company Vandergroene had their offices and of course he did; it seemed to Margriet that he knew about most things and most people.

‘I'll tek you and show you, if you like,' he offered eagerly. ‘It's near 'Pilot Office in Queen Street,' and on impulse she agreed.

‘I know someone who used to work there,' she said vaguely, ‘and I wondered where it was.'

He led her back to Queen Street and pointed it out, a narrow yet imposing three-storey red-brick building with a shiny brass name plate on the wall beside the heavy oak door. She remembered seeing it when her father had taken her.

‘Thank you, Billy,' she said. ‘You're a useful person to know.'

‘I know all 'streets in Hull,' he said proudly. ‘Every alleyway and shop.'

Margriet smiled. ‘I'll remember that,' she said, and meant it.

Heading towards home, she reached Parliament Street but walked past her own door and continued to the building where Mr Webster had his rooms. She asked the clerk if she might make an appointment to see the lawyer the following day, but before he could check the diary Mr Webster himself came up from the basement and greeted her in some surprise.

‘I don't want to take up much of your time, Mr Webster, but I'd like to ask you something.'

Up in his office he waited courteously as she chewed her lip for a moment, wondering how to start.

‘It isn't as if I wish to hide anything from my mother,' she began eventually. ‘But until my idea is fully formed, I don't want to discuss it with her. I'd like to embark on a venture of my own, Mr Webster. I realize that I might be too young, which is why I'd like to ask you if it would be feasible, and also if I might have access to a sum of money that Mr Ramsey can't get hold of.'

‘There will be no difficulty about that, Miss Margriet,' he said, ‘none at all. But you must not give any to your mother. As I have already explained, Ramsey could claim it if you did.'

‘I won't,' she said fervently, and went on to explain what she wanted to do.

His shaggy eyebrows rose in astonishment as she outlined her plan, and several times he contended that she might not need any money under the circumstances.

‘Oh, but I do,' she said earnestly. ‘I want to be as independent as possible.'

‘Very well,' he said eventually. ‘Leave it with me. Come and see me again, say in a week's time, and we will see how we've progressed. In the meantime, as you have suggested, go along to see the Sandersons. You will find them most supportive.'

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘And there is just one thing more.'

The following morning, after telling her mother she was going out for a walk, Margriet arrived back in Queen Street and climbed the stairs to the first-floor office of the Vandergroene Company. She knocked on the door and walked into a large room full of desks with a clerk behind each one, all of whom looked up as she entered and as one rose from their seats.

‘Good morning, miss.' One of the clerks came towards her. He was dressed, as they all were, in a dark frock coat, striped trousers and a grey waistcoat with a stiffly starched white shirt and high collar. ‘May I assist you?'

‘I would like to speak to Mr Reynoldson, if I may. Is he at liberty this morning?'

He gave a small bow. ‘I will find out for you. Won't you take a seat?'

She sat down, and as she did so the clerks also sat back at their desks.

‘Might I enquire your name and business, miss?'

‘My name is Margriet Vandergroene and my business is with Mr Reynoldson.'

On hearing her name all the clerks immediately stood up again, and Margriet held her gloved hand to her lips to hide a smile. ‘Please be seated, gentlemen,' she said in her best imitation of her mother, and they did so, only to rise again as Mr Reynoldson, unaware of her presence, came out of another room.

She was ushered into his office and offered coffee or other refreshment. When she refused he said how nice it was to see her again. ‘How time has passed! I remember your father bringing you here when you were only a child.'

‘I remember too, Mr Reynoldson,' she said. ‘And it's good to see that the business is operating so successfully, even after – after …' She faltered and fell silent, suddenly overcome by the realization that beyond the walls of the Parliament Street house life was continuing almost as normal without her father.

Reynoldson must have understood something of what she was feeling, for he said softly, ‘We still miss him and talk about him, those of us who were here then. It was a great tragedy, but we hope that he would have been proud of how we are maintaining the family name.'

Margriet wiped her eyes and nodded. ‘Yes,' she croaked. ‘He would have been.'

‘So what can I do for you, Miss Vandergroene? How can I be of assistance?'

She explained to him as she had explained to Mr Webster, and he too said that she didn't need any money as she was a major shareholder in the company.

‘My mother's lawyer, Mr Webster, whom you know, says that he will take care of the monetary issues if you will agree to the proposal.'

‘It will be our pleasure, Miss Vandergroene,' he said, a wide smile on his face. ‘And any advice you might need, please feel free to ask.'

He ushered her out of his office, the clerks once more rising and bowing, and escorted her down the stairs. As she turned to say goodbye he too bowed. ‘A great pleasure to see you again. I'm happy to think that the next generation of the Vandergroene family will be joining the company, albeit in a small way to begin with.'