The Lonely Child
People assumed that being the only child of a widowed department store tycoon, Annalise Locke would have everything a little girl could want. This was far from the case, however. While she had a room full of toys, she was a sad, lonely child who spent most of her days in lonely isolation.
There is little doubt that Cornelius Locke loved his daughter, but his business kept him away from home most of the time. Muriel, the governess, diligently saw to the child's daily physical needs, but the woman felt no affection for the girl. Like the other servants in the household, she was envious of Annalise who had the good fortune to be born into privilege and who would never have to work to put food on the table or a roof over her head.
As her sixth birthday approached, Annalise pleaded with her father to send her to school.
"When you are older, you will attend Miss Putnam's Finishing Academy in New England," he promised, "but you're far too young now. Still, we must not ignore your education. I will have my secretary inquire about a suitable tutor."
With a heavy heart, Cornelius realized he was hopelessly unsuited to parent a female. If his wife had given him a son, he would have raised the child to follow in his footsteps so that the boy could eventually take over his father's retail empire. A daughter, however, presented problems. In the late nineteenth century, women were not expected to go into business.
"I suppose I will have to find a suitable husband for her someday," he told himself. "Of course, given the size of her eventual inheritance, that should not be too difficult."
Naturally, the future son-in-law would have to come from good stock. Many of New York's blue-blooded families looked down on Mr. Locke because he was a self-made man, but their disdain did not deter him. His money may be "new," but it was negotiable nonetheless.
After one of the rare occasions when father and child ate dinner together, Cornelius informed his daughter that it was time for her to go to bed.
"But I always stay up until nine," Annalise objected.
"Not tonight. You have to get up early tomorrow morning."
"Why?"
"I'm sending you to Newport to spend a few months with your Aunt Louisa."
At first Annalise was worried that she had done something to displease her father.
"Why must you send me away?"
"Surely you don't want to spend the summer in the sweltering city. Louisa has a lovely cottage on Narragansett Bay. You will have all sorts of things to do there: swimming, boating, picnicking. And Louisa will introduce you to the children of the some of the best families in the East."
Annalise's eyes widened, and the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile.
"I'll have other children to play with!"
"That's right," Cornelius said, hoping that among those playmates would be a young boy who would eventually make a suitable husband.
* * *
During the long ride to Rhode Island, Annalise tried to imagine the cottage she would call home for the next two months. She pictured a small house in the middle of a forest, one with a thatched roof, a smoking chimney and brightly colored flower boxes at the windows. It would be just like those that were pictured in her fairy tale books.
As lonely children often do, Annalise developed a good imagination. She saw herself as an orphaned princess, but rather than a handsome prince wanting her as a wife, she dreamt of a kind and wise king who would adopt her as a daughter. Unlike Cornelius, her imagined father would lavish his time, not just his money, on his child.
"That's the place up ahead," the driver announced, waking Muriel, who had dozed off halfway through Connecticut.
"That's not a cottage!" the little girl cried with a frown of disappointment. "It looks more like a royal palace."
"It certainly does," Muriel agreed, believing it was sheer waste to own such a lavish home for use during only one season of the year.
No sooner did the governess and her charge get out of the carriage in front of the house, than a butler opened the massive front door.
"The mistress is expecting you," he said. "Follow me."
The servant led them to an immense sunroom at the rear of the house where Aunt Louisa was sitting in a comfortably overstuffed chair, reading a French fashion magazine.
"Welcome to Bay View Manor, my dear little niece!" she exclaimed dramatically, and then turned to the butler. "You may show the child's governess to the servants' wing."
Aunt Louisa spoke not a word to Muriel herself. Aside from the butler, servants were not to be seen or heard in the house. Female servants, in particular, were to remain invisible, not only restricted to living in separate quarters but also required to use back staircases and rear entrances.
Muriel, who had been in service for more than fifteen years, was well aware of these rules and silently and subserviently followed the butler out of the room.
Aunt Louisa looked at her watch and asked, "Are you hungry, dear? It's almost time for tea. The cook made some delicious petits fours. Would you like some?"
"Yes, thank you."
After tea was served, Louisa took the little girl upstairs herself.
"This will be your room."
Annalise's bedroom in Bay View Manor was larger than the one in which she slept in Manhattan, and there was a magnificent view of Narragansett Bay from her window.
"You must be exhausted after your long journey. Would you like to take a nap?"
"I'm not in the least bit tired."
"Well, then, I'm sure you will find something in this room to keep you occupied until dinner time."
As Annalise listened to her aunt's retreating footsteps on the marble staircase, she had a terrible premonition about the summer ahead of her.
"My life will be just like it was back in New York," she realized. "I will be left alone with plenty of toys but no one to play with."
* * *
Every Wednesday was Muriel's day off. On these days Annalise was left in the care of the elderly housekeeper. One Wednesday while Aunt Louisa was entertaining two of Mrs. Astor's cronies, Annalise decided to explore the rooms on the third floor of the mansion—she refused to think of the rambling house as a "cottage." Behind most of the doors were guest bedrooms that were not currently being used. At first the little girl found wandering through the rooms an adventure, but she eventually grew tired of seeing furniture hidden by dust covers.
Just as she was about to return to her room on the second floor, she opened one more door, the last in the east wing of the house, a room that was directly above her own. She was surprised when she stepped inside what appeared to be a large playroom.
There was a low rectangular table in the center of the room, surrounded by four small chairs. On top of the table was a miniature tea service, a set of Victorian fashion paper dolls and a selection of children's books. Giving these playthings only a cursory examination, Annalise headed toward what she considered the most fascinating item in the room: an elaborate, five-foot-tall Georgian era dollhouse.
There were more than a dozen rooms in the house, all of them with their own miniature furniture, curtains, carpets and bric-a-brac. Even at her young age, Annalise realized that a good deal of fine craftsmanship went into creating such a detailed depiction of an upper-class British home.
"It must have taken a long time to make this," she said as she examined one of the tiny books from the dollhouse library.
Although just under half an inch tall, the miniature volume opened, revealing surprisingly detailed illustrations on its pages.
This is but one book, she thought with growing appreciation, and there must be at least a hundred of them here.
As Annalise played with the tiny table settings in the dollhouse's formal dining room, she heard approaching footsteps behind her.
"There you are!" the housekeeper called. "I was wondering where you went off to."
"I was exploring, and look what I found!"
"Ah, I forgot all about that old thing," the servant said.
"Whose is it?" Annalise asked.
"No one's now. It belonged to the original owner of the house, a man named Frederick Mayfair, a banker from Boston."
"Why would a man want a doll's house?"
"It was his daughter's, not his," the housekeeper laughed. "He had it made for her. I've heard it said the two of them would spend hours up here whenever he came to Newport."
"He actually played with her?"
"People say he doted on the little girl. His wife died in childbirth, and she was all the family he had."
"What happened to her? Did she grow up to be a beautiful woman and marry a rich, handsome suitor?"
The housekeeper frowned and shook her head.
"No, poor thing. She was always a sickly child, and succumbed to the flu when she was eight years old. When she passed away, her father could no longer bear coming to Newport in the summers, so he sold the house. He left all her belongings here: clothes, toys, books, even this dollhouse. I've heard it said he died of a broken heart shortly after."
"My father buys me lots of toys, but nothing as grand as this."
"This dollhouse certainly is a beauty," the housekeeper observed, leaning forward to examine the miniaturized master bedroom. "And look at the family of dolls who live here: father, mother and baby. Why, there's even a pet dog and a cat."
"May I hold the dolls?"
The housekeeper considered the child's request for several moments.
"I suppose so, but you must promise to be very careful with them because they're delicate and no doubt worth quite a bit of money."
Annalise sat the mother doll in the sewing room beside a needlepoint frame. The cat was placed at the mother's feet, and the dog was posed on a rug by the fireplace hearth. Then she put the little boy on a hobby horse in the nursery. Finally, the father was seated on the parlor sofa with a book on his lap.
"Don't they look happy?" she asked.
"Yes, they do," the housekeeper agreed. "Now, it's time for you to come downstairs. The cook has made a pound cake, and there are fresh strawberries and cream to put on top of it."
The little girl's stomach growled in anticipation of her snack, but it was with reluctance that she walked away from the dollhouse.
"You can come back tomorrow and play with it," the housekeeper promised when she saw the disappointment on the child's face. "In fact, you'll have the whole summer to play up here—provided you don't get bored with it first."
Annalise saw no danger in that happening.
* * *
The following day Annalise talked Muriel into letting her return to the third-floor playroom.
"Wait until you see what's up there!" the little girl exclaimed with excitement.
The governess was impressed not by the beauty and craftsmanship of the dollhouse and its furnishings but by its obvious cost. If she lived to be a hundred, Muriel would never understand the lengths to which the wealthy would go to part with their money.
"All that expense wasted on a toy when it could be used to provide homes for needy people!"
While Annalise posed the three dolls in various rooms of the house, Muriel opened the window overlooking the bay. Even with the breeze coming in, the third-floor room was still stifling.
"You stay here and play," the governess instructed her charge. "I'm going to go down to the kitchen and get us both something cold to drink."
When Muriel left the room, the little girl conducted a one-sided conversation with the porcelain father. She was deep in her imaginary world when she heard footsteps in the room.
"Back so soon?" she called over her shoulder, assuming the governess had returned.
A man's voice startled her.
"I've been gone for quite some time."
"Who are you?" the child asked, feeling a sense of wonder but no fear.
"I'm a friend who has come to play with you."
Annalise stared at the man. He was about her father's age, but there was no physical resemblance. Where her father was fair-haired and clean-shaven, the stranger had dark hair and a thick mustache. It was not an unpleasant look. In fact, he was quite handsome.
"Are are you visiting Aunt Louisa?"
"I'm visiting you," the stranger replied with a warm chuckle.
"Do you like dollhouses?"
"Yes, I do. I like to imagine I am only five inches tall and that I can make myself right at home in the miniature world."
"You do?" the girl asked excitedly. "So do I. I like to imagine all sorts of things."
"Me, too."
"Like what? Do you imagine you are a king or a pirate?"
The stranger turned his head and looked at the door as though expecting to see someone in the hallway.
"I'll answer your questions the next time I see you, but for now I have got to go. Your governess will be returning shortly, and I don't think she would approve of our friendship."
"Why not?" Annalise asked innocently.
"Because grown men don't normally become friends with little girls."
"Then I will keep our meeting a secret," the little girl said conspiratorially and turned her attention to the dollhouse.
When Muriel returned with a glass of lemonade for the child, there was no sign of the dark-haired, mustached stranger.
* * *
On nice days, the governess insisted the little girl play outdoors. Not only did she think that fresh air and sunshine were beneficial to one's health, but she personally hated the hot, stuffy third-floor playroom. Only on rainy days and Wednesdays did Annalise get to visit the friendly stranger and play with the dollhouse.
The summer months passed quickly, and soon it was September, time for the little girl to return to New York. This both delighted and saddened her. She longed to see her father, yet at the same time she did not want to say goodbye to the dark-haired man with the mustache.
"You must not cry," the stranger said, wiping a tear from Annalise's cheek. "Before you know it, it will be summer again. When you return to Newport, I will be here waiting for you."
The stranger's promise lightened the child's heart.
"Still, I shall miss you," she said with a pout.
"And I, you. As I am sure your father missed you all summer."
"Annalise?" the governess called from the second floor staircase. "Are you up there? We have to get going if we want to make it back to New York before nightfall."
On impulse, the little girl leaned forward and kissed the stranger on the cheek. The coldness of his skin surprised her, especially since the temperature in the room was near ninety degrees.
"Goodbye," she said.
"Not goodbye ... au revoir." At the puzzled look on Annalise's face, he explained, "It's French for 'until we meet again.'"
During the long drive home, the girl's thoughts kept going back to Bay View Manor's third-floor playroom, the Georgian dollhouse and the mysterious stranger. In a moment of self-understanding few children her age ever experience, she realized those hours she spent with him were the happiest in her young life.
Surprisingly, Cornelius Locke was at home when his daughter arrived at their Fifth Avenue mansion. Annalise flew into his arms and hugged him tightly.
"I am glad you are home," he said. "I have some exciting news to tell you."
It was at that moment the child noticed the auburn-haired woman sitting in the room.
"Who is she?" Annalise asked.
"That's Vivian," her father replied, beaming like a lovesick schoolboy. "She is the reason I want to talk to you. Vivian and I are going to get married next month, and she will be your new mother."
Had the redhead exhibited any warmth toward her fiancé's daughter or even made the effort to smile, Annalise would no doubt have been happy at hearing the news. But the cold, unsmiling woman did not seem at all motherly.
"We are all going to be one, big, happy family!" Cornelius exclaimed, walking away from his child to stand beside the woman he loved.
Neither Vivian nor Annalise seemed to share his enthusiasm.
* * *
Cornelius's predictions of the three of them living as a family proved to be wrong. The newlyweds spent their evenings together, but neither one had time for the child.
"I can't wait until summer," Annalise told her stuffed teddy bear one night after saying her prayers. "I want to go back to Newport and see my friend."
Slowly, the autumn passed. Winter brought with it the holiday season, but Christmas was a lonelier time than usual for the child since her father spent the holidays attending social functions with his new wife. It was only when spring arrived that Annalise's outlook began to brighten.
At the end of May, with the prospect of returning to Newport just weeks away, however, Muriel informed the little girl that she would be going on a trip to Europe with her parents.
"Europe? I thought I was going back to Rhode Island."
"Your father wants you to accompany him and Mrs. Locke."
"But I don't want to go to Europe."
"Don't tell me; tell your father," the governess barked.
Isn't that just like a spoiled little rich girl, she thought with no small amount of envy.
Annalise did just as the governess advised. She got up from her bed late at night and went downstairs when she heard her father and stepmother returning home.
"What are you doing up at this hour?" Vivian asked with annoyance.
"I want to go back to Newport for the summer."
"I am sorry," her father explained, "but I have already made plans for us to spend the summer months in Europe. Won't that be fun?"
Honestly, no, the girl thought, but wisely held her tongue.
"London, Paris, Rome, Vienna. Wouldn't you like to see those places?"
"I want to return to Newport. I had so much fun there last summer that I've been waiting all winter long to go back."
Cornelius tried to argue with the child, but Vivian, who preferred to travel without a stepchild in tow, interrupted him.
"It will be quite a tiring trip for someone so young," she pointed out, "and we will need to bring along that dreadful governess to watch over her. Just think of all the luggage we will have to tote from place to place, as well."
"I suppose you are right, my darling," Cornelius capitulated. "Maybe next year we will all go on a vacation together."
"Yes," Vivian agreed with a wide, false smile. "I am sure by next year she will forget about Newport and be eager to see all that Europe has to offer."
"Right. Well, you go back to bed and get some sleep, young lady. I will write to Louisa in the morning and make arrangements for you to stay with her."
* * *
Upon arrival in Newport, Annalise had tea and cakes with Aunt Louisa.
"That was quite good, wasn't it?" the older woman asked, wiping her mouth with a fine linen napkin.
"Yes, it was. Thank you," the girl replied politely.
"Why don't you go upstairs and play now? I have got some letters to write."
Annalise tried to contain her joy. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Since the governess was nowhere in sight, the child took the stairs two at a time and raced down the third-floor hallway. When she threw open the playroom door, she was overjoyed to see the stranger already inside.
"You're here!" she cried.
"I told you I would be waiting for you."
There was no awkwardness in their reunion. In fact, it was as though Annalise had never left.
"I hope it rains a lot this summer," the girl said after the stranger finished reading her a story by the Brothers Grimm.
"Why is that?" he asked with a warm chuckle.
"So that Muriel won't make me go outside, and I can spend my time up here with you."
"We will have plenty of time to spend together, nearly three whole months!"
Neither Annalise nor the stranger could have foreseen the visit from Cornelius Locke at the end of July.
"Daddy!" the little girl exclaimed when she saw her father emerge from the grand carriage that pulled up in front of Aunt Louisa's cottage. "What are you doing here? I thought you went to Europe."
"I did."
"Didn't you like it? Is that why you've returned?"
"I liked it very much. In fact, Vivian and I have decided we want to move from New York to London. I am going to open a new store there, and we both feel it would be best if I were there to oversee the day-to-day operations—at least for now."
"But what are you doing here?"
"I've come to get you and take you back to London."
Annalise was devastated by the news.
"But I don't want to go to London," she insisted. "I want to stay here."
"I am sorry but that is out of the question. I have instructed Muriel to pack your things at once. We must leave for New York tonight since we have to board a ship for Southampton the day after tomorrow."
Annalise knew that this time she would not get her own way.
After speaking with both Louisa and Muriel, Cornelius decided to amend his plans. He would spend the night at Bay View Manor and early in the morning he and his daughter would depart along with the governess.
That night, upon hearing Muriel's snoring across the hall, Annalise got up from her bed and tiptoed to the third-floor staircase.
"Be careful," a man's voice whispered as the little girl made her way in the dark. "You don't want to fall and hurt yourself."
The man—who could hardly be considered a stranger after the hours they spent in each other's company—was waiting in the doorway for her. Annalise flew into his arms, and sobbed on his shoulder. She soon found comfort in his embrace, despite the coldness of arms.
"My father is taking me away tomorrow. I'm going to live in England with my parents. We'll never see each other again."
"Don't you want to live with your father and stepmother?"
"No," she said, having given the matter much consideration during the past several months. "I would much rather live here with you."
"You have to realize that if you make that decision, there will be no changing your mind in the future."
"I wouldn't change my mind. This is where I want to be."
The dark man with the mustache took the little girl's hands in his own. As his grip became firmer, Annalise felt a numbing coldness travel from her hands to her arms and then down her torso to her legs and feet.
* * *
"Where the devil is that girl?" Cornelius Locke asked his sister when his daughter did not show up for breakfast. "I told her we had to get an early start if we want to sail on time."
"Relax," Louisa urged, as she rang the bell for the butler.
"Yes, Madam?" the servant responded.
"Have that governess find Mr. Locke's daughter and bring her down here at once."
When Muriel had no luck locating the child, the housekeeper and several of the maids joined in the search. No one, however, uncovered any clues to the girl's whereabouts.
Finally, the father contacted the police.
Since no ransom request was received, the detectives ruled out kidnapping. It was assumed by everyone that either the child had simply wandered off and gotten lost or had deliberately run away. Either way, it was believed she would eventually return. Sadly, this was not the case.
* * *
Ten years passed during which there was no sign of Annalise Locke.
"What do you suppose ever happened to that poor child?" the housekeeper asked after seeing Aunt Louisa leave for New York.
"Who knows? Drowned in the Narragansett probably," the cook replied. "I don't suppose we'll ever know."
"I can't believe another summer has come to an end," the housekeeper said, changing the subject
"They do seem to go faster all the time," the butler agreed as the servants returned to the empty house.
"Oh, well, I best see that the upstairs rooms have been readied for winter."
All the furniture on the second floor had been covered and the windows tightly locked. Although few people ever ventured up to the third floor, the housekeeper believed in being thorough. When she opened the door to the playroom, she was again reminded of the child that went missing a decade earlier.
"I remember bringing her upstairs to play," she reminisced. "How she took to that dollhouse!"
The housekeeper looked into the miniature kitchen and then took her handkerchief out of her apron to wipe the tears from her eyes. That may have been why she failed to notice that there were only two porcelain dolls in the house: the father doll who was sitting on the parlor sofa with a book in his hand and a little girl sitting beside him, apparently listening to his story. The housekeeper had no idea that in the scaled down rooms of the toy house in the third-floor playroom, Frederick Mayfair, whose heart had been broken with grief at the loss of his own daughter, had found happiness with a lonely little girl who had wanted nothing more than the love and attention of a father.
Small in stature, but still a major pest.
