The Lorimer Line (3 page)

‘Lazy good-for-nothing,' growled John Junius, but Margaret persisted as tactfully as she could.

‘Mama's state of health makes it necessary for a great deal to be done for her. I think that Marie-Claire's time is in fact fully occupied.'

‘I recall that we have discussed this subject before, in a contrary direction. Your mother said that she could not spare Marie-Claire for you any longer, and you were most definite that you did not require a personal maid.'

‘I realize now that I was wrong,' said Margaret, knowing
that the admission would please her father. He grunted a sort of approval.

‘No more Frenchies, though. I absolutely forbid it. Two in one house, jabbering together all day long, idle themselves and setting a bad example to the other servants, definitely not!' John Junius had been a boy in the years when Napoleon Bonaparte was the Bogeyman whose name was used to frighten children into sleep or obedience. The war had been over for sixty years, but Margaret knew that her father had never learned to like the French.

‘I quite agree, Papa,' she said tactfully. ‘What I suggest is that I should employ a young girl to be trained to my own taste. Marie-Claire could be asked to instruct her at first in such matters as sewing and ironing. She would not expect, of course, to be paid the salary of a lady's maid until she had acquired the necessary skills.'

Margaret was never sure whether a consideration of this kind was more likely to persuade her father or irritate him. John Junius Lorimer was probably the richest of Bristol's rich citizens. He kept not one carriage but two and lived in the grandest mansion in the whole of Clifton. Whenever a subscription list was raised for a purpose which he thought worthy, it was a point of pride that the name of Lorimer should be at its head. His collection of Eastern art was rumoured to be priceless. It had already been promised to the city on his death, with money enough to build a public gallery in which the precious objects could be displayed and admired by the public without charge. And yet Margaret was forced almost every day to listen to her mother's complaints that she was unable to take her proper place in Bristol society because of her husband's meanness in such matters as dress and jewellery. Without taking sides in parental disputes, Margaret was tempted on such an occasion as this to use the bait of economy for her own purpose.

‘You talk as though you have the girl already.' John Junius spoke suspiciously.

‘Naturally I have not engaged her, Papa. But it is true that I have a young girl in mind. I have known her since she was nine years old. Her family was one of those I used to visit in Peel Street.' It was necessary to hurry over this part of the story. Only with extreme difficulty had Margaret been able to persuade her father that the visiting of sick families in the slums of Bristol was neither dangerous nor unseemly. ‘Her father died in the cholera epidemic. Her mother has been ill for some years. When the Froome flooded in November she lived with Betty for five weeks in a room whose floor was under two feet of water. Now she too has died. Betty has been taken to the workhouse.'

‘Where she will be well looked after.'

‘Where she will be neglected and corrupted,' said Margaret firmly.

Her father received this statement in silence. As a hardworking citizen he was bound to assert that the workhouse conferred more benefit than they deserved on those who were unable to support themselves. As a humane man he knew that what Margaret said was true.

‘If you wish merely to find a better home for the child, I can nominate her for the orphanage at Ashley Down,' he said. ‘Mr Wright has reason enough to know of my interest in his work there.'

Margaret shook her head.

‘Thank you, Papa, but her twelfth birthday is approaching and she is ready to work. I have been told of the situation proposed for her, and I am horrified by its conditions. She is an intelligent girl, cheerful and clean, and she deserves better.'

‘She is fortunate to have employment offered to her by those who have her interests at heart.'

‘She would be more fortunate to have it offered to her by myself,' said Margaret.

She had judged her time well. John Junius had had enough of domestic matters.

‘The engagement of servants is a matter for your mother, not for me,' he said. ‘Do whatever she thinks is best.' They both knew that, though there were still formalities to be observed, the matter was now settled.

Margaret went straight to her mother's boudoir. A fire was burning there as usual, although it was May. Georgiana complained incessantly of the dampness of the Bristol climate and exposed herself to it as little as possible. She was almost thirty years younger than her husband, but ever since the stillbirth of her last baby, eight years earlier, she had retreated from her marriage – as from every other form of exertion — into the shelter of this one stifling room.

As well as being over-heated, the boudoir was over-furnished. It was impossible to move anywhere without brushing against some small side-table laden with ornaments or silver-framed family photographs. The day-bed and the chairs were covered in plush and protected by tasselled antimacassars, and the heavy curtains were never fully drawn back. The smell of Georgiana's pug dog and of her latest meal or hot drink always lingered to make the room stuffy. Margaret could hardly bear to remain in it for long. She had been brought up in a house which had been built and furnished in a classical style a hundred years earlier and little changed since then, and liked its uncluttered spaciousness. She did not begrudge her mother this private island of clutter, of course, but she spent as little time in it as possible.

The doctor was just leaving the boudoir as Margaret arrived. Dr Scott had brought all Georgiana's three surviving children into the world, as well as the four who had failed to reach their first birthday, and since then his weekly visits had brought him near to being a friend of the family. Through his wife he was well-connected, and had recently inherited from his father-in-law a legacy which
John Junius's interest had helped him to invest to advantage in Lorimer's Bank. His new prosperity had enabled him to move to the growing suburb of Clifton, in which so many of his wealthiest patients lived. His only regret at this time of his life was that his son, Charles, on qualifying as a doctor, had taken a permanent appointment on the staff of a London hospital instead of returning to join his father's practice.

However, Dr Scott had no intention of retiring for a good many years, so there was time enough for the situation to change. He was in a cheerful mood as he greeted Margaret and asked for her co-operation in ensuring that in the afternoon Mrs Lorimer did not go straight from her overheated room to the garden.

Georgiana too was in good spirits, less petulant than usual. Although the afternoon's party was to be of such a humble kind, it would provide her with the chance to show herself as a hostess. She agreed without argument that Betty Hurst should be engaged and trained as a lady's maid, and then spent half an hour quizzing Margaret about which costume she intended to wear for the afternoon. It would be too cool for lace, Georgiana said; safer to wear the brown dress which had a velvet jacket. Margaret listened politely to her mother's opinions without allowing them to change her own plans. She was shown Georgiana's new buckles of cut steel and admired them dutifully, although in her heart she considered such small details of costume to be worth no more time than was needed to buy them. When the arrival of the chairs which had been hired to set around the garden was announced, she took the opportunity to escape.

Supervising the arrangements could have occupied her for the whole morning. But the household servants were well trained. Margaret had already explained the day's requirements, and they would work with more responsibility if she did not oversee them directly. It was as much
to remove herself from the temptation to interfere as to implement her father's wishes without delay that she asked for the victoria to be ready for her at eleven.

First she went to her music teacher's old lodgings and was there able to discover Luisa's new address. This was in a respectable area, although not a prosperous one. Margaret was admitted at once and shown to a small room on its upper floor. Like her father, she was shocked by Luisa's emaciated appearance, but concealed her horror by a close embrace.

‘You should have told me you were returned,' she said when Luisa had recovered from her surprise at the visit. ‘I am here only to insist that you come to Brinsley House tomorrow for luncheon. I shall expect to hear all your news then. And news of your sister.'

‘My sister?'

‘Have you not been nursing her?' asked Margaret.

‘Oh yes. That was my reason for leaving Bristol. She recovered quickly, but afterwards I was myself ill.'

Luisa's cheeks flushed briefly as she spoke, but at once returned to the unhealthy pallor which Margaret had observed when she first arrived. The skin had tightened over her high cheekbones and her eyes seemed to have sunk into sockets darkened by tiredness. It was difficult to remember how vivacious she had been at their last meeting, and how strikingly good-looking.

Once Margaret had obtained Luisa's agreement to come the next day, she turned to leave, feeling that she ought not to prolong an unexpected visit. But her attention was caught by the sound of a cough coming from a dark corner of the room - a sound so small and faint that perhaps only a woman who loved babies as much as Margaret did would have noticed it. She stopped and turned back.

For a moment the two young women stared at each other. Luisa met Margaret's gaze steadily. Then she
stepped aside, allowing her visitor to go further into the room.

Looking down into the wooden cradle which stood against the wall, Margaret was amazed. The sleeping baby was very young, but her peaceful face was in an extraordinary way mature. It was impossible to doubt that she was a girl, and one of exceptional beauty. Already all the features of her oval face were perfectly formed.

‘She's lovely,' whispered Margaret. ‘Luisa, you should have told me of your marriage.'

Luisa did not reply and Margaret, startled, looked again into her steady eyes.

‘You mean - ?' But the question was unnecessary. It was Margaret's turn now to flush, for it was difficult for her not to feel shocked. ‘It would perhaps be as well,' she said doubtfully, ‘if we did not mention the baby to Mama.'

Luisa continued to keep silent, forcing Margaret to make up her own mind. Postponing a decision, she looked again at the baby.

‘What is her name?'

‘She is christened Alexandra. But the name is so long for someone so small. I call her Alexa.'

‘Goodbye, Alexa.' Margaret stroked the baby's downy golden hair softly with a finger. Then she kissed Luisa goodbye. It was time to return to the arrangements for the afternoon.

They had proceeded smoothly in her absence and by two o'clock it was obvious that John Junius's instructions about the weather had been obeyed. The sun shone from a perfect May sky. Even the wind which at almost every season rushed up the gorge to toss the heads of the chestnuts and acacias on the western boundary of the garden seemed today to be enjoying a Bank Holiday rest. Margaret could think of nothing likely to spoil the occasion except her meeting with Walter Crankshaw.

What made the situation more difficult was that she had
never liked to explain her objection to a young man whose reputation was a respectable one. Margaret visited her sick families under the auspices of the Gentlewomen's Aid to the Distressed, a charity sponsored by the most prominent ladies of the city. They subscribed generously to its purposes and by their names protected the reputations of the younger women who actually ventured into the less pleasant areas of Bristol. Margaret went into the slums without fear of scandal, but even she accepted that there was one part of the city which a young lady should never visit.

Just once, in an emergency caused by an accident to a child, she had broken this unwritten rule, protected by her father's coachman. It was on this occasion that she had seen Walter emerging from a house off Joy Hill. Unlike the dockside stews, the establishments in this district were outwardly respectable, but their costs were often defrayed by gentlemen who would not in public admit to knowing the females who occupied them. Margaret' upbringing had been strict, and she accepted the restrictions which were designed to protect her before her wedding day. But she was young enough to be an idealist, not accepting a double standard for men and women. If Walter behaved before marriage in a manner that she could not approve, might he not continue afterwards in the same way?

Margaret was well aware that she was not supposed to know why the Joy Hill area was forbidden to her. Georgiana would have been horrified to discover how her twenty-year-old daughter's mind had been corrupted by conversation with the sick and poor. Any admission of what she had seen, much less the deduction she had drawn from it, would result in an immediate prohibition on any further visiting.

But for Margaret these journeys were not merely a way of passing the time. They were the only part of her day's activities which she felt to be of any value, and she did not intend to put them at risk merely so that Walter could
have an opportunity to explain his movements or, alternatively, that her own repugnance for the proposed association should be understood.

This was why she had given her father no reason for her rejection of Walter Crankshaw, which in turn made her fear an embarrassing encounter at the party. But when the afternoon came Walter bowed politely over her hand without speaking and his parents were fulsome in their compliments about the appearance of the garden.

With her small ordeal over, Margaret felt able to relax. The upper lawn and terraces, usually deserted, were crowded by now. Since everyone must have arrived, it would be in order for her to move away from her parents' side. But just as she began to turn away, a late guest made his appearance. He was a stranger to her - a good-looking young man, clean-shaven and bright-eyed, revealing dark curly hair as he raised his tall hat. She waited while the new arrival exchanged a few words with her parents. Then Mr Lynch, the manager of Lorimer's, brought him across to be introduced to her.