The Lorimer Line (42 page)

But was even this the real problem? Ralph appeared to appreciate for himself that such a girl would be completely unsuitable as a wife, and it was a wife he wanted.

Margaret thought immediately of Lydia, but had more tact than to be specific. ‘I will introduce you to some of my friends,' she said gaily. ‘The medical students of my year have all been so earnestly determined to pursue their careers that none of them has succumbed to matrimony. Within a week, if you say the word, I can surround you with intelligent and useful young women who will be swept off their feet by your handsome face!' she stopped as she
saw that her brother was in no mood for joking. ‘What is it, Ralph? Is there something I don't know?'

He nodded miserably, ready at last to confess. ‘You remember Claudine?'

‘Yes. Do you still worry about her? I'm sure that by now she is happily settled back in her village. With the dowry that Papa gave her she can have had no trouble finding a husband. Anyone who meets you now and loves you should certainly be able to forgive something that happened while you were still a schoolboy. You might not even find it necessary to speak of Claudine at all.'

‘I married her,' said Ralph.

Margaret stared at him, unable to believe her ears. ‘What did you say?'

‘I married her early in the morning before she went back to France. How could I let a young girl like that carry the shame of motherhood in such circumstances? To allow her to return to France as a married woman was the only honourable thing to do.'

Margaret could produce no quick response to such a revelation. Impulsively she squeezed his hand in sympathy. How characteristic of Ralph to make honourable amends for being seduced! His high-minded headmaster, Dr Percival, would have approved.

‘You were not twenty-one at that time,' she said at last. ‘I take it that Papa knew nothing of the matter. Would such a marriage be legal without his consent?'

‘Certainly I didn't tell him. I didn't dare. As for whether or not the marriage was legal, Claudine believed it was, so I have a moral obligation …'

‘Tell me one thing first, Ralph,' interrupted Margaret. ‘Do you want Claudine to live with you as your wife?'

Ralph shook his head. ‘I had no feeling for her even at that time. To say that she tempted me is to betray a weakness, but I was too young then to understand how quickly I could be roused. The wife I need now is of a very particular sort. A woman I can love, but also a woman
who can be of use in Hope Valley, and who is capable of providing intellectual companionship. Claudine would be of little help in that respect. Nor did she have any more interest in me, I'm sure, than I did in her.'

‘Oh, my poor brother! I cannot think what to suggest. Why not speak to William? He would give you better advice than I in such a matter.'

‘I am ashamed to tell him.'

‘He already knows about the baby; and although the marriage may be inconvenient now, it is to your credit.'

Ralph was too depressed to answer and Margaret respected his feelings.

‘At least allow me to discuss it with him,' she begged. ‘I do not always find William sympathetic, but he is a man of affairs. He will judge what can or cannot be done.'

Ralph gave his permission reluctantly, announcing at the same time that he intended to visit one of his university friends for the next two weeks. It was clear to Margaret that he would rather not be in the house while his problems were under discussion. She mentioned this sensitivity, amongst other things, when she told the whole story to William.

‘Even if the marriage could be annulled on the grounds of Ralph's age at the time, he would be frightened of the publicity from the proceedings,' she pointed out.

William frowned in thought and then said abruptly, ‘Would you consider making a visit to France?'

‘To see Claudine, you mean?'

William nodded. ‘You would find it easier than I to investigate her way of life. I can hardly believe that a girl like that will have lived like a celibate all these years on account of such a marriage. You should be able to judge, without having to ask her in so many words, whether there is any danger of her making a nuisance of herself in the future. I will add a second suggestion to the first. If you are willing to make the journey, would you take Matthew with you? Now that he is eleven, he knows enough French
to make a visit to France a useful part of his education. I would pay your expenses, of course.'

Margaret needed little persuasion to take a free trip abroad. Her departure from London had been impulsive and she had not yet succeeded in obtaining employment in Bristol. Although William made it clear that he did not expect her to contribute to the expenses of Brinsley House, she disliked the feeling of living as a dependant. Already she was approaching the point when her visit would seem to be more than a mere holiday. It was true that this offer replaced one form of hospitality with another, but she could regard it as being more to Ralph's advantage than her own, which made it easier to accept. Matthew and she were great friends and she knew that they would both enjoy the holiday.

It was decided that Matthew's tutor should accompany them, to make the most of every educational opportunity and to provide the protection of a male escort. This meant that Betty had to be taken too, to act as a chaperone as well as attending to her mistress's wants.

‘We are all looking after each other!' exclaimed Margaret laughingly as they stood in a wind-whipped row at the rail of the cross-channel steamer, straining their eyes for the first glimpse of France.

Matthew looked up at her. ‘Who do I look after?'

‘Whom,' corrected Mr Renfrew, but Margaret answered without bothering about grammar.

‘Why, Betty, of course. She doesn't speak a word of French. Whenever she needs to ask a question or to buy anything for me in a shop, you must go with her and speak for her. And tell her what the answer means, as well.'

‘You needn't worry, Betty,' Matthew said reassuringly, accepting his responsibilities. ‘I'll see you're all right.'

‘Thank you, Master Matthew.' Margaret and Mr Renfrew were both finding it difficult to keep a straight face, but Betty's relief sounded genuine: already the sound of French voices on the steamer had made her uneasy.

The itinerary had been planned by William ostensibly to improve Matthew's education. Claudine had presumably returned to her father's farm in the valley of the Dordogne. In order to break the journey, Margaret and her companions were to spend some days in Paris on the way, lingering to admire its works of art.

To Margaret's great surprise, Matthew - who had probably never been inside an art gallery before - did not need to be bribed or bullied into fulfilling his father's requirements. The crowded galleries of the Palais du Louvre reduced him to an awed silence. He showed little interest in landscape painting, and none at all in still life, but any representation of the human face seemed to fascinate him. Mr Renfrew, improving the occasion as was his duty, embarked upon a lecture on Renaissance art, but Margaret shook her head to silence him. The gesture was unnecessary, for Matthew was not listening. All his concentration was on the pictures in front of him. It was an unexpected enthusiasm for an eleven-year-old boy. Watching him, Margaret was reminded of her father. In just this way had John Junius Lorimer been able to cut himself off from the outside world as he cradled a jade carving in his hand and stroked it with a thick finger.

The excuse for making the long journey south had been that Matthew should be shown the prehistoric cave paintings at Sarlat and Les Eyzies. When the plan was made, William had merely been looking for the most acceptable cultural destination in the neighbourhood of Claudine's village. He had had no reason to expect that his son would have the slightest interest in the paintings. Yet it seemed possible to Margaret that Matthew might after all turn the excuse into a worthwhile experience. Already he had asked to be given a sketchpad. The pencils which came with it dissatisfied him, for he had noticed already that the painters he now admired used light and shade, not hard lines, to achieve their effects. Margaret hoped that he
would find the prehistoric outlines of mammoths and reindeer more satisfactory to copy.

They arrived at Sarlat late in the evening, tired after so much travelling, and were driven straight to their hotel. From the window of her room there, Margaret looked out at the narrow street. Old houses, solidly built in stone and surmounted by pepperpot roofs of grey slate, crowded together on either side of its steep cobbled inclines. Everything within sight appeared to be at least two hundred years old, including the huge four-poster bed in which she was to sleep. In fact she did not sleep well, worried about the interview with Claudine the next day.

In spite of Mr Renfrew's anxiety she went alone, hiring for transport something between a cart and a carriage, drawn by a single horse. The driver was a silent man, who brushed aside the name of the farm she mentioned - asking instead which family lived in it - and then did not speak again. It gave Margaret the opportunity to collect her thoughts and practise in silence the questions she would need to ask.

Her mission was delicate and demanded some subtlety. It would have been difficult even in English, but in French! Like Matthew, she had learned the language from books, and although she had been an apt pupil in the schoolroom, twelve years had passed since then. Claudine had understood little English, so not much help could be expected from that quarter. In every situation which she had so far encountered in France, Margaret had been able to formulate a simple, direct question or statement. But this was going to be neither simple nor direct.

The driver clicked with his tongue, and the horse came to a standstill. The man who appeared at the boundary of his small vineyard at the sound of strangers looked at Margaret in a curious way, but answered her questions civilly enough. Claudine was his sister, he told her. She was married and lived on another farm not far away. With one of her questions already answered, Margaret waited
while the new destination was communicated to the driver, who spat to one side in a gesture of acknowledgement.

Instead of turning back to the road they continued along the same rough track, jolting downwards between wooded cliffs. The sheer sides were pierced with the openings of caves, and Margaret allowed herself to wonder whether Matthew was at this moment enjoying his own expedition with Mr Renfrew to an underground cavern. Then the driver spat again, and she successfully translated this as meaning that they had arrived.

Jumping down to the ground, she looked at the solid stone farmhouse which lay in a hollow in front of her. Its living quarters occupied a single storey, but this was raised from the ground to allow animals to shelter underneath. Cowsheds and a barn stood at right angles to the farmhouse, so that the yard was enclosed on three sides.

The approach was not a welcoming one. Cow dung lay thick in the yard, and its sharp smell carried a long way on such a hot day. A group of mud-caked pigs nosed amongst it, slurping down the kitchen waste which must have been recently flung out of the nearest door. Flies circled by the hundred, but their buzzing was drowned by the barking of dogs. The noisiest and the most vicious in appearance of these was on a long chain which slid up and down a wire, enabling him to guard a considerable area, but his two companions, unconfined, seemed equally unfriendly. Margaret stood still for a moment, hoping that the hubbub would bring a member of the family out to her.

Her hope was quickly realized. A new noise was added to the general confusion, as a dozen or more grey geese came running out of the barn, protesting angrily at their eviction. Behind them - the cause of their haste - a young boy banged with a stick on an old tin bucket and shouted shrill directions about the way they should go.

Margaret stared at the boy. Even in the slums of London she had rarely seen any filthier urchin. His legs rivalled the pigs for muddiness: he seemed not to notice the muck in
which he trod. He had grown too tall for his trousers, which were torn as high as his knees. Margaret noted all this, but immediately ignored it, for her eyes were riveted on his head.

At first sight it seemed that he had been in some ludicrous manner thatched with straw. Certainly there was plenty of straw mixed with his hair, as though he had recently been burrowing in the barn. But the hair itself was straw-coloured. Many small boys had fair hair, Margaret knew - although not so many in this part of France. But she could think of only one grown man who had preserved precisely this shade of yellowness.

Another of her questions had been answered before it was asked. She had found Ralph's son.

Seekers after truth can be divided into two categories: those who hope to find proof of what they already believe, and those who would prefer to discover that no such proof exists. The sight of the Lorimer features, dirty but still distinctive in the unlikely setting of a French farmyard, ought not to have surprised Margaret. Had she not been expecting to find just such a boy? Yet subconsciously she must have been hoping that Claudine had deceived the family, had earned herself a dowry by a lie. Nothing else would explain why the expected meeting came as such an unwelcome surprise.

The boy had seen her now. He gave one last clang with his stick and the geese scurried away with an attempt at high-headed dignity. Then he stood in front of the visitor, waiting for her to speak.

Ralph's long nose and face were recognizable, as well as the hair, but the cheekbones were higher and wider,
narrowing his eyes. In her careful French, Margaret asked him his name.

‘Jean-Claude, Madame.'

‘Is your mother here, Jean-Claude?'

He shouted for her. The dogs, which had reduced their welcome to an occasional menacing growl, began to bark again. A woman came out of the kitchen door and stood at the top of the stone steps, wiping her hands on the apron tied round her waist.