The Lorimer Line (9 page)

‘I've no doubt it's exciting for you, Miss Lorimer,' David said. ‘But it means that our afternoons together have come to an end.'

He had been surprised at the free and easy manner in which her mother had allowed Margaret to accept him as an escort. The simplest enquiry would have elicited the fact that Betty did not keep her mistress company while the houses were inspected. He could hardly expect such a providential state of affairs to arise again.

‘The committee will need to discuss the conversion and equipment of the premises,' said Margaret. ‘There will be frequent meetings. We shall see each other often again.'

‘Only in company.' A kind of desolation swept over him at the thought that she would never know what he wanted to tell her. Dare he declare his feelings to a young woman
so far above him in fortune, a woman to whom he could offer nothing? If he let this last opportunity of privacy slip away, he knew that he would never forgive himself.

He might have hesitated still, but Margaret was pulling up the fur-trimmed hood of her cape. It was a sign that she was ready to venture out into the snow again. Desperation drove him to speech, though even now he found himself unable to broach the subject directly, but came at it sideways.

‘I imagine that before too long you may be looking for a property of a different kind,' he said. Margaret's expression of surprise made it clear that she did not understand what he meant. ‘I mean …' he found himself almost stammering in the effort not to put into words what he meant, but nevertheless to have it understood. ‘I mean that ye'll soon be wishing to set up an establishment of your own. A young lady of your character and prospects - your father must be pursued with proposals for your hand in marriage.'

‘My father has never consented to regard himself as a quarry to be pursued,' said Margaret. Laughing at the idea, she allowed her hand to slacken on her hood so that its fur framed her face loosely and seemed about to slip back again. Whether or not she knew the direction in which David wanted to steer the conversation, it appeared that she was not rejecting the subject as impertinent. ‘You may be sure, Mr Gregson, that in any arrangement,
he
is the one to make the first proposal.'

‘And has he made any such proposal to you yet?'

The laughter faded from Margaret's face.

‘Yes, Mr Gregson. Almost two years ago he planned an alliance which would have been convenient to the business of the Lorimer Line. In case my person should not by itself have been sufficient to allure the other party, a very generous portion would have been allotted to me.'

‘But the arrangement was not concluded?'

‘No. I don't see myself as a princess to be ceded in a
treaty. My brother William, as you may imagine, was not pleased with me. The benefit of the marriage would have been mainly to his ships. We have not been such good friends since that time.'

‘You are telling me that you refused?'

‘I accept your astonishment as a compliment. Yes, I refused.'

‘I've never heard anyone say No to Mr Lorimer.'

‘Had you been within a mile of Brinsley House, you would have heard what happens when anyone does. My father believes that he knows what is best for everyone. It is a sincere belief, and I truly think a well-meaning one. He was not pleased with me. But even he was not prepared to turn the princess into a slave.'

‘He'll no doubt make other suggestions of a similar nature.'

‘I think not, Mr Gregson. He will not lightly expose himself to another refusal on my part, nor will he bend to ask my opinion in advance. It was made plain to me at the time that if I refused the arrangement he had made, I could not expect him to repeat his generosity. I would of course be permitted to remain at home as a companion to my mother.'

‘And does that prospect satisfy you?'

‘Indeed it does not. Any position of dependence is abhorrent to me. I see no means of escaping it, but I would rather be dependent on a husband than on a father. And I have a very strong wish for children of my own.' She checked herself anxiously. ‘I am being very free with my secrets, Mr Gregson. I hope I may rely on your discretion.'

‘Would it be impertinent for me to ask, Miss Lorimer, what your present situation is?'

There was a long silence. If it had been torture for David to begin the conversation, it now seemed that they had reached a point at which it was as painful for Margaret to continue it. He was asking too much, expecting too
much, he realized. She had given him no encouragement to speak, unless smiles and a frankness in conversation were to be counted as encouragement, but his forwardness had not been snubbed. No doubt she had been brought up to believe that it must always be the gentleman who first declared himself. If it had not occurred to her that the difference in their situations was sufficient to make this particular gentleman hesitate before pushing himself forward, that was to her credit. In the eyes of her father, David knew well that he would not be considered a gentleman at all.

‘Forgive me for pressing so many questions on you,' he said. ‘But my courage is unequal to asking the only one which comes close to my heart. I know that in your father's plans there could be no place for myself. And I have no right to hope...'

Once again he floundered to a halt, not daring to look at her. Had he made her angry or embarrassed? Would she turn on her heel and walk away from him for ever? To his astonishment he heard her laugh softly.

‘At our first meeting you boasted of your Scottish directness, Mr Gregson. Has a year in our hypocritical English society robbed you of your talent, as it has of your accent? Or is the subject of slaving the only one which can arouse your passion?'

‘I love you,' he said.

For a long moment they both seemed to be holding their breath. Then Margaret raised her head. Surely it was happiness he saw in her eyes. If so, it was of brief duration, succeeded by the determined expression which he had come to know so well. The hope that she would run into his arms was disappointed. It seemed, instead, that she intended to continue the conversation as though his declaration had not interrupted it.

‘You asked what my situation was, Mr Gregson. Only a short time ago I discussed this question with my father. I
asked him what his attitude would be if I were to find a husband for myself. My father and I quarrel very often, but perhaps it is because - as you said once yourself - we are in some ways alike. We quarrelled on this occasion too, but my question was as steady as his anger. In the end, he respected it and gave me an answer.'

‘Will you tell me what it was?'

‘He reminded me that I had forfeited my claim to any marriage settlement of the kind which he had proposed two years ago. He said that in no circumstances would he renew the offer. He pointed out that I have no fortune of my own. He gave it as his opinion that no gentleman of wealth would wish to marry me under these conditions and that no one without wealth could afford to do so. Because I have been brought up in a houseful of servants he believes that I am incapable of living without them. He warned me that if I found someone whose attentions I wished to encourage I must first of all make it clear to him that I have no expectations of any kind. But if, having considered this fact, any suitor should still wish to approach my father, he would be interrogated only as to the respectability of his way of life, and not as to his fortune.'

‘Am I to understand that you would be permitted to follow your own inclination?'

‘Under the conditions I have described, yes.'

‘Even if your suitor was as humble as myself?'

He foresaw the answer before she spoke, but needed the extra moment for his exhilaration to reach its peak. When he first fell in love with Margaret Lorimer he had puzzled over the reason, wondering what there was in her plain matter-of-factness to explain the strong attraction he felt. By now he had had time to learn the answer. It was the independence of her character which had reached out to engage his sympathies. While he stood there, awkward with admiration, Margaret was laughing.

‘You know little of young ladies, Mr Gregson, if you
think that one of them would risk disputing with such a man as John Junius Lorimer for the sake of establishing anything as valueless as a general principle. My father was well aware of this, and pressed me for a name. In telling you of his conditions, I consider myself to be fulfilling them.' He noticed the merriment fade from her eyes, to be replaced with anxiety. ‘My father told me roundly that my attitude was immodest. You may share his view.'

‘I consider your attitude to be honest and brave and -oh, Miss Lorimer!' Despite the fact that her hand was gloved, he kissed it fervently. An ill-timed cough at the open door interrupted him. Betty Hurst stood there nervously, her fingers and nose red with the cold.

‘Begging your pardon, Miss, but John said to tell you that the wind's blowing the snow into drifts against the hedges. He's feared of trouble with the carriage along the drive.'

‘Our business is almost finished. We shall be with him directly. Go and tell him that.'

She spoke briskly and the girl left at a run. David turned back to Margaret, needing to reassure himself further.

‘If you marry me, Miss Lorimer, there will be no coachman.'

‘I am able to walk,' she said, and her smile was the sweetest he had ever seen. His own, in return, was full of wonder at his own good fortune.

‘Do I understand, then, that your father will be expecting a visit from me?' he asked.

Still laughing, Margaret shook her head.

‘By no means, Mr Gregson. In the first place, I was forced to confess to him that I had no reason to know what your feelings were, since you had been careful to conceal them from me. He felt this, I think, to be to your credit. I made it clear that I was approaching him solely because I wished to discover how you felt and could not in kindness
do so if it were likely to expose you afterwards to humiliation at his hands. In the second place, he is confident that without a marriage settlement I shall be of no more interest to you.'

‘He does me wrong there. He may not expect me, but surely he will not be surprised if I ask for an interview?'

‘He will be surprised, but even the chairman of a bank cannot expect everything in life to be predictable,' said Margaret. ‘I imagine he will survive the shock.'

She pulled up her hood again, indicating that they should go, and they stepped outside into the cold. The bright sunshine of the afternoon had faded with the approach of evening, taking the sparkle from the snow and replacing it with a tinge of icy blue. The huge skeletons of trees on the skyline were frosted with white, and the lawns which separated the two houses of the estate were covered with a single smooth blanket of snow. The wind dropped for a moment, and David felt himself enveloped by the special silence of a snowscape, as though there were no one else in the world but himself and his future bride.

Alas, it was a silence which could not last. He heard from the farmyard nearby the cough of a horse, the stamp of a hoof, the flick of a whip as John stirred the dappled pair into action. But no more than that. The usual grating of the ironbound wheels was muffled and the carriage appeared and moved towards them almost as in a dream.

‘There will never be another place in the world as beautiful as this for me,' David said. He felt Margaret's hand tighten on his arm.

‘You do not think badly of me for my immodesty?' she asked, anxious to be reassured. ‘I have pondered so often what might be best to do. My father commands us both equally. A woman and an employee. We have few weapons at our disposal.'

‘I am ashamed that it should have been left to you to strike the first blow. From now on I shall speak for us
both. You have been brave, not immodest, and we will be as bold to the world and as honest with each other for the rest of our lives as you have dared to be to your father and to me today.'

‘It is not at all the custom.' He saw Margaret's lips curling with merriment and would have laughed aloud in the happiness of his situation had the carriage not by now come to a standstill in front of them. John dismounted to pull down the step and David handed Margaret in to her seat. In Betty's presence neither of them wished to talk. David allowed himself instead to dream.

How to convert the dream into reality was the next question. In the days which followed, it was necessary to plot and plan. Margaret had given him fair warning, and it was not a matter to be taken lightly that a gently reared young woman must somehow be made comfortable on an accountant's poor salary. Miss Reni had abandoned her apartments in his house shortly after the concert at which he had discovered her connection with the Lorimers, and no new tenant had yet been found. David inquired the price of the rooms if added to his own, but the accommodation, at the top of the house, was dark and damp, with sloping ceilings and small dormer windows. It would never do for someone like Margaret Lorimer. He began to see that what he had gladly accepted as a condition might in practice pose difficulties. John Junius Lorimer, of course, would have known this from the start.

When he had considered the situation as thoroughly as he could, David sent a message to the chairman requesting the favour of an interview on a private matter. He was kept waiting for three days and then summoned to the chairman's office. On this occasion he was invited to sit, but that seemed the limit of what the chairman was willing to concede.

The words David had prepared were frozen by the unyielding expression of the man who faced him across the
huge desk. The greenish-blue eyes were cold. It was never possible to deduce from them what John Junius was thinking, and today they were hooded more inscrutably than usual by the lowering of his bushy eyebrows. David licked dry lips and still found himself stammering as he formally asked to be accepted as a suitor for Miss Lorimer's hand in marriage.