The Lorimer Line

by Anne Melville

  ‘You have in mind a post similar to your present one?’

  David had hoped that this question would be asked, for he had already decided what answer he would give.

  ‘To work as accountant in the head office of a bank such as Lorimer’s has been of great value to me,’ he said. ‘It is my opinion that I should now be capable of acting as a manager, perhaps at first of one of the minor branches of a metropolitan bank. In a small town this might afford Miss Lorimer a status of which she need not feel ashamed. Thenceforward I would rely on my own abilities to win promotion.’

  Yet another silence settled over the chairman’s large office, in which the air as well as the furniture seemed not to have been changed for fifty years. David judged that behind the frowning expression a decision was being made. Perhaps, he thought, it had been made even before the interview began, subject only to his own satisfactory performance. At any rate, the verdict flowed out without any hesitation.

  ‘I have been over this matter with Miss Lorimer not once but twice,’ said the chairman. ‘On the first occasion at her request and again yesterday at my own. She is a stubborn young woman, and I should warn you that you may not always find that as much to your advantage as it is today. But I am not a duke or a marquis, insistent on pedigree with every marriage. My family has attained its present position by the exercise of its own talents. Never let it be said that a Lorimer undervalues skill and ambition. I have accordingly informed Miss Lorimer that she may receive you at Brinsley House.’

  David bowed his head, ostensibly in thanks but actually in relief and pleasure and surprise. He was allowed no time to speak.

  ‘I do not intend to change my mind on the question of a settlement,’ the chairman said severely, as though repenting of his weakness; but then went on in a more encouraging manner. ‘However, although her behaviour in the past may have been foolish, Miss Lorimer remains my daughter, and I shall make her a small personal allowance. As for yourself, you are correct in believing that the status of my son-in-law cannot be a matter of indifference to me. I shall recommend to the Board of Directors your appointment as manager of Lorimer’s Bank with effect from May.’

  This time it was all David could do not to gasp with amazement. What he had said earlier had certainly been intended to win the chairman’s support for his advancement, but he had not anticipated any height as dizzy as this. Whatever the chairman recommended, the directors would accept. This could be no spur-of-the-minute decision. It had all been thought out in advance, no doubt from the moment when David requested the interview.

  ‘Mr Lynch will be taking his departure then?’ he queried.

  ‘He will. He is not yet, however, aware of the fact, and he will not learn it from you.’ Suddenly the great eyebrows lifted and the whole force of the chairman’s stare was directed at David. John Junius Lorimer knew as well as Jehovah himself how to make clear the orders which were not to be disobeyed. ‘You will leave for London at the end of this week with a recommendation to a friend of mine at Gurney’s Bank. He will instruct you in those areas of management which are not ruled solely by accountancy. When you leave Bristol, you will give no indication to any of your acquaintances, and particularly not to any member of the staff here, that there is any possibility of your ever returning.’

  ‘Not even to Miss Lorimer?’

  ‘I have already told Miss Lorimer that I require her to accept a separation of three months in order that her feelings for you, and yours for her, may be tested. The stubbornness to which I have already referred has caused her to accept my statement as a challenge. She takes it at its face value. She certainly will hope for your reappearance in May. But she must know nothing of my intentions as far as the bank is concerned.’

  This time the silence was a final one. All he intended to say had been said.

  David stood up.

  ‘I hope you will allow me to express my appreciation of your attitude sir,’ he said. ‘What you have offered is much more than I deserve or could have presumed to hope for. I would like to say, if I may, that my admiration for yourself is exceeded only by my affection for Miss Lorimer.’

  John Junius Lorimer’s head bowed in a nod which was so slight as to be almost imperceptible. It was a gesture which accepted the sentiments and dismissed the speaker. David bowed in farewell and withdrew.

  Back at his desk he sat without moving, almost unable to believe his luck. What would his mother have said, he wondered with amusement, if she could have heard that fulsome compliment he had paid the old man? She would have sighed to discover how quickly her straight-speaking Scottish son had been corrupted into mouthing the insincerities of Southerners. It was even likely, David realized, that the chairman himself had little use for such flattery. But he would accept it as an indication that his future son-in-law had good manners and respect for the way of the world. The whole interview had been satisfactory beyond all expectations.

  Mr Lynch, passing in front of David’s desk at that moment, paused to stare pointedly at the ledger which lay closed on its surface. David dipped his quill in the ink as a sign that he was resuming work. His gesture of apology was a mock one, but he acted it well. He knew what Mr Lynch could not guess, but he must wait a little while for his triumph.

  6

  The secret impulses of the heart may drive a young woman down unexpected paths in the maze of social observances. When she was heart-free, with no attachment - either formal or unofficial - to bind her, Margaret Lorimer had spent little time enjoying the more frivolous diversions of her contemporaries. She loved to dance, for example, but disliked the prickly hedges of etiquette which gave significance to the smallest gesture. Dances were too often organized as though they had been invented by the old for the purpose of marrying off the young.

  During the months of David’s absence, she was surprised to realize that her attitude had changed. Naturally she missed him, but the security which she felt in his love made the parting bearable. Her happiness at being wanted relaxed her normally firm expression, and her new gaiety was quickly observed. It was ironic that while her heart yearned for one man only she should find herself pursued in an unaccustomed way by so many male partners, but she was easier in their company than before because she knew - although they did not - that they could never be of more than passing interest to her. She accepted invitations to evening concerts or subscription balls or private routs as though her promise to John Junius demanded it. Her father had required only silence, but she was impelled to go further, justifying each venture into mixed society as a deliberate means of concealing her true situation.

  Her father encouraged this increased social activity, and pressed new gowns upon her with a generosity which caused Margaret to wonder whether they represented a disguised contribution to her future life. John Junius’s willingness to accept David as her suitor had revived all the warm affection which she had felt for her father but was not encouraged to express. Was it reciprocated? That was more difficult to tell, but perhaps he had concealed his feelings for so long that he could not now bring himself to put them into words, expressing them instead in generosities.

  Yet though Margaret’s family life at this time was unusually warm and her social life unusually crowded, the days passed slowly. Spring in that year of 1878 seemed very long in coming. Bristol lay snugly protected beneath the heights of Clifton, but even in the heart of the city, to which the westerly winds usually brought warm Atlantic rain, the snow showed no sign of melting. For almost ten days in March, when the sharp heads of daffodils were pushing upwards into the frosty air, the most sheltered basins of the dock were frozen. This enabled skating parties to be added to the list of pleasures on offer, but made the month of May seem still as distant as when David had departed for London.

  The need for a new distraction combined with the strain of secrecy to make Margaret seek an interview with her father one evening. She found him working at his papers in the library which he used as a study when the tower room was too c
old. Georgiana rarely sat long in the drawing room, unless there were guests and the possibility of making up a table at cards. When she retired to her boudoir it was usual for John Junius to retreat to the library in order that he should be free from interruption. She could tell on this occasion that he was irritated by her intrusion and unwilling to be distracted. Sheets of figures were spread over his desk and had caused the frown-lines of displeasure to deepen between his eyes.

  ‘Yes?’

  Margaret recognized that her intrusion was badly timed. But to retreat without speaking would be to annoy him all the more, and so would any elaborate apology. She hurried to put her request into the briefest form.

  ‘I would like, Papa, to invite Lydia to stay for a short visit.’

  She watched him gradually pulling his mind away from whatever was worrying him and making the effort to recall which one of her friends she meant.

  ‘Miss Morton? Naturally you are welcome to entertain her here whenever you like. There is no necessity to inquire of me, if the date is convenient to your mother.’

  Margaret had known that, of course, but needed a way of leading to her real request.

  ‘She has recently become engaged, Papa. She can talk of nothing but her handsome lieutenant. He has been posted to Quetta, which is why I have suggested the visit. It is to console her, for she is sure that her heart will break. You told me that I should not mention Mr Gregson’s name, nor my feelings for him, to any of my friends, and I have done as you asked. But it is very hard to have no confidante at all. And it will be doubly hard when my guest is so much burdened by her own separation.’

  John Junius sighed. Reluctantly he was preparing to give his full concentration to the matter.

  ‘If your understanding with Mr Gregson breaks down for any reason, Margaret, and if in the meantime you have allowed it to become known, your situation will be a humiliating one.’

  ‘I am sure that will not happen,’ she said firmly. ‘In any case, my friend will be discreet if I ask her. Doubly so if told she is entrusted with a secret known to no one else.’

  ‘No doubt,’ her father replied dryly. ‘But I am aware that girls like to chatter. Although I sympathize with your wish to make your situation public, we cannot be sure that Miss Morton may not succumb to the same wish. There is only one way to keep a secret, Margaret. I must ask you to observe the wishes I have previously expressed on the subject.’

  Margaret had long ago realized the wisdom of defying her father only on matters of extreme importance. It was necessary to make small surrenders if she were ever to win any battles at all, and to tell the truth her hopes of success in this particular campaign had never been high. She sighed more loudly than was necessary, but already her father had returned his frowning concentration to the figures in front of him.

  As she closed the library door she saw her younger brother standing in the shadow nearby. It was clear from his troubled expression that he too sought an interview with John Junius and needed time to collect his courage before facing it. He came forward as Margaret moved away.

  ‘I could hear that there was someone in the library,’ he said. ‘Although not the words. Were you asking for something? And did you have any luck?’

  Margaret shook her head.

  ‘Take my advice, Ralph. Postpone your interview. Papa is not in his most amenable mood and I have already irritated him by interrupting his work. If you go in now, you will have to bear my share of his annoyance as well as your own.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning.’

  They moved away together. Margaret’s thoughts were on the forthcoming visit from her friend, so she made no attempt to hold Ralph in conversation. After they had parted, she felt guilty, for it was clear enough that he had a problem to discuss. What could it be? If it was important, he would have mentioned it to her, she assured herself, and gave the matter no more thought as she went to give instructions that one of the guest rooms should be prepared.

  Anticipation of the visit made time pass more quickly, and she was happy and excited by the time her friend arrived at Brinsley House the next Sunday. In spite of the fact that Lydia was younger than Margaret, the two girls had been friends since their earliest childhood; although they saw less of each other now that the Morton family had bought themselves a country estate near Bath. Lydia was so far from being good-looking that William had once, with the taunting typical of an elder brother, accused Margaret of seeking out as a friend the only girl in England who could make her seem beautiful by comparison. But Lydia contrived that her ugliness should not be noticed by keeping her face so much moved by animation that no one had the opportunity to study it in repose. She teased everyone she met - even, to Margaret’s astonishment, her own parents - and her merriment and perpetual good nature made her a most welcome companion. The two young women embraced each other with enthusiasm, and there was a great deal of laughter and chattering as Betty unpacked Lydia’s valise and trunk.

  When the visitor was ready, they went together to Georgiana’s boudoir. At this time of year the weather outside justified the fire which roared in the big stone fireplace, making the room cosy rather than oppressive. Georgiana, too, was less petulant than usual as she welcomed her daughter’s friend. She had always liked Lydia, whose conversation was devoted to such interesting subjects as fashions and scandals and who - unlike Margaret - did not expect her to concern herself with topics like the insanitary housing conditions of the poor or the deficiencies of the city’s water supply. Bath society, unlike that of Bristol, was kept in touch with metropolitan tastes by those who still came in the season to take the cure - although Lydia was careful to point out that nowadays these visitors tended to be elderly and could not safely be assumed to be leaders of fashion.

  ‘But you are to have your own excitement, greater than anything Bath can offer!’ Lydia remembered. ‘The Prince of Wales!’

  Margaret and Georgiana looked at each other and found that neither was enlightened.

  ‘Surely you have heard! The Prince of Wales is to visit Bristol in July. It is only for some dull exhibition, but the city will surely not allow the occasion to pass without celebration. There is certain to be a ball.’

  ‘No doubt.’ Georgiana’s eyes had sparkled with unusual interest at the mention of the Prince, but she was quick to shade them again with sulkiness. ‘However, if there is I shall not attend it.’

  ‘A ball graced by a royal personage - Mama, I defy you to resist!’ exclaimed Margaret, laughing.

  ‘I have nothing to wear.’

  ‘Papa would be the first to recognize that on such an occasion a new ball gown would be a necessity. He has been most generous to me in these past weeks, and for events of lesser importance.’

  ‘There are times when silks and satins are not enough,’ said Georgiana. ‘Look in my jewel box and tell me what you see. Garnets and glass! It is ridiculous. I have told your father over and over again that his wife might as well appear naked as display trifles so unworthy of his dignity.’

  This time it was Lydia and Margaret who caught each other’s eye and decided that it was time for the guest’s arrival to be formally notified also to her host. They walked down the main staircase and through the central hall in which John Junius’s Eastern art was displayed.

  ‘Show me your pet squirrel,’ demanded Lydia, pausing on the way to the study door. When they were little girls together they had not, of course, been allowed to touch the jade animals. It had been one of the indications of accepted maturity when first of all Margaret and then her friends had been allowed to handle the treasures.

  Margaret smiled and turned back towards the case in which the squirrel was kept. Then her smile changed to a frown.

  ‘Papa must have rearranged them,’ she said. She walked round the hall, looking quickly at each case. Then she made a second circuit and this time studied the collection more intently. Lydia waited to be told what the matter was.

  ‘All my favourites have gone,’ said Marga
ret. ‘And also all those which Papa told me were the best pieces, though I might not admire them myself. There are some new animals here. I am no very good judge, but to me they look much inferior to the old.’ She unlocked the nearest case and took out a coiled snake. Still frowning, she stroked it slowly. But it felt wrong to the touch, and the carving was crude compared to the missing pieces. Her mind was still on the small mystery as she led Lydia into her father’s library.

  On Sundays John Junius did not work. But after the rituals of morning service and midday Sunday dinner had been observed he allowed himself to read any journals which had arrived during the week; and even for this relaxation he preferred the high-backed leather chair behind his desk to the elegant but uncomfortable sofas of the drawing room.

  Margaret could tell as soon as she went in that her father was in an affable mood. She despised herself for the feeling of anxiety which afflicted her on each approach to his presence, but it had its reward in the relief when the atmosphere proved to be serene. John Junius welcomed Lydia politely. He remembered to congratulate her on her engagement and even listened with no visible boredom to her description of her lieutenant’s charms. His general good temper emboldened Lydia to repeat to him the conversation she had recently had with his wife.

  ‘I fear I have done you a grave disservice, Mr Lorimer,’ she said, after the coming of the Prince of Wales had been described. ‘Mrs Lorimer may at this moment be designing for herself the hugest and most expensive bodice ornament that Bristol society will ever have seen. Nothing less than diamonds, I fear, will satisfy her.’