The Lorimer Line

by Anne Melville

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I hope you will not think me impertinent if I refer to the case of your son, Mr William Lorimer. He owns a considerable personal shareholding in the bank, from which he receives a substantial income. Yet the Lorimer Line has paid no interest on its loan for the past four years. You spoke of a resumption of payments in the new year, but there is no provision for the arrears to be paid off. At the moment we are relying almost wholly on new deposits to preserve our liquidity. I would like to suggest …’

  When it came to the point, he was not sure what he dared to suggest. But John Junius reacted with none of the coldness which he had expected.

  ‘It would do my son no harm to be reminded of the principles on which a profitable business should be conducted. You have my permission to approach him directly with any proposals which you would suggest if he were not related to me. Subject to the proviso that he should not be pressed to take any steps damaging to the long-term interest of the Lorimer Line. In the interests of family harmony, I would prefer you not to tell me what you suggest. I have no doubt I shall hear soon enough from him if your behaviour is thought to be intolerable.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘And that is all, Mr Gregson? Then I will express my hope that our association may be a long and successful one.’

  To David’s amazement, he found that he was being invited to shake hands. It was typical of the old man, that he should behave in almost every respect like a tyrant and yet be able by a brief relaxation of his intransigence to evoke something very near to affection. David could not have claimed that he understood Margaret’s father, but he was beginning to like him.

  9

  Anti-climax is an inevitable ingredient of any supreme occasion. The eye of a great personage will rest for only a fraction of a second on some effect to which hours of preparation have been devoted. But once the prospect of a royal procession has set its own hysteria in motion, only the most cynical citizen is capable of announcing that he will treat the day as though it were as drab as any other. As the date approached on which the Prince of Wales was to visit Bristol, the city was transformed by pennons and streamers. Triumphal arches were erected over all the principal streets, some in Tudor style and some in Gothic. Venetian masts and flags sprang up in a forest of festivity and every tradesman competed with his neighbours in adorning his premises with flowers and flags.

  Long before these decorations appeared, to the excitement of the general mass of the citizens, the fashionable society of Bristol was plunged into a whirl of activity. By the middle of June there was hardly a yard of silk or an inch of lace still to be found in the city. Glovemakers and bootmakers were forced to turn away the business of all but their most valued customers if their orders were to be completed in time, and dressmakers scoured the streets for young girls with fingers quick and clean enough to sew beads on to satins. Bosom friendships ended in tears when it was discovered that a dinner invitation had been refused in the hope that some grander offer might arrive, or that a cook had been enticed from one kitchen to another.

  The Lorimers were not immune from the general flurry. John Junius himself was required to approve the list of guests for the dinner to be held at Brinsley House before the ball and to discuss the protocol of their seating. Georgiana, in her boudoir, received a stream of visitors. The cook came several times to discuss the menu and even the head gardener was summoned inside the house to confirm that he could provide all the flowers needed for the elaborate arrangements which his mistress had in mind. The corset-maker was received in private session, and as soon as her work was done it was followed by a series of fittings for a new gown.

  Margaret was also required to be available for fittings, although not until a dispute between her mother and herself had been resolved. Georgiana considered that a young woman announcing her engagement should wear white. Margaret knew that the colour did not suit her freckled skin and argued that no convention existed to require it. Her determination won the day. She was allowed to choose a silk of emerald green shot with turquoise. The dress left her shoulders bare, with only a short cuffed sleeve at the top of her arm, and the embroidered neckline was cut straight and low. On the evening of the ball Betty dressed her long hair in a way which she had already practised under the guidance of Marie-Claire. Part of it was swept up to the top of Margaret’s head and fastened in place by a pair of emerald-tipped pins lent by her mother: the rest was brushed to fall in a long wavy tail down the back of her neck. For the first time in her life, it seemed to Margaret as Betty held up the glass for her to see, she looked almost pretty. But perhaps it was only the happiness in her eyes which deceived her into thinking so.

  Georgiana had not discussed her own gown with anyone. To set off the jewels which her husband had given her, she had chosen a creamy white fabric, decorated at the neck and all over the skirt with tiers of black silk tasselling. For a good many years she had been too plump to be beautiful, but her skin was good, and on the night of the ball she revealed it generously. Pale and smooth, it formed a perfect background for a necklace which caused even Margaret, who had seen the original stones, to gasp with wonder at its magnificence.

  The craftsman had done his work with all the skill expected of Parker’s of Bristol, jewellers to generations of merchant venturers. The centrepiece was a pendant in the form of a rose. A single large ruby was surrounded by others cut to the shape of petals, each set in silver and surrounded by tiny diamonds. Other rubies, similarly set, were joined to form the rest of the necklace; and the rose motif, on a smaller scale, was repeated in the rich drop ear-rings. Georgiana’s hair was dressed high behind a matching tiara, and there in the centre glittered another rose fashioned from the deep red rubies. This rose was surrounded by leaves outlined in tiny diamonds and mounted on springs to form tremblers.

  For her dinner party - although at this hour of a summer evening it was still light - Georgiana had ordered the lighting of hundreds of candles in the Venetian chandeliers used in the great dining room before John Junius had installed gas lighting in Brinsley House. Their flickering lights danced in Georgiana’s hair and round her neck. As they waited for their guests to arrive, Margaret kissed her mother in impulsive admiration and John Junius nodded his approval.

  David came early, as he had been instructed. So did Sophie and William - both in a bad mood. William’s bow to his future brother-in-law was abrupt and hardly civil.

  ‘Take no notice of William’s brusqueness,’ whispered Margaret, drawing David a little to one side in the pause before the guests from outside the family arrived. ‘He is worried because Sophie is unwell.’ It would be indelicate, she felt, to go into more detail about her sister-in-law’s condition. But all the family knew that Sophie had not wished to find herself pregnant again so soon after Beatrice’s arrival, and particularly not on an occasion like this. She would have preferred to wear a more elegant gown and be able to dance until morning.

  David shook his head.

  ‘I fear I am responsible for your brother’s black looks,’ he said. ‘He is not best pleased with me for my way of conducting the bank’s business.’

  ‘Why, what have you done?’

  ‘I made a suggestion to him a few weeks ago. Instead of adopting it, he chose to dispose of his shareholding in the bank. I suspect that he acted in a fit of bad temper caused by what he saw as my impertinence, and now perhaps he regrets his action. I trust he will not allow his annoyance to spoil the evening.’

  ‘William and I have never been close,’ Margaret reassured him. ‘If there is to be any dispute between my brother and my husband, you need not doubt where my support will lie.’

  She squeezed his arm, but their conversation was interrupted by the approach of another carriage. Ransome moved across the hall to the front door and David stepped a little to one side, as befitted someone whose presence had yet to be explained. Margaret stood beside her parents to receive their guests.

  John Junius had invited the most s
ubstantial of his friends to make up his table before the ball. They were all rich, and tonight their riches were on display. Not for many years had even the great dining room at Brinsley House sparkled so extravagantly with so many dazzling bodice and hair ornaments, so many pearl studs and diamond pins.

  Georgiana outshone them all, and Margaret could tell that her parents had planned it and were proud of it. It was as though John Junius, for the first time in his daughter’s memory, was making a deliberate public exhibition of his fortune. Never before had he behaved in such an ostentatious manner. On any other occasion Margaret might have paused to puzzle over something so uncharacteristic, but tonight she could think of little except David.

  There was to be a late supper at the ball, so that the dinner could have been a simple one, but she noticed that the meal was unusually extravagant too. The first course was a clear turtle soup which she knew must have cost a guinea a quart. A dish of salmon was followed by an entrée of sweetbreads. Lamb had been chosen for the relevé; and then came rôtis of duckling and guinea fowl. Two savoury entremets followed, and three sweets. But the high point of the meal was undoubtedly reached when eight beautifully arranged dishes of fruit were carried in, for William had provided from a ship lately home from the West Indies, specimens of pineapple and papaya, melon and banana –so exotic that many of the guests had never tasted them before.

  It was at the end of the meal that Margaret’s great moment came. Her father arose to announce the engagement and propose a toast to the young couple. The secret had been well kept and Margaret could guess that her father’s friends were startled. Back in their own homes they would no doubt speculate about the unknown young man, and perhaps express unkind surpise. But for the moment their host’s own firm expression of pleasure was enough, at the end of such a good meal, to bring warmth to their congratulations. David, slim and handsome, was so very much the best-looking man there that Margaret could feel nothing but pride.

  Since most of the guests were of the same age as their host and hostess, they were in no great hurry to move on to the ball. To be seen there at some point was all they wanted: they did not expect actually to dance. But for once John Junius seemed sensitive to the brightness of his daughter’s eyes. This was to be Margaret’s evening, and if she wished to dance, then dance she should. He cracked his fingers to hurry the servants, to such good effect that the Lorimer party arrived at the Assembly Rooms before the first quadrille was called.

  They waited impatiently for the entrance of the Prince of Wales, who came at that moment, preceded by a fanfare of trumpets. He walked with dignity down a corridor formed by the other guests, an avenue of swaying ostrich plumes and dipping diamonds as the ladies in the front rank tried while curtseying both to drop their eyes demurely and to peep as the Prince passed them. He was reputed to be handsome, but Margaret found him already too stout for her taste. Her hand tightened on David’s arm as they straightened themselves and watched as the mayoress, flushed with anxiety, allowed the city’s royal guest to lead her on to the floor for the opening of the ball.

  Margaret too found the excitement of the occasion almost too great to bear, but for a different reason. The ballroom, with its red velvet curtains and gilt pillars and chairs, was familiar to her, but never before had the air been so heavily scented with flowers. Never before, when the dancers had taken their places, had the bandsmen in their red jackets played with such sparkle and dash. It was not this, however, which made her heart beat faster, but the ecstasy caused by the touch of her fiancé.

  David danced extremely well. Now that she was openly acknowledged as his future wife, Margaret felt bold enough to express a teasing surpise.

  ‘A month ago I would have disgraced you,’ he confessed as they resumed their seats in one of the alcoves. ‘But I chanced to encounter Miss Reni one day. Although her talent is for the piano, it occurred to me that she might be equally proficient in teaching the dance, or might at least recommend someone else who would do so.’

  ‘And she taught you herself?’

  ‘With great speed,’ said David. ‘It’s not for me to claim that she was successful.’

  ‘I thought that Luisa must have left Bristol, since I have heard nothing from her,’ Margaret said. ‘Where is she living now?’

  David hesitated. For a second the jealousy which Margaret had first felt when she saw him with Luisa returned, but she quickly realized that the address was the cause of his embarrassment. It was a house in The Gazebo. Although situated in a good part of the city - in fact, not too far from Brinsley House itself - this was a terrace which suffered from the same reputation as the street from which she had once seen Walter Crankshaw emerge. As David mentioned the name, she could see that he was wondering whether she would guess its significance.

  ‘With a baby to care for, I suppose it is necessary for her to have a protector,’ she said. It was not a sentiment which her mother would have approved, and Margaret herself could not help being a little shocked, but she did her best to keep the doubt from her voice.

  David seemed relieved at the quickness of her understanding that Luisa must have become a kept woman.

  ‘I hope I don’t need to assure you that the protector is not myself,’ he said, smiling. ‘And now, may I be allowed to fill in my share of your programme? My lack of time for practice means that I have not yet mastered the Highland Reel. I must leave that to one of your other admirers.’

  ‘On the contrary, you must sit it out with me, or I shall be jealous to think of you sitting out with someone else.’

  They laughed together as he wrote his name in her programme. Then they looked up in surprise. John Junius Lorimer and his wife were making what could only be called a progress down one side of the assembly hall.

  ‘I have rarely seen my father so expansive in public,’ Margaret said. ‘As a rule he has little use for social occasions. And to tell you the truth, since you are to be a member of the family, he has little use for my mother’s company. Or perhaps it is she who shuns him. Certainly they are not often seen together.’

  ‘It would be wrong of me to criticize my employer and future father-in-law,’ said David. ‘But my impression is that he keeps company not so much with Mrs Lorimer as with her jewels. They are certainly most striking. They must be one of the most precious heirlooms of your family.’

  ‘You are mistaken,’ she told him. ‘They are new. A gift for tonight. I suppose every family heirloom must make a first appearance, though.’

  ‘New?’ queried David.

  Margaret wondered why he seemed so thoughtful.

  ‘My mother often complains that she is given few opportunities to show herself in public as a rich man’s wife. Is it so strange that my father should yield at last?’

  ‘Your father is not a man who yields in anything,’ said David, ‘except for some reason of his own.’ The thought seemed to disturb him. ‘I suspect that he has some reason for his indulgence.’

  ‘At least it appears to be achieving its effect,’ Margaret pointed out. The Prince had begun to move informally amongst the guests, stopping from time to time so that the mayor might present those citizens most worthy of notice. John Junius and Georgiana Lorimer were at this moment receiving such a mark of favour.

  ‘I must take an early opportunity to ask Mrs Lorimer to dance,’ said David when the Prince moved on. ‘And I see your brother is coming over to you.’

  Margaret watched him approach her parents. It was proper that Georgiana, still flushed with her moment of social triumph, should give him the dance; but unexpected that she should actually take the floor with him, especially as the next number was to be a Galop. William, who had joined Margaret, noted the fact with disapproval.

  ‘Mama exerts herself too much tonight,’ he said. ‘Already after dinner I thought her colour was high.’

  ‘With excitement rather than effort, surely,’ suggested Margaret. She saw David bow as the vigorous dance ended, leaving Georgiana fanning herself in a manne
r which bore out her son’s opinion, and then retiring to the coolness of the terrace. When she turned back, William had disappeared as though to avoid David.

  ‘The next dance is a valse,’ David reminded her. ‘I can allow no one other than myself to take advantage of its intimacies.’

  ‘I hope I have not found myself an overbearing husband,’ Margaret laughed as she took his arm again.

  ‘By no means. The situation will simply be that my judgement will always be better than yours, and your own good sense will compel you to agree with me. That is the basis for a happy marriage.’

  His teasing increased her fondness. She looked at him lovingly as they took the floor. The bay rum which had smoothed down his hair at dinner no longer held his dark curls in check and his brown eyes were at once merry and loving. Margaret blessed her good fortune. Never had she seen a man she liked better. That he should admire her too was a miracle she could hardly believe.

  ‘I think I shall never be as happy in my whole life again as I am at this moment,’ she said softly as they began to dance and she felt David’s arm tighten round her waist.

  ‘I believe a time will come when we shall both be even happier,’ he said. ‘But I grant that this is enough for the present.’

  Putting Luisa’s lessons to good use, he swept her round the floor. Margaret was conscious of her father’s eyes following her. She knew his opinion of the dance - he was old-fashioned enough still to regard it as immoral - but she could distinguish no sign of disapproval in his expression. It was as though he were determined to present himself to the world tonight as a contented as well as a generous man. This was without doubt the most perfect evening of her life.

  But she had been right, all the same, when she recognized that such happiness could not last.

  10

  On the morning after a ball, jewels are locked away in the strong rooms of banks, dresses are returned to their closets, and ladies in middle life whose unaccustomed exercise has extended throughout the night take to their beds, giving orders that they should not be disturbed. All this is taken for granted; but it served on this occasion to disguise an unexpected and alarming consequence of the ball.