Almost as though it did not concern her, Margaret Lorimer listened to the lies. Her father had been right to believe that he still had friends. They united now to ensure that no stigma should attach itself to the name of a man who had deserved respect in his day. On the morning of the funeral they brought the city to a standstill. Even the Exchange was closed for three hours in tribute to the head of one of Bristol’s great families.
His children had known their father only as an old man, slow-moving in body and autocratic in temper. But he had been born into a world threatened by revolution and as a boy had shivered under rumours of invasion. If England had moved from those unsettled years to a state of security amounting almost to staidness, it was due to the efforts of men like these. If he became rich beyond the dreams of most men, at least he could claim that he had carried others with him to prosperity, and not all of them had shared his fall from it. There were still a few of his fellow-citizens old enough to remember a sturdy young man with bright red curly hair and a flair for recognizing the industries and inventions which would most successfully shape the new society. He was hailed as the last of the Bristol merchant adventurers, and even those who had so recently cursed his name were prepared, for this one day, to recognize his achievements.
Margaret had wept for the death of a mother she had never greatly loved, but she shed no tears for the father whose affection she had always craved. She came to terms very quickly with the fact of his death, regretting only that it could not have occurred a little earlier, to spare him the anxieties of his last months. With his death, she hoped that the period of nightmare had come to an end, but found that for herself it was only just beginning.
While John Junius lived it had been possible, although not always easy, to remain loyal to him, refusing to believe the attacks on his integrity. It had even been possible to let David Gregson go from her life because she believed then that their differences of opinion could never be reconciled. But from the moment before her father’s death when Mr Broadbent first privately expressed his doubts about the chairman’s case she had begun to realize that John Junius had not been entirely blameless. His motives might have been for the best, but it became increasingly clear as time passed that at least some of his actions had been illegal. Little by little Margaret was forced to admit to herself that David’s view of the situation was probably correct. The chairman of Lorimer’s must have hoped that confidence would be maintained for the short period in which the bank was at risk, so that no one would ever have any reason or right to investigate the methods used to achieve this; but he had taken steps to ensure that if such an investigation should in fact become necessary, there would be a scapegoat ready to carry the blame.
In this, posthumously, he was successful. Even before his death there had been many who were prepared to give the old man the benefit of a good many doubts because he could be seen to be suffering as much as the other shareholders. Now a more definite version of the affair found currency among the business community. It was the young manager who had defrauded the bank and hoodwinked its respected chairman, and who made off in the end with a tidy fortune from other people’s money. The theory found favour with those - and they were many - who found it difficult to understand how gold could simply disappear. Many a ruined widow and bankrupted tradesman wept or swore at the thought of David Gregson setting himself up as a rich man under another name in some far-off part of the world where he would never be traced.
Because Margaret knew a little more than this, she was able to force the facts from a reluctant Mr Broadbent. It was not the sort of affair, he told her, which a young lady could be expected to understand; and Mr Lorimer, even dead, was a client whose confidences must be respected. But Margaret could be as determined as her father, and the growing suspicion that she had made a mistake made her persistent. She suspected that she was at least as intelligent as Ralph, who was considered fit to benefit from an Oxford education. If she had behaved stupidly in the past, it might be partly because she had been treated as though she were stupid. She had a right to be told the facts which had changed the future course of her life. If in the end she proved too unintelligent to understand them, that was another matter, and no concern of Mr Broadbent’s.
He showed her the statement which David had left behind and she was convinced by its truth. That night her tears were of a different kind. Often enough since their last meeting she had been unhappy because it had been necessary for them to part. Now for the first time she knew it had not been necessary at all. It was David who had deserved her loyalty. Even if he had not been able to take her with him he should have sailed with the assurance that she would join him one day. Instead, she had dismissed him in anger, defending the undeserving and accusing where she should have been devoted. Because the fault was all her own, this was the unkindest cut of all.
Perhaps it was not too late. If it was possible to find out where he was she could send a letter of apology, a plea that he would after all allow her to join him. The next morning she went down to the floating harbour. David had mentioned Jamaica, so she asked particularly about this destination and soon learned that one of her brother’s ships had sailed for Kingston only a few days after her quarrel with David. No one she spoke to, though, knew or was prepared to say whether the Diana had taken any passenger.
‘How can I find out?’ Margaret asked William when next she saw him. Since her father’s death, she had returned to live at The Ivies.
‘When the Diana returns to port, you can ask her captain, or I will do so for you. But you must consider that Gregson will probably have used a false name, and may well have offered bribes to make sure that no one would reveal his destination. After all, he was evading a criminal charge. He would not wish to be traced. You may be right in thinking that he has gone to Jamaica, although there are few prospects there for a man without capital. Australia is a possibility too. He could have travelled there on the Rosa. But I think it more likely that he would have taken the steamship to New York.’
‘Or San Francisco? Might he have gone there?’ Margaret’s questions at the harbour had revealed that another of the Lorimer ships had sailed for that destination within the appropriate period.
‘That is another possibility. But in that case your chances of finding him must be small. It will be two years or more before the Flora returns from San Francisco. Even if her captain confirms that a passenger disembarked there, you would have no reason to believe that he would have stayed in the city. The American continent is a large place.’
‘A man cannot completely disappear!’ cried Margaret.
‘It is the easiest thing in the world. Few men wish to do so, because most hope to protect their rights in some property or other, even if it is only their reputation. But Gregson has lost his reputation already. He will take a new name and go where no questions will be asked. You would have little hope of finding him even if you knew his first destination.’
‘I think you hope I will never see him again,’ said Margaret.
‘I never pretended to find the match a suitable one.’
‘And what more suitable match am I likely to make now?’ Margaret asked him, knowing that there was no answer. She still felt that Jamaica was David’s most likely destination, and said so again. ‘He was very short of money when he left. The cost of a passage to San Francisco would have been beyond his means, I think.’
‘He had no need to pay. The letter I gave him would have carried him to any destination served by the Lorimer Line.’
‘You gave him a letter? A passage?’ Margaret stared at her brother, hardly believing what she had heard.
‘I thought it the least I could offer. His troubles stemmed from his connection with our family. And you yourself passed on what I took to be a message from him, that I owed my own fortunate escape to his intervention.’
‘But when you heard that he had left, you said that he was foolish, that it would seem to prove his guilt.’
William shrugged
his shoulders.
‘The offer of a gift does not force a man to accept it. Without my help he would have had no choice but to stay. I gave him the choice, no more.’
Margaret had controlled her temper only while she was taking care to understand the situation. Now it flared as she accused her brother of deliberately leading David into a false position, while William in turn expressed his anger at the damage which had been done by the statement which David left behind - a piece of spitefulness which had led directly to their father’s death. This was not the first quarrel they had had, for their childhood relationship had often been stormy, but it was by far the bitterest. Margaret was still flushed with indignation when she left William’s study and went up to the drawing room.
Sophie was sitting there alone. She did not look up from her needlework as her sister-in-law came into the room.
‘I intend to visit my friend Lydia Morton in Bath for a few days,’ Margaret announced without preamble. She had an open invitation to go there at any time and now, when she could hardly bear to remain under William’s roof for another night, was the opportunity to make use of it.
‘I am sure you will be a great comfort to her in her disappointment,’ murmured Sophie. ‘And I suppose that while you are there you may hear of a family where you could go as governess. You would not wish, I imagine, to take up such a situation in Bristol.’
It was the second shock of the day, and the unkinder. Margaret stared without speaking at her brother’s wife. Sophie had by now completely recovered from the birth of her third child. Her tightly laced figure was almost as slim as before, her gown was elegant and her hair was dressed on top of her head as elaborately as though she planned an evening in society instead of being confined to the house by this second period of mourning. The unrelieved black which made Margaret seem colourless suited Sophie’s complexion and emphasized her beauty.
But her voice was cold, making it clear that she was determined to forget the night when Margaret had untied her nightgown and seen her writhing naked on the bed. She had been glad of help then, but was now ashamed of her need. Perhaps she found it difficult to feel dignified even to herself while she feared that Margaret might remember how she had cared nothing then for dignity. Whatever the reason, the quietly made suggestion was bound to come like a slap in the face. William had told Margaret to treat his home as her own, but she could hardly do that if its mistress was not prepared to make her welcome.
There was nothing unusual in the suggestion Sophie had made, apart from its unfriendliness. Margaret knew well enough that, for a young woman of good family whose fortunes had come down in the world, the post of governess was traditionally the only one thought suitable. Poised uneasily in a stratum of social life between her employers and their servants, she would be a dependant in the family of a stranger instead of amongst her own kin - but given Sophie’s hostility, the difference might not signify greatly. Margaret’s liking for young children meant that such work would not be entirely uncongenial. Nevertheless, she had a different plan for her life, and this small coldness was enough to move it from the realm of day-dream into that of decision.
As soon as possible she travelled to Bath, where she discussed her idea with Lydia. Her friend was an essential part of Margaret’s plan. To her relief, Lydia clapped her hands with pleasure at the proposal, smiling for the first time since the bad news had arrived from the Afghan frontier. Margaret insisted that she should take time for consideration, but Lydia could see no possible objection to the idea of going to London with Margaret and enrolling as a student.
Lydia was an only child, and clever. She had been sent as a boarder to the Ladies College at Cheltenham, ruled by the formidable Miss Beale. Even as a little girl she had been ugly, and the knowledge that marriage was unlikely had made her work hard. Unlike Margaret, she had studied a wide curriculum of subjects and had passed examinations at school. Moreover, although her financial position would be unenviable after her father’s death - when her cousin would inherit the entailed estate - the family’s income was good as long as he lived. If Lydia were to embark on a course of professional training, her educational qualifications were as good as those of any girl of her time, and her father could afford to support her. Fortunately, he was liberal in his attitude to women’s education, and anxious enough about his daughter’s future to support any plan which might make it possible for her to maintain herself. Even before Margaret’s short visit came to an end, Lydia had persuaded Mr Morton to let her go to London.
As she travelled back to Bristol, Margaret knew that her own path was unlikely to be as smooth as Lydia’s. Nevertheless, by the time she reached The Ivies her mind was completely made up. She was determined to become independent, and no one in the world was going to stop her.
2
Adult quarrels pass over the heads of small children. When Margaret returned to The Ivies after her visit to Bath, she went first of all to the nursery, knowing that Sophie’s coldness would not have altered the warm affection she would be offered there. Matthew greeted her excitedly. He looked angelic with his golden curls falling to the lace collar of his Little Lord Fauntleroy suit, but his expression had been bored until he saw his aunt, for there was nothing he could do in case he spoiled the velvet. He shouted out his news at once.
‘We’re going to live in Grandpapa’s house!’
If he hoped to surprise Margaret, he certainly succeeded. She did not discuss the matter further during the half hour which she spent playing with him and his little sister. But later that day, when once again she sought out William for a discussion, she opened the conversation with this subject.
‘Matthew tells me you are moving to Brinsley House. Was it you, then, who bought the property while Papa was still alive?’
William smiled in satisfaction.
‘Yes. Once the auction had failed, the Receiver was bound to accept even a low offer. If things had gone well, of course, I would have expected to inherit the house without payment. But even as it is, it did not cost me much.’
‘Is it right that the creditors should get so little for an asset which I suppose belongs to them?’
William shrugged his shoulders.
‘There was no one willing to pay more. This is not a time when many people can take on new commitments. I was fortunate that Lloyds paid the insurance claim on the Georgiana so promptly, so that I had a little money in my pocket, so to speak. The value of the house to myself is a sentimental one. And I was glad to relieve Father’s anxieties. The thought of leaving his home caused him great distress. At least his last days were free from that fear.’
Margaret was forced to agree that this had been a great boon, although she still felt disturbed by the transaction. However, it was important that she should not antagonize her brother.
‘William, I would like to discuss my future with you,’ she said.
‘Naturally, when we move to Brinsley House, your old room will still be at your disposal. Or if there is any other you would prefer - ‘
‘You are kind, but I am not thinking of rooms,’ said Margaret. ‘I need an occupation. To spend the rest of my life doing needlework in your drawing room is not a prospect I can tolerate.’
‘It had already occurred to me that you might feel like that,’ said William. ‘And I have noticed the affection which my children have for you. You might care to act as their governess. It would seem a most suitable solution to the problem.’
Margaret flushed slightly, but tried not to show that she was offended. The offer at least suggested that Sophie had spoken without consulting her husband for once, when she tried to persuade Margaret to leave.
‘Have you asked Sophie for her opinion?’ she said. ‘I think you may find that she would prefer me not to be a member of her household. She has already suggested to me that I should look for a place as governess elsewhere.’
It was some comfort to Margaret to notice that her brother looked surprised; even annoyed.
‘If s
he expressed such a thought, it was without my authority,’ he said. ‘Of course, if you prefer to live in another household, I cannot stop you. But you must not feel that there is any pressure on you to go. I can hardly hope to shoulder all Father’s financial liabilities, but I regard myself as bound to take on his family responsibilities.’
‘Neither of these courses commends itself to me,’ said Margaret, taking care to keep her voice steady. ‘I wish to become independent. Since I lack a fortune, I must acquire a qualification, and for that I must undergo a training.’
‘Training? What training?’ It was William’s turn to be startled.
‘I propose to become a doctor,’ she said.
The first time she had spoken those words had been to a stranger, as though even at their first meeting she had guessed how important David Gregson’s good opinion would become to her. The second time was to Lydia, only a few days earlier. On each occasion she had been listened to with respect, and this made it easier for her now to face the criticism which she knew would come.
William’s first reaction was what she had expected.
‘But it is not possible for a woman to become a doctor! Unless you propose to qualify in America. Or do you think yourself capable of going to Paris to take scientific examinations in French? I should think they would be too much for you even in English.’
Margaret ignored the sarcasm in his voice, for this at least she could answer.
‘The position has changed since Mrs Garrett Anderson was forced to go to France in order to qualify,’ she said. ‘The University of London has agreed to examine women for degrees and this, in medicine, will allow them to be registered as doctors. The London School of Medicine for Women is already preparing students for this examination. I would like to enrol there, if they will have me.’
The Lorimer Line Page 21