‘To train as a doctor takes six or seven years,’ protested William. ‘I know you have always felt a desire to care for the sick. But you could become a nurse in a far shorter time. Since Miss Nightingale’s reforms were introduced there can be no objection to a woman of good family adopting this profession. Indeed, I believe there is a demand for educated matrons.’
‘When Ralph told you that he wished to be ordained, you did not suggest to him that he should instead become a verger.’
‘The case is entirely different.’
‘No,’ said Margaret. ‘It is not different at all. I have an ambition which is as precise and as clear as yours or Ralph’s. Why should I be forced to accept a second best?’
‘Because you are a woman. The work of a doctor is unsuitable and most unseemly for a lady. And the responsibilities would be too much for you.’
‘That would be for my examiners and supervisors to decide,’ said Margaret. ‘My training would be the same as that of a man, and I would be expected to reach the same standard. I would prefer to accept responsibility myself than to take instructions from someone I may not respect. As for its being unseemly, a great many women think it unseemly that they should be examined by a man. Children, too, are more at ease with a woman.’ She paused, to remind herself that she had intended to avoid this aspect of the argument. ‘I am not asking you, William, whether I may train as a doctor. I am telling you that I intend to try.’
‘And how do you propose to pay the fees? Do you realize how expensive it will be to live in London?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Margaret. ‘If you should offer to be as generous to me as to Ralph, I would not be too proud to accept. But if you are determined not to approve, I shall manage somehow. My friend Lydia is resolved on the same course and she has a cousin in London who could spare us rooms. Mr Morton has most generously promised her an allowance during her training. It will keep me warm as well as her, and might stretch to feed me if it became necessary. As for the fees, I still own Lower Croft. A tenant might be found who would rent it. And one day the situation in Bristol must improve, so that it could be sold. It is possible, I believe, to borrow money on the security of a house. Now that I have determined what I will do, I am not prepared to admit of any obstacle.’
‘Then why do you trouble to tell me of your plans? Why do you not simply pack your bags and leave?’
‘Because I do not wish us to quarrel, William. I would like your approval. I should be sorry if you were reproached with abandoning your sister. And my situation in London will be easier if it is known that I have the support of my family. What is more, I have a favour to ask you.’
There was a long silence. William did not happily lose an argument. When at last he said ‘Yes?’ it was a recognition of the fact that his sister could not be stopped.
‘We spoke earlier of Mrs Garrett Anderson,’ said Margaret. ‘I believe you are acquainted with her husband.’
‘Skelton Anderson? Yes. His shipping company has just become part of the new Orient Line. They are likely to become our greatest rivals.’
‘Before the rivalry becomes too fierce, will you use your acquaintance to write me a letter of introduction so that I may meet his wife? My education has not qualified me very well to undertake a course of scientific study. If I am to be admitted to the School of Medicine I may need to have a sponsor.’
There was a second silence, which Margaret broke with her own laughter.
‘William! Why not admit that you long to be quit of me? Sophie dislikes me. If I can say that, you need not deny it. Your offer to give me a home is a generous one, but we shall all be happiest if I come to it only for holidays, when we can enjoy each other’s company without friction. If you help me to go, you will win praise for your liberality and sympathy for my headstrong behaviour. And you will not have to watch me growing older and older, more and more useless, more and more bad-tempered. Instead, when my training is finished I shall buy my own house and manage my own life, and instead of being ashamed of me you may pretend to be proud.’
She held out her hand to him impulsively to show that there was no need to quarrel. William, who never did anything on impulse, did not move to take it. But it seemed that she had appealed successfully to his head if not to his heart, for he gave the quick nod which increasingly he was copying from his father.
‘I will write the letter to Anderson,’ he said. ‘And I will enquire about a tenant for Lower Croft. In the meantime, you had better estimate your annual costs. If they exceed the rent, I will lend you money as I am lending it to Ralph, and you may repay it when …’ he paused, as though hardly even to conceive the thought, still less to say the words - ‘when you begin to practise.’
‘Thank you, William.’ Margaret tried not to feel hurt by the ungracious manner in which her brother had agreed to her request. Their relationship had never been a warm one, and she had known even before she asked that William would disapprove of such an unusual suggestion. It was enough that he had agreed, however grudgingly. She stood up, breathing deeply with relief and happiness.
‘I need to have a life of my own,’ she said. ‘Until now I have never been anything except my father’s daughter. Rich and comfortable, but somehow not myself. I had hoped that with David …’ She stopped, wishing she had not mentioned the name which abruptly checked her happiness. ‘I had looked forward to making a life in my own home, with my own household. Now I must find another way.’
She took the first step towards it a few days later, travelling to London on the railway with the letter of introduction safe in her handbag. Dr Garrett Anderson proved helpful with advice, and arranged an appointment for her at the London School of Medicine for Women, but this was far from guaranteeing her admission. Even Lydia, who had attended a similar interview two days earlier, armed with recommendations from her schoolteachers, had obtained only provisional acceptance, and Margaret was conscious that the haphazard nature of her own studies was unlikely to impress the Dean.
After she had asked a series of searching questions, the Dean picked up a small notebook from her desk, and asked Margaret to look at it.
‘We give each of our students one of these,’ she said. ‘It lists every disease she must study, every examination she must pass, every course of lectures she must attend, every period of practical hospital training. Not until each item in it has been dated and signed can she even submit herself for the final examination. Look inside, and tell me what you think.’
Margaret’s heart sank as she turned the pages. Within the first year alone she would be expected to tackle chemistry, anatomy, physiology, botany, therapeutics, dissections, and something called materia medica. She had not the least idea what materia medica might be. Her chin jutted out in determination as she looked up again.
‘I can hardly deny that I am ill-qualified to begin the course,’ she said. ‘But I have studied a little anatomy. If you would like to judge my understanding, I would be happy to answer questions on this subject.’
To her relief the Dean laughed.
‘Your lecturers and examiners will find out soon enough whether you have the intelligence to be a doctor,’ she said. ‘And your supervisors in the hospitals will tell us whether you have the temperament. What I must assess is whether you have the determination to pursue a course of studies which lasts for many years and is certain at times to seem arduous. We invite any prospective student to undertake a short preliminary course, and nothing is lost if she then abandons it. But if a student leaves the school after two years or three, she has wasted our time as well as her own and she has nothing to show for it. We shall show ourselves unsympathetic towards young ladies, who decide, for example, to marry rather than to qualify.’
‘I have no intention of marrying,’ said Margaret firmly. ‘I wish to have my own profession. And although I cannot praise my grasp of chemistry or dissections, I am prepared to give myself a reference in determination. It has not been easy even to get as far as this.’
‘You will find most of your fellow-students in the same situation,’ she said. ‘Their families have not succeeded in stopping them, but for the most part are far from approving. This is one reason why we shall expect your behaviour to be in all respects above reproach while you are a student. You will meet medical students of the other sex of whom the same cannot be said, but you will not follow their example.’
Margaret smiled with excitement as she noticed the Dean’s change of emphasis.
‘Then you are willing to enrol me?’ she gasped.
Tor the preliminary course only. You must pass its examination in September. If you are successful in that, you may apply for a place on the full course, which starts in October.’
Margaret emerged into Brunswick Square after her interview in a haze of happiness. For a little while she walked about without noticing where she was going. There were so many excitements to be considered at once. She was going to be a doctor. And she was going to live in London. This noisy, crowded, dirty city would be her home. As her head came out of the clouds and she looked around her, she noticed how many women there were of her own sort about on foot. In Bristol they would have sent a servant on their errands, or travelled in a carriage of some kind. But here they walked briskly about their own business, not always even waiting for the crossing sweeper to clear a way through the filth of the roads. But then, Margaret reminded herself, she must no longer think of anyone as being her own sort of woman any longer, whatever that had once been. She was going to be one of the new sort; one of the women who were jeered at in newspapers and mocked in cartoons. It was difficult to envisage the kind of life which lay ahead; but any touch of apprehension she felt was swiftly overwhelmed by excitement.
There was only one part of the interview which had caused her distress. She had promised that she would not marry. In her mind at that moment had been a silent reservation: ‘unless David Gregson should return’. Now, with all the determination which she had more truthfully claimed to possess, she put the situation squarely to herself. David Gregson would not return. Or, even if he did, he would have no reason to seek out a woman who had sent him away in anger. Equally, he might not want to see her if she should ever manage to track him down to that part of the wide world in which he had taken refuge. The course to which she was committing herself would demand her whole concentration. She must not allow herself to be distracted by a possibility which did not really exist. She had told the Dean that she did not intend to marry, and the statement must be turned into truth.
Margaret stopped walking and felt in her handbag for the note which William had given her, listing the destinations of the Lorimer ships and the probable length of their voyages. For one last time, trying to control the anguish in her heart, she stared at the names of ships and ports: the Rosa, Stella, Diana, Flora: New York, Brisbane, Kingston, San Francisco. This was not her first attempt to convince herself that she would never see David again, but it must be the last. She loved him, she would always love him, but now she must try to forget him. She crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into the gutter.
3
Many houses have stronger personalities than the people who live in them, but an owner’s character may be revealed by his choice of furnishings. Certainly this was true of William Lorimer. While Margaret was making a new life for herself in London, he was busily consolidating his position in Bristol. He began by returning to the Lorimer family house and altering it to reflect his own tastes.
When Samuel Lorimer built Brinsley House in 1785 he furnished and decorated it in the style of that year. He chose the best quality wood for his floors and set the choicest pieces of modern furniture on them. Doors and their frames were carved from rich red mahogany; but in order that the effect should not be too dark the walls were painted in the pale greens and blues which were then fashionable, with decorations of white stucco and gilt beading on panels and friezes.
Alexander, when he inherited the mansion, saw no reason to change its style, although from time to time new coats of paint were applied. Alexander was a close man, loath to spend money on inessentials. John Junius, his son, was not mean in the same manner, but by the time he became master of the house in which he had grown up he was set in his ways. He paid little attention to his surroundings as long as they remained familiar, but was quick to complain of any change. So for almost a hundred years Brinsley House had retained its uncluttered Georgian elegance.
William changed all that. When his father’s furniture was put up for auction he made no attempt to purchase more than a few pieces of sentimental value, such as Brinsley Lorimer’s sea chest. At a time when his father and sister were too upset to notice what was happening, he had managed to smuggle some of the family table silver out of the house, to keep it from the Receiver’s men, and this was now returned to its baize-lined drawers. But such small items were insignificant compared with what had gone and must now be replaced.
William ordered wood from the West Indies and the coast of Central America to be carried to Bristol on ships of the Lorimer Line. There was no problem in finding unemployed carpenters during the trading difficulties which followed the fall of Lorimer’s Bank. While Sophie chose wallpapers and matched braids and tassels to the stuff of heavy curtains, William specified the sizes of tables and sideboards and display cabinets. A small man himself, he chose that everything around him should be large. His sister, when she came to spend her holidays with his family, might think the effect ponderous in comparison with the old furniture which he thought of as spindly but she had called elegant. He found the solidity of his new possessions reassuring.
Although it was easy to see that Margaret was puzzled by the degree of his affluence, he made no attempt to explain it to her. At the suggestion of John Junius he had borne in mind, when looking for a wife eight years earlier, the size of the marriage settlement likely to be offered. His choice of Sophie had proved wise in every respect. She had already provided him with two sons as well as a daughter. She was well-dressed and good-looking in public and submissive in private. Not only had she brought him a generous portion on the day of his marriage but she was the sole heiress of her father’s property when he died a few months after John Junius Lorimer. William had good cause to be grateful for the impertinence of David Gregson and his own ill-tempered reaction to it. He had disposed of his shareholding in Lorimer’s Bank just in time to avoid seeing his wife’s money as well as his father’s swept down the drain of the bankruptcy proceedings.
If he allowed Margaret to believe that his continuing wealth came only from the success of the shipping line, this was because he had almost come to think it himself: Sophie’s money had become his on their wedding day. What he did remember was that his sister had despised arrangements of that sort, refusing an engagement which had appeared potentially profitable to all parties at the time it was first suggested. Since then, of course, there had been changes of fortune, and Margaret would have had good reason to complain if she had allowed herself to be tied to a family whose wealth had vanished as dramatically as her own. Mr Martin Crankshaw had been completely ruined by the collapse of the bank in which he was a director as well as a shareholder. He had seen the new dock development which had been the vision and hope of his whole working life sold over his head.
Privately, William thought him a fool. He should have borrowed money and bought his own business back for himself through a friend or nominee at a rock-bottom price, as William had done with Brinsley House. Then it could have been transferred unobtrusively to his son, Walter, and the Crankshaw family as a whole would have reaped the reward they deserved as the first docking berths opened.
William had given Martin Crankshaw time to think of all that for himself. Only when it became clear that his father’s old friend was broken by the magnitude of the bank disaster and his own responsibilities and losses, retreating with quivering voice and hands into a premature old age - only then did Wi
lliam himself take advantage of the happy timing of his father-in-law’s death to make a good investment.
The new docks were worth millions of pounds, so his interest was small as a percentage of the whole. But the shareholdings were fragmented and William had not found it difficult to arrange for his election to the board of directors. As John Junius had been well aware, the docks were very near to completion at the time when banking confidence finally collapsed - the first berthing fee had been paid even before John Junius fell to his death. Within three years they were not only showing a good profit but had enabled William to make long-term docking contracts of such advantage to the Lorimer Line that he had no hesitation in ordering replacements for the ill-fated Georgiana.
As for young Walter Crankshaw, it was clear that he had no financial sense at all. Any of his old friends in Bristol would have offered him the opportunity to profit from the city’s resurgence, which was bound to come one day. But instead of asking for help he had left for London and was rumoured to have taken up some kind of salaried position. William heard the news with scorn. How could anyone who worked as an employee expect to make his fortune?
It was not money for its own sake which attracted William. In this he was typical of all the Lorimers from Brinsley onwards. Their pleasure lay in their work, but it was true that they needed to know that they were successful in it, and money was the measure of success. Every Lorimer son resolved to demonstrate his abilities in this way, and by the time he inherited the family responsibility himself, the habit was engrained. William’s satisfaction came from the making of complicated plans and their development to fruition. He thought of his fortune and his reputation as inseparable and so was glad to see them rising together, but the steady increase in his income that now took place did not tempt him to ostentation. The years passed in quietly increasing prosperity, and by the time he was thirty-two he had forgotten the humiliations which followed the bank’s collapse, and could think of himself as a solid man.
The Lorimer Line Page 22