The Lorimer Line

by Anne Melville

  He had prepared a hymn with which to encourage them, but was given no chance to introduce it. As though she had known in advance the words with which he would come to an end, Sister Martha emitted a sound which was something between a wail and a trumpet call, and within seconds the whole congregation was singing. As they sang, they formed themselves into a procession and began to march: not like soldiers, but swinging their hips and shoulders and clapping their hands. ‘Hear ye the word of the Lord,’ they chanted, over and over again: the words were appropriate but the rhythm was disturbing.

  Ralph, however, did not allow himself to be disturbed. He placed himself at the head of the procession and led it towards the Bristow land. As they went, the men dropped away to collect their cutlasses and rejoined the line at its end. By seven o’clock every adult member of the community who was fit to work and had no paid employment was slashing at the undergrowth, while the children and the older women pulled the cut vegetation out of the way, separating it into wood which could be burned when it was old, foliage which would make fodder for the animals, and debris which was fit for nothing but a bonfire.

  It was not to be expected that the first frenzy would last for more than a day. Ralph reminded himself of his duty to see that the children were schooled. The women must spend part of their day about their domestic duties, and the land already under cultivation in the valley must not be neglected. But the unemployed were expected to put in a full day’s work, and the others to come whenever they could.

  In the months which followed there were many difficulties. Those whose homes were cramped expected that they could build new ones on the newly cleared land. Those who owned no ground looked for their own farms. Ralph’s own ideas were at variance with these hopes. If the new project was to be self-supporting the land must be used to raise two or three crops in a quantity which could be profitably sold. He recognized the need in the first year to plant annual crops, such as corn and melons, partly in order that a quick harvest might provide encouragement for the future and partly to raise funds for the purchase of banana plants and cattle. But even this could be better done in large fields worked by all the villagers than in a patchwork of individual plots.

  He was not a sensitive man, and was so sure of his own rightness that it took him some time to comprehend the depth of the feeling which opposed him. Of the members of his congregation only the three oldest had been slaves; but what the others had learned from their fathers and grandfathers had affected their whole thinking. It was part of their freedom that they should work their own land.

  Once he had understood, Ralph saw that he must compromise. He redrew his plans, allocating plots of uncleared land on annual tenancies, and fixing rents for them not in money but in man-hours of work on the common area. His assumption of authority was more acceptable to the congregation than the most democratic attitude with which he had begun his ministry, and he himself found it congenial. He did not realize that, however faithfully he might perform his Sunday duties, he was every day becoming less of a pastor and more of a planter.

  But something else was happening which he could not disguise from himself so easily. An instinct which he did not attempt to rationalize had made him leave the land immediately around Bristow Great House out of his plans. He told himself that there was quite enough work to be done elsewhere, that it would be a pity to disturb old Rascal while he still lived. More truthfully he did not wish to associate himself with his slave-owning great-great-uncle by visiting the house too often: nor did he want to be disturbed by meeting the Mattisons. But it became his habit on every evening except Sunday, just before sunset, to walk round the boundaries of the cleared land as they gradually extended. It was on one of these walks that he first caught sight of Chelsea Mattison.

  At that time he did not know her name, of course. All he knew was what he could see, that she was the most beautiful creature in Jamaica. She was washing clothes in the Bristow river when he first caught sight of her, and he stood still at once, so that she should not know that she was observed. Her skin was a creamy brown and her nose was long and straight. She sang as she beat the clothes, and her brown eyes flashed as brightly as her dazzling white teeth. She was a tall girl, with a neat, small head on a long neck. Her shoulders were square and her hips slim and she held herself with a straightness which Ralph had never seen in England. His sister Margaret had suffered many hours strapped to a backboard as a child, and her good posture showed it, but this girl’s taut slenderness was something outside Ralph’s experience. Had he been nearer, he could hardly have restrained himself from touching her. As it was, his eyes studied her body, trying to memorize it.

  She was wearing a bright cotton cloth, twisted round her body beneath her arms and revealing most of her long legs. When she had finished her work she stepped into the stream and splashed herself all over for coolness. The wet cloth clung tightly to her skin. She was full-breasted, Ralph saw, in spite of her youth and slenderness. He groaned silently to himself and turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. But every evening after that his walk took him in the same direction.

  Nothing in Jamaica remained a secret for long. It could not have been a coincidence that a few months after his first glimpse of her the girl was brought to his house by Red Mattison, who introduced himself as her father. It was on this occasion that Ralph first learned her name, as Red offered the pastor his daughter’s services in the house.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Ralph, his voice hoarse. ‘I am well looked after already.’

  ‘Sister Martha ol’ woman,’ Red pointed out. ‘Chelsea fourteen year old. You teach her what you like; she do it. Good strong girl.’

  There was no need for him to put into words what he had in mind: it was clear to both men. In just such a way must Matthew have acquired his various housekeepers; who accounted it an honour, perhaps, to bear children of a colour lighter than themselves. Chelsea, although so young, almost certainly had the same idea. Ralph had preached so many sermons on the evils of promiscuity, and had seen his warnings so universally disregarded, that he knew marriage would not be expected either by the girl or by her father. Kindness* and acknowledgement of her position would be enough. He was being offered a gift. There was nothing he would rather accept; and nothing which in his position was more impossible. He forced himself to speak angrily as he turned the girl away, and that night rocked himself to sleep in an agony of frustration.

  At least from that time onwards he was able to acknowledge his sinfulness to himself. In the half-dreaming moments between waking and sleeping he indulged his lust: in his prayers and self-reproaches he reviled himself for it. The situation extended itself to become part of his life: an obsession which he could not evade without even greater unhappiness.

  Towards the end of his third rainy season in Jamaica, he became ill. The time of his first furlough was approaching, and in his anxiety to see that the farm was left in good condition when he went, he paid even less attention than usual to the heavy downpours of rain which made Jamaica so fertile. Two or three times in a day he became soaked to the skin and then within an hour was steamed dry again by the blazing sun. This was a process which by now he took as much for granted as did the people of the village; nevertheless, when he woke in the middle of one night to find himself shivering with a coldness which no weight of blankets would alleviate, he at first assumed it to be only a chill. It was Sister Martha, arriving next morning to prepare his breakfast, who recognized that he was suffering from malaria.

  He needed to be nursed day and night, and for the first few days was not aware who was caring for him. But as the fever abated he discovered that Sister Martha had found someone to share the task. Chelsea Mattison was sixteen by now, an adult by Jamaican standards. It was she who sat by his bed, patiently cooling his forehead and covering him with blankets again after each bout of tossing. At first he thought he must be dreaming, and later he pretended that he was, lying very still with his eyes closed and listening as she sang
under her breath, almost too softly to be heard.

  Later, as he recovered his health, the pretence could not be maintained. It was possible - for he had been sweating freely - that she had given him a bed bath earlier in his illness; if so, he had not known about it. Now, when he was almost too weak to move, but perfectly conscious of his surroundings, she brought hot water to his bedside again. As she washed and dried his face and shoulders and chest, smiling directly into his eyes as she did so, he felt an ecstasy which was heightened by his helplessness. She reached his waist, and prepared to roll the blanket down. Ralph gripped her wrist to prevent it. It was the first time he had allowed himself to touch her, although he had suffered himself to be touched; and its effects terrified him. He sent her away, saying that he had no more need of nursing. Then he washed and dressed himself, although his legs would hardly support him.

  Chelsea Mattison was only just sixteen, but her judgement was as mature as her body. Eight days later she returned to the pastor’s house in the darkness of a tropical evening, and stood silently in front of him. Equally tongue-tied, Ralph discovered that he was too weak to send her away, but not too weak to turn his fantasies into facts. It was on the morning after this, in an agony of self-disgust, that he wrote his letter to Margaret.

  3

  Unhappiness is a good traveller, as anyone discovers who tries to solve a problem with a change of scenery. In the weeks which followed her parting from Charles, Margaret had kept herself busy packing up everything she owned in London and taking it back to Bristol. She needed all the strength of character she possessed to banish her resentment at the unfairness of fate and to summon the determination to make a useful life for herself. In this preoccupation with her own unhappiness, she had allowed the anxiety which Ralph had expressed in his last letter from Jamaica to go out of her mind.

  Because of this, her welcome to him on his arrival at Brinsley House for his first furlough was one of pleasure and affection only. She noticed that he was reticent about his own affairs, preferring to talk about her career. But this, she assumed, was because he had not expected to find her in Bristol and was sensitive to the friction which had arisen between her and William over her decision to work in her home city. She shrugged off his worried comments on the strain which showed in her face, explaining it with references to the long years of examinations and the responsibilities of her work since she qualified: she was not prepared to describe the true cause of her unhappiness.

  In her own defence she pressed Ralph for details of his life in Jamaica and felt him gradually relax in the warmth of their old affectionate relationship. Leaning on the parapet of the upper terrace and staring down at the river, he described his congregation and the work he had provided for them.

  ‘So I can flatter myself that my first pastorate goes well,’ he concluded. Then he looked at her with despair in his eyes. ‘But oh, Margaret, what am I going to do about women?’

  For a moment Margaret was too much taken aback to answer. But although startled by her brother’s outburst, she was not shocked. Her medical training had taught her a good deal about life. Almost twenty-nine now, she no longer had much in common with that young girl who ten years earlier had been disgusted at the thought of marrying an habitué of the Joy Street area. Yet it took her a long time to probe to the root of Ralph’s problem. He was a Baptist minister, after all, not a Catholic priest vowed to celibacy.

  His own reluctance to elucidate caused a good deal of confusion as she tried to understand his difficulty. At first Margaret thought he was saying that there were no eligible white women in Jamaica - or that, even if there were, they were of the rich planter class who would not expect to live in poverty and who would be rejected by the Hope Valley community. When it transpired that the immediate problem was caused by a brown girl rather than a white one, Margaret began to feel out of her depth. How could she be expected to know what taboos might operate in a country she had never visited, what might or might not be expected of a pastor?

  But was even this the real problem? Ralph appeared to appreciate for himself that such a girl would be completely unsuitable as a wife, and it was a wife he wanted.

  Margaret thought immediately of Lydia, but had more tact than to be specific. ‘I will introduce you to some of my friends,’ she said gaily. ‘The medical students of my year have all been so earnestly determined to pursue their careers that none of them has succumbed to matrimony. Within a week, if you say the word, I can surround you with intelligent and useful young women who will be swept off their feet by your handsome face!’ she stopped as she saw that her brother was in no mood for joking. ‘What is it, Ralph? Is there something I don’t know?’

  He nodded miserably, ready at last to confess. ‘You remember Claudine?’

  ‘Yes. Do you still worry about her? I’m sure that by now she is happily settled back in her village. With the dowry that Papa gave her she can have had no trouble finding a husband. Anyone who meets you now and loves you should certainly be able to forgive something that happened while you were still a schoolboy. You might not even find it necessary to speak of Claudine at all.’

  ‘I married her,’ said Ralph.

  Margaret stared at him, unable to believe her ears. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I married her early in the morning before she went back to France. How could I let a young girl like that carry the shame of motherhood in such circumstances? To allow her to return to France as a married woman was the only honourable thing to do.’

  Margaret could produce no quick response to such a revelation. Impulsively she squeezed his hand in sympathy. How characteristic of Ralph to make honourable amends for being seduced! His high-minded headmaster, Dr Percival, would have approved.

  ‘You were not twenty-one at that time,’ she said at last. ‘I take it that Papa knew nothing of the matter. Would such a marriage be legal without his consent?’

  ‘Certainly I didn’t tell him. I didn’t dare. As for whether or not the marriage was legal, Claudine believed it was, so I have a moral obligation …’

  ‘Tell me one thing first, Ralph,’ interrupted Margaret. ‘Do you want Claudine to live with you as your wife?’

  Ralph shook his head. ‘I had no feeling for her even at that time. To say that she tempted me is to betray a weakness, but I was too young then to understand how quickly I could be roused. The wife I need now is of a very particular sort. A woman I can love, but also a woman who can be of use in Hope Valley, and who is capable of providing intellectual companionship. Claudine would be of little help in that respect. Nor did she have any more interest in me, I’m sure, than I did in her.’

  ‘Oh, my poor brother! I cannot think what to suggest. Why not speak to William? He would give you better advice than I in such a matter.’

  ‘I am ashamed to tell him.’

  ‘He already knows about the baby; and although the marriage may be inconvenient now, it is to your credit.’

  Ralph was too depressed to answer and Margaret respected his feelings.

  ‘At least allow me to discuss it with him,’ she begged. ‘I do not always find William sympathetic, but he is a man of affairs. He will judge what can or cannot be done.’

  Ralph gave his permission reluctantly, announcing at the same time that he intended to visit one of his university friends for the next two weeks. It was clear to Margaret that he would rather not be in the house while his problems were under discussion. She mentioned this sensitivity, amongst other things, when she told the whole story to William.

  ‘Even if the marriage could be annulled on the grounds of Ralph’s age at the time, he would be frightened of the publicity from the proceedings,’ she pointed out.

  William frowned in thought and then said abruptly, ‘Would you consider making a visit to France?’

  ‘To see Claudine, you mean?’

  William nodded. ‘You would find it easier than I to investigate her way of life. I can hardly believe that a girl like that will have lived like
a celibate all these years on account of such a marriage. You should be able to judge, without having to ask her in so many words, whether there is any danger of her making a nuisance of herself in the future. I will add a second suggestion to the first. If you are willing to make the journey, would you take Matthew with you? Now that he is eleven, he knows enough French to make a visit to France a useful part of his education. I would pay your expenses, of course.’

  Margaret needed little persuasion to take a free trip abroad. Her departure from London had been impulsive and she had not yet succeeded in obtaining employment in Bristol. Although William made it clear that he did not expect her to contribute to the expenses of Brinsley House, she disliked the feeling of living as a dependant. Already she was approaching the point when her visit would seem to be more than a mere holiday. It was true that this offer replaced one form of hospitality with another, but she could regard it as being more to Ralph’s advantage than her own, which made it easier to accept. Matthew and she were great friends and she knew that they would both enjoy the holiday.

  It was decided that Matthew’s tutor should accompany them, to make the most of every educational opportunity and to provide the protection of a male escort. This meant that Betty had to be taken too, to act as a chaperone as well as attending to her mistress’s wants.

  ‘We are all looking after each other!’ exclaimed Margaret laughingly as they stood in a wind-whipped row at the rail of the cross-channel steamer, straining their eyes for the first glimpse of France.

  Matthew looked up at her. ‘Who do I look after?’

  ‘Whom,’ corrected Mr Renfrew, but Margaret answered without bothering about grammar.