The Lorimer Line

by Anne Melville

  Margaret’s distress at her friend’s condition did not prevent her from feeling unhappy on her own account. ‘Who will care for my treasure?’ John Junius had asked as he died, and the question had built an irremoveable obstacle between his daughter and the man she later came to love. It was the question which had brought on Dr Scott’s obsession and sent him mad. But he had been right. There had been a treasure all the time - in fact, not merely in his imagination. In a second moment of bitterness, Margaret could not refrain from telling Luisa part of this.

  ‘My father spoke of the jewellery as he was dying,’ she said. ‘“Who will care for my treasure?” he asked. Yet he must have had confidence that you would cherish the jewels.’

  Luisa shook her head. ‘You are wrong,’ she said. ‘His treasure was Alexa. It was what he always called her. Never Alexandra or Alexa, but “my treasure”.’

  Margaret stared down at Luisa.

  ‘You mean she is his daughter?’

  ‘Of course. He loved her, even more than he loved me. She was so beautiful, you see. From the moment of her birth, so perfect. Your father had a great love of beautiful things.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Margaret was still trying to steady her swimming head. She reproached herself for naivety. It had not been easy to accept the fact that her father had kept a mistress, but once that was known, the deduction that he had also fathered Luisa’s child should have been obvious. It meant, of course, that the liaison must have started much earlier than Margaret had assumed; that he had lied to his daughter as well as deceiving his wife. She remembered how secure and happy she had imagined her family life to be throughout the years when she was growing up. Yet all the time it had been as rotten as the affairs of the bank.

  She put the leather box inside her doctor’s bag as the door opened and Betty came in, carrying a can of broth in a hay jar to keep it hot. Behind her was Alexa, who ran breathlessly to her mother and embraced her, kneeling on the floor beside the bed. Luisa looked at Margaret with tears in her eyes.

  ‘I have waited so impatiently for her return,’ she said. ‘But I think she should not sleep with me here.’

  Margaret nodded her agreement. ‘I will find you a nurse,’ she said. ‘Then Alexa can come home with me for the night.’

  ‘No!’ The little girl scrambled to her feet and stared defiantly at each of them in turn. ‘I must stay with Mama. I am going to make her well again.’

  ‘You will do that best by letting her sleep quietly,’ said Margaret sympathetically. ‘If you come with me Betty will let you go down to the kitchen with her again, and you can help her prepare some dishes to tempt your mother’s appetite. Tomorrow morning we will come back together to see her.’

  Alexa was still rebellious, but her mother murmured something to her in Italian. When she had finished, the girl frowned and stared doubtfully at Margaret.

  ‘Help your mother to enjoy her broth,’ said Margaret as cheerfully as she could. ‘She will need one person to support her and another to hold the spoon. By the time I return with a nurse, I expect the bowl to be empty.’

  Alexa’s defiance faded at the suggestion of something helpful to do, and by the time Margaret returned half an hour later Luisa was either asleep or pretending to be. Still doubtful, the little girl accepted Margaret’s hand and allowed herself to be led away.

  The next morning they returned together, and the nurse greeted them with the news which Margaret had expected. Happy to have seen her daughter just once more, Luisa had abandoned her struggle for life. She lay as peacefully on the bed as though she were still sleeping, but at some moment during the night her heart had ceased to beat.

  Alexa’s reaction was violent. At first she was alarmed, then unbelieving. Before the nurse could restrain her, she tugged at her mother’s shoulders, trying to shake life back into her. Then her tears and anger erupted together. She stamped and shouted and screamed, her voice rising hysterically in rage and grief and a refusal to accept what had happened. Margaret allowed her to express her feelings without interruption until the moment when her shouts became sobs. Then she stepped forward.

  ‘Sing something for your mother,’ she said.

  Wild-eyed, Alexa looked at her. ‘Sing what?’ she demanded.

  ‘What was your mother’s favourite song?’ Margaret asked. ‘Was there something that she loved to hear? You could give her the sound as a farewell present.’

  Alexa had to breathe deeply several times before she could begin, and the effect steadied her emotions as well as her body. When she was ready she knelt beside her mother’s bed.

  The purity of her voice in the silent room was eerie. She sang in Italian, so that neither of her hearers understood the words, but the sweet sadness of the song was so poignant that even the unsentimental nurse was forced to sniff away a tear. As for Margaret, she found herself completely overcome. Since there was no furniture in the room, she sat down on the bare floorboards and buried her head in her hands, sobbing with almost as much grief as Alexa had expressed a few moments earlier.

  It was not only the death of a friend which so much upset her professional poise. Alexa’s song turned a key in her heart, from which all the unhappiness of the past years could escape. She was weeping for the betrayals of the past and the loneliness of the future. At any other time she would have reminded herself that she was a well-trained woman with a useful role to play in society. But for just as long as the sad song continued she allowed herself the luxury of misery.

  Alexa came to the end and pressed her head for a moment on her mother’s body. Then she stood up and looked around uncertainly. The hysterical mourner and the mature singer had both disappeared. She was a little girl alone in the world.

  She looked towards Margaret - and Margaret held out her arms. Alexa ran into her half-sister’s embrace.

  2

  The helplessness of a bereaved child arouses sympathy even in those who bear no responsibility. It was not sentimentality, however, which led Margaret to undertake Alexa’s support. The child was a Lorimer, and the Lori-mers must look after her. As soon as her mother had been buried, it was necessary to consider the problem of her future.

  Margaret had already decided to say nothing about the rubies. Whatever she might feel about the morality of her father’s actions, the settlement he had made would best be left undisturbed. The affairs of Lorimer’s Bank had been wound up long ago. The process had continued over three years, and during that time the Portishead docks had opened at last, proving to be just as profitable as John Junius had always anticipated. The payments which flowed from them into the hands of the bank’s administrator came too late to save the shareholders, but in time to pay off a high proportion of the creditors’ claims. From the moment when David Gregson’s flight was discovered, public opinion had begun to move back towards it previous respect for John Junius Lorimer, and, strange though it might seem, this process had been helped by the sight of his son living as a rich business man in his old home. Every year saw the scandal sinking further into oblivion. Margaret herself might be disillusioned about her father’s character, but she retained sufficient family pride to conceal what she had learned from the outside world.

  Not even to William did she mention the box of jewels. Although confident that he would not consider transferring their value to the bank’s creditors, she believed him capable of arguing that the genuine rubies had been a gift to his mother and should therefore have been inherited by himself, not appropriated by an outsider. Margaret did not propose to allow him that opportunity. She believed that Luisa had told her the truth and that by keeping the jewellery for Alexa she was carrying out her father’s last wishes.

  The question of Alexa herself, however, was not one which could be left undiscussed. When Margaret next visited Brinsley House she took the nine-year-old girl with her, neatly dressed in new clothes. As was her custom, she went first of all to the schoolroom where she introduced Alexa as her ward and asked the governess if the little girl could sta
y there with the other children for an hour. Then she sought an interview with William.

  He was horrified enough to learn that John Junius had fathered an illegitimate child in the last years of his life, but what Margaret went on to propose was so much more appalling that for a moment he was robbed of speech.

  ‘You are seriously suggesting that I should bring up such a child in my own household, with my own children?’

  ‘She comes between Matthew and Beatrice in age. There would be no need to make separate provision for her. She could share Beatrice’s lessons and amusements. Your establishment is a large one. You would hardly need to know that she was here.’

  ‘The suggestion is ridiculous. I have no responsibility for the girl.’

  ‘She is your sister,’ Margaret reminded him.

  ‘An illegitimate half-sister. That hardly constitutes a recognizable relationship.’

  ‘She is your father’s daughter,’ said Margaret more firmly. ‘What are the alternatives, William? She is an orphan. If we - her family - abandon her, what is to become of her? You can hardly condemn her to the workhouse.’

  ‘If you feel so strongly on the matter, why do you not bring her up yourself?’

  ‘I shall do that, certainly, if you reject my suggestion. Since I shall probably never have children of my own, it would give me pleasure. But I have little to offer her. There would be no other children for company. I cannot afford to employ a governess and in order to earn a living at all I must be out of the house for a great part of the day. Alexa would have no family life. However, if you will not help her, I shall do what I can.’

  ‘You would naturally not acknowledge any relationship with her.’

  ‘If she is to live with me, I shall do what I like, William.’ Margaret was exasperated by her brother’s assumption that he could avoid any responsibility himself and yet order the manner in which she should shoulder it. She did in fact recognize that for the sake of her father’s reputation it would be wise to conceal Alexa’s parentage, but to admit this at once would be throwing away a bargaining point in her debate with William. Certainly her declaration made him think again.

  ‘Where is the child now?’ he asked.

  ‘Matthew and Beatrice and Arthur are looking after her while I speak to you. Naturally, they know nothing about her.’

  William’s forehead creased in annoyance, but he merely said, in the curtest of tones, that he would like to see her. They went together to the schoolroom and opened the door.

  William’s three children were sitting in a row in their wooden chairs. In front of them, on the table, Alexa was dancing. She was singing as well to provide herself with a musical accompaniment. The audience, with its back to the door, did not notice the arrival of the adults, but the effect on Alexa was to stimulate her into even more energetic movements, culminating in a high kick which revealed her undergarments. William stepped backwards out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

  ‘A guttersnipe!’ he exclaimed. ‘Straight out of the slums! And you consider her fit company for three well-brought-up children? You must be out of your mind, Margaret. I cannot possibly consider a proposition of that sort.’

  Margaret’s heart had sunk at the sight of Alexa’s ill-timed exhibition, and her brother’s reaction was what she expected. But for Alexa’s sake she could not abandon her request.

  ‘The girl has had little education, William. She has been brought up in poverty. When her circumstances are altered, her behaviour will alter as well. She is the daughter of a gentleman and has natural good manners. All that is required is discipline and an ordered programme of learning - and at nine years old she is not too old to be amenable. At the moment she possesses only one talent, although it is a considerable one. It is natural that she should wish to display it.’

  The sound of clapping could be heard through the door. William opened it for a second time, and on this occasion they both went inside. Matthew was helping Alexa down from the table with great care, while his young brother still jumped up and down with excitement at the impromptu concert. Only Beatrice stood a little aloof, looking at the visitor with prim disapproval.

  Poor Beatrice, thought Margaret suddenly. She had inherited her father’s sharp features instead of Sophie’s calm good looks, and she was old enough now to realize that she was ill-favoured. The arrival of such a beautiful rival for the affections of her adored elder brother was clearly a source of grievance.

  ‘This is Alexa, Father,’ said Matthew, presenting her in a proprietorial manner.

  ‘Yes,’ said William. There was no warmth in his voice, but at least he was not rude.

  Unaware that she had made a bad impression, Alexa smiled shyly. How could William fail to be affected by her beauty? Margaret wondered. On the stage of the music hall, and again as she danced on the table a few moments earlier, Alexa’s face had been vivacious, extravagantly mobile as it expressed pathos or mischief or vulgarity. In repose it changed character completely, its oval shape and perfectly proportioned features becoming peaceful, almost placid; a Venus from a Renaissance painting. The new garments which Margaret had bought for her - a high-necked smocked blouse, plain skirt and black stockings and boots - were demure and unostentatious, and a wide hair ribbon held back the strawberry blonde hair which was her most striking feature; but no degree of restraint in her clothing could dim her beauty.

  Matthew made a fit partner for her as they stood side by side. He had recently started to grow taller at a great rate, but at twelve years old his face retained an almost feminine attractiveness, with its soft complexion and long dark eyelashes. He made no secret of the effect Alexa had had on him. Margaret remembered his unexpected reaction to the treasures of the Paris museums. Like his grandfather, Matthew was an admirer of beautiful things.

  ‘Will you bring Alexa with you again when you come here, Aunt Margaret?’ he asked.

  Margaret waited for a second before she answered, in the hope that William would make some gesture. When he remained silent, she could only say, ‘I’il see,’ and stretch out her hand to take Alexa away.

  ‘I’ll write to you,’ said William abruptly. ‘I need time to consider. You will not speak of this to anyone, I imagine, nor rush into any arrangement which you may later regret.’

  Margaret acknowledged the concession with a bow of her head. It suggested that her brother might after all accept his responsibility as head of the Lorimer family. As she took Alexa back to Dr Miller’s home, so cramped and dark compared to Brinsley House, Margaret wondered whether she truly wanted him to.

  She had spoken the truth when she told him that she would take pleasure in bringing up Alexa herself. But the prospect was frightening as well as exciting. Nothing in Margaret’s own upbringing had prepared her for the strains and complications of living as an unsupported woman. From the day of her birth it had been assumed by everyone she knew - and for a long time also by herself - that she would pass from the protection of a father to that of a husband. If she was not lucky enough to find a husband, one of her two brothers would have the obligation of caring for her.

  To break away from all these assumptions and embark on a medical training had required a good deal of courage, but she had not been without the support which came from companionship at that time. Other women facing the same problems had provided reassurance and their Dean was helpful with advice. The very difficulty of the syllabus, with its frequent tests and written examinations and the movement from one form of practical training to another, had provided a framework which left little time for doubts. Afterwards, when she took employment in London, the routines of hospital life gave her the same kind of support.

  That time was over. Now she had to plan for a future which was the rest of her life and not simply the period before the next examination. To accept the responsibility for a child’s life when she hardly knew whether she could manage her own was not something lightly to be undertaken.

  William had promised to write, but instead h
e came to call on her, looking with distaste around Dr Miller’s gloomy sitting room.

  ‘How long do you propose to remain here?’ he asked.

  ‘The arrangement is temporary,’ Margaret told him. ‘I hope to find a permanent appointment in a hospital for women or children. Once I have secure employment, I shall decide what kind of home I want and can afford.’

  ‘I have a suggestion to make,’ said William stiffly. ‘Where is the child?’

  ‘Asleep.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now then, the post of physician at the Ashley Down orphanage is vacant. Would work of that sort interest you? You probably know that Father was very generous to the orphanage when it was founded. I have succeeded him as one of the trustees. Assuming that you can offer satisfactory references, I could make sure that the trustees do not allow your sex to prejudice them. The salary is lower than might be offered by an ordinary hospital, so there may not be many applicants.’

  ‘I cannot live on less than anyone else,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Please let me finish,’ said William. ‘I have not yet come to the end of my suggestions. You asked me to take responsibility for our father’s - for Alexa. With reluctance - with great reluctance - I accept that something will have to be done for her. I am agreeable to educating her with my own children as you ask, for a trial period of four years. That would also be the term of your initial appointment at Ashley Down. But it would have to be clearly understood that in no circumstances am I prepared to acknowledge any relationship. If she should ever try to claim one, I would consider that fair grounds for her instant removal.’

  ‘She doesn’t know …’ Margaret began, but her brother interrupted her curtly.

  ‘Quite. And she must not know. The arrangement I propose is this. What the world in general may be told is that she was the daughter of a patient of yours who died; that you were sorry for her orphaned state and decided to bring her up as your own child. So much is true. Alexa herself will know in addition that the patient concerned was an acquaintance of yours, but that detail need not be broadcast. She may be called Alexa Lorimer by virtue of your guardianship. You know that I have never approved of your decision to return to Bristol and be seen working for money as though I were too poor or mean to provide for you. But if you are adamant on the subject I would regard charitable work of the kind offered by the orphanage as more suitable to your station in life. To recompense you for the lower salary I invite you and Alexa to live at Brinsley House. Society will consider it entirely proper that you yourself should live with me while you are in Bristol, and Alexa’s presence under my roof will be all the easier to explain if you have already assumed responsibility for her.’