The Lorimer Line

by Anne Melville

  There was a calculated coldness in William’s voice which tempted Margaret to reject his proposals and resolve her affairs for herself. But prudence prompted her to consider his offer seriously. The medical care of a large number of orphaned children would be a satisfying field of employment, for she would be able to look after their health all the time, practising preventative medicine. William’s promise to use his influence did not disturb her conscience - she knew from her experience in London how few appointments were free from considerations of this kind. Ashley Down was woman’s work and she was well qualified for it. Whatever reservations she might have about living with William and Sophie, the arrangement would be the best possible one for Alexa. Even while she was asking her brother to allow her a day for consideration, she had already made up her mind.

  After William had left, she went into the bedroom where Alexa was sleeping. Except for the jewel box, which Margaret kept in her own care, all the child’s possessions, such as they were, had been brought into this room. The portrait of John Junius Lorimer was propped up against the wall. Margaret stared at it for a long time. Alexa did not know who the subject was. Margaret, who had loved her father, wondered how much even she had known him.

  She laughed silently - but without merriment - at the unexpectedness of life. After the collapse of her father’s empire she had thought that the doors of Brinsley House were closed to her for ever. But now, after seven years of independence, it was to be her home once more. Even more strange was the fact that the portrait of John Junius Lorimer, sold in shame, bought with furtiveness and housed in squalor, would also be returning to its ancestral home.

  3

  Good news becomes bad news when the wrong man brings it. Seven years after her parting with Charles, Margaret still secretly hoped that he might one day come to tell her that he was free of responsibility for his father. But it was William who said at breakfast one morning, ‘I hear that Dr Scott is dead.’

  For a moment Margaret’s heart stood still. ‘You mean our old physician?’ she asked, controlling her voice with difficulty.

  ‘Who else?’ William’s face expressed surprise at the question. ‘I understand that for many years he has been out of his mind. His death must have come as a merciful release.’

  ‘How did you learn the news?’

  ‘His son is in Bristol and has informed several of his father’s old patients.’ William returned to his kedgeree and The Times, indicating that he would be grateful for silence in which to study Mr Gladstone’s latest proposals for Irish Home Rule.

  Margaret willingly obliged, hoping that the agitation in her mind would not betray itself on her face. If Charles was telling others and not herself the news of his release from his claims of duty, what grounds had she for hope? She had told him to forget her, and this was evidence that he had succeeded in doing so. Quietly she left the table before her misery could be detected.

  It was part of her arrangement with William that she would take sole charge of Alexa on Saturdays and Sundays. On these days she was not required to attend at the orphanage except in the event of some medical emergency. But today was a special occasion, an Open Day when those benefactors who contributed to the cost of caring for the children, or who might be persuaded to do so, were invited to inspect the building and its inmates, which they did rather in the manner of visitors to Clifton Zoo. Margaret, as a member of the staff, was expected to act as one of the hosts or keepers.

  She went to see whether Alexa was ready to leave, and found her ward still untying the rags from her hair. Alexa turned every public appearance into a performance. In her own room she was untidy, but before leaving the house for any purpose at all she would spend hours making sure that every pleat was in place, every ribbon precisely tied, every hair of her head brushed and shining. Margaret chivvied her affectionately and they set off together to Ashley Down.

  In the long dining room examples of the girls’ needlework and the boys’ woodwork were on display, ready to be admired and, if possible, sold. The children themselves, brushed and scrubbed and uniformly dressed in blue smocks, stood in demure lines along the walls, their hands clasped in front of them.

  The sight was enough to make Alexa show off, tossing her head in a disdainful manner as though she were one of the rich ladies who were already beginning to perambulate through the hall. She disliked the orphanage, possibly because she guessed how near she had come to entering it herself. She was concerned to make it clear to everyone who saw her that she was not one of its residents, but the demonstration was hardly necessary. The shimmering waves of reddish-gold hair which framed her face were in striking contrast to the tight plaits strained off the foreheads of the less fortunate girls present.

  As the visitors began to arrive, Margaret forced herself to do her duty. She was reassuring to trustees and encouraging to anyone who might be persuaded to be generous to the orphanage. It was necessary to tread a delicate path, making it clear at one and the same time that the children were well fed and cared for while every possible economy was practised. But although she said and did everything that could be expected of her, beneath the professional mask her feelings were in turmoil. Where was Charles at this moment? Did he know that she was in Bristol? Would he come to see her? If he did not, was there any way in which she could without impropriety visit him? Did she even care about propriety? The questions churned and jostled in her mind even while she was defending to one of the trustees the cost of heating water for washing the hair of the orphans.

  The first of her questions was answered almost at once. She was still talking to the trustee when Charles Scott came into the hall. In mid-sentence she abandoned what she was saying and stared wordlessly across the room. Although she had known he was in Bristol - although she was at that very second hoping to see him - his sudden appearance came as such a shock that her heart seemed to stop beating: for a moment she was even unable to breathe.

  Charles was escorting two ladies: Mrs Braithwaite, a widow who was one of the patrons of the orphanage, and her unmarried daughter. The daughter was pretty, and Margaret had to control a second reaction, of jealousy and apprehension. Suppose it was not herself but someone else who had drawn him back to Bristol. Margaret had set him free to form other attachments, but she could not bear to think that he might have done so.

  Charles’s attention was not wholly on his companions. He was looking round the hall, studying each face in turn. Suddenly his eyes alighted on Margaret and he stood stock still, bringing the two ladies to an unexpected halt beside him.

  As he stared at Margaret, so she gazed steadily back at him across the room, wondering whether she could bear it if he were to speak to her and knowing that she could not bear it if he were to turn away. She saw him bend and say something to Mrs Braithwaite, who looked round just as he himself had done a moment earlier. The trustee who had been talking to Margaret, sensing her distraction, moved politely away. To conceal her confusion, Margaret began to speak to Alexa, chattering any sort of nonsense that came into her head.

  It was Alexa who drew her attention to the trio approaching them.

  ‘How are you, Mrs Braithwaite?’ Margaret addressed the plump widow, but she could not take her eyes off Charles.

  ‘Not as well as I would wish, Dr Lorimer, but it is kind of you to enquire. May I present Dr Charles Scott to you?’

  Margaret swallowed the lump in her throat and held out her hand. ‘We are already acquainted,’ she murmured, hardly conscious of what she was saying. Charles was gripping her fingers so tightly that for a moment she thought she would faint.

  Mrs Braithwaite showed signs of annoyance. ‘Already acquainted? Then why did you insist on being presented, Dr Scott?’

  ‘So many years have passed since our last meeting that I could hardly expect Dr Lorimer to recognize me,’ he said. He was still holding her hand.

  The superintendent of the orphanage, recognizing Mrs Braithwaite as a valuable benefactor, came up to greet her unctuously an
d to bear her and her daughter away for an inspection of the samplers embroidered by the girls. Alexa attached herself to them, and Margaret and Charles stood alone in the crowded room.

  ‘I suppose that after all this time you could not be sure that you recognized me,’ said Margaret, although in truth she felt that she had changed little. Her eyes might sparkle less than in the battling days of her youth, but the bright redness of her hair, she knew, showed no signs of fading -and unlike her married friends who had become stout with childbearing, she had retained her trim figure.

  ‘Of course I recognized you,’ said Charles softly. ‘But I was too much of a coward to ask a busybody directly whether you were still Dr Lorimer or whether you had become Mrs Smith or Mrs Jones. Margaret! My dear Margaret! Do you find the atmosphere here oppressive, I wonder? Perhaps we might inspect the gardens.’

  She left the hall on his arm, feeling as though she were walking a foot above the ground. She was well aware that their departure would set malicious tongues wagging, but she was reckless with the excitement of being close to him again. Her whole body was tingling with exhilaration and relief at the magical transition from despair to hope.

  Neither of them made any pretence of admiring the gardens. Instead, Charles led her to a wooden seat beneath a cedar tree. They did not speak at once. The tension which had built up in Margaret’s mind during the morning of unhappiness and the shock of actually seeing Charles again had slipped away with the touch of his hand. She could afford to take things slowly now. Whatever words they might use would be irrelevant: their true communication was through their fingertips. It was as though their hearts were beating in unison. To prolong the preliminaries with superficial conversation would almost be a pleasure, so sure was she that they would arrive together at a happy conclusion.

  Perhaps Charles shared the same feeling, for - without relaxing his grip on her hand - he allowed himself to be apparently distracted by the sight of Alexa. She appeared in the doorway just as Charles and Margaret had sat down; but when she saw the two of them together she stood still for a moment as though posing, and then returned inside.

  ‘I noticed you were talking earlier to that beautiful young girl,’ said Charles. ‘I was curious, in fact. She reminded me of yourself in a way I could not quite define.’

  ‘The appearance of a beautiful young girl has little in common with mine,’ laughed Margaret.

  ‘Nonsense. Your eyes very much resemble each other’s, for one thing. And although the child’s hair is so much fairer than your own, it is tinged with red, is it not, and has the same texture.’

  ‘She is my ward,’ Alexa,’ said Margaret. ‘Her parents both died before she was ten years old, and she has lived with me ever since.’

  ‘That is a very generous act on your part.’

  ‘Her mother was a patient of mine. When she died, Alexa was quite alone in the world. As you have remarked, she is very beautiful. It was unthinkable to condemn her to the drab life of an orphanage, even such a happy one as this. I have always enjoyed young company. To have a child in my care has given me great pleasure ’

  The explanation for Alexa’s situation was one which Margaret had repeated many times, and in her happiness and excitement she did not pause to wonder now whether Charles deserved a more accurate version. For the time being she was not concerned with Alexa’s circumstances; only with her own.

  ‘I was sorry to hear of your father’s death,’ she said.

  ‘You have learned of that already?’ He was startled.

  ‘It was my impression that I was one of the last to hear.’

  ‘I had quite forgotten the speed at which gossip travels in Bristol,’ he confessed. This was a piece of news which I particularly wished to give you myself. I arrived here only yesterday, and used the politeness of announcing the information to my father’s old patients as my excuse.’

  ‘Did you need an excuse?’

  ‘I came to find out about you,’ he said simply. To discover whether you were working, whether you were married, whether you were happy.’

  ‘And what have you learnt, Charles?’

  The answers to my first two questions. The third I must ask more directly.’ His eyes searched hers. ‘Are you happy, Margaret?’ he asked.

  She did not answer at once. So often in the past she had invented this meeting in waking dreams. Now that it had happened in reality, she still hardly dared to believe it. She forced herself to meet his look, as she had done earlier in the hall. Less intensely than in those first few seconds, she studied his appearance.

  In seven years he had ceased to be a young man. She knew his age. He was forty now, and looked older. His clothes were creased and shabby. The soft features of his face were lined with years of worry. His fair hair had faded into a paleness which was not yet quite grey. He was still a big man, and strong; but he was tired, and crumpled like his clothes - a man in need of care and comfort. She had thought that she could never love him more than- she did on the night of their parting, all those years ago, but the depth of her feelings now proved her wrong.

  ‘I am happy to see you again,’ she said. ‘Very, very happy.’

  Charles gripped both her hands with his own. ‘I had no right to expect anything - anything at all,’ he said, his face glowing. ‘I sacrificed my own happiness - and yours as well, I know - for the sake of an old man who for years had not even been able to recognize me as his son.’

  ‘You deserve respect for being so dutiful,’ Margaret told him. Now that the time of waiting was over, she could even forgive the demands which had been made on him.

  ‘I am ashamed to admit that I had hoped also for his gratitude. But of course he could not know what I had sacrificed for his sake. He expected more and more, thinking of it as his by right. Well, now that is over. I bring you an invitation to visit my aunt.’

  ‘I have never met your aunt. Why should she wish to see me?’ Margaret’s voice was teasing. She would do anything that Charles suggested.

  ‘She lives near me and invites you at my request. She is very old and will hardly be able to offer much entertainment. But I am anxious for you to see at first hand the village in which I have made my home, to experience the slow pace of its life.’

  ‘You went there for your father’s sake, did you not? Do you intend to remain there?’

  Charles nodded. ‘What skill I had as a surgeon is gone. I am too old to work up a new practice for nothing, and too poor to buy one, but in a village where I know everyone I can be of use. I must recognize, though, that such a community would not have much in the way of excitement or employment to offer my wife.’ He looked into her eyes again. ‘The only question I truly want to ask you is whether you will marry me,’ he said. ‘But I cannot ask it until you know what the answer would involve. My way of life may prove to be too dull for you.’

  Margaret could truthfully have assured him that she asked nothing better than to live with him wherever he chose. But the pleasure of postponing for as long as possible the moment when everything between them would be settled made her tease him for a second time.

  ‘It’s rash of you to move so fast with a woman you have not seen for seven years,’ she said.

  ‘I have respect for my own good judgement,’ he replied. The loving happiness of his smile suggested that he had seen in her eyes the answer to the question which he had not directly asked. ‘I decided long ago that I should never want to marry anyone but you, and I feel confident that the qualities I admired are still there. You never doubted, surely, that I would come to find you again as soon as I could.’

  ‘I needed to do more than doubt it,’ Margaret said. ‘I had to try to convince myself that I would never see you again. I could not have endured to spend so many years in a day-to-day hope that might never be fulfilled. Although sometimes, I must admit - ‘ She flushed at the memory of the day-dreams in which she had so often indulged, and did not complete the confession. ‘As time passed, it seemed more likely that I was telling m
yself the truth. I thought that when you were free to make your own life you would want a complete family of your own - you would choose a younger woman for your wife. After so many years of being a loyal son, you deserve to be a beloved father.’

  ‘It’s true that I would like to have children; but I want them to be yours.’

  ‘I am thirty-five,’ she reminded him.

  ‘That is not too old, if one has courage, as you have. When I came into that hall half an hour ago and saw you standing there with Alexa, I thought to myself that if you were to have a daughter that is exactly what she would look like.’

  Margaret felt a sudden stab of alarm. ‘I hope you didn’t think …’

  ‘Oh no, no. Of course not. It is just that your children would be beautiful in the same way.’

  ‘I am responsible for Alexa,’ Margaret said - apprehensive even as she spoke lest this should prove at the last moment to be a stumbling block.

  ‘So much the better, for we shall then have a ready-made family.’ Charles could not have expected such an imposition when he set out for Bristol, but he accepted it without hesitation. ‘She will be company for you when I am away from home, and I shall learn to love her because you love her and I love you.’