The Lorimer Line (8 page)

After their practice the two young women walked
together on the Downs. Good food and fresh air had already worked a small miracle on Luisa's appearance. Her long black hair had regained its glossiness and her skin, although still pale, had lost its strained appearance. She had somehow managed to acquire a new gown which, although plain, showed off her slender figure to advantage.

A little to Margaret's surprise, Luisa's wardrobe had also been the object of John Junius's interest. When he heard from his daughter of the occasion on which she proposed to sing with her former teacher, he made it clear at once that Luisa must be dressed in a manner suitable for the company. Margaret and she must go together, he commanded, to order gowns of equal elegance to be made up and charged to his account.

Margaret suspected that the result might not be quite as he intended. Luisa had spent the months of her absence from Bristol in London. She had visited a new store called Liberty's in the first week of its opening and was overwhelmed by the new aesthetic style of dress which she saw there - so different from the tightly fitted gowns which had been fashionable until then, with their bustles and trains and the necessity for stiff-backed corseting. At that time she could not afford to indulge herself in the new fashion, but John Junius's offer gave her an opportunity now which she could not resist.

While Margaret watched doubtfully, Luisa chose a shimmering Indian silk for her gown and sketched the soft and fluid line in which it should be made up. Because of her tallness and the grace of her movements she would look striking even in a style so unfamiliar to the ladies of Bristol society. But Margaret, lacking her presence and confidence, was not prepared to stray so far from what was expected. She ordered her own gown to be made from a stiff blue silk which rustled so loudly with every movement that Luisa laughingly declared it would be a miracle if any of the singing were heard at all.

When the evening of the reception came, it was natural that Margaret should feel responsible for putting David Gregson at his ease. He would know none of the wealthy citizens who had been invited, and they might behave coldly to someone who was present only as a servant of the charity's committee. Margaret faced this prospect on David's behalf before the guests arrived. Her duty as a hostess, she recognized happily, would force her to make sure that he was never left alone.

The reality was a little different. She had a more important duty this evening — that of persuading her mother's richer guests to subscribe to the charitable fund. There was a good deal to say about the insanitary conditions in which so many sick women lived, and the urgency of the need to remove both the women themselves and their children. It had all to be said again and again, to one person at a time, so that everyone would believe her own contribution to be vital. Margaret promised herself that when the time came for the company to remove into the great dining room, where the refreshments had been laid out, she would find the opportunity to apologize to David for treating him so discourteously.

The moment came. The butler bowed in the doorway, the footmen with their trays of glasses stepped back out of the way, and Georgiana graciously indicated that a small supper was prepared for her guests. Looking round for David, Margaret discovered that after all he was not alone. He was offering his arm to Luisa.

Margaret stifled her disappointment as best she could. David's behaviour was perfectly proper. He was recognizing that the daughter of his hostess must necessarily concern herself with guests more important than himself. It had been clever of him to identify the one person present whose status was as low as his own.

By the time the company returned to the big drawing room, which was used only on occasions such as this, its
sofas and chairs had been rearranged to face the piano. David, at the back of the room, remained standing, looking at the two musicians over the seated ladies. Margaret's throat went dry with nervousness. But she was to start the concert with a piano piece which she had practised to perfection. There was no reason to be apprehensive, she told herself.

Taking her seat at the piano, she caught the attention of the whispering audience with the dramatic opening chords of
The Maiden's Prayer
before showing off her agile fingers with the rippling arpeggios and trill-like bird songs which one hand provided as accompaniment for the melody played by the other. The piece was bound to be well known to all the ladies in the audience who had daughters of their own. Perhaps it was for that very reason, because they had heard it more stumblingly practised in their own drawing rooms, that they were generous in their applause.

The two girls then changed places so that Luisa could play the accompaniments to their songs. Margaret stood stiffly, half facing her, with one gloved hand resting on the piano. Her first solo was an old favourite:
I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls.
Luisa played the introduction and Margaret began to sing.

Throughout their little concert David's eyes were fixed on the performers. An hour earlier Margaret would have taken it for granted that he was watching her. But now her pleasure was spoilt by Luisa's presence. When they began their duets, Luisa sang the alto part and, although she took care to adjust her voice to Margaret's sweet but less powerful soprano, the richness of her tone left no doubt that hers was the superior talent.

Margaret, recognizing that Luisa had few advantages in life to compare with those of her own birth, had never before experienced any jealousy. Now, for the first time, she found herself resenting not only her musical inferiority but also the fact that her friend, unlike herself, was so
poised and stately. Elegance was a gift which Margaret had always affected to despise, since she knew that she could never possess it, but at this moment she was brought near to tears by the knowledge of her own lack of style.

The reason for her jealousy was not hard to find when she looked at it honestly. As she ruefully castigated herself for not allowing poor Luisa her superiority in these areas, she realized the explanation with a shock so sudden and intense that for a moment her head swam. What she felt was not just pique. She had fallen in love.

She did her best to conquer the surge of emotion. David had appealed to her at first sight for no better reason than the look of his curly hair and handsome face and slim figure. Later in their first meeting she had approved of his honest outspokenness and was grateful for the sympathy he showed towards her ambition. He was ambitious himself – she was sure of that, and in turn sympathized with him. Although conscious of being in this one respect held back by the wealth and position of her family, she could understand how much more severely David was handicapped by the poverty into which he had been born. From their conversation in Leigh Woods she knew that he had been an only child and that his parents were already dead. He was alone in the world in a way which she could hardly imagine. All these different impressions had combined to make her aware of a peculiar interest in him, but only now did she realize how much her feelings had deepened.

After the music was over, the sight of David coming towards the piano made her steel herself to hear his compliments directed elsewhere. Yet it was after all her own hand over which he bowed. She told herself that this was merely social politeness, but his admiration appeared to be sincere. A little at a time she allowed relief to creep over her and dared to feel pleasure in the conversation with an intensity heightened by her earlier apprehension. It even seemed safe at last to turn towards Luisa.

‘I believe you are already acquainted with Mr Gregson,' she said.

‘It's a strange coincidence,' David replied. ‘Miss Reni and I lodge in the same house. We keep different hours, so that even on the staircase we have never met until tonight. I have often heard her practising the very songs which you have just performed, but without knowing that I should have the privilege of attending their performance. Mrs Lambert, my landlady, knowing my employment, mentioned to me on one occasion the arrival of the Lorimer carriage to call for Miss Reni, and still it did not occur to me that I might meet her here tonight.'

There was no hint of confusion in his voice, so that the thought which flashed through Margaret's mind was unprovoked. Could it be that David was the father of Luisa's child?

She dismissed the idea as soon as it occurred to her. David had come to Lorimer's only in January, and at that time Luisa was in London and already pregnant. Margaret flushed with shame at the wickedness of her own thoughts. She began to turn away from David, feeling that she was unfit to converse with him. But he took the opportunity to raise another subject with her.

‘I learned yesterday of another property which might be worth inspection, Miss Lorimer,' he said. ‘I wondered if we - if you would allow me …'

He had apparently not enough courage to come to the point, but Margaret was eager to rescue him.

‘Oh yes, Mr Gregson, let us by all means make another expedition. Perhaps on this occasion we shall be more fortunate.'

They appointed a time. The evening, which until a few moments earlier had seemed in ruins, was suddenly a triumph. Margaret's happiness must have shown in her face, for even her father commented on it as he came across now to compliment the singers.

‘You are looking very well tonight, Margaret. Extremely well. And you sang, I thought, with great expression. He turned to Luisa. ‘I must thank you on behalf of our family, Signorina Reni, for devoting your talents to this cause. I hope it may not be too long before you sing for us again. It was most beautiful. My carriage will of course take you home whenever you wish to leave, but I hope that we may enjoy your company a little longer yet.'

‘Papa,' said Margaret, and then hesitated. But her father seemed to be in a more affable mood than usual. ‘Papa, Mr Gregson lodges, it appears, in the same residence as Luisa.'

‘Indeed!' said John Junius. His bushy eyebrows lowered in a disapproving frown, as though it were not correct for an unmarried lady and gentleman to share a landlady. But almost at once he gave David a cool nod of recognition.

‘We must leave Signorina Reni, I think, to decide whether she wishes to be escorted on her return journey. All the seats in the carriage are entirely at her disposal.'

After he left, Luisa laughed gaily at David.

‘Well, I hope, Mr Gregson, that you will accept a seat. Your journey will be unpleasant otherwise, for I can hear that the rain is heavy.'

‘I hardly need the threat of rain and mud to drive me into such charming company, Miss Reni.'

An hour ago the exchange would have made Margaret even more jealous than before, and the thought of David closeted in the carriage with Luisa would have been insupportable. But by now she was beginning to recognize the humour with which he paid the compliments expected by society, laughing at himself even as he did so. And a woman with a baby was no sort of rival. She was even able to raise a smile as she saw them leave together.

She was still smiling as Betty unpinned her hair later that evening and warmed her nightdress before the fire. But later still, as she lay in bed, the smile faded, replaced
by anxious consideration. It was not enough to acknowledge her own feelings. It was not enough even to hope that her father's accountant found her of some interest. If the relationship were to develop further, it would be necessary for some initiative to be taken. She had the wish to act: had she the courage?

When a search has provided the excuse for companionship between a young lady and gentleman, its successful conclusion is not always greeted with the satisfaction it might seem to deserve. It was with dismay that David realized, on a bleak and snow-swept day in January, that his expeditions in Margaret Lorimer's company had come to an end. Croft House - the fifth property they had inspected together - was precisely suitable.

The house was old and spacious. It had been the centre of a manorial farm before the city swelled to engulf it, allowing an astute owner to grow houses rather than corn on his fields. He had kept enough land to provide a pleasure garden, however, so that the surroundings were verdant. The barns and stables which clustered round the old farmyard had not been used for many years, but were still dry. It would be a simple matter to convert them into dormitory accommodation for children.

Best of all, there was a separate dower house, Lower Croft. More modern than Croft House, it had been designed in the gothic style, with two turrets and a wealth of lead in the windows. Some of its rooms were small and dark, reached only by narrow and twisting staircases; but the drawing room, in which David and Margaret paused to discuss their conclusions, was high and spacious.

‘If you are to appoint a resident supervisor, the offer of a
house would make the position a very attractive one,' David pointed out. ‘You could take such a benefit into account when determining the salary.'

‘So you think this is a purchase which could safely be recommended to the committee?' asked Margaret.

‘If the price is right, yes.'

David felt little doubt that the price would be right. All through the city - and indeed, all over the country - money was becoming tight. His earlier efforts to persuade John Junius that the debts owing to Lorimer's Bank should be reduced had met with little success. But although these old debts were still outstanding, the directors had decided to restrict new loans to a minimum. Other banks were acting in the same way. It was a time when those who needed funds would have to sell property, while those who might wish to buy would find it hard to borrow the purchase price. With the fruits of its appeal waiting accessibly at Lorimer's, the Gentlewomen's Aid Fund could reasonably hope to be the only bidder for Croft House.

‘Then you should sound more cheerful, Mr Gregson. This is an exciting moment, if our search is over at last.'