Her anxiety proved to be unfounded. The cupboard was securely locked, and when she unfastened it with the key she wore round her neck, the dust lay undisturbed on the old newspapers which she had piled high to conceal the box.
Margaret opened it and stared in silence at the black leather case whose contents had been the cause of so much trouble to the family, and to herself in particular. It was true enough, as the careful framing of her answer had suggested to Alexa, that her father had left no material inheritance to any of his three legitimate children. But it was not the whole truth. In the year before he died, John Junius Lorimer had contrived – by a ruse which fell only a hair’s breadth short of being criminal -to salvage one treasure from the wreck of his fortune. And that treasure was in front of Margaret now.
Conscious of what it had done to her life, she could hardly bring herself to look at it. But how foolish it would be, she told herself, not to check its safety now that she had begun. Reluctantly she unlocked the case, raised the lid, and drew out one by one the three velvet-lined drawers.
For a long time she knelt in front of it without moving, mesmerized by the sparkle of the gems. The centrepiece was a necklace of rubies, with a pendant in the form of a rose; its petals were formed from more rubies, set in silver and framed with tiny diamonds. In the bottom drawer nestled a pair of delicate drop ear-rings which repeated the rose motif on a miniature scale. At the top, even more richly elaborate than the necklace, lay a tiara in which yet another ruby rose was surrounded by trembling leaves of silver and diamonds. These were the objects which alone could be said to constitute the Lorimer legacy; and they had not been bequeathed to Margaret.
Instead, John Junius Lorimer had left them to a baby whom during his lifetime he had not publicly acknowledged as his child. It was his mistress, Luisa Reni, who on her deathbed had handed them to Margaret and asked her to keep them until her little girl, Alexa, should come of age. That was the moment – nine years ago – when Margaret had first learned the name of Alexa’s father.
Alexa herself did not yet know that she was a Lorimer by birth as well as by adoption. When Margaret accepted the responsibility for bringing up her orphaned half-sister, she needed her brother’s help. William offered them both a home at Brinsley House only on the understanding that Alexa should not be told the truth about her birth. He had laid down the condition for the sake of his father’s reputation, and Margaret had accepted it for Alexa’s. She had resolved to tell her ward the truth on the same day that the rubies were handed over – on her twenty-first birthday. Even then the taint of illegitimacy would be hard to accept.
Like the rubies, the portrait of John Junius belonged, unsuspected, to Alexa. Poor Luisa had almost as little money in her purse as Margaret on the terrible day in 1879 when the contents of Brinsley House were auctioned for the benefit of the bank’s creditors, but she had spared what she could to make sure that Alexa would one day see what her father looked like. Fortunately, there was no one else in Bristol at that time who wished to be reminded of John Junius Lorimer, and the portrait had been knocked down to her for only a few shillings.
Thoughtfully Margaret packed up the case and locked it away in the cupboard. As she briskly snapped the lock on the door, she snapped shut her own memory at the same time. What had happened in the past was of little importance to her life today. All that mattered now was that the legacy which John Junius Lorimer had left behind him was safe, and no one but Margaret knew of its existence.
3
Even the most unsophisticated girl knows that the simplest way to secure a young man’s company is to pretend an enthusiasm for his hobbies. Alexa had no talent for painting or carving, but she knew them to be Matthew’s passions, so she took care to prepare her watercolour box before he arrived. Carrying a picnic hamper between them, they strolled each morning through the fields until Matthew found a flower or a view of the village church to inspire him. Margaret was fully occupied with an epidemic of measles which was spreading through the village, and asked few questions about how they spent their time.
On the last day of his visit Matthew’s concentration appeared to be disturbed. He had been drawing a foal, making a series of quick sketches as it tossed its head or rolled on its back or trotted up to its mother to feed. Alexa heard the firm strokes of his charcoal faltering, although she pretended not to notice.
‘Do you remember your mother?’ he asked, so unexpectedly that Alexa blinked with surprise.
‘Of course. I was nine when she died.’
‘What was she like?’
‘She was Italian. Dark-haired; not like me. Until she became ill, she was very beautiful. She had a lovely singing voice, and played the piano well. She was a teacher of music, you know; very patient. When I was small, she had to take me with her to the lessons, and I can remember all the things she used to say, over and over again. It’s been a great help to me: I can give lessons to myself.’
‘How was it that Aunt Margaret came to adopt you, then?’
‘She came – as a doctor – to visit my mother, who was dying by then of consumption and starvation. But they had known each other earlier, as teacher and pupil. After my mother died, there was no one in the world on whom I had any claim. I was very fortunate to escape the workhouse. Why do you ask all this?’
Matthew was slow to answer. He had sounded awkward even when he asked the question, and now he was obviously embarrassed; but Alexa waited until he spoke.
‘When you first came to live at Brinsley House, we were told that you had been adopted,’ he said. ‘But you look – I just wanted to be sure – I only wondered whether Aunt Margaret could possibly be your mother.’
His face was scarlet as he stared down at his sketching pad. Alexa gave an incredulous gasp.
‘What an extraordinary idea! Why, she wasn’t even married when I was born.’
‘I know.’ Matthew’s voice was apologetic. ‘I shouldn’t have suggested it. You won’t tell Aunt Margaret I asked, will you?’
‘Certainly not. She would be very shocked. Why –?’
But Alexa had no need to finish the question. Without asking, she understood why he had needed to know. For six years they had studied and played together as though they were brother and sister. Matthew had known that she was not really his sister. What he was checking was the possibility that she might be his cousin.
Alexa could move one further step into his mind. Only the previous evening, after dinner, Margaret had been talking about a death caused by the measles epidemic: that of a feeble-minded child. Alexa, who had often noticed the boy’s shambling walk and idiotic grin, asked how such things were caused.
‘There are a good many possible reasons,’ Margaret had said. ‘But the one that I blame, and the most easily prevented, is the habit of marrying within a very small community such as a village. The parents of this boy were first cousins. It means that the child had fewer grandparents than is usual. If there is any weak strain in the family already, the chance of inheriting it is greatly increased. Although it is not forbidden for cousins to marry, I would always advise against it, if I were asked. But then, young people nowadays never ask for advice until they have quite decided not to take it.’
Matthew and Alexa laughed together then, and Alexa had thought no more of it. If Matthew, taking the theoretical advice seriously, felt it necessary to check that it could have no practical application to himself, there could only be one explanation. For a second time she felt her breath snatched from her; this time by wonder. She looked across at Matthew, who sat with his head still bowed, and was almost overcome by a wish to run her fingers through his thick fair hair. He raised his head slowly to gaze at her. Alexa jumped to her feet and turned away – not because she wished to discourage him, but because she was overwhelmed by a kind of excitement she had never felt before, and needed time to steady her feelings.
‘I would like to paint you,’ said Matthew, with almost as much abruptness as he had used for his earlier question.
‘Then why don’t you?’ Alexa pirouetted round him, her white skirts swirling and the green ribbons on her hat flying. An onlooker might have thought she was flirting, for her extravagant dips and dances contrasted strongly with Matthew’s unmoving solemnity: but the gaiety which she acted was only the veneer on a sincere delight. She came to a halt in a Gainsborough pose, one arm lifted to her filmy white hat. ‘I shall be a better model than a painter. When will you start?’
‘I’m not skilled enough to catch a likeness in water-colour,’ Matthew said. ‘I would need to use oil paints, and I didn’t bring them with me. If Aunt Margaret agrees, will you come to stay at Brinsley House?’
‘It would be necessary for your mother to invite me.’
‘I shall ask her to do so as soon as I arrive home. If she writes tonight you will have the invitation almost before you have completed your packing. Will you come?’
‘Can you doubt it?’ Alexa gave another pirouette of pleasure. The mare and foal, disturbed by the movement, whinnied and cantered away to the far side of the field. Matthew seemed not to care that his subject had vanished. He too stood up and held out his hand towards Alexa.
His shyness might prevent him from speaking, but there was no need for words. As she allowed him to take her hand, Alexa knew that their old relationship had come to an end. At the beginning of his visit she had welcomed him as though he were a favourite brother: when he left that evening, she said goodbye to the young man she loved.
Always before she had confided in Margaret, but this was her secret, to be kept from all the world. She made the excuse to herself that there was nothing to tell. A touch of the hand – what significance had such a small gesture? Only when Matthew put his feelings into words could she be sure of his love, and admit her own.
The invitation arrived as speedily as she could have hoped. With her usual lack of grace Sophie made it clear from the wording that she was writing at Matthew’s request rather than from her own choice, but this merely increased Alexa’s pleasure. She held her breath as she waited for her guardian’s decision.
‘The invitation comes at a good time,’ Margaret commented, passing it across. ‘I’m too busy with the complications of the measles to be good company, and I shall be glad for you to be well away from the contagion. Would you like to go?’
‘Yes, please.’ Alexa ran from the breakfast table to her own room and began to lay out all her clothes. She was mending and packing them with the help of Betty, their housekeeper, when Margaret came into the room to say what travelling arrangements she suggested.
‘Good heavens, child! You’re not being invited to take up residence in Brinsley House for ever!’
‘I need to take so much because none of my clothes are suitable at all for such a visit,’ Alexa declared with a touch of sulkiness. Her excitement at the prospect of a return to Bristol had been dampened as she tried to imagine the various kinds of entertainment which might be offered her, and in each case realized that she had nothing suitable to wear. ‘It’s time that I ceased to dress like a schoolgirl. You don’t seem to realize that I am eighteen now. You tell me that Beatrice is out: well, I am older than Beatrice.’
She was sorry for her snappiness as soon as she had spoken, for she could tell that she had hurt her guardian’s feelings. It was a long time since Margaret had needed to dress fashionably, but her silence now suggested that she sympathized with Alexa’s outburst.
‘You are quite right,’ she said quietly. ‘I have been remiss, not noticing how time has passed. When you come back from Bristol, we must have a discussion about your future. And for now – well, Betty will show you how to put your hair up for the evening. And I will send some money with you to Sophie and ask her to help you choose a gown in which you may keep Beatrice company if she asks you to. In fact, you will need two: one for day and one for evening.’
Knowing how short money was in the household, Alexa was immediately remorseful and would have refused it. But Margaret insisted firmly that the new wardrobe was necessary, and Alexa’s anxiety to show herself off as smart in front of Matthew overcame her scruples. She was happy again, and as affectionate as always, when a day later she kissed Margaret and little Robert goodbye. She could not have guessed then how much would happen before she saw them again.
4
Ambition feeds on discontent. In her quiet country home Alexa had often felt the desire to go out into the world and make a name for herself. With Margaret’s hardworking example at hand, she was less easily persuaded than most girls of respectable family that a young woman should do no more than wait at home until someone came to offer her marriage. At the same time, she would have liked to make some financial contribution to the running of the household. So firmly had Margaret discouraged her wish to go on the stage that for a long time she had not dared to mention it. But if her future were to be discussed when she returned from Bristol, perhaps she could raise the question just once more. In her heart she suspected that it would be no use, but nevertheless she passed the time of the railway journey in planning what she would say.
Then, as the train steamed into Temple Meads, she saw Matthew waiting and realized that she wanted nothing more than to spend her life with him. Her day-dreams of applauding crowds, of flowers strewn at her feet, of jewels and admirers – all these disappeared in the few seconds which it took him to catch sight of her. He was so grave, so handsome, so kind; and he loved her, she was sure of that. He had not told her so yet, but surely before she left Bristol he would speak – and then she would never think again of theatres and applause.
Matthew also had ambitions, rooted as firmly as her own in dissatisfaction with the life which his parents had forced on him. He had never revealed them to her before, but they emerged gradually in the course of her sittings for the portrait.
He had made a studio for himself in the tower room. Alexa looked round curiously as on her first evening Matthew led the way into it, to show her where he had set up the easel and to choose her pose, ready for a start the next day. During all her years at Brinsley House the tower had been locked and unused. It was not safe for children, Sophie had said if ever she was asked about it.
‘It was my grandfather’s favourite room,’ Matthew told Alexa as they stood together at one of the windows, looking down-river at the breathtaking view of the Clifton Gorge and the suspension bridge which seemed to float above it. ‘In his day, most of the Lorimer Line ships were still under sail. He used to stand here and watch as they came up the river to the Bristol Docks.’
‘Do you remember your Lorimer grandparents?’ Alexa asked, recalling the portrait of John Junius which was now hanging in the drawing room of Elm Lodge, and her own fancies about him.
‘My grandmother not at all. She was ill most of the time, and found small children too noisy. But I can just remember my grandfather: a very big man. I didn’t like him kissing me, because the hair on his face tickled. But he was fond of me, I think. I can recall being jogged on his knee. And although I was only six when he died, I can remember having the odd feeling that other people were frightened of him, but that I wasn’t.’
‘I’ve heard that he was very autocratic,’ said Alexa.
‘Well, perhaps he had the right to be. He was very rich, and important at least in the society of his own city. As well as being chairman of a bank, Lorimer’s Bank, he owned and managed the Lorimer Line for most of his life, as my father does now – in fact, he gave the company to my father as a twenty-first birthday present. I find it curious that nobody in Bristol ever speaks of him. Even my parents never talk about him. But sometimes I think, from the little I’ve heard, that Arthur and I have each inherited a separate part of his character. Arthur will be a successful man of business, just as my grandfather was. He will build up the Lorimer Line and expand it and find new companies to join to it, and make a great fortune for himself. It’s curious how one can tell these things in advance. He’s not yet seventeen, yet his ability is already clear.’
‘But you are the elder son,’ Alexa protested. ‘You are the one who will inherit the Lorimer Line.’
‘Not if my father has any sense,’ laughed Matthew. ‘Already he can see how much I hate the work. I lack the talent as well as the taste for it. My father moves me round his office and his ships, so that I spend a few months at each task. At the end I am expected to put all my experience together to provide a complete understanding of the running of a shipping line. But I am inefficient in every matter of business which is set before me. Whenever I attempt to command a column of figures I find myself faced with a mutiny. Last week I accepted twice as much cargo for New York as the ship I was filling could carry.’
Alexa smiled sympathetically. ‘What have you inherited from your grandfather, then, if not his business ability?’ she asked.
‘I would like to be an artist,’ said Matthew. ‘But that’s easier to say than to do. I know I have talent, but talent is not enough by itself. I should need to be trained, and at the end of the training I should find myself in the most precarious of professions – and perhaps still lacking in the ability or the luck to succeed in it. I feel that it’s a crime to waste my one talent – yet it would be wicked to hurt my parents by disregarding their wishes.’
‘I know exactly how you feel!’ exclaimed Alexa. She had not intended to say anything to Matthew about her ambition to sing in public, but the similarity of their situations prompted her to be indiscreet.
The Lorimer Legacy Page 2
