Alexa was exaggerating. Physically she was almost inexhaustible and could have travelled on for another week had it been necessary. But it was true that the day had drained her in a way she could not have anticipated. The joy of her reunion with Margaret had been overshadowed by the news she had learned, and her emotions were strained to breaking point. She kissed her sister and prepared to leave the room.
‘You’re forgetting your legacy,’ said Margaret.
Alexa turned back to the table and stared down at the jewels as they lay on their beds of black velvet. She did not move to touch them.
‘The Lorimer legacy!’ she exclaimed, unable any longer to restrain the bitterness she felt. ‘It seems to me that the true legacy I have inherited consists of lies and deceptions and miseries. I wish I had not been born a Lorimer. I wish that I had no right to these. They bring me nothing but unhappiness.’
‘You are not the first to suffer on their account,’ said Margaret, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. Alexa glanced at her in surprise, but was given no explanation. ‘But no one else has any claim on them. You had better take them. If you choose to sell them or give them away, that is your own affair. They are yours. And try to believe that your true legacy is one of love, a father’s love for his daughter. The lies have come later. You must not put any of that blame on him.’
For a moment longer Alexa looked down at the jewellery. Then, nodding to herself, as though to acknowledge that Margaret had spoken the truth, she carried the case upstairs.
9
A house which descends through a single family acquires a special atmosphere of security. Often during the past ten years Margaret had spent weekends in Lord Glanville’s country house, Blaize, and she found that in a curious way it reminded her of Brinsley House. Anyone else might only have been conscious of the superficial differences. Blaize was older and very much larger than Margaret’s childhood home, designed on a spacious scale which would have been impossible on the limited site above the Avon Gorge; it was surrounded not just by gardens, but by a large park, with farmland extensive enough to be divided amongst a dozen tenants. Although, like Brinsley House, it enjoyed a river view, the gentle wooded slope towards the Thames had nothing in common with the sheer cliffs above the Avon. The true resemblance between the two houses was one of history.
Blaize was the seat of a rich family whose place in the social order had been undisturbed through many generations and seemed settled enough to endure for ever. Lord Glanville did not live ostentatiously, but his wealth was considerable and he took it for granted, expecting to leave to his heirs the same estate that he had inherited from his ancestors.
In just such a way had John Junius Lorimer believed that his style of life was secure. There was a difference of scale, naturally, between both the fortunes and the expenses of the two men, and John Junius had always expected to work for his living, an attitude not shared by any of the Glanvilles. But Margaret had been brought up in a prosperous household which took for granted the leisured comfort of the family and the unobtrusive efficiency of the servants. During all her visits to Blaize she felt at home in a way which might not have been expected of a woman who depended on her own professional work for her income.
Most of her previous visits had been quiet ones, but this was different. The ball which Lord Glanville was giving for Alexa – for which even his house in Park Lane had proved too small – had been organized on a grand scale.
Margaret had brought Betty with her. It was a very long time indeed since Betty had acted as a lady’s maid. Nowadays she was a housekeeper, in sole charge of running Margaret’s home while her mistress worked at the hospital. The reversion to her old role might have seemed a come-down, but the hierarchical society of the servants’ hall at Blaize ensured that for the duration of her stay she would enjoy a luxurious holiday with few duties to interrupt her. She insisted, of course, on justifying her presence by preparing her mistress for the ball.
‘It’s a good many years since you last dressed my hair so elaborately, Betty,’ laughed Margaret. ‘Dancing and doctoring don’t seem to go together.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Betty said, biting her lip in concentration as she pinned a spray of feathers into the swept-up coiffure she had created. Even with Queen Alexandra’s example to point to she had not been able to persuade her mistress that a fringe of curls over the forehead would be becoming. ‘There. You’re done. I remember that last time. It was when the Prince of Wales came to Bristol.’
‘Yes.’ Margaret stared at herself in the glass, remembering a time when her forehead had been smooth, her hair bright and springy – oh, how she had hated the unruly redness of her hair! – and her eyes had sparkled with happiness, untroubled by any premonition of what was to come. When Alexa swept into the room to be admired before the first of the guests from outside arrived, it was difficult for Margaret to smile with the gaiety required of her.
‘How lovely you look!’ she exclaimed. ‘And you’ve decided not to reject the rubies after all.’
‘It seemed an occasion on which to be respectable,’ laughed Alexa. ‘My other jewels have come from sources which I might not wish to confess. But a legacy from a father cannot be criticized. Why does the sight of them make you want to cry?’
Margaret was disconcerted to find that her reaction was so noticeable. She had no intention of ever revealing to anyone the fact that it was the existence of the rubies, suddenly discovered by Charles in the first year of their marriage, which had caused her husband to ride furiously away from the house to his death. But these jewels had been responsible for so much unhappiness over the years that it was not difficult to think of another explanation of her mood.
‘I remember the first time my mother wore them,’ she said, and had intended to go on when Alexa interrupted.
‘Your mother? Surely you mean my mother.’
Margaret shook her head. ‘Our father had the setting made ostensibly for his wife. Only after she had worn them once did he give them to Luisa to keep for you.’
‘And what was the occasion you remembered?’ Alexa asked.
‘My mother wore the jewels to a ball in 1878,’ said Margaret. ‘The Prince of Wales had come to visit Bristol. It was the grandest event the city had known for years. But I didn’t care a fig for the Prince of Wales. The important thing, as far as I was concerned, was that my engagement was announced on that evening.’
‘To Dr Scott?’
‘No. This was long before I met Charles. I was engaged to a young man called David Gregson.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was the manager of Lorimer’s Bank and was involved in the criminal proceedings which followed its crash. He left the country to avoid imprisonment, and asked me to go with him. But we quarrelled over the extent to which my father was involved in the irregularities of the bank’s affairs. David was right and I was wrong; but by the time I discovered that, it was too late. He’d gone.’
‘Where?’ asked Alexa.
‘I never knew. There were ships sailing out of Bristol at that time to almost every corner of the world. He could have taken passage on any of them. I had no way of guessing which he chose. All I know is that he left England and I haven’t heard from him since. None of that has anything to do with the ball. It’s just that on that evening, dancing with the man I loved, I was happier than I’d ever been in my life before. Everything seemed too wonderful to last.’ Margaret forced herself to laugh and spoke more briskly, pushing away sentimental memories. ‘And it didn’t last. The troubles of the Lorimers began almost before the bandsmen had finished packing away their instruments. That was the last evening of my life on which I could look ahead and see nothing but joy.’
‘Perhaps tonight will bring you an equal experience of hope.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Margaret. ‘Only the young can persuade themselves that perfect happiness will last for ever. And this is your night, not mine.’
‘You are not to speak as though
your life were over,’ Alexa commanded her. ‘And if we don’t stop talking about the ball of 1878 and make haste to appear at the ball of 1905, it will take place without us.’
‘I’ll leave you to make your entrance alone,’ said Margaret, accepting the change of mood and smiling at her beautiful sister.
‘Tonight, as I warned you earlier, I intend to prove that even an opera singer can be respectable. I have no intention of appearing without my chaperone.’
She drew Margaret to her feet and kissed her affectionately. The band was already playing as they walked together down the wide staircase.
For all Alexa’s protestations, she spent little time at Margaret’s side. Not only was she more beautiful than the fashionable society guests whom Lord Glanville had invited; she was also vivacious in a way which made them seem vapid by comparison. The sparkle of her personality dominated the ballroom as strongly as at other times it could hold spellbound a theatre audience. She refused to make a programme, so that after every dance she was surrounded by would-be partners pressing their claims. She danced energetically, although always with grace, and her laughter rippled round the room. Only for a few moments after the supper dance had ended did she seem to withdraw herself in some way from the gaiety which surrounded her; but Margaret, noticing this as she returned from her own supper, saw also the manner in which Alexa straightened her shoulders and held her head even higher than before, putting on the cloak of vivacity again as though it were an operatic role.
‘Will you sit this dance out with me?’ asked Lord Glanville, appearing at Margaret’s side.
‘I would very much prefer to dance it with you,’ answered Margaret, preferring honesty to conventional politeness. She was not altogether reconciled to the fact that the expected place for a widow of forty-eight was a small gold chair at the edge of the ballroom, and for some time her toes had been tapping to the beat of the music. Lord Glanville smiled as he offered his arm and led her on to the floor. But it was clear that his real wish was to talk to her. The dance, a polka, was too energetic to allow for conversation. As soon as it was over he repeated his previous invitation.
They stood together on the stone terrace immediately outside the ballroom. The moon was bright, and caught the sheen of silks and satins as some of the younger dancers left the floor to stroll in couples between the clipped yew hedges of the formal garden below.
‘Alexa added the names of some of her own friends to the guest list tonight,’ said Lord Glanville. ‘Do you know who the young man was with the thick fair hair? I think he may have left by now.’
Margaret’s heart warmed with compassion for her host. She had been quick to notice that Matthew had been present earlier in the evening. Although only she could have been aware of the true situation, everyone in the ballroom must have noticed that at the start of the ball Alexa had danced more often with him than with any other partner, and had chosen to give him those dances, such as the waltz, in which he could hold her in his arms. But although Lord Glanville had reason for jealousy as far as Alexa’s emotions were concerned, the fact that Alexa loved Matthew but had discovered that she could not marry him might in fact prove to be to the older man’s advantage.
‘That was my nephew, Matthew Lorimer,’ Margaret answered. ‘You may remember my introducing you to his sister, Beatrice, at one of your women’s suffrage meetings. She is the representative of the Bristol group. Alexa was educated in Matthew’s schoolroom. They are childhood friends – like brother and sister.’
‘One could wish that one’s own sisters had ever been so affectionate!’ His attempt to speak lightly was not very successful. Margaret could see his knuckles whiten with tension as he gripped the edge of the stone balustrade. ‘She is so beautiful!’ he exclaimed, as though unable any longer to control his feelings. ‘She smiles at me and my heart breaks with happiness, and then I see that she has the same smile for every other man who dances with her. I recognize that she will never care for me. With any other woman I would have accepted the fact years ago and looked somewhere else for happiness. But Alexa is so lovely that if I cannot have her, no one else will do. One can call oneself a fool without being able to put foolishness aside.’
‘There is still time –’ began Margaret, but Lord Glanville shook his head.
‘There is plenty of time for her, but not for me,’ he said. ‘She’s twenty years younger than I am. For long enough already she has thought of me as an old man, and soon it will be true,’ He shook the subject away with a sigh and accompanied Margaret back to the warmth of the ballroom. They stood together for a moment and watched Alexa as she whirled round the floor. Her cheeks, usually pale, were flushed, and there seemed to be an element almost of desperation in the gaiety with which she tossed her head to the beat of the music. Matthew was no longer to be seen.
Twice in her own life Margaret’s heart had ached when she found herself parted from a man she loved by circumstances she had no power to alter. As her eyes now followed Alexa round the ballroom her heart ached again, this time in sympathy for another young couple who were separated by the very same family heritage which had caused so much unhappiness in the past. Alexa was an actress, who perhaps found it easier to perform the part of a beauty without a care in the world in front of an audience. But it had been cruel of her, Margaret thought to herself, to force Matthew as well to come to terms with the facts of so unexpected a situation in a public setting. Margaret took it for granted, as she recognized the tension in her sister’s slim body, that Alexa had at last told Matthew the truth and sent him away.
10
Sympathy with the mood of another person makes it easy to anticipate what she will do. Much later on the night of the ball – in fact, only a little while before dawn – Margaret ignored her weariness and went in search of her half-sister. All the other guests had by now left the house or, if they were members of the house party, retired to bed, but Margaret was sure that Alexa would still be awake and could guess where to find her.
She was in the music room, playing the piano with no light but that of the moon. In spite of the darkness she was aware of Margaret’s entry. Her hands dropped on to her lap and she swivelled to face the door.
‘You’ve had a triumph, Alexa.’
Alexa’s laugh was soft, almost bitter. ‘I’ve had four proposals of marriage this evening,’ she said, ‘although each time I tried to prevent the words being spoken, so that I need not be cruel enough to refuse them. Was it you who said I would never find a husband in London?’
‘I’m glad to hear that I was wrong. Were you not prepared to accept any?’
The moonlight caught the blonde glint in Alexa’s hair as she shook her head. ‘I’m not the plain daughter of a poor man, who must marry at all costs the first suitor to approach her,’ she said. ‘A woman who commands fees as high as mine can afford to be sentimental and wait for a true love to come along.’
‘Very often love grows after marriage,’ suggested Margaret.
‘And very often it does not. If my only ambition were to be a countess or a baroness I might take the risk; but I care nothing for that.’
‘Was Piers one of your admirers?’ asked Margaret.
‘Yes, Lord Glanville did me that honour.’
‘And could you not feel –?’
‘No,’ said Alexa. ‘I could not. I was able to assure him of my great affection for him, as well as my undying gratitude. But in the time of my trouble he was like a father to me, and I can’t think of him in any other way. He should marry someone like yourself – someone who loves him and is of his own generation, able to give him companionship.’
‘Alexa! You surely didn’t say anything like that!’
‘Why should. I not? I could hardly help noticing your feelings as soon as I returned, but men are very often blind until someone shows them where to look.’
‘How could you! Oh, Alexa, you had no right to talk of me in such a way.’ Margaret’s cheeks flamed as she remembered the conversation on t
he terrace. ‘You’ve humiliated him by forcing him almost to apologize to me for being unable to love me, and you’ve humiliated me by forcing me to listen. How shall I ever be able to face him again?’
‘I think you make too much of it,’ said Alexa, but there was a doubt in her voice. ‘I’m sorry, Margaret, if I have been unkind. I was thinking only of myself and Lord Glanville when I spoke like that. He has been so kind to me that I could hardly bear to hurt him, and I thought it might help if – oh yes, you are right. I ought not to have spoken in such a way.’
For a moment neither of them broke the silence. But Margaret had sought out Alexa for a special reason, and did not intend to leave without the reassurance she hoped for. ‘I saw that Matthew was here earlier in the evening -and noticed that he left before the end of the ball.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Alexa, her voice giving nothing away.
‘May I suppose that you have told him of your relationship?’
‘Yes, you may suppose it,’ said Alexa. ‘I have told him that he is my nephew. And I told him at the same time that I loved him, and that I cared nothing for marriage lines, and that I could not be frightened by talk of incest.’
‘Alexa!’
‘Well, it’s so ridiculous!’ exclaimed Alexa. ‘A matter of convention only. There have been societies in which kings habitually married their sisters and were praised for doing so. Why should my whole life be ruined by some arbitrary rule? I told Matthew that I wanted nothing more than to live with him in some place where no questions would be asked, or where the answers would not be important. The talents we each exercise are not dependent on social approval.’
Margaret was shocked by what she heard, but did not express her horror. There had been no explanation yet of Matthew’s departure or Alexa’s own tense expression. ‘What did Matthew say?’ she asked.
‘He withdrew for a little while. To think about it, he said – but also, I suppose, to watch me. And the result of his consideration was that he thought I ought to marry. He even went so far as to choose my husband. Like you -I suspect – he saw me as a peeress. He was not prepared, apparently, to feel responsible for my social ostracism. He will not allow me to be anything to him but a wife; and since that is not possible, he has said goodbye to me. He claimed that it was because he loves me. But what sort of love is that, to run away at the first difficulty?’
The Lorimer Legacy Page 17
