The Lorimer Legacy

ANNE MELVILLE

Part I Alexa in England

Part II Alexa Abroad

Part III Margaret in Jamaica

Part IV San Francisco

Part V Kate in England

Part VI Alexa at Blaize

A young woman whose greatest problem is that of filling her time ought to consider herself fortunate. Alexa Lorimer knew this well enough, but as she embarked yet again on an exercise which she had practised a dozen times that day already, she found it difficult to control her vexation. She had gone to the trouble of preparing a surprise to enliven the afternoon. But Margaret Scott, her guardian, hurrying off from Elm Lodge to inspect some village baby which had developed a rash, had not even noticed. Now the rest of the day stretched emptily ahead, offering no excitements. Alexa was bored.

Her hands slammed down on the keyboard of the grand piano and the discord of her ill-temper reverberated through the drawing room. She had been practising for over an hour, but to what purpose? What good did it do to improve her breath control, to extend the range of her voice, to increase its flexibility, to perfect the purity of its tone, when her guardian forbade the career on which her heart was set?

Indulging her discontent, Alexa jumped up from the piano stool and wandered round the room, fingering its ornaments, until the sight of her own reflection in the mirror above the fireplace reminded her of a second grievance. She was eighteen years old but still expected to wear boots and black woollen stockings beneath ankle-length dresses, which were suitable only for the schoolroom. Her hair fell to her waist because no one had
recognized that it was time for her to put it up. What could she do to make someone realize that time was passing, that her life was slipping by?

For it was 1895 now – a year in which Alexa Lorimer found herself poised in the limbo between childhood and womanhood. Just as some children never quite grow up, so some adults seem never to have been children. At this turning point of age, Alexa achieved the feat of combining these characteristics. The childish style of dress was forced on her, but her immaturity displayed itself in more than appearance. As a small child she had felt a continuing need to give and to receive demonstrative affection, and she had not yet grown out of this longing. Every day she assured Margaret of her love and waited for a kiss or embrace in return. She craved for praise like a little girl and was hurt by criticism, even by silence. Her good looks, her needlework, her painting, her music – all were continually placed on show and must continually be applauded.

Yet there was a sense in which she had never had a childhood. Orphaned when she was nine years old, Alexa vividly remembered those earlier years with her dying mother: years of cold and hunger, of lies to landladies and stealthy removals from one shabby set of lodgings to another in the middle of the night. As for her father, if he had ever dandled her on his lap, she did not remember it. Indeed, even his name was unknown to her. She had been given the surname Lorimer because at the time of her adoption that had been her guardian's name. Margaret Scott had been born a Lorimer, a member of the great Bristol family of merchant princes. Her marriage to Charles Scott had taken place only some years after she had accepted the responsibility for Alexa's upbringing, rescuing from the workhouse a child without family or friends to care for her.

It was the nightmare of the years of poverty which made Alexa determined to become rich. Almost from babyhood she had known that she was beautiful. Her oval face, framed by the long blonde hair which glinted with red in the sunlight, would have inspired a Renaissance artist to paint her as a goddess. She was a natural actress too. Her expressive vivacity and the flash of her green eyes, though disturbing the classical beauty which her face displayed in repose, had the power to catch and hold attention. But Alexa's greatest asset was her singing voice; her goal, an operatic career. That was why she practised so conscientiously every day, and that was what she dreamed about every night. Yet how could the ambition be realized? In many pleading talks with her guardian she had been told time and time again that there was no form of theatrical entertainment in which a young woman could appear without irreparable damage to the most precious of her possessions: her reputation.

So deep were Alexa's love and admiration for Margaret that she tried to accept what she was told. But nothing could put an end to her obsession with a future in which she would be famous. Nothing could stop her fretting against the dullness of her life in the country, where the greatest excitement of a new day was that Margaret's little son, Robert, might cut a new tooth. The very thought of doing anything to offend or upset her guardian brought tears to her eyes, and yet her ambitions urged her to escape. If only she could see how to take the first step! When, oh when, was something going to happen?

As though to answer the question, Margaret Scott came into the drawing room at that moment, a small, neat woman whose bright auburn hair had only recently begun to lose a little of its youthful sheen. She had become a medical student at a time when great determination was needed to overcome the opposition of the medical
profession, society in general and her own family in particular to the idea of a woman qualifying as a doctor, and the steadiness of character which had sustained her at that time still showed itself in the calm good sense with which she organized the household at Elm Lodge. Years of earning her own living before her marriage and since her widowhood had made her firm and efficient, but the businesslike side of her nature was never allowed to obscure the warmth of her love for her son and her ward. The smile on her face now was that of a woman with a treat to announce, and she did not look about her before speaking.

‘I have just heard from Bristol. Matthew is coming to stay.'

Alexa's impulsive nature made her as easily excited as depressed. Gloom was banished in an instant as she clapped her hands with pleasure. ‘But you invited Beatrice and Arthur as well, surely?' she exclaimed.

Margaret laughed as she sat down. ‘Beatrice is out in society now. It seems from her mother's letter that her chances of finding a husband are not rated very high. Anyway, there is to be no question of taking time off from the search to bury herself in the country. And Arthur, it appears, has asked if he may leave school and join Matthew in their father's business. So both the boys now have little holiday time and must plan carefully how to spend it to advantage. I am quoting their mother's own words. Sophie has never troubled to waste time in being tactful.'

‘But Matthew, you said –?'

‘Matthew would like to come by himself. His letter arrived by the same post as his mother's. He was not told of the invitation until after it had been refused on his behalf, and I detect a note of indignation in his hope that it is not too late for him to accept. Matthew and I have
always been particularly fond of each other. We needn't tell the others, but I shall be glad to have him here without them.'

Alexa made no comment, but her eyes sparkled. She too liked Matthew the best of all Margaret's nephews and nieces. He was someone to whom she would be able to talk about her ambitions, someone whose support might be enlisted.

Alexa had been adopted by Margaret nine years before. After barely supporting herself as a doctor, Margaret had returned with her ward to live in her childhood home, Brinsley House, which stood high above Bristol and the gorge of the Avon, a monument to the wealth of the Lorimer dynasty. Alexa knew that the move had been made so that she herself should enjoy comfort and young company. The house belonged to Margaret's elder brother, William Lorimer, whose ownership of the Lorimer shipping company had made him as prosperous as any other in the long line of slave-trading sea captains, merchants and bankers from whom he was descended. William had never made any pretence of liking Alexa. But he had always disapproved of his sister's determination to qualify for a profession and earn her own living. His position as head of the Lorimer family made it necessary in his eyes that as an unmarried femaie Margaret should become part of his household. By allowing her young ward to share the schoolroom of his own children, he had been able to force on his sister a situation more easily approved by Bristol society. So for several years – until Margaret married Dr Charles Scott and moved to Elm Lodge – Alexa had lived in the great mansion which the Lorimer family had built a century earlier, and had developed with the three children of the household a relationship almost as close as that of siblings.

Like true brothers and sisters, they had had their likes
and dislikes amongst each other. Beatrice, sharp-featured and sharp-mannered, had never accepted the intruder, although they were close in age. Alexa for her part tried to make friends, but was defeated by argument and sarcasm. Beatrice was clever, and took pleasure in leading Alexa's quick but less logical mind up knotted by-ways before laughing at her for a fool.

Arthur, the youngest of the three, was clever as well, with his father's quick wits and eye for a profit. He could see how to make money in any situation, and only Alexa's lack of pocket money when she was younger had prevented her either losing it to him or else, according to Arthur's mood, seeing it invested in some scheme which would double her fortune. They were friendly enough, but Arthur was too young for a real intimacy.

Alexa's relationship with Matthew, the eldest of the trio, was of a different kind. It was his overt admiration of her looks which was no doubt responsible for some of Beatrice's jealousy. Three years Alexa's senior, he had protected her when she arrived at Brinsley House, fending off Arthur's boisterousness and Beatrice's unkind criticisms. Both as a boy and as a young man he was reserved, even silent – kinder, though far less clever, than his quick-thinking brother and sister. Alexa recognized the affection which he never put into words, and was always happy in his company. The prospect now that she would be left to entertain him during his visit while Margaret worked gave her nothing but joy.

When Margaret turned to leave the drawing room, Alexa held her breath. Surely the surprise she had arranged would be noticed at last.

Yesterday the end wall of the room had been empty, but on it today hung a picture in a heavy black frame. It was the portrait of an old man. His thick hair and beard were completely white – although his bushy eyebrows,
surprisingly, were as red as Margaret's hair. There was vigour in the firm features, and his eyes stared sternly out of the canvas, confident and commanding. Alexa found his expression tantalizing, for there was a hint of kindness mixed with the severity. She waited with interest to discover what Margaret would say – an interest which quickly turned to alarm. For when she caught sight of the picture, Margaret seemed to be not so much surprised-as-shocked. She stared at it for a long time before turning slowly back to face Alexa.