In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (43 page)

Nothing, however, could deter the betrothed lovers from their Sunday walk, which had become a treasured routine that each zealously guarded from any intrusion. And if the atmosphere seemed gloomy and dark, Mr. Thornton and Margaret took no note of it as they strolled along the city streets to the open park. Their countenances beamed forth a light all their own, which could not be extinguished by ephemeral weather.

“I have something to ask of you, which I hope will not prove troublesome,” Margaret began tentatively.

“I will do my best to be obliging. What is it you wish to ask?” Mr. Thornton replied, pleased that she should come to him with her problems.

“
It concerns Nicholas. Now that he works for you … well, I would like very much for him to attend our wedding. Can you spare him a few hours next Monday?” she asked.

“I don’t know … I suppose next you’ll ask me to let all the spinners and weavers off so that they may also attend,” he answered wryly.

“It would not be objectionable if they were to appear. In fact, I think it would be quite touching to see them come to the church to watch the Master wed,” she confessed.  “Although I can imagine your mother would be not be so appreciative,” she added, laughing to herself.

Mr. Thornton huffed in amusement to imagine his mother’s face at the sight of the church overflowing with shabbily dressed workers from their own mill. “I think I can spare Higgins for a few hours. If they could finish the pressing orders on hand before them, I’d let them all off,” he mused aloud in bleak humor with a shake of his head. The reams of muslin cloth he had hoped would be finished before his wedding trip were not adding up quickly enough despite the extra shifts two days a week that he had scheduled.

“Thank you. Mary says that Nicholas knows well that you are trying to fulfill orders that are becoming due before a part of the profit is lost. I did not know time was so binding. I hope all will be done in good speed and that Nicholas may be a help in that end. I’m sure he is very diligent,” she related hopefully.

“He is a good worker,” he admitted. Truth be told, Higgins was one of his best workers and would be sorely missed when not at the mill. It was Higgins who had discovered, during the first days of his employ, that a broken tine on one of the machines was causing a slight aberration in the weave, and thus had saved untold time and material from being wasted in making an inferior cloth.

“Is there any other favor you wish to ask of me?” Mr. Thornton jested, recognizing with amused irony that had it not been for her, he would not have taken on the rebellious union leader. A faint smile traced her lips but then she bowed her head in reticent embarrassment. “What is it, Margaret?” he prodded gently, curious to know what issue troubled her mind.

“I do not like to bother you with trifling matters
, but I cannot help but worry about Mrs. Boucher. She is ill. Perhaps with the aid of a skilled physician….”

Mr. Thornton shook his head in doubtful despair at her unbounded compassion. “I cannot pay for every worker who falls ill, let alone their families. If I were to pay the doctor’s fees in this case, would the others not expect to receive the same?” he posed.

              “But if she dies, there will be six young children who will need care,” she returned with a heartfelt calculation of the human cost to this impending tragedy.

He sighed at her persistence, but loved her nonetheless for her intransigent concern for those whom others would deem unworthy of account. “Margaret, I cannot save every case of unfortunate circumstance, however much I should like to,” he endeavored to reason with her.

“I know it. I will not expect it of you. But perhaps you could make an exception in this case, and possibly save six children from a motherless fate,” she pleaded carefully, glancing up at him with expectant hope.

He could not resist her plea nor deny his own wish to save innocent children from a dark plight. “I will see that something is done,” he announced with some resignation. “But you must not ask more from me at the moment, or I may begin to request payment for such favors,” he added with a mischievous grin as he tugged playfully at her arm. She blushed at his teasing, but smiled at his willingness to accommodate her wishes.

They turned their conversation to more pleasant subjects. An ancient oak, whose leaves were beginning to reveal the brilliant hues of autumn, received the praise of both parties, and as they continued to walk home, Mr. Thornton listened attentively as Margaret described the color and tranquil beauty of the season in Helstone.

Mr. Thornton was invited in to sit in the drawing room for a time when they arrived back to
Crampton. Mr. Hale spoke animatedly with his future son-in-law, pleased to have the opportunity to converse with his favorite pupil, who had been too much occupied to come to his lessons of late.

When the time came for Mr. Thornton to leave, Margaret escorted him to the door to secure a few private moments with him.

The afternoon spent together had filled them with warm contentment. The promise of future happiness kept their spirits light, like a beckoning ray of hope on the horizon. Few words were spoken. Tender glances, a clasp of hands, and a gentle mingling of lips communicated more than words could ever convey. At last their eyes locked in a shared, wistful longing for the day they would be united as one, nevermore to be parted.

Chapter Sixteen

On Monday morning, Margaret entered the neatly arranged, quiet atmosphere of her mother’s sitting room at her usual time. It was not often that Dixon was absent from her mother’s side, and Margaret rejoiced to feel that she was drawing closer to her mother during the portions of the day during which they were alone.

“Margaret, dear,” Mrs. Hale called out, giving her daughter a faltering smile. A pale, dainty hand reached to pat the empty sofa space next to her own skirts while her gaze drifted to the floor.

“Good morning, Mother,” Margaret returned as she seated herself at her side, feeling a faint tingling of apprehension at her mother’s manner.

Mrs. Hale studied her daughter’s youthful complexion with bittersweet affection. Her child was just beginning her life’s journey, while her own was rapidly coming to an end. “In another week, you shall be married,” she declared with reverence.

Margaret nodded.

“You are a good girl, Margaret,” Mrs. Hale began, dropping her gaze to her lap where she wrung her hands impatiently. “You can be quite spirited and very … strong-minded. Sometimes you remind me of Frederick. He was always so full of life, fervent in feeling and not always careful in uttering his opinions,” she added with a trace of affection for her long-absent son.

“I know that you have had differences of opinion
with Mr. Thornton in the past,” her mother continued with solemn purpose. “I trust they have been resolved since. You know well, of course, all Biblical instruction we are given concerning marriage.”

Margaret felt creeping trepidation tight
en in her stomach. “Yes, Mother.”

“I wish only to remind you that he will be husband over you, and you must submit to him in all things … wholly to him,” she emphasized, glancing nervously at her daughter to discern whether she understood the import of her final utterance.

“Yes, Mother,” Margaret repeated with bowed head, scarcely able to breathe as she comprehended the implication of her mother’s words.

“You will share his bed on your wedding trip,” the elder woman posed to make certain her daughter understood her obligations, her own face nearly as flushed as that of her daughter.

Margaret could not answer, but kept her head bowed as a furious blush warmed her face and made her pulse quicken in uncertain apprehension. Questions she would fain have asked her mother swirled within, but the notion of uttering them stifled her with painful mortification.

Relieved to have discharged this vague counsel to her daughter, Mrs. Hale took a long breath. “The Thornton house is quite grand for Milton standards. I’m certain you will be given your own bedchambers upon your return, my dear,” she added, wishing to relieve the girl of any undue anxiety.

Margaret could only nod, as a baffling melange of thrilling thoughts and startling images constricted her ability to speak.

“Now then, hand me my sewing. We must finish our work before your aunt comes to town,” she commented, putting the uncomfortable discussion firmly behind them.

*****

By Wednesday, Margaret longed for a day of reprieve from the sedentary task of sewing and the endless talk of her wedding. Eager to find some freedom before her London relations arrived and the preparations took a dizzying pace, Margaret determined to go out of doors as soon as her mother took her first rest.

Having decided to exert herself with purpose, she carefully folded one of her older dresses, a simple muslin dress of faded lilac, to take to Mary Higgins. Although she could have given the gift to the quiet girl on any of the days which she came to the house as a servant, Margaret wished to present it to her when the distinction between them was less in evidence.

As she envisioned the route that would take her past Marlborough Mills, Margaret could not help thinking of the man who managed the great cotton mill and how sorely she missed him. The contours of his face, the timbre of his voice, and the remembrance of how his lips had travelled the curve of her neck were never far from her mind.

She thought of the long hours Mr. Thornton worked with a swell of pride, and felt a zealous desire to offer him a respite from his burdens and succor for his ceaseless toil.

She plucked several of Dixon’s delicious scones from the kitchen platter and placed them in a basket with a small jar of jam before she headed out the door, as she wondered if the Master ever took the time for proper nourishment.

Margaret relished her invigorating walk to the Princeton district, taking in the sights and sounds of all around her. She no longer felt like a stranger to the bustle and noise of the streets as she had a year ago. It was her city now, and she was proud to be a part of its promise.

When she arrived at the Higgins’ home, Mary blinked back tears at Margaret’s insistence that she take the offered dress to wear as a proper guest to the wedding. “If only Bessy could ‘ave come,” she moaned with wistful sorrow at her sister’s untimely death.

Margaret nodded in perfect sympathy. “Please tell Nicholas that he must come as well. Mr. Thornton has given his word that he may abdicate his duties at the mill for the morning,” the Master’s future wife explained, placing the printed, formal invitation to the wedding on the rustic table.

Mary nodded as she stroked the soft fabric and lace edging of the dress. She had never owned anything so delicate or pretty.

Margaret stayed awhile to talk and was pleased to discover that Mrs. Boucher was being treated for her ailments. If she seemed only a little better, it was well that she no longer took to her bed for days.

She bid a fond goodbye to her friend before long, eager to accomplish her final errand. The anticipation of seeing Mr. Thornton quickened her steps as she walked the streets to Milton’s largest mill. Her pace slowed as she entered the side of the factory near the Master’s office, as she suddenly questioned the propriety of her unannounced visit.

The door to his office was ajar. She knocked and pushed it gently open, her pulse hammering at her boldness. He was scribbling at his desk.

He looked up from his ledger to see who requested his attention. “Margaret!” he breathed as he began to rise from his chair.

“No, don’t get up!” she commanded with some force, gesturing for him to remain seated. “I do not wish to disturb you from your work,” she added as she secured the door behind her and drew closer.

“I thought perhaps you might not have taken the time to eat. I’ve brought you some scones. Dixon learned to make them from her mother in Dorset; they are truly delicious,” she babbled as she came around to set the basket on the desk beside him, doubting her own motives in coming now that she stood within inches of him.

She pushed back her loosely tied bonnet, letting it fall carelessly on her back before she began her task.

He watched her pull back the napkin and place it carefully beside the ledgers and documents that no longer held any interest for him. He stared, entranced, at the graceful movements of her slender fingers and hands as she laid out the small repast, handling each item she touched with a gentle finesse that spoke of everything soft and feminine.

The notion that these were the hands that would tenderly care for him in the days and years to come enthralled him. His gaze travelled up her arms, the form of which could nearly be seen underneath the gauzy fabric of
her feminine blouse. Her lips were loosely parted as she bent over her task, intent upon her purpose.

It was not merely desire but a palpitating need to feel her soft form against his that bade him to act. He grasped her wrists, and before he knew what he was doing, pulled her steadily toward him across his lap.

Mr. Thornton’s pulse pounded at his audacity and he closed his eyes to grasp at self-restraint. He had not been prepared for her appearance; her very nearness had been his undoing. To hold her so intimately close to him after two long days of loneliness was a delicious torture. Moved by forces beyond his control, he began to nuzzle the skin behind her ear, breathing in her sweet scent as if he drew his very life force from her being. He kept still, one hand at her back, determined not to frighten her with any further claims upon her person, yet eager to gain her trust with utter tenderness.