In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (45 page)

“No, no! Think nothing of it. I’ve happily made arrangeme
nts at my regular establishment; I thank you,” Mr. Bell replied vociferously.

“Is there anything I can do?” Mr. Thornton asked, looking to the man who would soon be his father-in-law.

“I don’t believe so, John. Maria has just retired, and I think everything is well settled,” Mr. Hale returned.

“If your mother is well and all in order, then I will leave you to get your rest,” Mr. Thornton directed to Margaret.

“I will see you to the door,” she offered eagerly after he had bid the elder gentlemen goodbye.

“I say, Hale, I never expected that my suggestion to come to Milton should have resulted in such a pairing! They are both quite content with this arrangement, are they not?” he queried his old friend.

“Yes, indeed. I was astonished at first, but it looks to truly be a very fine match. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to give my daughter to a man such as Mr. Thornton. I’ve no longer any need to worry over her future at all. I am most assuredly grateful,” Mr. Hale confessed.

Mr. Bell dismissed his small part in the design of fate with a subtle shake of his head and a flick of his hand. It was a great satisfaction to know, though, that his kind-hearted friend had found some measure of good fortune in coming to Milton.

The Oxford scholar silently studied the downcast eyes and flushed cheeks of the betrothed girl when she slipped back into the room some time later. He could well imagine their tender goodbyes. A knowing smile spread over his face. He would look forward to this particular wedding, for he had long believed Thornton would not find his equal in vigor and intellect among womankind. He was certain now, though, that the Milton master had finally found his match.

*****

Finished with his attire, Mr. Thornton took several paces about his room and glanced about as if to discover if anything was left undone. His trunk was packed and all preparations for the wedding trip were in order.

In one hour he would stand at the altar with her. The restless impatience to secure her as his wife and begin his life anew threatened to overwhelm him, as it had each day since she had promised herself to him.  His only duty now was to wait for the appointed hour, but insufferable idleness had mocked his weakness all morning.

He grew irritable at the faint sound of Fanny’s high-pitched voice from down the hall as she fretted over some calamity while preparing herself for a perfect presentation. Throwing open the door, he fled his room to seek the quiet of the lower living area.

Drawn to the windows of the formal drawing room, he took a long breath as he gazed over the still mill yard. Never before had he given his workers paid reprieve from their work. A crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth. But then, he had never before bargained with his employees to make such an extraordinary deal. Higgins had been the lynchpin in this surprising contrivance, which only served to remind him of all that had changed — and all that was to change — since Margaret had entered his realm.

It would do well to have the engine room silent today, he mused, as he turned to observe the transformation of their formal living space into an elegant reception room. The long table, decorated with a profusion of roses and draped in white linen, was set against the back wall where all manner of delectable offerings would be served. The furniture was arranged to allow ample room for guests to mingle while a small table was set near the windows for the bridal party.

His mother had left no detail unattended and spared little expense. He was proud of the elegant opulence of the room on this singular occasion, for he greatly desired to provide Margaret with every beauty and comfort of wealth which befitted her. Concern for his full financial recovery could be thrust aside for today, although the disquieting fear that he should fail in providing his bride every comfort inevitably remained in the periphery of his thoughts.

He heard the familiar sound of his mother’s descending footsteps before she entered the room.

“Mother … you look very well,” he appraised, breaking into a warm smile at her appearance in a pale lavender gown with black trim, which seemed to soften all her features, erasing the bitterness of the years of mourning.

“Are you ready?” she asked, brushing away a speck of lint from his lapel as she endeavored to hide the waver in her voice.

“You have taken care of the rest. There’s nothing for me to do but count the minutes,” he teased her with a wry smile. “Thank you, Mother,” he said for the time and effort she had expended on arranging this day to perfection. “Thank you for everything, ” he added more seriously, feeling the depth of his debt to her at this junction, when all he could ever wish for seemed to be laid at his feet.

Hannah Thornton dipped her head to avoid his steady gaze, discomforted at any display of gratitude for what she had willingly done for such a son. She had lived for him during those early dark days after her husband’s death — and no less so as the years had worn on and he had proven himself to be a great man. She could not have asked for a nobler son.

She cast her gaze distractedly about the decorated room, the silent scene surrounding them lending import to their last moments alone. “I always knew this day would come,” she murmured solemnly in wistful remembrance of the years she had been her son’s sole companion. He would look to Margaret now for consolation and encouragement — as was only right. Her own role would fade into uselessness. But she swallowed her jealous pride, knowing what her son deserved — what she had always professed was his due for all his years of struggle.

“I only hope you will be happy,” she declared with absolute conviction. A mist of tears began to cloud her vision as she observed her son — a man who had earned the admiration of the entire city and filled her mother’s breast with fierce pride and a love so profound she could not utter it.

“She loves me, Mother. I cannot ask for anything more,” he breathed in awe of the blessing he had been made fit to receive.

Her heart twisted to see his eyes alight with vibrant eagerness
; the glow of expectant hope turning him once again into the boy of his careless youth. She reached up to touch his cheek, but could find no words for all she would say. She prayed fervently that the girl knew his true worth.

“Mother!” a shrill voice summoned from the upper chambers.

Hannah raised her eyes heavenward in exasperation at her daughter’s interruption, then dropped them to see her son’s sympathetic grin.

*****

Margaret stared at her reflection in the long mirror of her bedroom with tingling anticipation. She was ready.

A veil of gossamer lace flowed from a wreath of orange blossoms upon her head, framing her in a glow of delicate beauty. Fine net covered her skin from her neck to the gentle scoop of her brocaded bodice. Rich folds of creamy white satin fell over the wide crinoline, nearly brushing the floor with a scalloped lace trim.

She was grateful that Mary had come early to help her dress. Dixon had put up her hair in a beautiful coil, but had spent most of the morning helping her mother prepare for this occasion. It was only right that her mother was given every care this morning, for it was of paramount importance to Margaret that her mother be able to enjoy the long-awaited day with every possible measure of comfort. The young bride still worried that the excursion to the church and the excitement of a gala event would be too much for her mother’s weakened condition. However, she would hope for the best and bear in mind her mother’s fond desire to see this day.

A fleeting sense of panic unsettled her as she thought of her mother’s other fervent wish. As much as she wished to see her brother, Margaret prayed that Frederick would not appear today and throw the meticulously planned schedule of events into chaos. She hoped he would consider the date and realize the wisdom of remaining distant at a time when much of Milton would be watching her family.

Margaret took a few soft steps to the window of her small bedroom. The early mists had lifted and the glow of sunlight could be seen through thin patches of clouds in the gray sky. It was as fine a Monday as any other in this working city, where many would herald the dawn with a familiar shrug of care as they shook off their slumber and rose to fill their niche in the intricate cog wheels of this industrial town’s great drive toward the future.

It would not be so for those who worked at Marlborough Mills. She smiled to think of how pleased the workers would be to stay in their beds a little longer this morn. It was not often they had respite from their daily habits of near-constant toil and that day paid for as well!

A swell of love and fierce pride came over her as she thought of the man who had released them from their duties today. He had surprised her with his willingness to forge new paths of collaboration with those who worked his mill. How sorely she had misjudged him those many months ago, when she had looked down upon him as a mere tradesman who bartered and contrived for selfish gain.

She recalled with certain shame how brazenly she had accused him of having no heart for his fellow creatures. She had risen against his indifference to the workers’ plight and had even sent him to face the rioters in the heat of their anger. She shuddered to remember the stillness of his closed eyes and unmoving lips as he had lain unconscious before her on the cold stone porch.

It seemed so long ago that they had been in such conflict, but in truth it had been little over a month since that day when her whole world had begun to shift. It had all happened so quickly, she could scarcely trace the path her heart had taken
in falling in love with him. She had been startled, but not at all repulsed, by his ardent proposal the very next day.

He had won her answer with his tender, fervent declarations. She had never before seen irrefutable strength of purpose combined
with tender honesty. She had since learned the complexity of the man who appeared so unmovable and confident. He had been alone, as she had been, struggling to do right amid the vicissitudes of circumstances thrust upon him.

She looked around at the familiar furnishings and objects of her room. The oak spindle bed frame and honey-colored chest of drawers had been hers since she was a child in
Helstone. The enameled brush and comb upon the dressing table had been acquired during her London days.

How she had hated leaving
Helstone! Milton was so far removed from the life she had imagined in her father’s country parish. But now she could not think of anything she wanted more than to share the adventure of a life beside him as he helped forward the progress of England in this very town.

“Margaret?” her father’s gentle voice called as he stood at the threshold.

She turned to give him a brilliant smile.

“Look at you!” he exclaimed in whispered admiration as he stepped forward to take her hands into his. “I hardly know when it was that you became a woman.” How fondly he remembered the days when she tripped along beside him, holding his hand as a young girl. And now, he was to let her go.

“Your mother and I could not ask for a finer daughter. You are wise beyond your years, my dear — bright and good. You’ve been a great comfort to your parents.” She was a worthy girl for any honorable man.

“You’ve come to care very much for Mr. Thornton, haven’t you?”  He remembered the earlier months when his daughter had not seemed to esteem the Milton manufacturer very highly at all. 

“Yes, Father.” She felt a faint blush at how much her feelings had changed since she had first arrived in this town.

“And
I know he cares for you. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hand you over into Mr. Thornton’s care. It would have been very difficult for me to give you to just any man, but John … I’ve not met his like.”

“Nor I,” she added with reverence.

Mr. Hale observed his daughter’s face hopefully. “Perhaps it was God’s hand that led us to Milton after all.”

“I believe it was.”

Wrinkled lines of worry etched in the aged parson’s face melted with relief at her pronouncement. Margaret felt a pang of compassion for her father’s struggle with his guilt and leaned forward to give him an affectionate peck on the cheek.

His daughter’s gesture moved him, for though he loved her dearly, such tokens of tenderness between them had been far too rare. “Come, now. The carriage will be here shortly. I will escort you downstairs.”  His heart was full of bittersweet longing to return to those years when she had been his little girl. He wiped a tear from his eye as he offered his arm to this woman
, resplendent in her wedding attire, full of purity and promise as she awaited her future.

At
the carriage’s arrival, Margaret waited as Dixon and her father first assisted her mother. With the blue satin ribbons of her bonnet tied securely under her chin, and a smile of satisfaction to be ready for the day in a new gown, Mrs. Hale appeared quite well even if her cheeks were a little hollow and her eyes not as bright as they might have been months before. She remarked upon the garlands of white roses and pale pink ribbons adorning the coach to herald the arrival of the bride.

At last, seated next to her father, Margaret was happily on her way to the church. The passing scenes, so familiar to her, seemed more clear and beautiful than ever. Everything was vibrant with purpose.