by Elaine Owen
Fanny had on two shawls at once, one over each shoulder, while Hannah looked at her with an air of severe disapproval. “Don’t go, Margaret,” Fanny answered petulantly. “I am trying to decide which of these shawls I should buy for my wedding trip.”
“You already have plenty of shawls,” Hannah responded, sounding exasperated, “and cashmere is very dear. Your wedding is already costing your brother a fortune.”
“But I am marrying one of the wealthiest men in Milton! Do you want me to embarrass Watson on our wedding tour by not being properly dressed? The more I think about it, the more I realize I really ought to buy both!”
Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t need even one! You have at least five in your room that have never been worn.”
“Because they are out of fashion!” Fanny frowned as she held up the end of one shawl and examined the material more closely.
It was clear that this argument would go on all day if nobody stopped it. Margaret approached Fanny and made a show of arranging each shawl to greatest advantage on her shoulder. “Where will you go on your wedding tour?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Watson has not told me, exactly. He wants it to be a surprise. But he knows how much I have always longed to see the Alhambra, and how I adore Paris! I suspect we will go to France and Spain.”
“You will have a lovely trip. Mr. Watson appears to be devoted to your amusement.”
“Yes, yes, but you have not answered the question,” Fanny said, impatiently. “I really need both of these shawls. The green one will go with my new hat, which I will wear when the weather is foul, and the red one is for my best silk dress for parties. Tell mother you agree. We are getting married in two days!”
“One shawl is more than enough, Fanny,” Hannah chided. “You will only be gone a month. It is not as though you are staying for the entire winter!” She shook her head, clearly at the end of her patience.
Margaret again made a show of admiring both garments. “They are both lovely on you, Fanny, but the green one goes better with your hair. Suppose you show it to Mr. Watson. If he likes it, he might buy it for you as a wedding present. You can wait and get the red one for yourself for Christmas.”
Fanny brightened and began to take off the green shawl. ”How clever you are, Margaret!” the younger girl exclaimed.
Hannah exhaled in relief. “A sensible solution. Margaret, can you not send one of the servants on this errand of yours? We could use your help here, and John was concerned when you were too tired to join us last night. He would not like it if I let you wear yourself out again.”
So Thornton had definitely noticed her absence last night. She was glad she had managed to avoid his notice this morning. “I am afraid not. These are tasks I need to do myself.”
“Very well.” Hannah turned back to her wedding duties with a heavy sigh. Margaret returned to the kitchen, picked up a basket she had prepared, and went out the front door, feeling almost sorry for her mother-in-law.
The mill with its stacks and towers was as noisy and imposing as ever as Margaret passed it. She glanced up at the dark windows of the building, trying to remember which ones opened into Thornton’s office. Was her husband seated at his desk right now, signing papers and issuing orders? Or was he looking out the window, watching her as she went by? Most likely he was on the mill floor, checking on the workers and the machinery. She quickened her pace to get past the windows as quickly as possible, and was relieved when she turned the corner and left their alert watchfulness behind.
Her relief was short lived. She had only gone a short distance when she heard footsteps catching up to her from behind. Somehow she was not surprised to hear Thornton’s deep voice, speaking at her elbow. “You have been avoiding me.”
Margaret continued walking, keeping her head down. Thornton fell into step beside her, easily able to keep pace with her rapid steps.
“I thought we agreed to have a conversation last night.”
“I was too tired to join you.”
“And you did not come into the breakfast room.”
“I was busy in the kitchen.”
“Margaret.” Thornton touched her shoulder, gently pulling her to a stop. She turned to face him and made herself look up to meet his eyes.
“Margaret, this marriage will be a lonely place for us both if we do not communicate with each other. I know that what you saw in the mill yesterday upset you, and I am sorry.”
Thornton’s expression was so sincere and full of regret that Margaret was instantly remorseful. “You have nothing for which to be sorry.”
“I feel that I do. May we not at least talk about it? You promised to always be honest with me.” He continued to peer down at her.
Daring to glance up at him again, she felt a flash of remorse. He was being patient and kind, and so far she had given him very little understanding in return.
Margaret took a deep breath. She tentatively reached out and placed her hand on Thornton’s arm, feeling a little frisson of daring race through her as she did. Thornton stiffened in surprise before laying his own hand on top of hers. For a moment neither spoke. Then Thornton tucked her hand securely inside the crook of his arm, pulling her closer to his side. He reached for the heavy basket she was carrying. “I can take this for you.”
They began to walk slowly together, their steps much slower than before.
“Mr. Thornton,” she began.
“John,” he corrected her at once.
“John,” she amended, “I am the one who owes you an apology. I will not pretend that I was entirely comfortable with everything I saw at the mill yesterday, but that is not the reason I did not come downstairs last night. There was something else that – disturbed me, and I needed time to recover my spirits. I should have made that clear and not left you to assume the worst.”
“May I ask what it was that made you unhappy?” Thornton asked, his brow furrowing. “Is there some way I can help?”
“No, it is something that I think will resolve itself in time. But I thank you.”
“Are you certain?” he pressed. “Are you absolutely sure that the visit to the mill played no part in your avoiding me last night and this morning?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I honestly had no intention of avoiding your company until this other event occurred. I thought you and your mother might ask questions that I did not wish to answer, so I kept to myself. I did not intend to slight either one of you.”
Thornton frowned. “Can you not tell me anything of this other event, the one that took you away?”
Margaret shook her head. “Not now. Maybe in the future.”
A few stray autumn leaves blew gently past their feet as they continued to walk slowly together. “I will not press you,” he said at length, “but I hope that there will come a time when you will feel free to share whatever is on your mind with me, no matter what it is. It would give me the greatest of pleasure to be able to lighten all of your burdens, whatever those might be.”
Thornton spoke earnestly and Margaret could not help glancing up at him in order to hear him better. When he looked back down at her he gave her a look she had never received from him before, one that made her heart leap in response.
She had seen her husband in many moods since the first time they met. She had seen him both angry and kind, courteous and coldly indifferent, even sarcastic. She had seen him being both generous and imperious. The look she saw on his face now was something entirely different, open and vulnerable, along with another emotion she could not quite identify.
She did not know what to do, or how to respond. Quickly she said the first thing that came to her head. “There is one good thing that came from me staying above stairs last night. I had opportunity to read one of the books you lent to me.”
His face lit up. “Did you? Which one?”
“The one by the man in Scotland, Mr. Owen.”
“What did you think of it?”
“I saw many para
llels between Mr. Owen and you. He was also a draper’s assistant before he opened his factory. Was it his story that inspired you to open your own?”
“Indeed.” Thornton launched into an enthusiastic description of the time he had spent working in a draper’s shop, learning about the textile industry and reading about men who were making fortunes by opening factories. “Their stories drove me on. I made a point of following Mother’s advice to live frugally and set a little aside in savings each week, so in a few years I had managed to save a small amount of capital. Then I solicited an investment from my employer, who proved to be an eager partner, and used that amount to convince the bank to give me a loan. Eventually I made enough profit to pay my partner back, and now the mill is mine alone.”
Margaret smiled. It was a splendid story. “No wonder the people of Milton look up to you.”
“It was Mother’s insistence on an education that made it possible. Without constant reading and learning I wouldn’t have known where to start.”
“I wish the children in your mill could have the same opportunity you did.” She sighed.
“So do I. Margaret, if the mill were not struggling right now, and if I did not have the expense of Fanny’s wedding, I would be glad to try to set up a school for them again.”
Margaret’s breath caught in her throat. “You would do that? For me?”
“If it would make you happy, yes, I would do it right now. Unfortunately my present circumstances do not permit . . . “
She shook her head, cutting him off. “It is enough to know that you would like to. Maybe after this hard time is past, when you have recovered from these business difficulties, we could work on it together.”
This time when Thornton looked down at her, she caught a blazing look of approval, such a dazzling look that it almost blinded her. Thornton was not handsome in the most classical sense of the word. His features were too rough, the lines of his face too angular. But when he looked down at her that way, with such open admiration and his whole expression alight, she could not deny that he was an exceedingly attractive man. She had to look away yet again. His look contained something that she needed so much and yet could not have, of course.
He gave a great chuckle, a sound of mirth she had not heard from him before, and pulled her even closer to his side. “Do you know, when I saw you walking by I was so eager to join you that I did not even wonder about your destination. Where are we going?”
Margaret cringed inwardly, wondering how he would react to what she was about to say. They had been getting on so well; was she about to spoil their new rapport? “I am going somewhere I have not been since we were married. I am on my way to see Nicholas Higgins.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Higgins!” Thornton exclaimed, stopping in his tracks. Margaret stopped as well and she and Thornton faced each other.
“Yes, Higgins. I have not been able to see him even once since the wedding and I am afraid he will think I have forgotten him.”
“So that is who this basket is for.” He looked at the basket in his hand with distaste. He had not even thought to wonder about its contents until now.
“I am bringing him and the children food and other things they need.”
“Must you really visit him yourself?” he asked, irritated, before he could stop himself. “Wouldn’t it be enough to send Dixon with supplies?”
Margaret drew herself up to her most dignified stance. “You did say that I could continue my friendship with him even after our marriage,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but – “
“You do not have to accompany me,” Margaret said firmly. “I am quite capable of visiting him on my own, and you must have work waiting for you at the mill. I will not blame you if you decide to turn around now. I will be home well before dinner.” Her eyes flashed a challenge.
Thornton stood still for a moment, conflicted. Margaret said she would not blame him if he let her carry out her errand alone, but the defiant look on her face declared otherwise. If he did not go with her now he would ruin the progress they were making as a couple. Besides, the Princeton district, where Higgins lived, was no place for an unaccompanied lady. He would not allow Margaret to face the possibility of any harm, not while he could prevent it.
“We will go together,” he pronounced. Margaret’s eyes widened but she said nothing. She resumed her place at his side and they continued walking. This time her hand was not resting on his arm.
Thornton now noticed what he had been too absorbed to see around him before. They were on the outskirts of the poorest district of Milton, and the neighborhood had changed. The fine townhouses and row homes were gone; in their places were one- or two-story decrepit buildings with small doors and few windows. The streets narrowed, becoming darker as the light from the sun overhead was cut off. The sidewalk became rough and uneven, with great crumbling gaps in some areas.
Margaret and Thornton were beginning to draw attention from the residents of the district as they went on together. He guessed that the lower classes did not often see a man in a top hat walking in the Princeton district, especially not one holding an oversized wicker basket in one hand. It must have been an incongruous sight. Margaret, in her simple dress and shawl, did not stand out as much.
As they passed by an opening between two buildings Thornton’s attention was caught by a young mother and her daughter sitting on a narrow step. Their thin homespun clothes and gaunt appearance proclaimed them to be beggars. The child looked up at him hopefully as he drew even with her and held up a hand, palm open, mutely asking for coins. He guessed her age to be seven or eight.
Margaret moved before he had a chance to stop her. She knelt down to be at the child’s eye level and placed a gentle hand on her head, smoothing the fair hair back from the weak forehead. “Have you eaten anything today?” The child shook her head no.
Margaret fumbled with her satchel for a moment, withdrew a coin and pressed it into the girl’s hand. Then she reached in again for something to give the girl’s mother.
“Never mind, Margaret.” Thornton had already withdrawn a sovereign from his inside pocket and offered it to the woman. He might be coming down in the world but he still had far more than either of these two poor souls, both of whom looked old before their time. The mother took the coin from him with a trembling hand, staring as if she could scarcely believe her luck. Then her face lit up with a tremulous smile.
“Thank you, sir.”
Thornton nodded gravely.
They continued walking together, passing derelict buildings and rough-looking workers on both sides. The narrow streets were more crowded here and they had to walk single file. Thornton was in the uncomfortable position of having to follow Margaret’s lead. Without her confident steps ahead of him he would have had no idea where to go. Question after question came to his mind. What had first drawn Margaret to this part of town? How had she met Nicholas Higgins? And how did she decide who to assist with gifts of food and money, when there was so much desperation on every side?
At length Margaret turned down a side street and came to an abrupt stop before a small building with just one glass window. The other opening was covered with heavy parchment paper that would do little to keep out the cold. A flower vase standing forlornly on the closer windowsill was the only sign of habitation. It was here that Margaret stepped up boldly to the door and knocked twice. After a minute, the door opened.
Nicholas Higgins stood in the open doorway, a welcoming smile on his broad face. “Miss Margaret! I didna think t'see ye 'ere again!” he exclaimed. Then he saw Thornton and his whole expression changed. He folded his arms over his chest and the two men glared silently and suspiciously at each other. Margaret finally had to gently remind Higgins of her existence. “May we come in?”
“Oh, aye, certainly.” Higgins stood back from the doorway, grudgingly allowing them entrance, but he kept his fierce gaze on Thornton. “Ye're always welcome 'ere.”
Thornton caught t
he barely concealed barb: Margaret, not Thornton, was welcome. It was clear that Higgins would tolerate his presence only for Margaret’s sake. Strangely enough, Thornton felt the same way about Higgins.
Inside the house a ragtag assortment of children, busy at play, stopped immediately and stared at the newcomers. With a nod of his head Higgins directed them all to sit on a small bed in the corner. They moved quickly and sat without asking anything, still staring. It was Margaret who broke the sudden silence by stating the obvious. “Nicholas, you know my husband, Mr. Thornton.”
“We ha' met.” Higgins pointedly avoided offering his hand.
“One too many times,” Thornton rejoined, no friendlier than Nicholas.
“This will never do,” Margaret interjected, drawing Thornton forward. “Come, now, if you cannot be friends for your own sake, you must try to be friends for mine. Will you not try to get along, please?”
Thornton could withstand anything but a request from Margaret. A pleading look from her was enough to make him extend his hand towards the other man; he was annoyed to discover that Higgins had beaten him to the moment, his hand already extended. They shook quickly. Then Higgins turned his attention back to Margaret.
“I’m right surprised t' see ye ‘ere, miss. I thought perhaps ye’d be too busy fo' us, in hoo grand new 'ouse.”
“Don’t be silly, Nicholas. I’ll never be too busy for friends. Where is Mary?”
“Hoo went t' the butcher’s looking fo' meat fo' supper. Hoo’ll be back soon.”
As they spoke Thornton took the time to look around him at the dismal hovel Higgins called home. Thornton was not unfamiliar with darkened rooms and windows covered by oiled paper; he and his family had once lived in similar surroundings. But he found himself staring at the children in the corner, who looked back at him with frank interest. The oldest could not be more than twelve years old and the youngest, perhaps about five. They all had fair hair and high brows, not favoring Higgins’ dark looks and wide face in the least. “Are these your children?” he heard himself asking.
