Margaret of Milton

by Elaine Owen

  Could she finally reveal the young man’s true identity? She should have done so after her father died, but she had not been sure how Thornton would react. He was, after all, a magistrate, and he had said that he would follow his duty regardless of personal cost. But he had also set aside his scruples and protected her from further inquiry at the time of Leonard’s death, and that had been before they were married. Surely as his wife he would protect her even more.

  The postscript from her brother played over in her mind: Secrets have a way of tearing couples apart. It was time to put this secret to rest. With her brother’s permission she now felt the freedom to do so. She would tell Thornton about Frederick right away, this very night, as soon as he returned from the mill. If he became angry at her for her previous reticence, well, at least she would know where she stood with him. Their relationship could hardly be any more strained than it was now.

  She took up a pen and paper and wrote the following:

  My dearest Frederick,

  Your letter has brought me the greatest of pleasure and I forgive you with all my heart. You wrote as you did in the first throes of your grief, for which I do not fault you. You would never have judged me so harshly if I had been able to give the news in person, and if you had not had the shock of my marriage so soon after Father’s death.

  Your idea of a meeting in Spain one day is delightful, and I hope someday to be able to accept your offer.

  Write to me again very soon, and never forget that no matter what circumstances we may find ourselves in, I am always your own dear

  Margaret

  She put the letter down on the little desk, neatly folded, and went to see about preparing a late supper. Thornton might not be home for hours but she wanted to be ready whenever he arrived.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Miss Margaret? Miss Margaret, you should have gone up to bed. You fell asleep in the chair.”

  Dixon’s voice, and her hand firmly shaking Margaret’s shoulder, finally roused the girl from her deep sleep. She sat up and looked around the dim room drowsily. The lamps had burned out and she felt cold all over. “What time is it?”

  “It’s eight o’clock.”

  Margaret frowned. Hadn’t she sat up in the parlor late last night, waiting for Thornton? She had certainly been up past eight! Then she realized that Dixon meant eight in the morning. The sun’s rays around the edges of the curtains were dawning, not dimming. Gradually her memory came back. She had eaten a small supper, helped Dixon clean in the kitchen, then curled up on the settee across from the fireplace to wait for her husband. “Didn’t Mr. Thornton come home last night?” she asked, suddenly thoroughly awake. “You should have wakened me earlier!”

  “Couldn’t bring myself to, you looked that tired. You should go upstairs and lie down in your own bed. I’ll let you know when he comes in.”

  Perhaps her husband was avoiding her. But no, she would not think that way, not with her fresh determination to make a new start with him. “I must go see him,” she said, preparing to stand. “Something particular must have happened to make him stay away all night.”

  “Nothing too bad, I should say!” Dixon replied. “He has a whole army of employees to look after him. But you fell asleep in your clothes!” She had the same chiding tone she had used when Margaret was a little girl, caught in some naughty act. “You look a muss! Go upstairs and have a proper lie down, and I’ll wake you up when the master comes.”

  “No.” Margaret spoke decisively. “I am rested enough. Please bring up some water for washing. I’ll get changed and then I’ll go to the mill and see what’s happened. And while I am dressing, please prepare a basket for me to take to him. He must be very hungry by now.”

  “As you say.” Dixon gave her a doubtful look but did not voice her objection. Perhaps she, too, was wondering about Thornton’s reasons for staying away.

  In a short while Margaret was hurrying across the bare yard that separated the mill from the house. In the weeks since she had come to live at Marlborough Mills the weather had turned to late autumn. The sky overhead was bleak and gray, and the cobblestones showed the signs of rain the night before. A brisk wind cut through the air and made her glad to reach the warmth of the mill.

  Inside all seemed as usual. Wheels and gears groaned and hissed on every side. Workers labored with their machines, and white fluff floated everywhere. The only sign of anything amiss was the absence of activity around one loom. It had been roped off to prevent anyone from approaching, and Margaret assumed it was the machine that had caused the accident the day before. Holding a handkerchief over her mouth, she climbed the stairs to Thornton’s office.

  The office door was shut all the way. The sounds of the machinery rang out below, but she could hear nothing inside the office. She knocked but did not receive an answer. At length, wondering if she was doing the right thing, she pushed the door open and looked inside.

  Thornton sat motionless with his elbows propped on the desk in front of him. His forehead rested in the palm of one hand and that hand shielded his eyes from view. Even from this distance she could see that his hair was disheveled, as though he had run his hands through it over and over, and his tie was loosened. Yet he remained utterly still when Margaret called his name.

  “John?” she called softly, taking a timid step forward. He preferred that she call him by his first name, she recalled. When there was no reaction she spoke more loudly. “John!”

  Thornton jolted upright, dropping his hand. “Margaret,” he said flatly.

  His expression was bleak and she could not tell if he welcomed her approach or not. But she had come too far to turn back now, so she took another step into the room. “You did not come home last night. Is everything all right?”

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “No. No, everything is not all right.”

  “I heard about the accident yesterday. Was your worker seriously injured?”

  “He will recover fully. That is not what is wrong.”

  “Then what – “

  Thornton took a deep breath and then looked up at her with anguish in his face. For the first time Margaret felt real alarm. “I may as well tell you now,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “There is no profit in delay. Margaret, the mill is no more.”

  For a moment she stood uncertainly, trying to take in his words. Then she slowly closed the office door behind her and set the basket down on the nearest chair. “What do you mean, the mill is no more?”

  “It is all over. When I came back last night from seeing the worker’s family I found a message from the bank. They are recalling the loan. The mill, the equipment, the house – it is all gone.”

  Margaret felt his words as though they were a physical blow. Her own purpose for calling fled far from her mind. “I do not understand.”

  “For months I have been working to recover from the strike, struggling to pay the debts I incurred while the mill was out of production, but three days ago one of my debtors declared bankruptcy. They cannot pay what they owe me. It was the final blow. I must pay the bank my loan in full, and I haven’t the means to do so. Marlborough Mills has failed.” There was a note of finality in his voice as he gazed down at the desk.

  Margaret’s heart sank. “This makes no sense! The bank will lose money if they force you out of business. Why won’t they give you more time to repay the loan?”

  “I asked but they refused. They heard about the bankruptcy, you see.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can do? What if you sell some of the equipment?”

  “I put up the equipment as security for the loan. It will be repossessed.”

  “Is there no one else who will give you a loan?”

  “Not when I am this far gone.” He slumped forward in his chair, his head sinking into his hands. “Thank God Fanny is taken care of, and Mother with her. There will be no change in their circumstances. But all my workers will lose their jobs. My carelessness has cost them their livelihoods. You an
d I will have to move to a much smaller house. Some of the fine things in the house will have to be sold. I am about to come down very low in the world, and I am dragging you down with me.”

  The sight of this strong man in such despair brought tears to her eyes. She stepped around the desk and came to his side but he continued to stare down at the desk, unable to meet her gaze. “I am sorry for what I have brought you to, Margaret. Perhaps Fanny will let you live with her and Mother so that you won’t have to suffer along with me. I cannot tell you how much I regret all of this. You must be sorry that you ever married me.”

  “I am not.” Margaret’s voice was soft but firm. She had completely forgotten what she meant to tell Thornton. Only one thing mattered now: her husband needed comfort. “And I will not go live with Fanny and your mother. I want to stay with you.”

  Thornton shook his head. “You don’t know what you are saying. I am betraying my promise to your father. Everything I wanted to give you, all the little luxuries you deserve, your charitable work, it will all disappear. I have lost everything!”

  “This will not last forever. Your circumstances will change and you will recover what has been lost. I am sure of it!”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  Margaret gathered her courage. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “The only thing that matters is if we are together. Please don’t send me away.”

  Thornton went very still for a moment, the muscles in his shoulder tensing under her hand. “Margaret,” he whispered hoarsely. “If I thought that you really meant that – “ He swallowed hard. “But you cannot want to be with me, a failed man of trade who can give you nothing.”

  “I want to be with you, wherever you are,” Margaret replied firmly, “in whatever circumstances, rich or poor. As long as I am with you I will be content.”

  There was a long, silent pause. Then Thornton rose to his feet, turning to face her fully. Margaret suddenly realized how tall he was, and how broad his shoulders were. In the light coming in through the windows his face was half in shadow. He raised his hand to her face, gently wiping away a single tear with his thumb. “Do you mean that?” he repeated, half whispering. “Do you really want to be with me?”

  Margaret’s mouth went dry. She was too shy to say what she was feeling, so she stepped closer, raising her arms to drape them loosely around his neck. At the same time she raised her face to his.

  He must have understood her meaning, for in the next moment she found herself enveloped in his arms. One of his hands spanned the small part of her back, pulling her flush against him. The other hand lifted her chin. And then his lips were on hers, warm and demanding and tender all at the same time. For long, sweet moments they kissed, clinging together in answer to all the loneliness of the past weeks.

  At length Thornton broke off, panting heavily. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Margaret, forgive me for being less than a gentleman. I did not mean to offend you.”

  She caressed the side of his face with one hand. “I am not offended.”

  “But you cannot possibly want me in the same way I want you! You married me only because you had no other choice!”

  “I thought you only married me because of my father’s request!”

  “Do you really believe that?” he asked, his eyes opening wide. “Do you really think I would commit myself to you for the rest of my life without feeling any affection for you at all?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “I suppose somewhere deep inside I always knew you must feel something for me. And yet you told me months ago that your foolish infatuation with me was over!”

  “Oh, Margaret!” He pulled her against his chest again, one hand cradling her head. “My own Margaret! Forgive me. I spoke out of anger and resentment that day, and to conceal my true feelings. I wanted to convince you – and myself – that you no longer had any power to hurt me. But my heart has always been in your hands!” He kissed her again.

  Margaret did not want to disturb their newfound accord, but she had to speak. When Thornton lifted his head she asked, “Then why did you court Anne Latimer?”

  “What?” He pulled back to look at her. “How do you know about Anne Latimer?”

  “Those women at Fanny’s wedding – they said you had called on her.”

  “Once.” He said the word emphatically. “I called on her one time, in obedience to my mother. She hoped that calling on Anne would make me forget you. But her plan failed. I could still think only of you!”

  “Oh, John!” she exclaimed, burying her head against his chest. Tears sprang to her eyes. “How I have misjudged you!”

  “Hush, love, there will be no more of that,” he commanded her gently. “We are together at last. How I have longed for this day! I can bear any loss as long as I have you!”

  “Yes. Being together is all that matters,” she answered, a deep joy flooding over her. The feeling of contentment was beyond anything she had known in her life.

  “Margaret,” Thornton said, after another precious interlude, “I have something to confess.”

  “What is it?” She tensed involuntarily.

  “I do not want a marriage of convenience anymore.”

  She half sobbed, half laughed in return. “That is fortunate, for I feel the same way.”

  “Truly?” His voice was eager yet disbelieving. “You are willing to be my wife from now on? Not just a wife in the eyes of the law, but in every sense of the word?”

  “I have longed for that for some time now. I just didn’t know if you wanted it as well!”

  “My darling! I shall try every day to make you as happy as you have made me!”

  He kissed her again, this time so long and so earnestly that Margaret lost all sense of her surroundings. She was brought back to earth only by a knock on the door and a man’s loud voice.

  “Master Thornton! Sorry to disturb but you’re needed on the floor, sir!”

  “I am coming!” he called. Turning back to Margaret, he sighed heavily. He rested his forehead against hers. “I have to go,” he said. “There are things I will still have to deal with before the end. Speaking with creditors, giving notice to the workers, and many other things.”

  “I understand.”

  “Losing the mill is a heavy blow, but having you will make it easier to bear. I could not go through this without you at my side!”

  “I will help you in whatever way I can.”

  He lifted a hand to caress her face, brushing a tendril of hair that had come loose back behind her ear. “Will you wait for me tonight?” he asked. “There are still so many things I want to tell you.”

  “Oh yes! And there are so many things I want to share with you as well!”

  He gave her a rich, full smile that she had not seen in many days. “Wait for me, my love! I may be late but I will come to you tonight!” With a final tender kiss he turned on one heel and left the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  For the rest of the day Thornton did his work as if half in a dream. There were many demands on his time: explaining his present circumstances to Huely; quelling rumors that were already spreading to his creditors; planning for how and when to speak to his workers. He also had to ensure that he would be able to meet payroll one last time. The day was harried, with barely a moment for reflection, and underlying it all was the bitter sting of disappointed hopes. The world he had spent years building up was crashing around him. In a few short weeks it would be no more, and then he would have to start all over, clawing his way up from the bottom once again.

  But then his mind would turn to Margaret, the woman who had promised to live with him as his wife from now on. How marvelous, how generous and gracious she had been in the face of his failure! And how quickly she had rallied to his side! The rest of his life he would remember that in his darkest moment of despair she had boldly expressed her faith in him. In his mind’s eye he could still picture the tenderness on her face when she put her arms around his neck
. A man would give a lifetime of wealth just for the joy of such a moment!

  Life would be hard for a long time, he doubted not. With the loss of the mill he would also lose his position in society. He and Margaret would have to find smaller, meaner accommodations in a less fashionable part of town. There would be no more annual dinners hosted at Marlborough Mills, no more rings of respectful men gathered around him to hear his opinions on business or industry. Yet he knew he could face all that with equanimity now that Margaret was on his side.

  So he reeled between the two realities all afternoon. As he signed invoices he saw Margaret’s clear blue eyes barely inches from his own. While he gave instructions to Huely he heard Margaret’s sweet voice in his ear. And when he spread his ledgers with their pitiful sums out on the desk in front of him he remembered the feel of her skin in the palm of his hand and the softness of her hair against his cheek.

  He left the mill earlier than he should have and yet far later than he would have liked. The lamps had already been lit and he felt the chill of the night air as he quickly crossed the yard. When he entered the house he looked eagerly for Margaret, expecting her to be waiting for him in the parlor, but there was no sign of her. He followed the sounds and smells of cooking into the kitchen and found Dixon alone. She greeted him politely but did not stop stirring whatever was on top of the stove.

  Thornton did not pause to make idle chatter. “Where is my wife?” he asked directly.

  “At Nicholas Higgins’ house.”

  He burrowed his eyebrows together. “What is she doing there at this time of night?”

  “She had a message from Higgins that one of the children was sick. She went straightaway to see him. Said to tell you she would be back as soon as she could.”

  Thornton could have howled in frustration. He had been waiting all day to see Margaret, and now she was on one of her errands of mercy! Yet it was just like her to put the needs of others before herself. Of course she would go to the aid of a sick child. “Which child was it? And what seems to be the matter?”