by EJourney
"My mother thought me too good for you but I did not think I was good enough and yet, what does it matter? You are finally home, my love—with me." He lifted her face to kiss her.
II. Uneasy Rapprochement
Mrs. Thornton was pacing restlessly in the drawing room. Once in a while, she walked towards the window and looked down at the empty courtyard. She had not seen her son for two days and she was getting increasingly worried. He had not left any note nor said anything that gave her some inkling of where he might have gone. When she last talked to him, her heart ached painfully at seeing how broken his spirits had seemed, how profound his misery. She raged at the injustice of a world that seemed to have punished him, he who was all that was good in a man. The loss of the mill weighed on him deeply, she was certain of that. But she was also sadly aware that, since Margaret Hale left Milton, he had become uncharacteristically somber, more withdrawn, less communicative. She suspected that, were it not for that unfortunate matter with Miss Hale, the loss of the mill would not have plunged him into such deep despair.
Mrs. Thornton had never liked Miss Hale and, when she rejected John, that relatively passive dislike had turned into an active hatred. So when she saw her that morning at the Mill, her rage at the world found its outlet. She accused Miss Hale of coming back to mock John for the misfortune that had befallen him. But Miss Hale disarmed her when, with guileless candor, she conceded that Mrs. Thornton was right, that she had not really known John when she rejected him. Then, with a gentle reproach for misjudging her and with sorrow in her eyes and her voice, Miss Hale lamented the fate of the unfortunate mill. Still, Miss Hale was the woman who had dared to reject her son and caused him deep unhappiness. While Mrs. Thornton mellowed a little towards her, she found it difficult to forgive her.
Mrs. Thornton was roused from her musings by the unexpected sound of a carriage. Rather odd, she thought, because since the mill closed, no vehicle or horses entered the courtyard anymore. She hurried towards the window, anxious and curious and she sighed with relief when John got off the carriage. But chagrin immediately displaced her relief when John turned to offer his hand to a woman alighting from the carriage.
"Miss Hale!" Mrs. Thornton cried in dismay, stepped back from the window and, afraid that her knees would give way under her, sat down on the nearest chair.
Exceedingly agitated at seeing Margaret, she did not immediately notice that Jane had rushed in until the maid was standing in front of her, announcing frantically. "Madam, the master is back and a young woman is with him, I think it is the daughter of that parson from the south who lived here a year ago, the lady who stood in front of the rioters."
"Yes, Jane," Mrs. Thornton replied, irritated at her officiousness. "Calm yourself and go prepare some tea. The master must be tired from his journey." She tried to assume as normal and commanding a tone as she could. When Jane was gone, she wearily got up from the chair, picked up her needlework, and sat on the sofa that was her preferred spot in the drawing room.
Trembling with consternation and foreboding, Mrs. Thornton, absentmindedly jabbed stitches on the linen she had been working on for the past two days. She knew what the presence of Margaret Hale meant and her whole being revolted against it. Her breast churned with confusing emotions. On the one hand, she could not let go of her hatred, hatred that was aggravated by the ease with which Margaret had acquired wealth and property that John had worked hard for, much of his life. But her return did mean John's happiness and by their marriage, Margaret would be giving him ownership rights to the house and the mill, allowing him to reopen the mill much sooner than anyone would have expected. Mrs. Thornton knew that she ought to be glad that all would be well for John. Instead, her breast fluttered with trepidation: She was about to be supplanted by someone she did not even like and who she would have to live with.
Mrs. Thornton clenched her jaw and scowled, listening for footsteps, her muscles tense and her body rigid in her efforts to appear as calm as possible. The footsteps came too soon and she compressed her lips until they nearly turned white.
"Good evening, mother," John greeted her in a gentle voice as they approached, "we've come home."
Mrs. Thornton stood up slowly, with as much dignity as she could muster, and turned towards them. She could not answer and merely stared. John had drawn Margaret close as if he was trying to protect her, a gesture that did not escape his mother. Margaret glanced at her for an instant but directed her eyes back at John. They had both smiled at her, hesitantly, their eyes anxious, but as they gazed at each other, their faces shared the warm glow of a new and joyous attachment.
Mrs. Thornton shifted her eyes from one to the other and stopped at her son's face. She blinked, amazed at the tranquility he exuded amidst his happiness. She saw brilliance in his eyes just as she had ten years ago when he came home to announce that he had successfully negotiated to run his own mill. His bearing wore the same confident and expectant air but, this time, she saw a placidity she had never seen—a calmness in his expression that relaxed his often-furrowed brow and deepened the smile that reached his eyes—instead of the defiantly triumphant countenance of one who was conscious of having overcome difficult obstacles. Mrs. Thornton smiled at her son and she felt the worries that had weighed on her for some time gradually crumbling. She uttered a prayer and, despite herself, she felt grateful to Margaret. But Mrs. Thornton was the sort who clung violently to her emotions, whether for love or hate. Her mind rather than her heart was grateful to Margaret and deep within, her repulsion to the reality confronting her hardened her hatred against this young woman who was about to become her son's wife. She kept her eyes on her son and studiously avoided Margaret.
"Mother, Margaret and I," John hesitated. He found it difficult to say to his mother what he knew was obvious to her already but which he could sense she was determinedly resisting. He was keenly aware that his mother disliked Margaret but he hoped that seeing him happy would temper her ill feelings.
The "Margaret and I" spoken by her son chafed at Mrs. Thornton, however, and she could no longer hold back. With anger barely suppressed, she turned to Margaret. "So, you've finally come to your senses, have you?"
"Mother………"
Margaret laid a lightly restraining hand on John's arm, walked slowly towards Mrs. Thornton and around the sofa so the two of them stood face-to-face. While boarding the carriage at the train station, the thought of meeting Mrs. Thornton again had suddenly oppressed Margaret. She sat restlessly in the carriage, wondering how she could clear the air with Mrs. Thornton. By the time they reached Marlborough Mills, she decided she must do so now, rather than later. Perhaps, she thought, it would avoid awkwardness and lessen the distress of living with someone who clearly did not like her. It was, in any case, her duty and not Mrs. Thornton's to take the initiative at greater civility in their relationship. She hoped that some ease, if not warmth, would come with time. But Margaret was more rational than experienced about emotions and she proceeded on that basis to explain herself to Mrs. Thornton.
"Mrs. Thornton, I am truly sorry for any pain I might have caused," Margaret began deliberately, her eyes pleading but unflinching, fixed on the older woman in an attitude that Mrs. Thornton remembered and regarded as proud and haughty. Thrusting her chin out, Mrs. Thornton stared back with disdainful skepticism at Margaret and said nothing.
Margaret, who had calmly responded to Mrs. Thornton's accusation earlier that morning, was now disconcerted, her confidence replaced by a vulnerability borne out of the fresh alliance she had just formed with John. She continued with more formality in her tone and voice. "When I first came to Milton, I was rather unhappy because I did not fully understand why we came. My unhappiness was aggravated when I saw my mother in so much distress. I found Milton strange and so different from anything I knew in the south. I struggled a long time to learn and adapt to its ways."
Margaret paused and took a long deep breath. The conviction with which she had started this attempt at a
rapprochement waned steadily at the older woman's withering indifference. She was beginning to doubt that she was getting through but, having already started, she knew she must finish. She resumed in a somewhat louder voice, as if doing so negated her growing sense that her efforts were futile. Ironically, this sense of futility began to free her, allowed her to say what came to mind more spontaneously. "The sorrows I endured came rather early in our life here when my mother became seriously ill and I had to care for her, knowing her time was short. Not too long after, a friend of the same age as I, died. I had watched her suffer from a disease she contracted working at a mill when only a child. Through all that, I saw deprivation and desperation among the poor that I had never seen in Helstone, in particular, that of a family of six young children, left helpless and all alone when both parents died within days of each other. They had no relation who could house and feed them."
Mrs. Thornton's impenetrable countenance showed a little crack at mention of the workers' plight and she pursed her lips contemptuously. Margaret was not surprised. She had once listened to the older woman's views of the working class and she knew that Mrs. Thornton believed workers were inferior to those who rose to be masters. Workers got what they deserved and were not worthy of sympathy.
Margaret turned towards John, who had been watching her with some apprehension. "I have no reason or excuse that would satisfy you as to why I rejected John's proposal after the riot, except that circumstances did not favor us in forming an understanding. We had an inauspicious beginning with a rather unpleasant first encounter at the mill and, after that, we seemed to clash at every turn."
She faced Mrs. Thornton once again and a hint of defiance crept into her voice, "Later, I was appalled to find that my behavior during the riot was interpreted as something calculated to generate a proposal from him. It distressed me that anyone thought me capable of that."
The revelation made a visible impression on Mrs. Thornton, whose eyes darted briefly towards her son before being fixed again, arched superciliously, on Margaret. Mrs. Thornton thought, "pride, Margaret, pride is definitely one of your failings. You had rejected my son for that."
The pain and burden of explaining to the older woman had begun to wear on Margaret and, turning away, she stared pensively into space for a long moment. Her voice was sad when she resumed with an explanation she felt she must make although she knew Mrs. Thornton would regard it as a quaint southern affectation. "Were I aware, much less capable, in those unfortunate times, of an attachment, I am afraid my pride and confusing feelings would have precluded my accepting John or anybody else, in fact. I did not know what it was to have strong sentiments for someone who was neither my father nor my brother and I was certainly unprepared to marry."
She reached out to Mrs. Thornton whose cold, inscrutable façade had returned. Margaret, determined to appear undaunted, looked her straight in the eye, "I admit that it took me some time to understand John and recognize my own feelings for him and by then, I had neither hope nor right to expect that his attachment had endured. I know you do not think me worthy of him and I suppose you and I will often see things differently."
She took another deep breath and as she finished, the strain of the encounter finally brought a quiver in her voice. "If you are inclined to doubt all that I just told you, then please believe, at least, that I do love John very much and that is really the only reason I am here now."
Mrs. Thornton studied Margaret's countenance and, in her mind, begrudgingly admired her frankness. She was nonetheless not about to cede her upper hand and she retorted somewhat scornfully. "What of that man at the train station and your disgraceful behavior with him?"
John had listened intently to Margaret and only then began to comprehend what she had gone through. He saw her blink a few times to hold back tears that had begun to well up and he felt compelled to answer his mother, a little vehemently, "Mother, that was Margaret's brother Frederick."
"Brother!" Mrs. Thornton exclaimed incredulously.
John, who had held back despite his growing exasperation at his mother's uncivil manner towards Margaret, tried to answer as calmly as he could, "Yes. He came to be with his mother when she was dying but his life was in danger and they had to keep his presence here a secret."
"Really?" Mrs. Thornton seemed unconvinced and looked askance at Margaret but, seeing her imploring eyes glistening with the struggle to keep from crying, Mrs. Thornton relented a little and demanded of her son, "How long have you known about the existence of this brother?"
"Not as long as I would have wished. He lives in Spain and may never return to England. He remains in some danger so I ask you not to say anything about him to anyone, least of all to Fanny."
Anxiously, he looked at Margaret. She had been trying to compose herself and attempted a half-smile. He resumed, his eyes still on her, "Sometimes secrecy is necessary and it can lead to misunderstandings that cannot be helped." John smiled reassuringly at her, who was now a little more collected "Fortunately, truth has a way of coming out."
As tenacious as Mrs. Thornton's dislikes were, her attachment to her son was stronger and she was anxious to maintain it. When she heard the irritation in his voice, she reluctantly accepted, at least in words, the truth that she could not wish away. She addressed Margaret without much warmth, "My son is attached to you, that is obvious enough, and you say you are to him as well."
She approached her son, reached out, and touched his cheek affectionately. "I can accept any woman who makes you happy and if that happens to be Miss Hale, so be it." Then, with her usual proud demeanor, she started to turn around.
Margaret bit her upper lip to suppress an urge to let her tears ago. To be merely tolerated was not exactly the reception anyone wanted in joining the family of the man one was about to spend her life with. For a few seconds, she wished she had gone back to London but she thought of John, his eyes tender with concern throughout her ordeal of explaining to his mother, and she knew she was where she wanted to be. So, despite the coldness and lack of enthusiasm with which Mrs. Thornton received her, Margaret could not help reaching her hand out to touch Mrs. Thornton's arm and planting a kiss on her cheek as the latter was turning around.
Taken by surprise, Mrs. Thornton pressed Margaret's hand briefly but kindly, "I'll see what's happened to the tea. After that, I'll show you to your room so you can rest and freshen up before dinner. We always have it at eight." She turned and walked towards the kitchen.
Margaret, in fact, surprised herself with the gesture she made towards Mrs. Thornton who was clearly not comfortable with public display of affection especially when it involved someone towards whom she was indifferent if not outright hostile. But Margaret acted spontaneously, compelled by her natural temperament to act as she felt, and by her southern graciousness and London gentility, to do so with a blend of sincerity and cultivated directness in her manner. The act did disarm Mrs. Thornton and it calmed Margaret's own uneasiness, if only for the moment.
As soon as his mother left the room, John clasped Margaret in his arms, searching her countenance for residual signs of distress. A little more serene, she snuggled closer in his embrace and he was content to hold her close in silence, delighting in the warmth of her against him. A few minutes later, he whispered, pressing his lips against her forehead, "So you do love me."
"How can any girl resist you?" She answered with an attempt at lightness, her voice muffled against his chest.
Mrs. Thornton rustled back into the room noisily, "Tea is here." John let go of Margaret reluctantly but his hand lingered like a caress on her back as he led her to the sofa where they both sat down. Jane who had walked behind Mrs. Thornton, laid the tea tray on the table, glancing surreptitiously at the couple.
Teatime passed with the three saying as little as they could. Although thirsty, Margaret had difficulty swallowing her tea. She was, thus, thankful for the dainty cups in which it was served—somewhat incongruous with the gray massive drawing room, she could not
help thinking with some amusement—so that she could finish her tea without leaving any of it in her cup. She was as anxious not to offend as to mask her discomfort, so she took a small piece of cake and ate it slowly. Mrs. Thornton sat tall and upright, in an attitude Margaret remembered from the only other time she had tea with the older woman who had called upon them then in Crampton. Then as now, Mrs. Thornton had an air of dignity but not ease. She did not hide her feeling that she would much rather have been somewhere else than sitting there, having tea with them. Both times, Margaret was conscious of being under Mrs. Thornton's scrutiny but in Crampton, the idea amused her; now, it caused her discomfort. John was too famished to notice the unease between the two women he cared most about. He had not eaten since morning and the exhilarating end of this particular day gave him a voracious appetite. He drank a copious amount of tea with milk and ate a large piece of cake.
Before Mrs. Thornton could lead Margaret away to her room, John asked his mother in a low voice, "You did set her up in the large bedroom?"
"Of course. Everyone, including the servants, might as well begin to get used to that room being finally occupied."
**************
The room into which Mrs. Thornton placed Margaret was spacious but sparer than the rest of the house. The walls were predominantly dark blue with fleur-de-lis gold motifs and the heavy curtains on the one huge window on the courtyard side were of an even darker shade of blue. A large canopied bed stood somewhat off center, its headboard against the wall perpendicular to the window. By its foot, was a large fireplace, in front of which were a table and two armchairs protected by the same netting that could be found everywhere in the house. A dresser with a matching chair against the same wall as the headboard and a writing table and chair on the opposite wall not far from the door completed the furnishings. The room imparted the same steeliness as the rest of the house but escaped the oppressiveness of its heavy alabaster decorations.
