by EJourney
VI. Rapport and Romance
Margaret's London relations descended on the Thorntons in the afternoon two days before the wedding. Mrs. Thornton heard the carriage when it entered the courtyard and watched from the window as the party got off. John and Margaret, unaware that they intended to arrive that day, were out for a walk and Mrs. Thornton was alone to receive them. She was acquainted only with Mrs. Shaw, who she first met when Mrs. Shaw accompanied Margaret to say her "goodbyes" on the day she left Milton after her father died. The London party was shown to the drawing room and Mrs. Shaw accordingly introduced everyone.
"My daughter Edith—she and Margaret grew up together and are like sisters."
Edith gave Mrs. Thornton a slight bow and a polite smile which the latter responded to in a similar fashion as she quickly summed Edith up and dismissed any further interest in her: Beautiful in the classic English tradition and refined in the way Margaret was but spoiled and used to having her way.
"Her husband, Captain Lennox. He will stand in for Frederick. You must know about Margaret's older brother who, unfortunately, cannot come or he would have given Margaret away."
Mrs. Thornton bowed again and smiled without a word. She thought the captain handsomer than any man ought to be, with the air of indolence and indulgence typical of a London gentleman, a perfect match for his wife and, like her, was not an object of further interest to Mrs. Thornton.
"And this is Mr. Henry Lennox, the Captain's older brother, practically part of the family. We welcome him nearly everyday for breakfast or dinner at our home in London. He has been a friend to my girls for many years, but particularly to Margaret. He is a lawyer and since Margaret inherited Mr. Bell's fortune, he has also been her legal adviser and financial consultant."
Mrs. Thornton acknowledged Henry in much the same manner as the first two but regarded him with more curiosity. She saw intelligence, cunning and ambition in his alert eyes and she wondered why he had not sought Margaret for himself. Then, it occurred to her that perhaps he did but, with her acute maternal bias, she could not imagine Margaret preferring him over John.
In fact, Henry thought it in his best interest to bury his disappointment and regret at losing Margaret and, instead, preserve the friendship and business relationship he had with her. A practical and unsentimental man, he did not suffer that loss quite as deeply nor as lengthily as John Thornton did when Margaret had rejected his proposal. So, when offered an invitation to the wedding, Henry accepted with only a few moments hesitation. He decided it wiser to make an effort to befriend Mr. Thornton and possibly persuade him to be a client rather than to resent him or, worse, alienate him as an enemy, a daunting possibility Henry was not willing to take on based on what he knew of Mr. Thornton.
Mrs. Shaw named the two other women who came with them as Mrs. Shaw's personal maid Anne, a spinster way past forty, modestly dressed but ladylike and very dignified; and Rose, a plump genial nursemaid to Edith's son, not much above thirty with a smile that perpetually turned up the corners of her mouth.
Mrs. Thornton was uncomfortable during the meeting, uncertain about how to deal with Londoners whose fashionable airs she privately scoffed at. She assumed a more formal manner than usual, distancing her young guests who, after being introduced to her, returned the compliment of her indifference by finding nothing more to say to her for the rest of the visit. In spite of her aloofness, Mrs. Thornton was observant of proper decorum and desirous to show that northern hospitality was at least equal to that in London society so, in as gracious a manner as she could manage, she offered to put the party up at her house.
"We have room for all of you." She proclaimed by way of concluding her offer, her eyes sweeping across all her guests including the two maids.
Mrs. Shaw politely declined. "How very kind of you but we have already reserved rooms for all of us at one of the hotels."
Mrs. Thornton needed no further excuse and did not press the offer. She nodded and was actually quite relieved that her visitors declined. Underneath her graciousness, she was uneasy that she knew hardly anything of what courtesies were accepted in London and, therefore, she and her servants would have been constantly anxious attending to the London party. But Mrs. Thornton had a natural sense of what she owed her guests, wherever they were from, and that sense required further satisfaction. "Can I at least offer you some tea?"
Mrs. Shaw gently but firmly declined once again. "How very nice of you but thank you. Since we are engaged here for dinner tomorrow evening and very tired from the ride from London, I believe we should check into our hotel and rest. There is so much to do tomorrow."
Edith added, "Sholto is getting restless. I must spend time with my son because he will be staying with the nursemaid for much of our stay here."
"Yes, there is the baby to consider as well," Mrs. Shaw reiterated and without waiting for a reply, beckoned for Anne to approach. "But I did want to offer help to you through my maid, Anne. She has been with me a long time and very ably managed the kitchen and the staff at Edith's wedding. She would also be of valuable help to Margaret as she gets dressed on her wedding day."
Mrs. Thornton did not know whether to be thankful or to be offended. She stared at Mrs. Shaw, uncertain how to respond.
Mrs. Shaw saw her hesitation. "Mrs. Thornton, Margaret is like a daughter to me, especially now. With her mother gone, I feel we should have taken on the entire preparation for her wedding but because she preferred to have it here rather than in London, we had to impose on your kindness instead. So please allow me to offer as much help as I can now. It would lessen my guilty conscience about not having done enough."
Mrs. Thornton listened patiently, still unconvinced. "Dixon would probably be thankful for her help."
"Indeed! They know each other and have worked together."
"Leave her here then. We should easily find some room for her in the maids' quarters."
Offering Anne to assist in wedding preparations was not the only reason the London party made Marlborough Mills their first stop. The women travelled to Milton in Mrs. Shaw's carriage while the Lennox brothers took the train. During their visit with Mrs. Thornton, their footman directed the unloading from the carriage of boxes of wine, meats, and cheeses for the wedding dinner and an even greater number of boxes carefully packed with roses, ribbons, and garlands of leaves with which to decorate the church, the dining table, and the carriage that would take Margaret to church.
Edith had insisted on the decorations through her mother's lame protests and her husband's breezy ridicule of feminine frivolities. Edith wanted to surprise her cousin with a touch that she knew would delight her. Margaret had been tireless in the preparations for Edith's wedding, had protected her zealously from unwanted social intrusions that came inevitably when her marriage was announced, and Edith wanted to reciprocate. Besides, Edith thought, Milton sounded so grim that it needed something bright and "a la mode" from the southern region.
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The day before the wedding was frantic with preparations. Edith was at the church directing and occasionally helping Rose and two of the Thornton maids put up decorations. She had also dragged along Captain Lennox who protested the indignity to his manhood of draping ribbons on church pews but his wife prevailed with gentle threats and pleas of how they needed a man to do a very few difficult tasks. The Thornton household was busy cooking, polishing silver, cleaning and putting the house in order to Mrs. Thornton's spotless specifications. Margaret was spared from the frenzy and joined Mrs. Shaw at the hotel for a relatively restful day of caring for and playing with Sholto.
In the evening, they all gathered for dinner at the Thornton house. Margaret was reunited with her cousin for the first time since she left London. They sat together in a quiet corner of the room for the first quarter hour of the evening, sharing news and exchanging other confidences, most of which were about the same things Margaret had already told Edith in her letters.
As the night wore on, Edith kept
a discreet eye on Margaret, anxious to reassure herself that her cousin was happy. John Thornton was rather handsome, she thought, although a bit formidable in his intensity. Still, she suspected he was probably a better match for Margaret's intrepid spirit than Henry who, though witty and sophisticated, was probably too dispassionate and—searching for the right word, she could only come up with—lawyerly. Edith was also pleased that John seemed to take an extra effort to seek her out and talk to her.
Margaret had earlier given John a brief account of her London relatives so he knew that Edith and Margaret had spent much of their youth together being taught all that were necessary to become accomplished young ladies and they grew as close to each other as if they were sisters. Margaret also told him that Edith was marvelously proficient at the piano and one way to win her favor was to ask her to play. John, keen to get acquainted with someone Margaret cared about and grew up with, thought it a great idea that would add an entertaining element that past Thornton parties never had.
He approached Edith with a warm smile and she, who learned from Margaret's letters about Milton civilities not usually observed in London, reached her hand out to him as she returned his smile. "I can see Margaret told you about our quaint practices here," he said.
"Yes, we spent many years growing up together and are quite each other's confidante." Edith looked across the room at Margaret, who was in conversation with her mother, before adding, "And yet, we are not really very much alike. She was always the independent one who had a mind of her own and I was the one who took to heart all that we were taught."
"I gathered as much. She told me that you are uncommonly accomplished at the piano. Our instrument here may not be as good as yours in London but I think it would please everyone if you would play for us after dinner."
She acquiesced with a slight graceful bow of her head, a gesture John had also observed in Margaret. "Margaret flatters me too much but yes, certainly, I shall be happy to." Then, she asked, her eyes darting towards her cousin, "Do you know that she could play fairly well herself if she practiced?"
John was pleasantly surprised, "No, I thought she did not play at all."
"Well, it is true, she never applied herself to it as I did when we were children and without a piano when she and my aunt and uncle moved here to Milton, she probably could not practice. She always preferred books and drawing to piano and dancing lessons. But Margaret has a sensitive ear and just before she came back here, she started practicing a little again and we played a few airs together."
"Then, perhaps, we could prevail on you both for some duets." John replied, his eyes searching those of Margaret who sat with her back to him. Suddenly conscious that his eyes were on her, she turned her head, gazing back at him for a long moment, returning the mix of tenderness and passion in his eyes.
Edith looked away, uncomfortable at intruding into this very private exchange between two lovers. She saw a Margaret she never knew, one apparently capable of intense feelings and, in Edith's romantic imagination, probably even of irrational passion. She knew Margaret to be strong-willed, possessed of a lively intellect, the level-headed one who thought for herself and, when they were growing up, for Edith as well. In turn, Edith coached her nonchalant cousin on the decorum of fashionable London and selected Margaret's wardrobe for her. This reciprocity suited the cousin's different temperaments. Edith did not care to be bothered to think matters through and trusted Margaret's generous and loyal nature not to lead her astray while Margaret acknowledged her cousin's superior social skills and sense of style.
It was a different Margaret Edith saw that evening and it thrilled her to imagine her clever cousin vulnerable to the fluttering of the heart and the trembling of limbs in the presence of the man she loved. Edith was sorry for Henry but her conviction grew that he would not have been equal to her cousin's passionate nature. Edith who married her young and handsome captain for love, thought that Margaret, clearly in love, was more like her than she had imagined. That night, she accepted her cousin's choice without question.
John was, himself, a bit vigilant, but of Henry Lennox. He wondered why Henry was at this family gathering because as Captain Lennox's brother, Henry was, at most, a friend and not a relation to Margaret. But he also knew that Mrs. Shaw would be too conscious of decorum to exclude him and leave him at the hotel by himself that evening. In any case, John saw nothing that concerned him; while Henry Lennox did look a lot at Margaret, she was equally gracious to everyone.
Sadly, John also noted that Margaret seemed more at ease and self-possessed in the presence of her London relations and friends. Regrettably, the past few days had hardly warmed his mother's manner towards Margaret who, in turn, was wary and hesitant in Mrs. Thornton's presence. For the first time, John confronted the difficulties occasioned by living with two strong-willed women. Although he could never imagine shirking his obligations to his mother, he never doubted that his wife would always come first. He was aware, for instance, that although she had not spoken of it yet, Margaret would want a house of their own, away from the noise and constant activity of Marlborough Mills. If so, he would find her one.
Fanny and her husband were at the dinner as members of the Thornton family and their presence lessened Mrs. Thornton's discomfort somewhat. Interacting with Londoners, whose ways she was unfamiliar with and felt some disdain for, taxed her equanimity too much and she welcomed having others entertain them and occupy their attention.
Watson was only too willing to engage the men in discussions about money and investments. In contrast, Fanny was content to closely observe Edith, her demeanor and dress, assuming them to represent what must be currently fashionable. But her attention was also often directed at John and Margaret, searching for signs that would justify her unwavering notion that Margaret had designs on her brother all along. She and Margaret had scarcely said a word to each other and neither of them took any extra effort to advance towards a more sisterly relationship.
Fanny seemed obsessed with believing that her brother was marrying Margaret because his choices had narrowed with his financial collapse. But she could not ignore what she saw in how John regarded Margaret, how his eyes constantly sought hers from everywhere across the room or followed her figure as she moved among the guests, and when they were together, how he gazed at her in that intent way he had that Fanny always found mysterious. Fanny could never recall during their courtship and engagement when Watson looked at her the way her brother did Margaret although Watson doted on her and treated her with indulgence. She reluctantly felt envy for this woman who would soon become her sister and, several times that evening, she had to reassure herself that the relationship she had with Watson was exactly what she preferred.
When the group was seated in the drawing room for after-dinner drinks, John turned to Edith and reminded her of her promise to entertain them with some music. He was also rather curious to hear Margaret play. She had never touched the piano in the Thornton house.
Edith got up and approached Margaret, "I will play if Margaret will play a few pieces with me as we did often when we were growing up."
Margaret protested, shaking her head vigorously, "But I am out of practice." She refused to get up but Edith grasped her hands and tried to pull her up from her chair. Margaret laughed, continuing to protest in a self-mocking tone. "You play so well and have always done so since we were children that I am loath for everyone here to see how badly I play compared with you."
"But Margaret, have you forgotten how much we enjoyed playing together? It did not seem to bother you then how well or badly you played."
"I was a child and we had no audience then except our poor teacher and my kind aunt."
Edith was insistent. "We could do that short Mozart rondo we were practicing just before you came back to Milton." Then turning to the group, she looked at John and added, "Mr. Thornton was unaware that you could play the piano."
Margaret smiled at John and shrugged her shoulders. Then, she stood up. "
All right, I will do this short rondo with Edith if she promises to play more. I am sure you will forget my fumbling when you hear her."
Edith and Margaret sat at the piano side by side. After a few practice notes, they paused a little and then played a lively piece that had them crossing over each other's hands to strike the piano keys. The piece brought back the delight the cousins always had playing together. Forgetting they had an audience, they launched into another rondo immediately after the first one, with Edith playing the high notes and Margaret the lower. During an instantaneous pause in the middle of the piece, the two exchanged places in a swift move that punctuated the piece with the swishing sound of colliding skirts, almost knocking down the piano seat and inducing suppressed laughter in the two performers. They had started this maneuver as a game when they were children and never tired of doing it to amuse themselves when piano practice became boring, which it always did for Margaret. They continued the piece, this time with Margaret doing the high notes.
John watched and listened with great interest, as diverted as the rest of the group at the cousins' childlike ebullience. They sounded good together and even to his untrained ears, he could tell how well synchronized they were despite the differences in their skills. Edith was, without question, the more skillful of the two, playing smoothly and confidently. Also obvious to him was the relaxed camaraderie between them. Although he saw for himself the many ways in which the cousins were indeed different, he also saw that they developed complimentary dispositions, no doubt borne of necessity and long association, facilitated in the beginning by a child's desire to be agreeable. The lively music and the infectious exuberance with which the young women played together could not fail to lighten the mood of the group. When the two finished and got up for an elaborate but mock curtsy, their enthusiastic audience clapped for some minutes.
