Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  Margaret turned to Edith and gestured for her to resume her seat at the piano. "Now, you will hear something that will surely give you pleasure."

  Edith played a few piano sonatas she knew by heart, from a repertoire she put together to entertain or divert herself. She combined her skill with a real feel for her music that came across clearly and infected her audience with whatever mood or sentiment infused a piece. Margaret knew that the piano was Edith's one true passion which she considered hers and hers alone. Edith had devoted the greater part of her day mastering it when they were children and continued to do so until just before she got married. It was her antidote to boredom, the balm to her little frustrations and the diversion that made her forget anything annoying or bothersome. She concluded her performance with an airy and melodic morsel that continued to resonate in the minds of her listeners as the evening ended most pleasantly for everyone.

  Mrs. Thornton who had never before understood the necessity of spending time on what she considered frivolities, was almost ready to concede that, perhaps, music did serve a purpose. Fanny was the only one she had listened to in the past and, to her, that required her maternal indulgence to endure. Having heard Edith, she ruefully realized her daughter did not have anywhere near the skill Edith had nor even the expressiveness of Margaret who, were she to practice more, could surely play much better than Fanny.

  Fanny could not deny Edith's superior musical skills. Unfortunate in having been born without an ear for music and short on general cleverness, she was also never exposed to the sort of serious instruction and guidance that Mrs. Shaw bought for her daughter and niece. Fanny thought herself accomplished and her model for a superior player and lady had been Ann Latimer for the simple reason that, being the sole heiress to her father's wealth, Miss Latimer was rich and had learned what she knew at a finishing school. And yet, through some instinct primal to all humans rather than real knowledge, Fanny could sense that Edith sounded several cuts above Miss Latimer's playing. Even Margaret, who might have been rusty with her technique, had played with more feeling for the music than her idol. She was almost regretful that she had once derided Margaret to her brother's face for not knowing how to play the piano.

  Fanny began to think that, perhaps, she had not been thoroughly acquainted with Margaret and how well connected she was. She had learned for the first time that evening that Margaret had lived among the wealthy families of London for most of the ten years before her move to Milton. In Fanny's reckoning, that counted for much. Was she not passing an evening that was unlike any she had ever had in this house or any other house of their Milton friends? It had been very agreeable, devoted to the pursuit of diversions that she was convinced occurred in wealthy London households. She thought, as she sat in the carriage taking them back to their home, that there was much to be gained from being more pleasant and attentive to Margaret from now on.

  Later that night, as John kissed Margaret goodnight in front of her bedroom door, he said, "Will you never cease to amaze me? What else have you got up your sleeves that I should know about?"

  She whispered saucily against his neck as he held her close. "You will just have to keep me around to find out, wouldn't you?"

  **************

  The wedding took place on what passed for a beautiful early Sunday afternoon in Milton—when a late spring sun barely peaked out of the miasma of clouds, smoke and still stale air heavy with particulates from the mills. Still, the new leaves and buds on trees and grasses were vivid with color, not yet weighed down or discolored by the heavy smoke nor withering from want of sunshine.

  Inside the church, a profusion of red and yellow roses—pinned on the pews and on green garlands adorning the walls—forced the look and smell of country spring into its somber and chilly interior. Margaret recognized her cousin's hand in the arrangement and the abundance of roses very similar to those that grew around the Helstone parsonage. She gave Edith, who was attending her, a bright and grateful smile as Captain Lennox led her towards the altar. There, John waited for her, handsome and distinguished—Margaret thought with some fluttering in her heart—in his dark coattails and light shirt and cravat.

  John felt his pulse quicken at seeing her, a beguiling smile on her lips and, it seemed to him, anticipation in her shining eyes. She was resplendent in the simple white wedding gown first worn by her mother and the delicate Spanish lace from her brother draped simply on her luxurious hair, held in place with a pearl comb, a Hale heirloom. John took Margaret's hand from Captain Lennox and whispered, "Ah, my love, you take my breath away."

  None of the guests considered the whole wedding celebration particularly memorable. But many women were impressed with the roses strewn all over the church, a display rarely seen in Milton and one a few of them would later try to mimic. More of the same roses graced vases on the dining table and other surfaces in the drawing room at the house, their pure vibrant colors even more vivid against the nearly unrelieved expanse of dark tones, flooding the room with the ambiance of a sunny spring afternoon. The men, mostly John's business colleagues, relished the sumptuous feast, particularly the wines, and thought that Mrs. Thornton outdid herself for her son's wedding. But with her usual frankness, she quickly disabused them of their mistaken assumption and told them that what they enjoyed the most, the wines and meats, were brought over from London by Margaret's aunt and cousin.

  Many had earlier noticed these women, very elegantly dressed in rich finery. They were particularly struck by the beautiful young woman escorted by a tall handsome young man, who was obviously her husband. Before long, word was passed around among their wives that Miss Hale and her cousin were raised together in London. With such relations and such a background, most of John's business associates began to wonder if they had been wrong about Miss Hale. One of them, echoing what they thought, remarked to Mr. Hamper who was sitting next to him at the dining table. "You know Thornton better than any of us so, perhaps, you can tell us. Had Miss Hale been left with some money? If so, Thornton had not married as foolishly as we thought."

  "You thought," Mr. Hamper corrected him. "I never thought. He is in love, all right."

  Mr. Hamper watched John Thornton lead his new wife to greet the guests, an arm possessively around her. He recalled an incident at the last dinner Mrs. Thornton gave two years ago when he first saw Miss Hale and asked Mr. Thornton who she was, with the intention of seeking an introduction. But when Thornton saw her, he walked away and left him behind to welcome her.

  Mr. Hamper continued, "I suspect his attachment to Miss Hale dates back at least to that last dinner party Mrs. Thornton gave."

  "You mean that one when Miss Hale defended Higgins? But that is not possible! Thornton seemed so consternated by her and pointedly ignored her through dinner."

  "He did. But you can see for yourself that he is quite enchanted with her. To be sure, she is beautiful and at least as fine as her London cousin but who would have thought Thornton would choose this outspoken belle from the south? I wager that she will test his fortitude. As it is, she has already made her mark on him. I miss that scowl, don't you?"

  "Yes, but, perhaps, her father was not as poor as we thought and she did inherit some money."

  "That, I do not know. I have heard some rumors that she might have had a legacy from Mr. Bell which included Marlborough Mills. But look—would you have predicted Thornton could be so smitten? He did not seem the type."

  "No," the colleague replied and said no more, convinced nevertheless that he and his other associates were right that money was involved.

  Nicholas Higgins and his daughter Mary were in church for the marriage ceremony and both John and Margaret made certain that they felt welcome. Nicholas suffered considerable discomfort at first about going to the Thornton house for the dinner reception. He was conscious that his demeanor and his unease in this crowd made him stand out, despite the unaccustomed suit he wore that could make him pass for one of the manufacturers. When they walked out of the chur
ch, the bride and groom had pointedly sought them out, a gesture that was not lost on the other guests. John shook his hand vigorously and Margaret embraced Mary and kissed her on the cheek. Higgins felt that after that greeting, he had no choice but to attend the dinner reception. There, John and Margaret sat talking with him and Mary for some time before taking their places at the head of the table. He found the dinner as painful as he thought he would but, conscious of his role in the couple's present happiness, he felt great satisfaction as he watched them mingle among the other guests.

  Mrs. Thornton would always recall that Sunday as the day she lost her son to the new woman in his life. She was grateful that he glowed happily, appeared confident and in control of his destiny. But her own important role in his life had ended, curtailed by someone she doubted she would ever like. She smiled graciously at the guests but she was very subdued, weighed down by weariness, and she hardly talked to anyone, hardly left her chair. Her son was too rapt up in his new wife to notice her. But she watched their every move—gazing deeply into each other's eyes, huddling their heads together when they talked to each other, whispering into each other's ear—and, all that time, they seemed oblivious to the crowd. John kept to his wife's side, leading her around, an arm around her shoulders or a hand on her back. Once in a while, he stopped to kiss her. Mrs. Thornton saw all this and was aggrieved. She was not prepared to accept Margaret. She had believed it was because Margaret did many things she found exasperating. But that night, she admitted to herself that she resented Margaret because she had taken from her what was most precious to her.

  To John and Margaret, the gathering after the church ceremony was a haze. Radiant as Margaret might have appeared on the surface, her spirit flagged and she was nearly exhausted, barely able to conceal from John her wish that the guests would soon leave. The wedding celebration was larger and more elaborate than she had wanted and it lasted longer than she envisioned. John hardly left her side, whispering tender words into her ear, occasionally caressing her back or the nape of her neck as he led her around and introduced her to business associates and their wives. At a lull in the introductions and bland niceties, he pulled her close to him and planted a lingering kiss on her lips, whispering, "Just a little while longer, my love." Margaret briefly leaned against him, squeezing his hand lovingly.

  Most of the guests did finally leave and only the family remained for a night cap. The London party was returning to their hotel and Mrs. Thornton was leaving with the Watsons to stay with them for a few months. John did not wait for them to finish their drinks. "Margaret is tired and we must say "Good Night" to you all now."

  Edith approached Margaret and as the cousins embraced and kissed each other, she said sympathetically, "You do look exhausted, my dear. We will see you both in London in two days. We leave early tomorrow." Then, she whispered something to Margaret who seemed amused and whispered back to her. The cousins parted from each other in subdued laughter.

  John and Margaret ascended the stairs to their bedroom. Dixon was waiting for them in the hallway. "I've come to help the mistress out of her gown, master."

  All right, Dixon, I shall be in my study." He kissed Margaret and whispered, "I will see you soon, my love."

  Later in his study, he heard Dixon open the door and leave it ajar. She left without speaking.

  VII. Romance and Rapture

  John tapped the door to the bedroom lightly a couple of times. He did not wait for a response but he wanted Margaret to know that he was coming. He had waited in his study with an anticipation that peaked as he opened the door with trembling hands and walked with measured steps towards where she sat. The room was illumined by only two gas lamps, one of which was in front of the dresser and the other, on a nightstand on the other side of the bed. The light rendered into view only the areas around the bed and the dresser, and merely hinted at the huge space within. John smiled to himself, somewhat amused at the arrangement. It appeared, to him, rather like a stage set where everything was thrown into darkness except for the scene before them that the audience was compelled to focus on. He thought that Dixon need not have bothered; his mind and all his senses had already been engaged all day in imagining his first night with Margaret.

  She sat facing the dresser, calmly brushing her long hair down her shoulders, the light casting a glow over her that brought out gold highlights in her dark hair and a faint flush on her ivory skin. The room was warm enough that she wore only a light lacy robe on top of a silk nightgown. Stripped of layers of clothing and her hair unleashed from clips and pins, John thought she looked very young and fragile—quite unlike the young woman with flashing eyes who chastised him for beating a worker; or the alluring lady in an elegantly simple gown who finally captivated him, only to cause him chagrin for openly challenging his beliefs in front of his guests at dinner.

  Under half-closed lids, Margaret had followed his figure on the mirror as he approached and stopped so close behind her that she could almost feel the heaving of his chest with every breath he took. She smiled at his reflection but the smile was fleeting and her eyes were shifted quickly away when they met his. She did not speak and continued brushing her hair.

  John stood still a few seconds, rested his hands lightly on her shoulders. He gazed at her reflection with eyes dark and intense beneath his brow, overcome with feelings so strong that they made him tremble and hesitant to speak for some time. Margaret went on brushing her hair, occasionally stealing glances at him. Mostly, she stared, as if riveted, at the objects on the dresser but, in fact, she was attempting with little success to still her confusion. She wondered how long he was going to look at her in that way. The flush on her cheeks deepened and she breathed through barely parted lips. She was somewhat startled when she finally heard him speak, his voice tremulous with emotion. "You are really here, Margaret. My love, my life, my wife."

  He bent over and pressed his lips on her shoulder. Then he straightened slowly and his eyes wandered around the room, catching bits of color and shapes gleaming in the dark. After a minute or two, he resumed, his voice a little steadier, "The night before I went to Helstone, I never imagined you here. I came into this room. It seemed so empty and forlorn, all the more so because it was so large and so cold and it made me sad that it would never be used. Not for what it had been intended. Not even as a room for guests."

  He was silent again for a long moment, smiling at her tremulously. She wondered if she should say something but she was at a loss for words. All she could do was hold the brush firmly in her hand so she could busy herself with the only activity that steadied her fluttering breast. She was almost relieved to hear him speak again. "How different it feels in here now. Your presence alone has given it such warmth but the small touches you have scattered in the room have made it inviting. It is………." He paused, glancing at her and searching for words, "intimate, enticing—a sanctuary."

  Without raising her face from its semi-bowed attitude, her shy eyes, luminous and large, met his in the mirror once more. She remained silent and she cast her eyes down again, flustered. She continued to glance at him sideways every once in a while, her mouth curved up beguilingly at the edges and the lower lip thrust into a sensuous pout. Through all this, she did not stop brushing her hair. He stood behind her for some time, delighting in her nearness, her unusual beauty so irresistible to him, and the droll and lively intelligence that enlivened those large blue eyes even in her agitation at being admired so ardently. Entranced by the deliberate and rhythmic motions of her arms and the repetitive passes of the brush over her luxurious hair, he picked up a handful of her locks and, with his thumb, caressed it, the back of his hand grazing the bare flesh on the nape of her neck.

  Margaret stopped brushing and laid her hands on her lap. She met his blazing gaze on the mirror, the pupils in her eyes rounder and darker blue as they glowed from within, her lips slightly parted, her breath gushing through in a steady pant. John took the brush from her hand and realized then that she was trem
bling. He took a step closer and laid the brush on the dresser. Grasping her arms, he slowly turned her until they were face-to-face.

  He lifted her face up to his, his eyes held hers so steadfastly that she could not look away. "My love," he whispered.

  He grasped her shoulders, raised her from the chair, and pulled her close to him. He kissed her parted lips and then his mouth brushed lightly against her chin and down her throat where he took little nibbles of her smooth ivory flesh. On the day they were introduced to each other in her father's study, he could hardly take his eyes off her. As his eyes wandered from her face to her throat, he had wondered what it was like to kiss that defiant mouth, to bury his face against that neck and feel its pulsating warmth. Now, he could do as he desired and it thrilled him more than he had imagined. When Margaret arched her head back and rubbed her cheek against his, his mounting passion became harder to restrain.

  He slipped the robe off her shoulders and down her arms. Her body, supple and pliant under her nightgown, melted into his arms. His lips roamed over every inch of her face until they found her mouth. She received his kisses, tentatively in the beginning but as his kisses became more insistent, she wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, returning his kisses with an increasing ardor that fueled his even more. There was, for John, such exquisite wonder in this moment of passionate surrender, a moment that only a couple of weeks ago, he had despaired would ever happen. He scooped Margaret up in his arms and carried her to the bed. She nuzzled her head against his neck and the breath from her slightly open mouth tingled his skin with moist pleasurable warmth. He felt her tremble once more.

  He was, himself, trembling as he laid her down on the bed, but he moved deliberately, taking his time. He had waited so long and he wanted this night to last. At the train station, when he first kissed her, Margaret had responded with an eagerness that amazed him, that held promise for what it would be like for her to return his feelings. Now, in this room when it seemed they were all alone in the world, he made love to her, tenderly and unhurriedly at first, attuned to her responses and guided by them. She yielded to his every move, shyly in the beginning, her eyes closed. But her whole being was drawn into the sensations of those moments, meshing with his, her excitement rising along with his. As his caresses and kisses grew more intense, he felt her sweetly straining against him and responding with a passion that, because he had not anticipated it, surprised him, but only for an ephemeral moment. Then it incited him to heights of pleasure heretofore unknown, unimagined, and now unleashed in wondrous waves. Much later as he fell asleep, recollecting the past hour with some residual exhilaration, he knew he would never forget it.