by EJourney
"I am impressed. Figures do not intimidate you?"
"You can thank Henry Lennox for that. When I came into Mr. Bell's inheritance, he told me that, although I might have a lawyer and financial advisers, I should have some understanding of finances and learn to handle my own. He spent many hours teaching me about money, earnings, and investments."
John knitted his eyebrows at the image this little revelation conjured up of Henry Lennox and Margaret huddled together over a sheaf of papers in the Harley Street study. The idea of his wife spending hours with a man who had shown a long-standing interest in her irritated him. He tried to suppress it but, for some reason, it rankled him now more than ever and he could not attend to what Margaret was saying.
"I already knew basic budgeting, of course, when I had to assume my mother's responsibilities after she became ill." Seeing the frown on his face, she paused, hesitated, and then when he said nothing, resumed what she had started to say. "But I never before had to deal with large figures and the greater complexity of interests and earnings. Expenses for gifts and a dinner at the mill dining hall are easier to figure out, in comparison."
She saw the lingering frown on his face and wondered if he was reacting to the manner in which she just spoke. She was proud of what she learned about the intricacies of money and its management and she believed that, for her, it was an accomplishment. Numbers were never supposed to interest girls and, growing up, it suited her that she only had to learn basic arithmetic operations. But Henry was quite persuasive about the need for her to know, at least, how her inheritance was being managed because women, he said, were much more likely to be victims of someone who was tempted to deceive and cheat. It surprised Margaret to find the subject fascinating and not that difficult to grasp and she became an eager, inquisitive student. So, yes, she might come across as proud, even self-congratulatory about understanding figures on balance sheets.
She searched John's face for some indication of what was on his mind but he seemed to her to be staring at her blankly, his mind somewhere else. "You are not ready to hear any details, are you? Perhaps, we should talk about what is on your mind, instead?"
He struggled to return his focus on what she was saying. "I'm sorry. My mind did wander into something unrelated. If you have those figures, I can look at them this evening. I am sure your plans will be doable."
"I shall give them to you before dinner." She looked away, feeling a little let down at the detached formality in his voice. "Something is bothering you. I have seen you staring into space often since your return from London."
She led them back to the house and he followed, walking slower and a few paces behind. She turned her head briefly back at him. "Do you want to talk about it? Our sitting room, perhaps, if you need privacy. Or is your study a more appropriate place?"
He threw her a glance, wondering how it occurred to her to mention his study which he used mostly to work on matters associated with the mill. Although their books especially those of her father's, were stored in the shelves there, they took the books they wanted and read elsewhere, usually in their sitting room and lately, in the conservatory on nice days.
He considered her suggestion thoughtfully. "That is a good idea, actually. Let's go to my study."
She nodded wordlessly and hurried back into the conservatory without waiting for him. Elise turned when Margaret entered the room and raised her arms up to her mother, uttering something unintelligible but vaguely familiar. Margaret picked her up, "Are you tired, ma puce?" She held her daughter close to her bosom, kissed her on both cheeks and then nuzzled her belly playfully until Elise started giggling.
John had come in by then but he did not approach, preferring to watch his wife and daughter from a few paces away. Though he still seemed absentminded, the somber undertone to his manner had been replaced by a warm smile that reached his eyes. Margaret turned her head and fixed her eyes on his, now soft and loving, and with a brief but earnest look that dissolved the distance recently wrought between them.
She handed Elise over to Mary but her daughter clung to her and started whining. "You have to go with Mary right now, my angel. Mama and Papa have something they need to do." She addressed Mary. "She probably needs a nap. I'll come as soon as I can."
She turned around, hooked her arm around John's and nudged him to walk on but on seeing Elise cry, he hesitated. Margaret reassured him with a smile, "Don't worry, she will be all right. She's just tired. Mary knows what to do."
**************
Margaret seldom went into John's study, regarding it to be a private space to which she usually needed an invitation to enter. It was not that John gave some indication that she needed to do so but she knew how her father needed such a space for contemplation and peaceful moments alone and assumed that John needed one as well.
John's study was about half the size of their sitting room, lined with bookshelves that nearly reached the ceiling and equipped with a large secretary with deep drawers for files. The room had a stove instead of a fireplace and next to it, an armchair and a side table. Except for the armchair and the chair in front of the secretary, there was no place else to sit in the room. At the house in the mill compound, John had a larger study that also served as his bedroom before he married but here, he wanted a relatively spare space devoted to work and contemplation. He had his old bed placed in his dressing room which was as large as the study and connected to the sitting room by a door.
He offered the armchair to Margaret, took the desk chair and pulled it closer so he sat facing her. For a long moment, he looked at her without saying anything. She gazed back at him, waiting.
He asked, "Why did you suggest my study?"
"I don't know. You seemed so detached and preoccupied that I might have thought a neutral environment appropriate. Besides, we are talking about matters pertaining to the mill."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I have been preoccupied lately and, yes, I suppose my mind has sometimes been elsewhere." He paused as if he was searching for the right words. "You have never asked me even once since I got back from London how the trip with my mother went."
Margaret started to open her mouth as if to protest at what sounded to her like an accusation but John gently placed his fingers on her lips.
"No, you need not answer that. I think I do know why and I am grateful. Actually, it is the old house at the mill I wanted to talk to you about." He paused to see if she had something to say before continuing. "So far, no one seems interested in buying or leasing it for business purposes and I doubt that anyone who wants a house and can afford to buy it would want to live next to a noisy, dusty mill. Perhaps, we should reconsider its sale."
"What did you have in mind?"
"First of all, the mill is continuing to grow and I will soon need to move into a larger office that can accommodate another person to help with bookkeeping and correspondence."
"You want to use the mill house as an office?"
"Well, part of it, yes. And I thought of turning over my old office to the workers as a meeting place where they could discuss work-related matters."
"That is a radical idea, is it not—giving workers a place at the mill to congregate for that purpose? And exceedingly generous."
"I hesitate to take full credit for being generous. The thing is I do need more space and in moving, my old office will be empty. Why not put it to some good use?"
"I think it is wonderful but I think there will be objections from other mill owners."
"Of course, they will object but this is our mill, to do with as we see fit. I will confess to having apprehensions. This decision to involve workers in creating better conditions at the mill might not really pay off in the end but I must try, anyway."
"What if they use the office to plan a strike?"
"That poses a dilemma. Strike is arguably a work-related matter but it is against the interests of owners or managers. I sincerely do not know. I'll have to think about that one."
"Perhaps,
they will have enough scruples to meet elsewhere if it is a strike they are considering."
He nodded but a frown had begun once more to crease his brow. "Margaret, I really must talk to you about something pressing on my mind."
"I am listening."
"About the mill house—I will only need the ground floor for my office. But I have also been thinking about mother. You and I both know that she does not seem too happy living here and would have preferred to stay at the old house. We could turn the top floor into a flat for her. She would not need more than one maid to live with her and perhaps two others to come during the day to cook, clean and wash and another person, on occasion, to run errands."
Margaret could not hide her surprise and stared at him for some moments, at a loss about what to say. The possibility of Mrs. Thornton returning to the old house never occurred to her although she could not deny that it might be an arrangement that would suit everyone involved. But the suddenness of the suggestion bothered her and she needed time to comprehend what it meant. She was reluctant about agreeing too readily to a decision in which the reason remained vague to her and, yet, she felt it was not really up to her.
"Have you said anything to Hannah about it?"
"I did mention it to her just before I left London and she seemed to think it might be a good idea."
Margaret, upon hearing this, could not fail to be curious about whether something significant did happen in London. "I'm afraid I am not always as patient as you might think. My curiosity does get the better of me, as in this case. Did something happen in London between you and your mother?"
"We did talk in the afternoon before my return about the mill and the workers' request. You are quite right. She did not admit to it directly but she did not need to. I could tell from the deep anguish in her voice when talking about the mill that she feels the loss of her involvement in it probably as she might the loss of someone she cared deeply about. Once I saw that, arriving at the decision for her to move back to the mill house was easy. There she could still feel she is a part of the mill, hearing the drone and clanging of cotton mill machines and observing the activity from the window of the drawing room as she used to do."
"It does seem like a logical step to take. Your mother has not been happy here and yet, we have only been in this house a few months."
"True, but after only a week of being home from London, I saw that you were more relaxed and that everyone else seemed to be, too. The house is cheerier. I had to admit, sadly, that living apart from mother was best for everyone."
"I regret very much that your mother and I could not get along well and it probably affected everyone. Well, the mill house is available and we can afford to put Hannah up in her own household. What else is there to say? It is not really my decision but yours and your mother's." She got up from her chair, feeling suddenly exhausted and inexplicably sad. "Right now, I need to attend to Elise so, if you don't mind, I would like to go."
"Margaret."
"We can talk again later but I do have to go and attend to Elise."
As soon as she was out of the study, she bit her lip to hold back tears. She was confused by her reaction because his decision made much sense and life after Mrs. Thornton left for London had been undeniably more at ease for everyone. On the face of it, the decision was simple and logical, probably satisfactory to everyone involved and it had always been there waiting for someone to seize upon it. This thought did not lessen Margaret's unease.
**************
That evening, Margaret ordered dinner in the dining room as if she needed to preserve some distance and a level of formality with her husband. She smiled and kept her end of the conversation going but John sensed that a certain reserve had taken hold of her and her mind was far away. Dinner ended early and they walked silently up to their bedroom. As he closed the door behind them, he caught her in his arms and held her tight so she could not wriggle out of his embrace. He nuzzled the back of her neck and her shoulders.
"I don't know anymore how I could live without you."
She choked down a sob, grasped his hand and pressed it to her lips. He turned her around in his arms and kissing her all over her face, he asked, "What is wrong, love?"
"I don't know. I am confused. Hannah is not happy here with us and your decision seems like the perfect solution to appease everyone and yet I feel sad. And let down."
"Oh, my love! I might as well tell you that I made this decision more for your sake than my mother's."
"What do you mean?"
He led her towards the bed where they both sat down. "I had been so busy at the mill that I never had much chance to pay attention to what goes on in this household but I did have time for some reflection on the trip back from London. My mother's ill regard of you ever since I told her of my feelings for you has not been lost on me and it saddens me deeply. I felt helpless that I could not change her attitude and manner towards you but, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I could make things much better for you if my mother were to live elsewhere and you did not have to deal with each other from day-to-day. The old house seemed the perfect answer. It is available and she would be back where she wanted to be."
She looked at him with sorrowful eyes, "I am so sorry. You should not have to be burdened with problems between your mother and me. You have so much to worry about at the mill as it is."
"I do not deny that the mill is important to me but if I had to make a choice between it and my loved ones, I would abandon it in a heartbeat. So, you see, I cannot help but be bothered."
"I was hopeful that when Hannah came back, we could start over again."
"I expected that she would have grown to like you by now." He paused, looked into her eyes and gave her a tender impish smile, "I assumed that she would have seen all that I love about you and would have been captivated like I have been."
She matched his tone with a lighthearted answer. "It is only natural that she should see something quite different. Love is blind and you cannot see my little follies."
He smiled, in mock ridicule. "But I can. Your Shakespeare is a bit rusty, for one."
She wrinkled her nose up at him and laid her head on his shoulders. Some minutes of silence later, he grew pensive and said, somewhat regretfully. "Mother might have learned to like you if I did not ask her to stop going to the mill."
"Or if we did not move." She looked up, finishing the thought for him. "We both did things that she was either not happy about or which hurt her. But what are we to do? What do people do when what they desire clashes with each other? We make decisions but we cannot always have control over their consequences."
He fixed his gaze on her for a long moment. "My mother is a wonderful woman in so many ways, and her strong convictions have often served her well—but, not always."
A lingering uneasiness persisted in her mind that he still had something he was loath to tell her. "I have not caused a rift between you and Hannah, have I?"
"No, do not ever think that. Is that what you have been worried about? We're inevitably on a different footing, mother and I, but it would have happened in some way or another whether I married you or not. I had already begun to change before I married you." He paused for an instant. "Well, you did start me thinking, as did your father but, as you just said, we do not always have control over what happens and that is just the way it is."
"It is true nonetheless that your mother and I are both bull-headed." She paused and then added ruefully, "Neither of us would give in to the other, which is precisely what we need to do to live peaceably together."
He gathered her in his arms and asserted gently, "Perhaps. But maybe you should just accept that you can never live with each other."
He lifted her face and kissed her and, in a lighter mood, said, "Come, come. Don't worry about it." He pressed his lips to her temple and added playfully. "Remember that in marrying me, your vows only obligated you to live with me, not with my mother. Anyway, I can only do battle wi
th one strong woman at a time."
She laughed softly and pretended to slap him on his buttocks. He exclaimed playfully, "Ouch! Remember, you also promised to love me."
She laughed once more, rested her head on his shoulders and wound her arms around his chest, "I love you so much that sometimes it hurts."
**************
That night, Margaret lay awake in bed trying to make sense of her remaining inquietude. Why should the fact of Mrs. Thornton living separately continue to pester when she should be relieved that life would be more naturally at ease? She knew people would talk and speculation would never stop about why, after moving to a larger house in a good neighborhood, Mrs. Thornton set up her own household. But that did not bother Margaret. She chafed somewhat at the nagging notion that she failed to develop at least a tolerant if not a companionable relationship with her mother-in-law. But again, something more than that oppressed her.
Events, encounters or emotions that unduly disturbed Margaret always induced introspection and scrutiny until she, at least, understood them or, better still, accepted them pacifically. She learned much about herself from hours of reflecting over bothersome things—what was important to her and what made her happy; what hurt her or made her sad, what she could do to cope or prevent them from happening again. This self-awareness gave her the confidence to confront new, unexpected or trying situations and eventually find some way to live with them calmly enough. Still, her confidence was also based on the reliable presence of older, more mature, and affectionate adults who she could turn to. Her mother had always been there to provide her solace when she needed it and her father could always be relied upon to explain matters too complex for her limited experience. The understanding and support of her parents and her own predisposition for reflection nurtured her into the young woman whose strength the Hales depended on when an ailing mother could no longer abide the near poverty of their life in Milton and when a despondent father lost his main reason to live at the passing away of his wife.
