She could not make sense of it all, and yearned to know if she had answered rightly. At times, she was tempted to trust him and believe that everything would work out for the best. He could, after all, be a very helpful support in ensuring that her mother received the best care during this difficult time. And he had already endeared himself to her father.
But were they well-suited for marriage when they held such divergent viewpoints? Could she learn to love someone who seemed to have no sympathy for those beneath him?
She recalled with sudden clarity Mr. Bell’s conviction that she would temper Mr. Thornton’s hardened opinions and wondered with perplexed amazement if she could truly affect him in such a way. She had been surprised at the tenderness he displayed in her presence, but she was tempted to doubt that she could affect any lasting change in his temperament or perceptions.
Her thoughts circled fruitlessly between hope and fear, unable to rest upon any certainty of what her future should hold, until her weary mind finally succumbed to the darkness of the midnight hour and the inescapable need for sleep.
*****
Mr. Thornton could not suppress the elation that swelled in his heart as he prepared for bed that evening. Margaret Hale would be his wife! Just a few days before, it had seemed his lot to suffer the anguish of admiring her from afar. He could still scarcely believe his good fortune.
Nothing would ever be the same. As he had walked the floor of his mill, he had keenly observed the faces of the individuals that worked for him, aware more than ever of the power which he wielded over their lives. He saw everything with new eyes: the breadth and industrious activity of his factory and the bland serenity of his spacious home.
Even now, the rich colors and imposing grandness of the furniture in his bedchamber seemed to emanate the vibrancy of true accomplishment, for one day he would bring his bride to this very room. The thought of it caused a shudder of desire to course through his body, and he swiftly endeavored to put the thought away.
Before snuffing the lamp out, the Master picked up the fine parchment paper that lay unfolded on his bedside table. Once again, he rubbed his thumb over the words that invited him to dinner at the Hale’s the next evening. His eyes lingered over this tangible verification of what had transpired this momentous day.
He had had to remind himself often that this was not a dream - that he had confessed his heart to the woman he loved and had asked for her hand in marriage. And by some miracle, she had accepted him. The corners of his mouth slowly edged upward into a smile of incredulous joy.
He set the paper down with a glow of satisfaction and turned out the light as he climbed into bed. Lying in the darkness, he wondered how he had become so fortunate. He recalled for the thousandth time her response to his morning visit: her nervous refusal of his gratitude, how she had tremulously turned away from him as he had pleaded for her hand, and the way she had burst forth with her answer, striking him dumb with amazement — obliterating all the pain of his past with the utterance of a single word.
What had moved her to answer thus? She had not professed her love nor offered any similar sentiment. Indeed, she had shrunk from his impulsive approach as he had sought to hold her in his arms.
He knew well that she did not love him with the unwavering force with which he loved her. He had never expected that she would. Such a passion as his, he felt, would be strong enough to carry them both through the years with happy equanimity.
He had hope, though, that her answer had been borne of some spark of honest feeling — that beyond the reasonable acceptance of his offer as a promise of worldly security and comfort, she was drawn to him by some affection, however small. He was certain he had sensed something electric in the moment between them yesterday when he had nearly kissed her.
He was determined that if she held the merest kernel of fond sentiment for him, he would, through faithful and tender solicitude to her happiness, encourage her affection to grow. He had confidence he could win her admiration and respect. But to win her love was what he longed for most in this world, for to be truly loved by one such as her would throw upon his life the very light of heaven.
Tomorrow, he would secure her promise with a ring. To see her wear it was all he needed at present to feel that his future was certain.
He felt lighter in being than he had since his childhood, and fell easily asleep with a smile on his lips.
Chapter Five
Mr. Thornton carefully surveyed the multitude of men and women bent over humming looms as he strode across the large factory floor. Every position was filled, although not perfectly tended. Nearly all of his workers had returned. Only those that feared retribution for their part in the riot remained at bay.
He was reluctant to admit it, but hiring the Irish had not helped production. Unskilled in factory labor, their work was better done by more experienced hands. Most of the men and women he had brought to England wished to be returned to their homeland. The only good they had done him, the Master mused with bitter exasperation, was to instigate the riot and bring an end to the strike.
What he really needed to fill the backlog of orders was to ensure that every machine was tended seamlessly by attentive and responsible hands. He could use more experienced workers who knew the labor, and intricacies of the various machines, and the stages of cotton production from the carding room to the final weaving process. There were few, however, who knew how to manage beyond their own station.
Mr. Thornton continued to contemplate this quandary as he made his early morning round through the mill. Suddenly, he was aware that Mr. Williams was at his side.
“Pardon me, Master, but there’s a gentleman waiting for you in your office,” the overseer related.
Mr. Thornton nodded and immediately turned toward the large doors at the far end of the grand weaving shed to head for his office in the corridor nearer the quieter carding room. He expected that one of his buyers must have come to inquire about the progress of his order, so many of which were hopelessly behind schedule because of the interminable strike. He was therefore surprised to be greeted by the gray-headed figure of his landlord.
“Thornton!” Mr. Bell exuded as he stood up to greet the Master of the mill.
“Mr. Bell, what may I do for you?” Mr. Thornton asked with a faint crinkle of his brow, wondering what financial information the wealthy man might require.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Mr. Bell assured the diligent businessman. “I was at the Hales yesterday and heard the most intriguing news. I’m told that you have offered for Margaret and that she has accepted you,” he said with a degree of incredulity.
“She has,” Mr. Thornton confirmed with a wary apprehension of the wily Oxford scholar’s intentions.
“I believe I understand the unusual circumstances behind this rather hasty ... arrangement, and I am quite certain that Mr. Hale is unaware of what you have done. I wish to commend you for safeguarding my goddaughter’s reputation,” he praised the Master.
Mr. Thornton bristled at this insinuation. “I was not moved merely by honor,” he averred in a low voice as he thrust his chin forward with pride.
“No, of course not,” Mr. Bell quickly granted as he regarded the eager lover with a twitch of a smile. “I’ve always thought you were a man of uncommon perception. I believe you appreciate Margaret as much as I do. She is an incomparable beauty, but it is her vibrant spirit, her intelligence and deep compassion which make her quite extraordinary,” he appraised as he studied Mr. Thornton’s face for his reaction.
“Yes,” the younger man breathed aloud, rendered almost speechless as he absorbed the insightful description of the woman he loved. The Master had long held a great respect for Mr. Bell, although their temperaments and mannerisms could scarcely be more different. At this moment, however, Mr. Thornton felt a bond of kinship with the clever Oxford scholar, as one who shared the discovery of a secret treasure.
Mr. Bell smiled knowingly at the Master. “I believe it is a fair
match. Congratulations, Thornton, you are a lucky man!” the older man enthused as he extended his hand.
“Thank you,” the groom-to-be replied as he shook the proffered hand, unable to suppress a smile of warming pride.
“If I may be so bold ...” Mr. Bell began as he looked to the Master for permission to continue.
“Yes,” Mr. Thornton tonelessly allowed, inescapably intrigued as to what he should say on the subject.
“I suspect that you may be aware that Margaret is not yet ... comfortable with this situation,” he continued, stealing a comprehensive glance at Mr. Thornton, whose eyes had narrowed in apprehension at the older man’s words. “I’m persuaded that she is not yet acquainted with your gentler sensibilities, seeing only the harshness of the working world around her,” he quickly endeavored to explain. “She is still new to Milton. The ways of industry are yet unfamiliar to her, coming from the fields of Hampshire and the refined circles of London.”
Mr. Thornton listened with steadfast interest, his head cocked to the side.
“Your enduring patience will do much to dissuade her from her ignorance. She is not aware of the challenges that beset you as a man of business. Give her time,” he counseled gently, giving the Master a steady look as the younger man blinked and faintly nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Margaret has a large heart with grand ideals and a strong determination to set the world to right,” Mr. Bell continued more vociferously. “I perceive that you recognize her intellect — that you will not disregard her opinions as others might,” he concluded, noting with satisfaction the distant, contemplative gaze of the Master.
“I have no doubt that you will come to a greater understanding of each other. Indeed, I look forward to seeing this match,” Mr. Bell announced with a grin, as he recognized the hopeful gleam in the younger man’s eyes at his pronouncement. “Congratulations again, Thornton. You could not have made a finer choice,” the wealthy landowner remarked as he shook hands again with his tenant. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch. I bid you farewell,” he said before turning to depart, leaving the Master standing somewhat bewildered in the middle of his office.
*****
At the Crampton residence, Mr. Hale studied the Greek philosophers in the quiet confines of his study while the women of the household were in the throes of preparing for Mr. Thornton’s visit that evening.
Mrs. Hale took care to rest herself in her upstairs sitting room, so that she might be ready for entertaining, while Dixon bustled about below in the kitchen, muttering about the lack of help in Milton.
In the cooler air of the nearby scullery, Margaret carefully ironed the family’s fine table linen. With the day’s activities all pointed toward the arrival of the man she was newly betrothed to, Margaret could hardly think of anything else.
She had woken this morning no nearer to a sense of peaceful resolution than when sleep had overtaken her. Still uncertain if she should be happily resigned to marrying the Master of Marlborough Mills, Margaret tried to understand the myriad feelings that rose and fell within her breast.
She had attempted to remain calmly composed earlier when her mother had eagerly elaborated upon every detail of the arrangements to be made. Every mention of Mr. Thornton’s name had caused her nerves to tingle with surprising expectancy.
As she firmly pressed the heavy iron over the white linen, she wondered if he would wear the burgundy cravat that she remembered when he had come to tea some months ago. She blushed to recall now how fine he had looked that evening. Halting her ironing, her stomach fluttered at the thought of standing before him again today.
She must find time to get away, she told herself while beginning to move the heated iron over the cloth again. She would look forward to visiting Bessy this afternoon when she finished her chores.
Later, as Margaret carried a tray of tea and sandwiches upstairs, she was surprised to find her mother diligently arranging a vase of flowers in the drawing room. “Mother, what are you doing down here? I thought you wished to rest so that you will be well for the evening,” Margaret gently reminded her with a cautious concern for her health.
“I’m feeling so much better today, I could not stay in my room. I wished to help make ready for the day,” Mrs. Hale responded with a happy smile.
Margaret studied her mother’s face and noted with rising hope that the sallowness had vanished, replaced by a more natural glow. Perhaps it was well that she had the opportunity to forget herself in thinking of more exciting things, Margaret thought, although feeling a pang of guilt for not sharing the same uninhibited enthusiasm for her future.
“I’m certain the silver needs polishing,” her mother remarked as she began to examine the dinnerware that Dixon and laid out on the table.
“I will polish the silver, Mother. Let us go now to your room for some tea. I’m sure it can only benefit you to try to take your ease today. Dixon and I can manage everything well,” Margaret assured her mother while guiding her toward the stairs.
It was still early in the afternoon when Margaret finished polishing the silver. Then, after checking on her mother once more, she escaped the house to briskly walk to the Princeton district.
Eager to spend some time with her friend, Margaret knocked on the plain wooden door of the Higgins’ home.
Mary opened the door with a tear-stained face. “Oh Miss!” she sobbed.
Margaret’s heart constricted with dread. Quickly, she stepped inside to confirm her worst fear.
Mary gestured to Bessy’s still form, which rested peacefully against the pillows in much the same manner as when Margaret had left her yesterday.
Margaret stepped forward reverently, not wanting to believe her friend was dead.
So this is death, Margaret mused sorrowfully while she sat down in a chair next to the body. She felt the tears forming in her eyes as she looked upon the serene face of the girl who had spent most of her life working in the mills. At least she would be at peace — more than she ever had been in this poor existence, Margaret thought, marveling at the tranquility of Bessy’s expression as Mary quietly sobbed nearby.
After some time of solemn contemplation, Margaret turned to Mary. “Where is Nicholas?” she asked softly.
The meek girl shook her head in ignorance. “I sent word ...” she began, but before she could finish, the door pushed open and the distressed father stepped into the house.
His eyes swiftly sought the place where his sickly daughter had always lain. Margaret stood up and moved aside as he approached the body, unwilling to believe the reports of neighbors who had sent him rushing home. He looked at Margaret. “Were yo’ with her?” he asked with a pained expression.
“No,” Margaret whispered, bowing her head in regret.
He stared dumbstruck at Bessy’s still form for a moment before turning to Margaret again. “Mayhap she’s fallen in a deep spell. It were not the first time ...” he suggested with wavering desperation.
Margaret met his gaze bravely and shook her head. Tears began to spring from her eyes as she watched the last ray of hope die in his eyes.
A primordial cry rent from his lips as he sank down onto the bed next to the body.
Margaret’s tears fell unhindered as she watched him take his lifeless daughter into his arms.
“My poor Bessy!” he cried as he held her, his body shaking with racking sobs.
*****
The bell on the door at Hancock’s Jewelers tinkled brightly as Mr. Thornton swept into the store from the bustling street. A well-dressed, balding man looked up to appraise who had entered his quiet establishment.
“Mr. Thornton,” Mr. Hancock warmly greeted the respected Milton manufacturer. “How may I help you? I believe your sister’s birthday was several months ago,” he remarked with a congenial smile.
The corners of Mr. Thornton’s mouth edged upwards at the jeweler’s acute memory. He had come every March in recent years, having found that a gift of jewelry always pleased Fanny.
> “I’m looking to purchase a ring,” Mr. Thornton answered with serious resolution, not wanting to appear as one headlong in love, although he had scarcely been able to think of anything else but this errand all morning. He was impatient to prove his affection with such a token and yearned to have her wear it so that all the world would know that she was promised to him.
“I see ...” Mr. Hancock mused, swiftly recognizing the Master as an ardent lover. In his lifetime, he had seen hundreds of men stroll through his door with similar intent; their earnest manner always gave them away. He smiled inwardly at his sly assessment. “Have you anything in particular in mind?” he asked.
Mr. Thornton’s brow furrowed slightly in contemplation. “Something beautiful — of significance, but not overly grand,” he replied thoughtfully.
“Something with refined elegance and special beauty, perhaps to reflect the lady who will wear it?” the storeowner adroitly suggested, raising his eyebrows.
“Exactly so,” the younger man acknowledged with a comprehending smile, faintly embarrassed to be so openly read.
Mr. Hancock proudly led the groom-to-be to the fine selection of gemstone rings in his shop.
Bewildered at the onset by the dazzling array of sapphires, emeralds, and rubies before him, Mr. Thornton’s eyes soon alighted on a sparkling ring that seemed unique among its sisters. Mounted upon a delicate filigree of swirling vines in white gold, a rounded square diamond rose between two smaller emeralds of brilliant green. He thought instantly of the pastoral home from which his southern beauty had come.
As the small brass bell sounded at Mr. Thornton’s departure, Mr. Hancock smiled with satisfaction. Pleased to have made a successful sale, he was also amused to see that the longstanding bachelor had at last been sufficiently smitten to be ensnared by the bonds of wedlock.
We are all susceptible to the caprice of love, the jeweler mused cheerfully as he readied his display of rings for the next besotted lover.
In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South Page 8
