In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South

by Trudy Brasure

  Henry’s eyes shifted in jealous defeat; he was saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of the rest of the London party.

  “Aunt Shaw, Edith, Maxwell — this is Mr. Thornton, from Milton,” Margaret announced as she slipped her arm around John’s in quiet verification of their betrothal.

  Mr. Thornton could not suppress the smile that formed on his lips at her possessive gesture. He instinctively secured her polite grasp by closing his hand over hers. This simple contact filled him with tingling elation and not a small measure of pride.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Thornton. Margaret has told me much about you,” Edith’s husband enthused as he stretched out his hand in greeting.

  “Has she?” Mr. Thornton queried with an arched eyebrow, stealing a glance at his intended before withdrawing his hand from her grasp to shake hands with Captain Lennox. He was greatly relieved when he felt her gently reclaim his arm when he had finished.

  “Miss Hale! Fancy finding you here in London,” Fanny Thornton exclaimed with a hint of sarcasm as she intruded upon the small gathering. Claire Lawrenson smiled politely at her side.

  “It seems you have found the opportunity to visit London at last,” Margaret responded.

  “Yes, after many weeks of indifference to the idea, John was suddenly very interested in coming to the Exhibition,” she remarked dryly, casting a knowing glance at her brother who seemed very pleased to have Miss Hale draped on his arm.

  Mr. Thornton colored slightly as Margaret pursed her lips in embarrassed mirth.

  “Allow me to introduce my sister, Fanny, and Miss Lawrenson of Milton,” Mr. Thornton offered with a wry smile.

  After proper introductions were exchanged and Mr. Lawrenson had joined the company, Captain Lennox insisted that Mr. Thornton show them the workings of the cotton industry that were on display in the hall of machinery. Repulsed by the prospect of examining the machinery which accosted her ears every day, Fanny and the Lawrensons proposed meeting the London party at the crystal fountain in the late afternoon.

  Henry’s jealousy seethed as he followed Thornton and Margaret blithely strolling arm-in-arm to the Machines in Motion section. He bristled uncomfortably at the thought of being led about the exhibit by a tradesman boasting his prowess in business at every turn. He consoled himself with the knowledge that beyond the technology of textile machinery, the cotton manufacturer from the North would certainly be out of his depth. The young barrister grinned at the notion of putting Mr. Thornton in his place.

  The motion, noise, and size of the working machinery in the vast gallery was spellbinding to those unaccustomed to the bustling world of industry. Mr. Thornton politely guided them through the modern process of turning cotton to woven fabric. Massive carding machines straightened the raw cotton fibers, which were spun into thread by wide spinning mules moving rhythmically back and forth. Visitors watched entranced as the iron arms of the power looms wove threads into fabric before their eyes with lightening speed.

  A growing number of curious onlookers joined Margaret in listening with rapt attention to Mr. Thornton’s explanations as he happily pointed out to Captain Lennox the intricacies of the mechanisms that intrigued the Londoner.

  “And do you have machines just as this in your own mill, Mr. Thornton?” Maxwell inquired of the gleaming new Harrison loom from Lancashire clattering behind him.

  “I have. It so happens that I have recently replaced many of the older looms in my factory with the new looms you see here,” the mill owner answered candidly.

  “How many looms does your mill operate, if I may ask?” the Captain returned with great curiosity.

  “There are approximately four hundred such machines at Marlborough Mills,” the Master answered readily as a matter of course.

  His reply met with a round of faces who looked upon him with a measure of incredulity and respect. Aunt Shaw cocked her head in acknowledgement of the grand scale of his enterprise.

  “But there are more than just looms; Bessy worked in the carding room, and others are spinners,” Margaret remarked inquisitively as she contemplated how many workers he must employ.

  “Indeed, the mill has carding machines as well as spinning mules. We take cleaned bales of cotton and turn it into woven cloth,” he summarized, smiling warmly at her interest in his operation.

  Mr. Thornton marveled once again at the fine figure she cut. She looked every inch the lady in the green striped travelling clothes she wore. He had never seen her so attired in the streets of Milton, he mused with a shadow of concern. Did she deem Milton unworthy of her finer gowns? A tug of despair erased his smile as he recognized how naturally she seemed to blend into London society. His eyes travelled wistfully over the curves of her body in her form-fitting ensemble.

  “With so many machines, you must make an extraordinary amount of cotton cloth,” Captain Lennox posed. The inactive army captain was very much impressed with the size and scope of Mr. Thornton’s business.

  Henry’s lips tightened together at his brother’s open regard.

  “But who will buy it?” Edith interjected, raising her perplexed face to her cousin.

  Mr. Thornton’s lips quivered as a disconcerted look crossed Maxwell Lennox’s face at his wife’s blunt question. “The muslin cloth we make is of a very fine quality; it is softer than linen and much easier to care for than silk. There are many who predict that we will all be wearing more cotton in the future, although I know there are those who do not agree,” he said, giving Margaret a pointed look. “At present, my greatest challenge is trying to fulfill the many orders which we have already received. So you see, there are many willing buyers,” he concluded, directing his answer to Edith who appeared only a little less confused.

  Henry heard these last statements as a testament to the busy schedule the Master must keep. “Surely, with your success you will soon want to sell your business and settle somewhere pleasant — an estate somewhere in the Lancashire countryside perhaps?” he suggested shrewdly, throwing a glance at Margaret, whom he believed deserved better than to be relegated to the periphery of her husband’s care-filled days.

  Mr. Thornton felt all eyes upon him at this query. He cast an anxious glance at Margaret before fixing his attention to the arrogant young barrister. “I have no doubt that many would consider that a reasonable course of action. I am not able to take such a step at this time, but even if I were, I don’t believe I could rid myself of the strong predilection to be useful,” he coolly replied with an upward jerk of his chin.

  Henry narrowed his eyes and gave a stifled smile.

  When the party had finished their sweep through the court of great machinery, they walked to the American exhibit. The women were immediately drawn to the many daguerreotypes on display, while Maxwell crossed the way to study the sleek Colt revolvers. Mr. Thornton and Henry trailed casually behind and lingered over the sculpture by a Vermont craftsman that attracted a milling crowd. A beautiful maiden of marble stood with her head turned in shame. The chains that shackled her wrists were her only adornment.

  Henry perceived Thornton’s appreciation of the sculpture, and called out before the Milton mill owner could turn away. “This brings to my mind the story of Persephone, the maiden who ...”

  “...Was forced to marry the god of the underworld and live in Hades for six months of every year,” Mr. Thornton finished, well-versed in Greek mythology. A small smile traced his lips at Henry’s surprise. “But Persephone was an unwilling bride,” he emphasized, “and Milton is not Hades, Mr. Lennox,” Mr. Thornton declared before turning to find Margaret, leaving the proud Londoner to fume in silence at his dismissal.

  If Mr. Lennox consoled himself at this rebuff with the notion of reveling in Mr. Thornton’s paucity of knowledge in the areas of art and foreign culture, he was to be sorely disappointed, for Mr. Thornton was irritatingly conversant in the design and historical relevance of the porcelain, tapestries and furniture of France’s display. Even more e
xasperating was his extensive knowledge of Britain’s involvement in the exploits of India. That he could explain some of the objects of ivory, gold, and encrusted jewels as it pertained to the Hindu culture was almost too much to bear. Clearly, although the man was confined to a life in the unpalatable northern regions, his mind was engaged with the world.

  It was a relief to Henry when the time came to forge their way to the immense pink crystal fountain to meet with Mr. Thornton’s Milton party.

  “You must dine with us this evening, Mr. Thornton,” Captain Lennox eagerly insisted as they awaited the arrival of Fanny and her troupe.

  Yes, indeed,” Aunt Shaw readily agreed. “I have invited an old family friend to dinner. Mr. Colthurst is a Member of Parliament. Perhaps it would interest you to meet one of our great politicians,” she offered with sincere intent, although Margaret perceived at once the tone of condescension in her words. She remembered with a twinge of indignant pride for her betrothed that Bessy had told her that the Thorntons often dined with the mayor and Lancashire politicians, including those from Parliament.

  Consulting privately with the Lawrensons and Fanny upon their appearance, Mr. Thornton was able to accept the invitation to dinner with pleasure, explaining that the Milton visitors were otherwise engaged for the evening.

  The newly betrothed couple parted reticently, exchanging a flickering glance of longing before turning to leave the Palace with their respective parties. The knowledge that they would see each other in a few hours was a small comfort.

  Edith happily linked arms with Margaret as they exited the magnificent glass structure and headed for a cab. “I must confess that your tradesman is not at all what I should have expected, Margaret. I had thought all those factory masters would be an old, dreary lot. If all the northern mill owners are like your Mr. Thornton, I think some of my London friends might be persuaded to visit the North,” she remarked in a teasing whisper.

  Margaret laughed. “No, most of the masters are indeed dull and gray. I believe I have found the exception,” she responded.

  “Indeed, for he is not unpleasant to look upon, is he?” Edith quipped with a secretive grin.

  “No, he’s not,” Margaret agreed as an irrepressible force turned the corners of her mouth upward into a beaming smile.

  *****

  “Margaret, are you ready?” Edith called through the door as she gently knocked and opened it without awaiting an answer. “It’s nearly time for our guests to arrive,” she declared, finding her cousin standing in front of the mirror as she fumblingly endeavored to fasten her earrings.

  “Oh, I remember that dress! You look very fetching in it, Margaret,” Edith appraised, noting how well the sage green dress showed Margaret’s figure.

  “Thank you, but I should not have brought this gown if I had known Mr. Thornton would be here. He has already seen me in this at one of his dinner parties,” she muttered distractedly as she stepped back from the mirror to see herself at full-length.

  “I’m sure he would admire you in anything you wore,” Edith replied, causing Margaret to blush and turn away. Edith was quite confident in this assessment, for she had seen the way Mr. Thornton’s gaze lingered over his bride-to-be.

  “Should I wear your pearls?” Margaret asked in a sudden flurry of indecision as she took up the borrowed necklace on the dressing table to see how it would look.

  “It suits you well, I believe, although I hardly think Mr. Thornton will need any aid in admiring the lovely view you present,” she teased with a repressed giggle.

  “Edith!” Margaret chastised, turning a shade of crimson at her cousin’s implication. Ever since they had blossomed into young women, Edith had always lamented that Margaret had received a larger endowment from nature.

  Edith could not repress her mirth and laughed at Margaret’s flustered embarrassment. It amused her to see her cousin so agitated. She did not know the circumstances of Margaret’s engagement, but she was now certain of one thing: her cousin was in love, whether she acknowledged it or not.

  The sound of a horse and carriage clattering to a stop outside made Margaret glance nervously toward the open window.

  “Come,” Edith said brightly. “We don’t want to keep our guests waiting,” she encouraged with a knowing smile.

  Margaret held her hand lightly over her stomach as she descended the stairs behind Edith. She caught the low undertones of the Master’s voice in the parlor, which only caused the fluttering in her belly to increase.

  *****

  Seated across from her intended at dinner, Margaret listened attentively to the others tell which sights at the exhibition had most delighted them while Mr. Thornton stared with rapt wonder at the woman who had agreed to live with him and be his wife — his wife!

  He had recognized instantly the pale green dress when she had stepped into the room. He had been entranced the first evening she had worn it, at the dinner party in Milton, when he had secretly admired her with only the faintest hope of gaining her affection. The effect of her reappearance in the same gown had been almost overwhelming. The milky skin of her throat and décolletage, the soft slope of her shoulders and the pink fullness of her lips seemed to call to him like a siren now that he knew she would be his.

  Her beauty was astounding. Love and lust twined into a binding cord that pulled achingly within him, so that he felt veritable pain every time he looked at her.

  “And what about you, Mr. Thornton — what did you find most intriguing at the exhibition?” Edith posed with a merry twinkle in her eye, knowingly waking him from his besotted trance.

  A faint stain of color came to his cheeks as he recovered from his pleasant distraction. “I had not the opportunity to see all that I would have liked. I’m certain the splendor of India’s glittering gold and vibrant colors was the most exotic exhibit, and I confess to being impressed by the French display. But you will hardly be surprised if I claim my fascination to be held by the machinery and inventions of our age: the hydraulic press, the railway engines, the calico printing machines. I was most intrigued by Mr. Bakewell’s image telegraph. Perhaps someday we will send our messages directly without use of the post,” the Master proposed thoughtfully.

  “And what of you, Margaret? What captured your fancy amongst all you saw today?” Henry asked, seated at her elbow.

  Mr. Thornton set his fork down, singularly interested in her response.

  “I was glad to learn more of the workings within our cotton mills in Milton,” she said, flashing a demure glance across the table at her intended. “I found the daguerreotypes in the American exhibit of great interest. To see the staunch faces of those very like us from across the sea gave me pause to think of how similar we all are in our deepest nature.

  But, to be perfectly honest, above all else, I very much enjoyed the stained glass exhibit in the upper galleries this morning. It was as if I were standing in a glorious chapel of light and color, open for all the world to worship the beauty of our common unity,” she said with reverent reflection.

  Mr. Thornton’s eyes shone with hungering fascination. She would never cease to amaze him.

  “And, indeed, all the world was there,” Mr. Colthurst proclaimed. “People from all of Europe and some distant lands are coming to see what our great nation has produced,” he continued proudly.

  “We are the envy of the world,” Mr. Thornton agreed. “We can hope that our model of free trade and efficient capitalism will inspire others to rise and be included in the great progress of our time. Here, industry and invention give substance to our scientific advances and we move forward to create what had not been possible in past generations.”

  “And it is in Milton, Lancashire that our nation is rushing forth to meet this future. I am very interested to learn more of your industry, Mr. Thornton,” the Member of the House of Lords responded.

  Margaret smiled, remembering how surprised Aunt Shaw and the others had been when Mr. Colthurst had recognized Mr. Thornton’s name upon t
heir introductions.

  Margaret eyed her betrothed with admiration. He looked every inch the gentleman in his silver waistcoat and cravat. In truth, she thought him the most intelligent and regal man in the room. She began to feel a repugnance for the delineation of men by such terms as ‘tradesman’ and ‘gentleman,’ so blithely used in genteel society. The man before her seemed to defy all common definition.

  “I find it hard to imagine the cities leading us into the future should be so devoid of culture and education,” Henry interpolated with barely hidden conceit.

  Mr. Thornton looked to his inquisitor with cold amusement at his petty volleys. “There you are wrong, Mr. Lennox. Although I’m certain no city could replace London as a center of our great culture, Milton has all of the components of a modern city. We have long had an art gallery, built the same year as the National in London. We have several concert halls, and a new theatre was built only a few years ago,” he responded with unruffled poise.

  “It has been a practice for centuries for wealthy businessman in our area to aid in the education and culture of her people. Milton Grammar School, which I attended as a lad, is such an example. It was founded in the sixteenth century by Mr. Oldham, whose corn mills made him extremely wealthy. He endowed the school so that any academic boy, however poor, might have a free education and be given a bursary to attend Oxford or Cambridge,” Mr. Thornton explained. “Right next to the school is a free library, which was funded by a rich textile manufacturer. It happens to be the oldest civic library in the world. So, you see, our Milton culture and education is not as backward as one might think,” he finished with a civil smile.

  “And were you, Mr. Thornton, able to attend Cambridge or Oxford?” Mr. Colthurst asked.