In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South

by Trudy Brasure

  He took vigorous strides to match the throbbing emotions that swelled to feverous pitch within him. He had never known such a woman. Courageous and unflinching in her support of all that she deemed worthy of her devotion, she was a paragon of strength and virtue. Yet undergirding such fortitude lay the soft tenderness of her feminine heart, that she lavished upon those within her realm of care.

  His chest heaved with an overpowering sense of awe that the tenderness and passion he had so jealously watched her bestow on others was now willingly given to him. The contemplation that he should receive — foremost and forever — her most intimate affections drove him to near madness in his desire to claim them.

  Arriving finally at the last terraced house on the darkened, empty street, he raised his eyes reverently to the upper level where he knew she must dwell. It was well past ten o’clock. A fleeting suggestion chided him for the sentimental lunacy of this homage, but he brushed it aside, acknowledging with unrepentant zeal that he was indeed a lovesick fool with only one hope of recovery — to make her his own and abide in the constant companionship of her presence. If it was madness then let it be so, but he veritably felt the palpitating nearness of her standing in this place.

  He could not help imagining her gently closed eyelids and parted lips as she slept. He ached to be the one to care for her, to offer her refuge and comfort when the cruelty of this world threatened to mar her sweet confidence in life’s goodness.

  Picturing her in peaceful repose, he allowed his mind to wander more dangerously. He imagined the curvaceous form of her body, lying in peaceful repose on her maiden’s bed, delicately clothed in some flowing nightdress without the encumbrance of any feminine bindings. He closed his eyes to quench the rising ardor this vision roused in him. To know what would be his, and yet to know he must wait was an excruciating torment.

  How much he yearned for the day when she would live in his house and belong in his bed could scarcely be described. It was an agonizing ache, a torturous pleasure that he bore with every breath whenever he was parted from her.

  To be wedded to her was the most glorious freedom he could imagine! No longer to be imprisoned in the solitude of silence and forbearance, he would have someone to whom he might unburden the heavy weights of his mind — someone who would speak soft words of encouragement, assuaging the tension of responsibility with sweet caresses and loving arms. And he would love her in return — without reserve and with all the power his body and soul could give.

  He looked up to the heavens where a faint glow of silvery light shone from behind the clouds in the blackened sky.

  He believed that a power beyond them both must have brought them together. A future more wonderful than any he could have imagined spread before him. Joy and profound love would now fill his days. She had awakened him to a higher purpose in everything he did, and with her compassion and clear insight, things that he had not conceived of before now lay within the grasp. To have her by his side would throw open the doors of achievement to endless possibility.

  He let out a sigh of wistful impatience for all that would be.

  He stood silently in the darkness with face upturned toward her house. At length, he turned with resignation toward his own dwelling, where the cold barrenness of every familiar corner seemed to whisper the promise of her coming.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two gray-garbed men shuffled into the doorway of the Master’s office the next afternoon, one sneering doubtfully at this intrusion and the other eyeing with caution the mill owner scribbling at his desk.

  Mr. Thornton finished the tabulation he had been making and put his quill in its place. Raising his eyes at last to the figures standing just inside his office, he gave an inquiring look to his overseer.

  “This ruffian claims you’ve offered him work with a message from your own hand,” Mr. Williams reported derisively, a grin of amusement poised to witness the Master’s retort.

  “Nicholas Higgins, sir,” the stranger announced himself properly, a tinge of defiance in his tone. The long-time mill worker held himself erect with cap in hand, fastening the shrewd glimmer of his eyes on the Master.

  Mr. Thornton studied the union leader with great interest at this revelation. He had long been curious to see the man who had earned Margaret’s friendship and was deemed worthy enough by her to be called by his Christian name. The spark of old jealousy flared for a moment until he cast it aside as illogical. Had he not won her whole affections?

  With a jerk of his head he dismissed his overseer and continued to study with a darkening frown the man who had helped engineer the strike. He stood up to close the door behind Higgins, reminding himself that he had indeed promised work for this man. The hope that had impelled that act now seemed clouded with the familiar pall of bitterness and doubt.

  “I’ve come to see if yo’r offer still stands,” Nicholas put forth, swallowing his pride with a steady voice of calm resolve.

  “You’ve taken your time in replying,” the Master shot back as he crossed his arms, waiting to hear his story.

  “I weren’t certain yo’ wanted my help, or if yo’re just wantin’ to please a bonny face,” he replied frankly, meeting the flash of the Master’s eyes with a steely gaze.

  Indignation rose in Mr. Thornton’s breast at his impertinence, but he could not help admiring the brazen man’s honesty.

  “I need work. Yo’ drive a hard bargain, but I reckon yo’re the fairest of the lot,” Higgins declared, crumpling the cap in his broad hands in his anxiety.

  “Thank you … I think,” Mr. Thornton answered sarcastically, giving the union leader a penetrating look with the merest gleam of humor.

  Higgins’ keen eyes twinkled and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yo’re not making the men swear against Union,” he continued. “All the other masters have it in their head that they can force men to do against their own will,” he stated, giving the Master a challenging glance.

  “I’ll not make liars out of men. It’s not my business what they do with their wages, but it is my business to decide what those wages are,” the Master declared, piercing Higgins with a stare that dared him to claim otherwise.

  “Yo’ve a right to do as yo’ see fit, and I’ll not say a word agin’ yo’,” Higgins conceded. “But if I see yo’ doing wrong — if the men get to grumblin’ that yo’ve not done right by us, I promise to come tell yo’ in private. And if we canna see our way to agree wi’ one another on aught, yo’ can turn me out at an hour’s notice,” he proposed.

  Mr. Thornton huffed in wonder at the man’s gall. “You’re not one to beat around the bush, are you?” he asked. “You’ve a pretty high opinion of yourself to offer to be a go-between for me and my men. I wonder how it is that Hamper let you go?” he asked, mockingly.

  “Hamper’s not one to listen to aught else but hisself and his great book of capitalism. Never minding that, I’m a good worker and steady. I been working the mills ever since I were a lad and am rightly skilled in all yo’d ask o’ me,” he answered, his last words more pleading.

  The Master’s eyes narrowed, discerning, however reluctantly, the qualities in this rebellious ruffian that might have appealed to Margaret. He was open and frank, proud and impudent, but he seemed wise in a way — the sort who could stay the course when the seas grew rough. What he needed most at the mill right now were skilled workers, he told himself, feeling the tug of inclination to hire him.

  “I’ll give you work, but I warn you ...” Mr. Thornton announced as he uncrossed his arms and raised his chin, “stir up trouble and you’re out. And I wager you’ll not find work in this town again,” he finished, his lips pressed together in firm conviction.

  Higgins eyed the Master with grudging respect, recognizing the glowing embers of his own bitterness in the prosperous mill owner’s hardened gaze. “I give yo’ my word,” he promised, his gruff voice lowered to a somber, even tone.

  The Master silently appraised the jobless man another moment b
efore thrusting out his hand to settle the matter. “And I’ll stick to mine. I offered you work, and I’ll not retract it,” he declared.

  Higgins took the offered hand with a firm grip. “Thank yo’. It’s a good deal for me, and yo’ll not be sorry for it neither,” he responded, a sweep of grateful relief quickening his eagerness to prove his usefulness.

  “Keep sharply to your time. What hours we have, we keep strictly,” Mr. Thornton admonished him, keen to alert the man that he would be treated no differently from the rest.

  “Aye, yo’ve given me right warning,” Higgins returned, detecting the Master’s discomfort with this unlikely new collaboration. “If yo’ll not mind me saying, I have a fair warning for yo’,” he offered cautiously with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

  The Master cocked his head curiously and frowned.

  “Yo’ll not be the same man if yo’ marry that woman. She’ll turn yo’r world upside down,” the mill worker warned.

  A smile crept over the Master’s face at this unexpected retort. “I suspect she’s already begun,” he sagely replied.

  Higgins grinned, and master and man locked eyes in the shared humor of recognizing their common bond.

  *****

  That evening after his lesson, in the shadowed Crampton hallway where he was alone again at last with Margaret, Mr. Thornton snaked his arms around her waist possessively, eager to tell her his news. “Higgins came to me today,” he began in low tones, unable to suppress the smile that teased his lips as he imagined her reaction.

  Her head snapped up to meet his gaze with great interest. “Did you take him on?” she asked anxiously, her wide blue-gray eyes staring up at him.

  “I did,” he answered slowly, reveling in the brief power of holding her in suspense.

  She jumped up onto her toes, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck in her excitement. “I knew he would come! You will not be disappointed!” she exclaimed.

  Every impulse urged him to take possession of those lips and press the soft curves of her body to his tall frame, but he kept still as a playful deviousness impelled him to test her.

  “He advised me against marrying you, saying you would meddle in all my affairs,” he said to provoke her, keeping his face somber with great effort.

  She was at once solemn and uneasy, slackening her hold around his neck. She looked up to him with meek repentance. “I … I would never wish to interfere …” she stuttered.

  He grinned as he took her face into his hands, reverently searching the loveliness of every feature. “I wish you to meddle in all my affairs,” he proclaimed in fervent hushed tones. She looked stunned, unbelieving. “Until such time as I expressly forbid it,” he added to rouse her, his eyes sparkling in mirth.

  The twitch that lifted the corners of his mouth at this admonition revealed his jest and the sober concern written on her countenance dissolved into happy smiles and shining eyes alight with dumbfounded adoration.

  He kissed her gently. “I want you to speak freely with me, as you have always done,” he murmured, intent that she should know he wanted no feigned, submissive mannerisms to mar the bold honesty between them that he so treasured.

  She nodded, marveling that a man as powerful and confident as he should care to know her own thoughts on every matter. A strong swell of warmth flooded through her. She had never felt so cherished.

  The light shining from her face moved him and he took her into his arms and held her close. He let out a sigh of aching rapture to feel her small arms tighten around him in answering accord. They did not move for several moments.

  “I’ve been so alone,” he rasped into the empty darkness behind her, his chin nestled in the softness of her thick hair.

  “You will no longer be,” she whispered in reply, her cheek pressed contentedly against his chest. She felt the beating of his heart as the very source and tempo of her own existence.

  His encircling grip pulled her even closer to him, and she felt the sting of tears come to her eyes. She knew now, without a breath of doubt, what her purpose in life would be.

  After they had said their tender goodbyes, Margaret slowly climbed the stairs in a haze of wistful longing and happy contentment. The sound of her father rustling papers in his study sent her to his open doorway.

  “Mr. Thornton has given Nicholas work,” she announced, eager to share the news which gave her much hope.

  “Has he? I’m glad to hear of it. Perhaps now they might find some way to understand each other and put an end to this war between masters and men,” he exclaimed.

  “I am very hopeful that it can only be a step toward some resolution,” she replied. “Good night, Father,” she added softly, giving her father a kindly smile as she turned to go.

  “Oh, Margaret …” he called after her before she had stepped away. “Do you think that Mr. Thornton will continue with his lessons after … well … after you are married?”

  Margaret saw the furrow of concern on his brow and her heart went out to him. “I see no reason why he should not. I’m certain that he shall. He values his time with you very much,” she answered, allaying his fear of losing the one special bond he had formed here in Milton.

  Her father seemed much relieved. “Yes … I had thought he does. Thank you. I’m glad you think so,” he answered. “Good night, my dear,” he added, sending her to bed with a grateful smile.

  *****

  On Sunday morning, Margaret prepared for the day with cheerful eagerness. The past two days had been filled with errands and shopping, giving her much to do, but she had missed seeing John, who had sent word that finishing an important order at the mill would confine him to his office. He had still found the time to make a brief visit on Friday night, but yesterday had come and gone without word or sight of him, and she had felt the ache of his absence.

  She opened wide her wardrobe to choose her Sunday dress, chastising herself for the sentimental melancholy that had descended upon her last night as she had lain down to sleep. Could she not endure one day without him? Certainly, she mused, he would be a busy man when they were married, and she could not expect him to forestall his responsibilities to tend to her selfish need to be with him.

  Today, though, she would see him. She smiled as she pulled out a sunny dress of pale yellow that she thought might be becoming for the luncheon at the Thorntons’ house. She had not thought the dress suitable for Milton, having worn it only in London and in Helstone, where the sky seemed bluer. But even if the sun did not appear today and the streets were dirty, she could not contain the bright joy that buoyed her, transforming all that had been dreary into marvelous light.

  She hoped that there would be time after lunch to take a walk with John, for they had had very little time to speak to one another since the wedding date had been set. She longed for just an hour of his undivided attention.

  Taking a deep breath, she thought of what she must tell him. Nearly a week had passed, and she had not had the opportunity to explain about Frederick. There was no doubt in her mind as to whether he should be made aware of this dangerous and closely guarded family secret. He would be her husband, and she would not hide from him anything so imminently portentous or consequential. But the knowledge that he was a magistrate, a man of great principle who was sworn to uphold the law of the Crown, made her stomach turn uneasily. Would he be ashamed and confounded to be linked by marriage to such a treacherous scandal as mutiny?

  *****

  As the Hales neared Marlborough Street in the carriage that had been sent for them, Margaret felt a nervous twinge at the thought of showing her mother the great stone house located so close to the mill. She watched her mother crane her neck to see the upper windows and the tall chimney of the impressive factory and noted the look of startled surprise on her face when the coach stopped at the other side of the yard.

  “Is this where the Thorntons live?” Mrs. Hale asked with a tremor of faint dismay.

  Her brow, knit in confusion, lifted slightly a
t the sight of the grand staircase once they had entered the home and evaporated into happy approval as they were greeted by the Thorntons in an airy and elegant drawing room that spoke of a power and privilege set apart from the scene outside.

  Curiosity drew Mrs. Hale to the window overlooking the mill yard before she took her seat. Margaret stood just behind her mother’s elbow.

  “It must be quite something to live so near the … busyness of the mill,” she remarked cautiously, noting the still carts and piled bales on loading docks. “Do the machines in the factory make much noise?” she asked rather innocently.

  “Oh heavens, yes! The steam engines can be heard morning, noon, and night. Well, until the last whistle, that is. It is a relief to have at least our Sundays quiet, or I should never find any peace from the constant drone of the place,” Fanny complained, ignoring the stern look of disapproval glaring from her mother’s eyes.

  “I find it fascinating, Mother,” Margaret declared softly as she gazed at the imposing size of the brick and stone structure across the way, remembering the mesmerizing clatter of machines that usually whirred within. “I shall never be bored with such activity going on outside these walls. And Mr. Thornton will always be close at hand,” she added thoughtfully just as her future husband slid his hand along the small of her back to rest gently at her waist.

  She looked up at him, a warm glow of admiration and contentment beaming from her face, and he returned her soft smile with a radiant gleam of proud adoration written on his own countenance.

  A taut hollowness clenched Hannah Thornton’s stomach as she witnessed her son possessively wrap his arm about the girl he had chosen. This telling gesture caught her off guard, for similar tenderness from her son had heretofore only been silently shared between herself and him.

  But if this open affection unnerved her, what followed stunned her as if she had sustained a physical blow. The girl looked up to him — looked up to her son as the sole object of all her worldly adoration — and he returned her unhidden gaze as if he had found the reason for his existence in her eyes.