Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  Emmeline’s brows rose in interest. “I shall speak to my husband, Miss Hale. Certainly something can be found for one of your talents.”

  “I would be most grateful, Mrs Draper.” She shifted her gaze again to Genevieve. “Thank you for your hospitality. Until Monday evening, then?” She bade her farewells and left the others to their reunion.

  Margaret departed the house with as much, if not more hope than she had brought to it. Perhaps she had made another new friend! Most assuredly, the other woman’s connection to such a worthy cause raised Margaret’s esteem for her. A spring in her step and a song in her heart, she made her merry way home, completely ignoring the rain.

  ~

  Behind the closed doors Margaret had left, the pair of old school friends were comparing notes about their recent travels on the continent. “Italy,” insisted the new Mrs Draper, “is the only place worth visiting again.”

  “Oh, but France was lovely,” maintained the other. “We went for a pleasure cruise to Italy last August, but it was so hot, darling!”

  “Not at all! Perhaps you were there at the wrong time of the year. I have already informed Randall that I shall insist upon him taking me there for a tour each winter. He can afford it, you know,” she leaned forward confidentially.

  “Oh, is he really so well-to-do?” Genevieve gushed in a whisper. “I did not know!”

  Emmeline lifted her ivory shoulders. “Well enough, though not as well as others. I hear,” she leveled a teasing gaze at her companion, “that you have one such in the palm of your hand.”

  “I cannot possibly know what you mean,” Genevieve tossed her head airily, but with a sly smile.

  “Oh, come, darling, you cannot suddenly have developed such a fond intimacy with Fanny Thornton! She was always such a silly thing. Why, do you remember how we used to call her?”

  “‘Fanny the Fidget!’” Genevieve laughed. “I had forgotten about that! She is just the same as ever, you know. Her brother, however, is quite a different story. I have always thought so, you know, but until now I was far too young to take his notice.”

  “Buona fortuna, darling. He never leaves the mill. I tried, I confess, but I believe the man is both blind and deaf.”

  “John Thornton blind! Far from it. You only have to give him something worth looking at.” Genevieve pursed her lips and cocked a saucy eyebrow at her friend, pulling her shoulders back suggestively.

  “Oh!” laughed Emmeline. “That old trick! Well, my very best wishes to you darling. Now, tell me about this Margaret Hale. How well do you know her?”

  “Not well. She is a modest little thing, and is slow to open up. Nevertheless, she is a pleasing companion after spending so much time with Fanny Thornton! At least she has better things to talk about than asking after silly old Rupert all of the time.”

  Emmeline lifted a brow. “Fanny has little enough liking for her. Did you hear what happened during those dreadful riots a few months back?”

  “No,” Genevieve shook her head innocently. “Oh, do tell me, I can see you know something juicy!”

  “Well! It seems your little Miss Hale is not always modest. Why, she absolutely flung herself at John Thornton! Right on the front steps of the house! Fanny said that her maid saw the whole thing, and they cannot believe she is not ruined. He refused to marry her, of course, and she has been withdrawn from society ever since.”

  Genevieve’s nose wrinkled in thought. “That does not sound right. Margaret is far too quiet and refined to do such a thing, and what is more, she is from old gentility. You know how they look down on our Milton men! I am sure she never looked at him twice. No, you must be quite wrong!”

  “Well, if I am, you ought to ask about that head wound she received. They had to have the doctor! Perhaps she fancied she was saving that big, strong man from the rioters. The very idea!”

  “Head wound? That cannot be. Why, she is perfectly in her right mind. Fanny must be imagining things- she always did, you know. Besides, Margaret lost her mother nearly three months ago, so at that moment Mrs Hale must have been quite the invalid. I cannot believe she would publically run after a man with her mother sick at home.”

  “Think what you may, but Fanny says that Margaret Hale has had her cap set for John Thornton for well over a year. And who can blame, her, eh, darling? Oh, do not worry, for you will have far better luck. You have a much prettier face and a far more attractive bank account,” she winked.

  “Oh, that is not enough to turn the head of a man like John Thornton, else another would have succeeded already! No, Emmeline, I believe he might fancy a woman of some cleverness. A man wants for interesting company, after all. He is rather the quiet sort, I think, preferring his own hearth fire to the gentlemen’s club- or so Rupert says.”

  “Well, darling, in that case, you must do what you can to inspire the man’s imagination. I can think of many worse fates than a quiet evening at home with John Thornton!”

  Genevieve laughed loudly. “I nearly forgot that you are a married woman now! Oh, you are too wicked, Emmeline. Why, I could not possibly have thought such things!” she fluttered her lashes.

  “Spare me, darling. Now, then, let me give you some advice….”

  Chapter Ten

  The afternoon of Sunday that week found Thornton again loitering restlessly in his own drawing room. He had gotten out of the habit of late, and had resolved once again to spend these few hours each week keeping his mother company. Much as he tried to enjoy the time of rest, it chafed.

  Mrs Thornton set strict rules for herself on Sundays. The house was quiet, dinners were served cold, and if she sewed at all, it was only from her charity basket. She was glad of John’s company, but it was hardly restful this day. She arched a brow over her squared glasses as she finished off another plain stocking. “John, you are going to wear a path in my carpet.”

  Thornton paused, realizing that he had, in fact, been pacing before the fire. With an abashed little smile, he took the seat nearest her. “Pardon me, Mother.”

  She silently picked up another stocking, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He shifted constantly, as though it gave him physical pain to remain so long at rest. Taking a wild guess at what might be troubling him, she murmured, “Fanny ought to be back within the half hour. I expect she will invite Mr and Miss Hamilton to take some refreshment before they leave us.”

  Thornton stilled, but only momentarily.

  “You spoke rather harshly of her the other day, John,” his mother chastised.

  “Did I? I do not remember doing so.”

  “I find nothing immodest in her manner.”

  “Hmm? Oh, yes, that.” He made no other response, still gazing at the fire.

  Mrs Thornton frowned. “Perhaps she was a little forward in her attentions to you, but when you are so oblivious….”

  “It is never attractive when a woman tries too hard, Mother. However, it was nothing very serious.” He propped his chin on his fingers and resumed staring at the fire.

  Mrs Thornton sighed and set down her sewing. “She was only trying to pay you her highest compliments, John. Perhaps that is the fashion on the Continent now.” She shook her head in faint annoyance over the frivolities of youth.

  When her son made no reply, she went on. “Come now, John, if you are not going to pursue the young lady, you must make your intentions known. She is quite willing to impress you, but you will cause her to disgrace herself if you do not put some stop to it.”

  He turned to face her, eyes narrowed. “I was not aware that I had offered her any encouragement.”

  “Not encouraged her! She hangs upon your every word, John, and you assured her only the other day that you were eager to attend her party and see her in all of her finery.”

  “I meant only to be polite! Surely she could have read no more into my words.”

  “I assure you she did. Your words were quite encouraging enough, for she seemed already tak
en with you from the beginning. I think the young lady shows remarkably good taste,” she sniffed proudly.

  “Mother,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “aside from Miss Hamilton’s own brother, I am the only single man of means in Milton who still has both his own hair and his own teeth.”

  His mother snorted dismissively. “You do yourself too little credit, John. And you are not quite the only man! What of Watson? He is only five years your senior.”

  “You have never seen him without his hat on, perhaps.”

  “And that Draper fellow, the one recently settled here from Scarborough!”

  “Forty-five if he is a day, and, lest we forget again, recently married- for the second time, if I remember correctly.”

  Her face froze, then she broke into a reluctant chuckle. “Perhaps you are right, but my point was, Miss Hamilton is not without her options. Why, her father could send her anywhere to find a husband, but she seems to have settled on you, John. Tell me, what do you think of her?”

  “I have not had time to think of her, Mother. I am a great deal more concerned with what her father thinks of me- or rather, of the mill.”

  “He has given you no indication of his intentions?”

  “Not as yet. I respect that; it means he is a cautious fellow and not inclined to rash investments. However, I must know something soon, for it will determine the orders I bid, the machinery I choose to repair or replace, and whether I ought to hire on more hands in preparation for next summer’s orders.”

  “Perhaps,” murmured the sage Mrs Thornton, “Mr Hamilton would be more inclined to invest with a son-in-law.”

  “That is the furthest thing from my mind, Mother. I could never dishonour any woman, to say nothing of shaming myself, by marrying only for business advantage.”

  “I do not attack your nobility, John,” his mother stopped her sewing again to smile kindly at him. “I know you are not so vulgar, though others may be. However, if the lady is suitable and willing to be courted, you could do far worse.”

  “And what of love, Mother?”

  She raised a brow. “I imagine it would come, if given the chance.”

  He leaned forward in his chair, his voice low and intense. “I have tasted it once, Mother- you know I have! I cannot pretend otherwise, and I cannot manufacture it where it does not exist.”

  This brought an immediate scowl to his mother’s face. “I do not call it love to suffer as you have, John. But there, to spare you, I shall say no more on that subject.”

  He closed his eyes and rested his head back against his chair. His thoughts he kept to himself, but his mother could easily guess them. Silence reigned for several minutes. To the relief of one and the chagrin of the other, two merry feminine voices and one cheerful male voice at last sounded in the entryway.

  Thornton groaned and rose. “Excuse me, Mother, I am rather behind in my Greek. I will be in my study.” He strode quickly to a side door and escaped the room before their company could find him.

  ~

  “Mrs Thornton,” Rupert Hamilton saluted the lady of the house upon his entry. “It is a pleasure!”

  The matron inclined her head with all dignity. “Good afternoon, Mr Hamilton. I trust your mother is well?”

  “Quite, Madam. She is all aflutter planning tomorrow night’s dinner- although I suppose it is impolite for me to say as much. She is very much looking forward to having your family. I say,” he looked round the room curiously, “Is Mr Thornton about?”

  “He had other matters to attend,” supplied the lady cautiously.

  “Even on a Sunday! That’s the good Milton spirit for you, my dear Gen. We were hoping to see the old chap!”

  Fanny, who had drawn aside with Genevieve, sighed rather too loudly. “John is always working. Never a thought for anything important!”

  “Surely, Fanny, his work must take precedence,” Genevieve soothed. “Mr Thornton would not be the man he is if he shirked his duties.”

  “You speak very sensibly, Miss Hamilton,” Mrs Thornton dipped her head in respect.

  “Work is well and good,” Rupert insisted, “but a man has to rest once in a while. Life has its pleasures to be sought out as well.”

  “My son finds great satisfaction in his work,” Mrs Thornton returned proudly, and perhaps a little stiffly. “A man does not achieve what he has by ‘seeking his pleasures,’ as you say.”

  “You are correct, of course,” Rupert acknowledged. “I only meant that surely, in his stage of life, he has earned the right to at least a little leisure. Rest, you know, can restore a man’s constitution just as hard work serves to build it.”

  Mrs Thornton opened her mouth to reply that a noble man of good character could not find it within himself to rest when there was still much to set right, but she was interrupted by a gentle laugh from Genevieve Hamilton.

  “You will have to forgive my brother, Mrs Thornton. His thinking has perhaps been a little too shaped by his years in London. We have had many good, long debates since returning home to Milton! I am sure Mrs Thornton could not be interested in our family discussions, Rupert.”

  Shortly after this, Jane arrived with some refreshments for the guests. Rupert and Fanny retired to one end of the drawing room, while Genevieve chose a seat near Mrs Thornton. “I have been very glad,” the young lady offered, “to renew our acquaintance, Mrs Thornton. I had little opportunity to know you well before I left for the Continent.”

  “You and Fanny were still in school at that time,” Mrs Thornton replied. “I remember only brief encounters, Miss Hamilton.”

  Genevieve smiled. “That is something I should like to change in the future, Mrs Thornton. I think very highly of your entire family.”

  Hannah pursed her lips. “My son is a remarkable man,” she suggested, watching the young lady carefully.

  “Indeed,” Genevieve agreed. “He is a force to be reckoned with, as my father would say!”

  “I wonder what you can mean by that. He is no monster, Miss Hamilton.”

  “Of course not! Mr Thornton is a perfect gentleman, but surely, Mrs Thornton, you must have noted that he commands the attention and respect of his peers. He enters a room and all eyes turn his way.”

  “A position he has earned, Miss Hamilton, through diligence and careful management of his own affairs.”

  “Precisely,” the younger lady agreed. “I do not mean to imply that Mr Thornton craves honour, only that it is given him whether he wishes it or not.”

  Mrs Thornton’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You have spent much time observing my son, I see.”

  “One does not live in Milton very long without doing so,” Genevieve replied modestly. “Perhaps I might say that even as a schoolgirl, I was fascinated by my dear friend’s older brother. His rise to the ranks of Milton’s elite businessmen is truly inspiring, Mrs Thornton. You must be very proud.”

  “Indeed, I am.” Mrs Thornton signaled an end to the conversation by lifting her cup. Once before, another young lady had sat in that exact seat and laughed at the very notion of putting herself in the way of the mother so that she might attract the notice of the son. As offended as she had been by the slight, Mrs Thornton could not quite find satisfaction in this reversal of that circumstance.

  At least, thought she in mild annoyance, Margaret Hale dealt with me openly. Miss Hamilton’s flattery was gratifying, but she could have preferred a more artless admission of the young lady’s designs. Manipulation cloaked as modesty wore rather quickly.

  ~

  That same afternoon, Margaret and Mr Hale were sitting with the Higgins family. Higgins had procured a sheet of paper and a pencil, and was trying to describe to his very interested guest the principles of the loom.

  On the other side of the house, Margaret had nestled comfortably into a chair, surrounded by the children. She had just finished reading them the story of Daniel, and was greatly amused at the open mouths and rounded eyes reflecting
all round her. Breathless, childish questions followed, and Margaret could not help laughing at their sweet innocence. What delight they brought her!

  After a while, Jenny shyly approached, holding out another book and smothering a bashful grin. “What have you there, Jenny?” she asked.

  The little girl wordlessly twirled her hands in her threadbare skirt, smiling at the floor.

  Margaret lifted the book and read the title with interest. “A primer? Is this yours, Jenny?”

  The girl bobbed her head with a pleased blush. “The gen’lman brough’ it,” she whispered for Margaret’s ears alone. “‘Tis all me own, I dinna ‘ave to share wi’ Danny.”

  “Oh, I see! Does this mean that you will be starting school soon, Miss Boucher?” Margaret spoke with a highly dignified inflection, causing the girl to puff in pride.

  “Mr Nich’las says I can start t’morrow, Miss Marg’et!” The girl clasped her hands before her and rocked in pleasure. “I can already read the first two pages!”

  “That is wonderful news! Why, our lessons must have paid off,” Margaret laughed. “I am certain you will make an exceptional student. You will work very hard, will you not? Perhaps soon you will be reading all of the stories to us,” she winked. She handed the book back and the girl giggled, then scampered back to her little sleeping pallet with it.

  Margaret turned and found Nicholas, across the room, watching them with a grin. “That friend o’ yo’rn, Miss Marg’et, ‘e’s a great ‘un wi’ the childer.”

  “Friend of mine? Which do you mean?”

  “Th’ould bulldog ‘imself. ‘E’s taken an int’rest in seein’ to their schoolin’. Came yest’rd’y to ‘ear Danny read. The lass,” he jerked his head in Jenny’s direction, “she’s sore taken with’im.”

  Margaret felt a broad smile spreading over her face. Mr Thornton paying visits to the Boucher children? She would have to thank him. “I am so pleased to hear it! I wonder what could have brought that about?”