“Quite so! Why, I do believe you are correct, as I come to think of it. I have just left the Hale’s residence- to inquire after Mr Hale, you understand.”
Thornton’s head came up suddenly and he pierced the other with a narrow gaze. He hesitated only a second before speaking. “How did you find my friend today?”
“Oh, I was not able to speak with him at all. I did see Miss Hale, though. I think perhaps she may be one you would number among these ladies of fortitude. Am I right?”
Thornton walked on several strides without answering.
“I do apologize, Thornton, if you find me to have spoken indelicately!” Rupert protested. “I only meant to pay the lady a compliment.”
“Miss Hale has borne much,” Thornton confessed at length. “and she has done so with grace. I believe she is a great comfort to her father.” He clamped his lips shut, resolving not to betray his feelings any further.
“Aye, but she does a good deal more than that!” Rupert enthused, and Thornton had the distinct impression that the other was attempting to lure some confession from him. “She takes a great interest in matters which seem to me rather a waste of her energies. Why, I wonder where she can find the time!”
“Her interests and pursuits are her own,” Thornton replied in irritation. “It is not my business to judge her affairs.”
“Nor mine!” Rupert exclaimed. “I believe the lady was rather clear about that.”
Thornton cocked him an interested frown. “Oh?”
Rupert smiled, and for a second Thornton feared that he had, indeed, betrayed himself. “She was rather short with me just at the end of my visit,” Rupert shrugged. “I cannot fathom why a sophisticated young lady would take such an exhausting interest in the working class. And those enormous books! Have you seen how she occupies herself? How very odious!”
Thornton turned his eyes back to the paving stones before him, a small smile quirking his mouth on the opposite side from his companion. Though she may never be his, neither did he have to fear that she would be deceived by Rupert Hamilton’s frivolities. It seemed she had already pierced the veil of his charm. If only his sister could be so discerning!
Aloud, he simply answered in a neutral tone, “Miss Hale is the daughter of a parson and a scholar. You must allow her credit for her upbringing.”
“Indeed.” Rupert studied his companion thoughtfully. “For myself, I prefer a young lady of more spirit.”
“You find Miss Hale lacking in that respect?”
“Oh… why, of course not. Perhaps I mean that a more sociable young lady suits my fancy better. What of you, Thornton? Surely you have had time enough to consider your preferences.”
“I do not foresee myself ever marrying, so the matter is of little import.”
“Never! Do not let the matrons of this good city overhear such talk, Thornton! You will find yourself matched and at the altar before you know it!” laughed the young Hamilton. “Surely there are a number of beautiful ladies about who would be inclined to oblige. I say, Thornton-” he slanted a bold gaze at the taller man, “what is your impression of my sister? I believe she might look upon you favourably.”
Thornton stared in mortification. “You speak rather plainly!”
“Well, I ask, you know, because as her older brother I must look out for her, do you see. I would not see her disappointed by a cad.”
Thornton narrowed his eyes threateningly. “You may be at ease, Rupert. Miss Hamilton is in no danger from me. If you will excuse me, this is where I turn.” He tipped his hat coldly and spun on his heel up Marlborough Street.
Internally, he was raging. Perhaps Rupert Hamilton had grown coarse in the London clubs, but to openly speak so of any young woman- particularly his own sister! He would have been righteously furious, had it not been for the surety the other had given that at least there was no mutual interest between Margaret and the dashing young rake- for Thornton had no doubt that he was such. At least the woman he admired was clever enough to conduct herself with wisdom in that case.
Thornton chewed his lip as he approached the yard of the mill. Fanny was unfortunately rather taken with Rupert, but he did not relish the idea of his sister united to such a worthless, vulgar young man. Fanny must be diverted somehow, but he would have to leave her management to his mother. He had his hands full enough with the mill.
Chapter Fourteen
Mr Hale had not stirred from his room for the better part of that Tuesday. At last, when Margaret threatened again to send for the doctor, he emerged. He bundled himself near the fire, but was rather quiet through the late afternoon and retired early.
After he left, Margaret and Dixon held a hushed conference in the kitchen. “Dixon, he is growing worse! He has called me by Mother’s name a dozen times this week, and earlier by the fire I heard him rehearsing a sermon for Sunday! He was nearly breathless just now after climbing the stairs. He is very ill, but he refuses to see a doctor!”
“What he needs,” Dixon declared, “is some of this good bone broth. Cure anything what can be cured, I always say.” She ladled a steaming portion of the liquid into a mug for herself and dabbed her sweating forehead.
“I cannot get him to drink it. You know he insists that all he needs is a good cup of strong tea. But Dixon, you look rather ill yourself! Are you certain you oughtn’t to be in bed as well?”
Dixon waved her apron, fanning her face. “It’s only that hot fire, Miss, and I was out at the market when it started raining.”
“Go to bed and rest, Dixon, or I shall have two patients in this house.”
Dixon groaned and rolled to her feet. “You don’t have to tell me twice, Miss, long as you promise to get there yourself.”
The next morning found Dixon still feverish and aching. “Enough,” Margaret insisted, “back to your room at once! You are staying in your bed today.”
Dixon grumbled. “Nay, Miss, I gots to get the breakfast on.”
Margaret crossed her arms. “I can manage, and you know Martha said in her note that she would be back today.”
“She said that yesterday and the day before. Don’t know why you don’t dismiss her.”
“We had enough trouble securing Martha. Here, you must take some hot bricks for your bed.”
“Don’t you go in my kitchen, Lass, or I’ll… I’ll write your aunt!”
“You would have to get yourself to the office to mail the letter, and by the time you were well enough to do so, I would have made the dinner. Now, go back to bed! I would rather not share your fever.”
Dixon allowed herself to be bustled off, and with a reluctant huff, she thanked her young Miss. It was really no wonder the master sometimes confused his daughter for the dearly departed mistress. Margaret was just as determinedly good to her.
~
To no one’s surprise, Martha did not return that day. Margaret had her hands full learning to prepare humble meals on her own, as well as seeing to all of the needs of the house. The wash needed wrung out and hung, the coal bucket must be replenished, the stew kettle filled and set to simmer, the books re-shelved... never had she tackled so many different tasks simultaneously.
At midday she managed to patch together a respectable cold luncheon for her father and carried it up to him. She was pleased to find him puttering about his library as he usually did, rather than in bed as he had been the day before. He soon assured her that he was quite well enough for Mr Thornton’s visit, and asked if she would please have Dixon bring tea up when his guest came.
Margaret flew downstairs in a panic. There was still so much to be done, and she had quite forgotten in her busyness that he was coming today! How could she let him see her with her apron filthy and her hair all disheveled? She whirled about the house, tidying everything as best she could, and then got herself to her room just in time to tend to her own appearance. The easiest garment to dress herself without assistance was her nice walking skirt with the lace blouse, thoug
h it did seem a little too fine for merely staying about the house. She felt a little foolish, but it was preferable to letting him see her looking like a scullery maid!
She had not been downstairs five minutes before his knock came. She hurriedly tugged the last of the drying laundry out of sight and hid it in the kitchen on her way by, noting that her stew kettle was bubbling energetically. It also would require tending soon if she did not wish it to boil over! She scrambled to the door, hoping she looked less frantic than she felt.
Mr Thornton greeted her with a hesitant smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Hale.”
For half a moment, perhaps in response to his ever more frequent smiles, her eyes kindled warmly. “Good afternoon, Mr Thornton. Please, do come in.”
She waited patiently by as he hung his hat and overcoat, chuckling softly at his bashful little grin when he made an exaggerated point of stuffing his gloves into the pockets of his coat.
“How does your father today?” he asked. “I hope he has recovered from the other evening.”
“He assures me he is well, sir.”
He looked down in some dismay at the briskness in her tones. Before he could reply, she was starting to spin away in a swish of skirts.
“I will be up shortly with the tea, sir!” she promised, and disappeared into the kitchen.
He grimaced in mild confusion at her abrupt departure. Perhaps he had not yet been forgiven for their argument the other evening. Yet, she had seemed welcoming for a moment- he might even venture to claim she had seemed glad to see him! He shook his head as he started up the stairs. He never would understand the feminine mind.
~
Mr Hale had quite forgotten about Plutarch, which was just as well, because Thornton never had caught up in his readings this week. In some puzzlement, he responded to his friend’s questions about Plato. It had been months since he had read the essay on justice, but it had made such an impression upon him that he still remembered all clearly.
“An implied contract,” Hale unfolded his glasses and set them upon the bridge of his nose, “an obligation placed upon all citizens simply by existing under the laws of the land. You and I, John, are of such an age that should we not make the decision to remove ourselves from our home country, we are justly bound by all her laws and statutes. Does this rightly include those which are unfair? Socrates felt it his duty to the state to remain in prison and meet his death, eschewing his opportunity to escape. He did this in spite of the fact that you and I would have considered the state’s judgement in that case to have been in the wrong.”
“All men are called to fulfill their duty,” Thornton agreed, “but I disagree with Plato in one point. Where a man does not have the choice and where his government is insensible to correction from within, I do not consider the man bound. We, as free Englishmen, have a voice- though sometimes I fear it is a silent one. It is plausible that the laws of our own land might be changed from within.”
“‘Obey, or he must change their view of what is just,’i” Hale quoted.
“Precisely. I wish rather that Plato had elaborated some on that point. The state can be wrong or unjust, and in some cases there is nothing a man can do within the law.”
“I think, John, that that is the case as frequently as not. Certainly Plato had seen his share of corrupt or poorly organized government. Even our Lord spoke of honouring whatever government had been placed in authority over us.”
“Not if those human laws conflicted with the overriding natural law,” Thornton reminded him.
“Of course. However, if we are to have a civil society and any respect at all for a state, we must have these laws, just or not, and they must be obeyed... else we descend into anarchy.” Hale leaned back in his chair as his voice grew strangely soft.
Thornton narrowed his eyes, watching his friend carefully. At first Hale had seemed full of vigour, if confused, but now he could almost watch the man’s strength ebbing.
“I think of this,” he reasoned slowly, “from the opposite side. Perhaps the Americans said it best when they claimed that the government existed for the people, not the reverse. An authority which must be obeyed without question becomes tyranny if that authority is not also itself a subject. If the citizens have a duty to their country, which is right and fair, then those placed in a position of trust and authority have at least an equal responsibility.”
“And what do you say that is, John?”
“Naturally to serve without prejudice, to see that justice is done, and to look to the longevity and stability of the state so that its citizens may long enjoy its benefits. Perhaps I could use Marlborough Mills as a very small example. My men work for me, under my authority and my rules. They have the freedom to go elsewhere, and they have a means- through the union, though it is not perfect- to redress wrongs. Their duty is to perform their work to ensure the prosperity of the mill, and observe to the rules, which all exist for good reasons.
“Likewise, I have an obligation to each of my workers. If I fail in governing the finances or cultivating more orders, or if I treat my workers unfairly or refuse to maintain the equipment and it fails, I betray my duty to my hands. I would be worse than a blackguard, injuring hundreds for reasons of selfishness or incompetence. I would not be deserving of the trust which has been placed in my keeping.”
Hale had grown very still as he listened, his hand over his mouth. “Socrates does not make his obedience conditional upon the existence of such wise authority, my boy. If such an authority does not exist- in the presence of tyranny, with no means of redressing wrongs, as you say- ought we to be mute in the face of injustice, knowing that acting to right a wrong is against the laws placed over us? And so, my son, should a man remain silent, or is it better to act according to conscience and to accept death or banishment?”
“Perhaps,” Thornton mused quietly, more than a little warmed by his mentor’s endearments, “that is the same kind of courage and honour which kept Socrates in prison. Socrates had faith in the justice of the law, though it was flawed, because it served society. A man who does what is right in the service of others, knowing the costs, is performing the same kind of duty, is he not?”
“Yes, duty. And honour.” Hale dropped his head into his hands and a sigh, nearly a sob, escaped him. “You always did believe in duty and honour, Frederick.”
Thornton could not help glancing over his shoulder, but they were alone in the room, with the ticking of the mantel clock the only sound. “Mr Hale?”
“I told you, did I not?” Hale went on softly, shaking his head in his hands. “There would come a day when your notions of justice would be tested. Why did you do it, Fred? Why did you have to leave your mother so? It nearly killed her when you could not return!”
“Mr Hale?” Thornton leaned near in growing concern. “Shall I bring your daughter- shall I call for Margaret?”
“Margaret- yes. Little Margaret has been asking for you, Fred. What do I tell her- that her brother is a traitor, or that he saved dozens of lives? My son….” Mr Hale’s voice dissolved at last into choking breaths, and where Thornton could see his face, it was wet with tears.
Thornton felt the room hollow and echo around him. His pulse hammered and his throat went dry. Mr Hale had a son! Margaret’s words about one dear to her mother drummed again in his ears. She… she had a brother! It had to be he! He ached to race down to her, to cast himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness for ever doubting her, but he could not leave Mr Hale so.
The older man was still sobbing quietly. He touched Mr Hale’s shoulder. “Sir, let me help you rest.”
Hale looked up blearily. “John? Is that you? Oh dear, is our time over?”
“I am afraid so. Come, you are weary. Let me help you to the sofa.” Tenderly, as only a man in the full vigour of his strength can do, he helped the frail gentleman to his feet and guided him across the room. He settled his friend to rest and carefully tucked a coverlet over him.
; Once certain the man would not stir, he charged down the stairs. He had to speak to her, to tell her that it was all right, that he understood everything and would never again lose faith in her!
He took the steps at a sprint, amazed that he did not stumble in his haste. Just at the bottom, Margaret was starting up with a laden tea tray. He accosted her as she made the first step.
“Frederick! You have a brother named Frederick!” he panted in triumph.
Margaret’s face drained of all colour. Her gasp of horror could not be heard over the shattering of the tea tray as it crashed to the floor.
~
“Take another moment,” he urged her gently, pressing a fresh cup of tea into her hand. He found a mop to soak up the pool of cooling tea, then a broom for the larger shards of the destroyed china. All the while, he watched her from the corner of his eye as she calmed herself. At last he took a seat beside her and spoke softly. “I am sorry that I surprised you earlier. I had no right.”
Margaret took a deep breath. “No, I suppose it is right that you should know. We have not told anyone, not even Martha, the house maid… oh, please, I can trust you, can I not? You will keep it to yourself? If anyone were to find out….”
He quieted her. “Of course I will, but what is the matter? Why must it be such a secret?”
She swallowed a sip of tea, blinked two or three times, and confessed, “Frederick was in the navy and accused of treason.”
An assortment of expressions washed over his face in succession as he digested the import of her words. His recent discussions with Mr Hale suddenly took on new clarity and magnitude. A brother who could nevermore return, a mother succumbed to her grief and infirmities, and a father who might soon follow- he began to truly comprehend the oppressive weight placed upon Margaret’s fine shoulders.
Northern Rain Page 14
