Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  John was chortling softly, but sobered. “It was nothing, Mother, only you have just reminded me that I am very thirsty.”

  She stared quizzically. “I believe that girl has bewitched you, John. You are not at all yourself! I can see that you are plain set and determined to offer for her again.”

  “Absolutely, but not yet. I will not ask again unless I can be certain of her answer.”

  She clucked, shaking her head. “If you think she will make you happy, John… she is quite penniless, you know. She has nothing to offer- certainly Miss Hamilton would be the far more practical choice. She may be a spendthrift, as you say, but your pockets would be much deeper if allied with her father. Is there no thought for that?”

  “None whatsoever. Besides, Mother, if you look beyond her purse, Margaret is infinitely more practical. If I am to choose a woman to stand by me, I would choose a woman with some backbone and a will of her own. I would wish for a wife who had the heart and the spirit to inspire me and who would desire my love, not my position. She must be a woman with your kind of strength, Mother; one who can stare down adversity and yet hold herself with grace.”

  “Pretty words, my boy.” She raised a cynical eyebrow.

  He gave her one of his lopsided smiles. “If I am considering matrimony, I had best practice the art of paying my compliments well, do you not agree?”

  “And you think Margaret is such a woman?”

  His eyes shifted from her face to the fire, then back again with firm resolve. “I know she is, Mother. I have seen it for myself.”

  Mrs Thornton blew out a long breath of resignation and screwed her mouth into a tight little frown.

  “You are not convinced, I know,” her son pulled her more closely under his arm. “Please do try to give her a chance, for my sake.”

  She scowled. “A mother does not soon forgive or forget, John. You ask me to look kindly upon the young woman who has ruined your happiness, who-”

  “The woman,” he interrupted, “who holds the key to my happiness! By the by, she sends you her regards.”

  Ever the sceptical mother, Mrs Thornton frowned more deeply. “I’d wager she does. She will give you no end of trouble, John. You know how she carries on with the Union folk. She will manipulate you and undermine your authority, taking baskets to the very rabble who would try your resolve. You remember how she spoke during the strike!”

  “I do. Mother, you cannot expect her to understand all of the necessities of business in such a short time; it is not native to her. It is a hard thing if a young gentlewoman can possess the cold-heartedness that a man of business must assume. It was her compassion which impressed me. Not one other young lady in all of Milton found the heart to act as she did.”

  “For good reason,” Mrs Thornton grumbled. “And that is not quite true either, John. You are unfair to the charities which took in the ailing children during that time. Why, my sewing circle alone donated twenty blankets!”

  “Did any of your friends take time to know the families, Mother? An organization is a fine thing and can accomplish much, if managed properly, but there is something irreplaceable about personal relations. She knows them, Mother, and does not shrink from them. She does not patronize but cares deeply for the families, and they adore her for it.”

  “John! I see it already; she has corrupted your thinking. You have gone soft!”

  “Not at all, Mother. I have only come to see that a means for communication with my hands has lain open before me all of these years. I mean to explore it. Have I told you about that kitchen I am allowing the men to set up in that old outbuilding at the south corner?”

  “Twice, and I told you both times that I thought it foolish. They will take advantage of you.”

  “It is they who are paying for it, after a fashion,” he returned defensively. His brow furrowed. “Was it really twice?”

  She rolled her eyes again. “John, I thought that you suffered from lack of sleep, but I think now that your head is addled.”

  A slow smile crept to his lips. “Perhaps I have been a bit distracted of late. The mill has kept me rather preoccupied.”

  Mrs Thornton’s mouth twitched. “Only the mill?”

  He laughed softly. “I will confess to no more tonight, Mother! You have quite bled me of all of my secrets. Ah, and I see I am saved, for here come the household for your evening devotions.”

  She did not release him from her gaze just yet. “Just do nothing rash, John. You cannot be certain of her, and I would not see you compromise your dignity again!”

  He sighed. “Of course, Mother.”

  ~

  Dixon had recovered tolerably well by the next morning. Though still weak and feverish, she refused to be sent off again. Her strength had returned enough so that she scolded her young mistress rather roundly for invading the kitchen and creating an abominably over-seasoned disaster of a meal. “Waste of good broth,” she was heard to grumble- until, that is, she saw her repaired water kettle.

  She huffed into the front parlour, where Margaret was shelving her father’s books. “Miss! You didn’t dare touch my kettle, did you? This is a man’s work! If you-”

  Margaret hushed her, her cheeks a beautiful shade of rose. “Mr Thornton repaired it, Dixon.”

  Dixon’s arms lowered, the freshly scrubbed kettle catching the light as it dropped. “Mr Thornton! What was that man doing in my kitchen? I suppose that’s why half my good china is missing!”

  “Oh, I am afraid you have me to blame for the china, Dixon. I dropped the tea tray yesterday.”

  Dixon’s eyes widened anew. “If that don’t beat all… you just see if I ever stay abed again!”

  Margaret laughed shyly behind the book she was holding. “It was an accident, Dixon. Mr Thornton surprised me coming down the stairs, but he was kind enough to help me clean up.”

  Dixon’s brows knit suspiciously. “Is that all that man did?”

  “Well, and the kettle… yes. Why do you ask? Oh, I suppose I did forget to tell you that he finally convinced Father to be seen by Dr Donaldson. I am very grateful for that. The doctor prescribed a medicine which should help improve him.”

  Dixon took a step closer, lifting her large kettle as she would a scolding finger. “I mean in the kitchen. Were you alone with that man?”

  Margaret’s face changed hues again, but after a few seconds of guilty silence she squared her shoulders. “I do not see what business it is of yours! It is not your place to chastise me, Dixon!”

  Dixon’s mouth twisted into a sulky pout. “If your mother was here, Lass….”

  “She is not,” Margaret interjected softly. “Much as we both would wish it. Dixon, I should hope you have better faith in me than you imply!”

  Dixon drooped somewhat. “Aye, Lass,” she mumbled. “Beg your pardon.”

  “I give it freely. There is nothing to fear, Dixon, Mr Thornton was a perfect gentleman last evening. I was grateful to have his help, most especially with Father.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon again, but it’s not your father that man’s interested in.” Dixon stared hard at her young mistress.

  Margaret reddened again. She turned from Dixon to shelve the book she still held. “I know, Dixon,” she returned in a low voice. She remained there, her fingers resting on the spine of the old tome as she took several deep breaths. “Dixon, there is something I never told you about Mr Thornton.”

  She turned again to her expectant maid, who was glowering with white knuckles on her kettle. “The night that I walked Frederick to the station, he was seen. Leonards, he happened upon us, and attacked Frederick.”

  Dixon’s face drained to an ashen shade. “Master Fred?” she asked tremulously.

  “He got away safely, Dixon, but he had to fight the man off. Later, however, I heard that Leonards had fallen and died of some injury. You remember the inspector who came here after Mother’s death? He had a witness who identified me at the station that
night, and he desired a statement. I refused to give it… I lied, Dixon.”

  Dixon blinked. Such a thing was unheard of. “I don’t understand, Miss.”

  Margaret’s face pinched and she sighed. “I thought Fred was still in London, and I could not risk them searching for him after they had heard my statement, so I… I told the inspector that I was not there at all.”

  Some of the colour had begun to return to Dixon’s face. “You were protecting Master Fred, Miss. I’d’ve done the same. He didn’t hurt that Leonards fellow no more than he deserved, I’m sure.”

  Margaret shook her head. “No, you do not understand. It is shameful enough to have lied- and twice! It is worse yet because Mr Thornton also saw us at the station, and he was the magistrate presented with the case. He knew that I was not telling the truth from the beginning.”

  Dixon narrowed her eyes. “It ain’t my place, Miss, but what do you care what that tradesman thinks? Hmf! Only think, Miss Beresford’s daughter, fearing for offending some rough-edged-”

  “He blocked the inquest, Dixon,” Margaret interrupted. “He thought the very worst, I am sure; nevertheless, he protected me, and by extension Frederick.”

  “Well, I’ll be jiggered….” Dixon muttered, staring aghast at her young mistress. “And has he- well, what I mean, Miss, is… well, has that man threatened you? Is he trying to force you to… begging your pardon, again Miss.”

  Margaret almost laughed, and likely would have done so if Dixon had not appeared so frightened. “No, Dixon, as I have said, he has been a perfect gentleman, though I most assuredly did not deserve such kind treatment. You may as well know the whole of it. Father was rambling again during Mr Thornton’s lesson yesterday, and he knows everything now. He has proven a friend, Dixon, and I will hear nothing further against him.”

  Dixon scowled a moment in thoughtful silence. “Has he declared himself, then? Beggin’ your pardon, Miss.”

  Margaret closed her eyes and bit her lip. “A little too soon, unfortunately. Had matters then been as they are now, I may have answered him very differently. I am afraid I was very harsh with him. I can scarcely believe he will still speak to me!”

  Dixon’s frown softened somewhat. “I know it’s not my place, Miss, but if you ever need… the Mistress, you know, she was an angel to me. I’d be right pleased, Miss, if….” she sighed, flustered. She wished to offer her girl motherly counsel, but as she was only an irreverent serving woman and had neither man nor child of her own, such counsel would carry little weight.

  Margaret stepped near and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Dixon. That means a great deal to me.”

  Dixon blinked quickly against eyes which had suddenly gone quite misty. She cleared her throat. “Well, now, Miss, no harm done. If Mr Thornton protected our lad Fred, he can break all the china he pleases. We can always have tea out of this old kettle. And just look at it, good as new!”

  Margaret laughed. “Perhaps he is a rather agreeable guest after all!”

  “As long as he doesn’t bring that mother of his,” Dixon harrumphed.

  ~

  “How do you do today, Mrs Hamilton?” Hannah Thornton set aside her needlework and rose grandly to meet her callers.

  “Quite well, thank you Mrs Thornton,” the lady inclined her head.

  “And Miss Hamilton, it is a pleasure to see you again so soon. Jane,” she turned to her favourite housemaid, “ring for my daughter, please.”

  The maid bobbed a smart curtsey and Mrs Thornton returned to her guests. “Will you be seated?” Fanny arrived promptly and the four decorous ladies set upon the refreshments which came soon after.

  Fanny was all enthusiasm, as she had not had the pleasure of her dearest friend’s company since the evening of the dinner party. “I declare, Gen, it has been an age since I saw you! I called yesterday and the day before, you know, but I was told you were out,” Fanny pouted.

  Genevieve looked stiffly to her friend. “Yes, I received your card.” She lifted her tea cup, indicating that she intended no further comment.

  Mrs Thornton watched the pair in silence. Perhaps Fanny’s ulterior motives had at last soured Miss Hamilton’s opinion of her. She gave an inward sigh. She could not have the entire family put out with them, for John’s sake.

  “Mrs Hamilton,” she graciously ventured, “I must again compliment you on the success of your dinner party. It was a most elegant affair.”

  Mrs Hamilton nodded primly. “Indeed, it was rather well spoken of. I was very pleased- until just the end, that is.”

  Hannah’s jaw set. There was a challenge in the other woman’s voice, one she could not leave alone. “Were any of your guests displeased? They had no cause to be, I assure you.”

  “Well! I hardly know. That former parson and his daughter left so very abruptly, and after her refusing to oblige on the piano! I told dear Genevieve that the girl would be sure to cause a scene, and I am proven right.”

  Hannah tensed cautiously. “I understood that Mr Hale had taken ill.”

  “Ill! He was no more ill when he left than when he arrived. I thought it a rather artificial excuse, if you ask me, Mrs Thornton.” She raised her cup and leveled a significant stare over the rim at her hostess.

  “I would not have described it quite so,” Hannah returned mildly. “I thought Mr Hale looked unwell after dinner myself. They appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the evening until that point.”

  “Yes, right up until Miss Hale found herself unable to compete with my Genevieve,” Mrs Hamilton sniffed. “Abominable rudeness!”

  “Surely,” Mrs Thornton soothed, “many young ladies would feel rather intimidated to perform in such accomplished company. Miss Hamilton and Mrs Draper both play exceedingly well, but Miss Hale informed me upon our first acquaintance that she did not.”

  “She does play, though. She said she studied in London and performed for a wedding party! If you ask me, she feared to be found wanting in the eyes of my guests- or rather, one of my guests in particular.”

  Fanny chose this moment to make a petulant face. “It was so very rude of her to monopolize your brother!” she whispered loudly to Genevieve.

  Hannah glared icily at her daughter, silencing her. To her guest she turned next. “Forgive me, Mrs Hamilton, but I did not see her exerting any particular effort to garner your son’s attention.”

  Mrs Hamilton frowned pointedly. “It is not my son’s interest which took my notice, Mrs Thornton. After all, it was not he who arranged for Miss Hale’s untimely departure when she declined to play.”

  Hannah bristled. “If you mean to imply that my son’s manners were anything but irreproachable-”

  “Of course not!” Mrs Hamilton waved her cup airily. “We have nothing but the very highest regard for Mr Thornton, do we not, my love?”

  Genevieve smiled charmingly at that gentleman’s mother.

  “There, do you see?” Mrs Hamilton gestured sweetly to her daughter. “The man can hardly be blamed for allowing himself to be distracted. Oh! Surely you must have noticed, Mrs Thornton, for we all did, how frequently he looked her way the other night. Never fear, I think her a rather artful young thing, and Mr Thornton is but a mortal man, after all. We only felt some concern that this young lady, of whom my dear Gen has taken such obliging notice, might be forming designs upon a gentleman who is not her own.”

  Mrs Thornton hesitated. “My son has given his name and honour to no young lady as yet, Mrs Hamilton.”

  “Quite so,” the other agreed. “I must applaud your son for not settling too quickly, as young men are apt to do. He has many more advantages open to him at his stage of life.” She paused, allowing her words a moment to have their proper effect. “He must be a man of remarkable resolve to have so long been immune to the allure of so many pretty faces.”

  “My son is a man of high standards,” Hannah straightened and her face tightened ever so slightly.

  “Oh, to be su
re! We were just saying as much the other day, were we not my love?”

  “Indeed,” Genevieve answered smoothly. “Mr Thornton seems to appreciate an outspoken and disciplined intellect, which I find refreshing in a modern gentleman.”

  “As well as modesty and ladylike deportment,” Mrs Thornton added drily.

  “Precisely,” Mrs Hamilton affirmed. “I am glad to hear you speak so, Mrs Thornton. I am rather concerned for our young Miss Hale- I fear she knows not what she is about, attempting to work her arts upon such a man as your son. Why, she leaves herself open for scandal! I understand it was a near thing once before. I wonder, ought she to be cautioned? She has no mother to offer such counsel, you know.”

  “Miss Hale has very much a mind of her own. I think if you were to speak to her on such a matter, she would be deeply affronted- and rightly so, if you ask me. I assure you, she has not sought my son’s attentions. I can answer to that quite positively.”

  “Well, I do beg your pardon! I only heard some rumours about Miss Hale’s actions during the riots, and, well, I wished to spare her any further embarrassing incidents. It was clear to me the other evening that the girl wants for guidance, Mrs Thornton. I thought it might come best from you, as your family are such intimates with hers.”

  “My son thinks very highly of Mr Hale,” she supplied carefully. “I am not close to either father or daughter. I think she would not appreciate my interference.”

  “It is to her own detriment, then. I should hate to see the young lady publically disappointed.” Mrs Hamilton put aside her cup and saucer in preparation for her departure.

  “Excuse me, Mrs Hamilton, but I fail to understand your concerns,” Mrs Thornton huffed defensively. “I saw nothing at all alarming the other evening in Miss Hale’s conduct, and even less in my son’s. I noted, in fact, that they seemed rather annoyed with one another through most of the evening.”

  “Oh, come, now, Mrs Thornton!” the other matron smiled sweetly. “I never saw two utterly disinterested people as troubled as they by a mere quarrel! Mr Thornton is a man of insight, however. I trust that he would not act rashly.”