Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  “We are comfortable here,” she ventured after a moment. “There are many dwellings in the city which certainly boast fewer luxuries than we enjoy. Not all are so fortunate, I think.”

  Draper turned his eyes back to her. “Ah, and that was the reason for our call, Miss Hale. We spoke the other night of my little pet project, and you mentioned an interest in supporting our endeavours. Is that still something you would entertain, Miss Hale?”

  “I think I should like to know more of the specifics of your charity, Mr Draper,” she answered carefully.

  “Well, I had already told you that we are attempting to fund a hospital of sorts. To do so, we must garner the support of the upper class for sponsorships. It is the fine ladies who are of the greatest help in this instance, thus it is far more preferable that a lady should pen the letters of solicitation. I trust, Miss Hale, that you write a fine hand, and are able to commit a portion of your time each week to some correspondence?”

  “Why, yes. However, I had hoped for more details of the hospital itself. Is it truly a worthy foundation?”

  He looked mildly surprised. “I think you are the first lady to ask such a question, Miss Hale. What could possibly be objectionable about a hospital? We have need of one, do we not?”

  “Of course, I heartily agree with you. I only wonder what you meant just now when you called it ‘a hospital of sorts.’ Is it not to be a traditional medical facility? Have you an able administrator?”

  Draper laughed. “I love the educated ladies of this modern age! Ten years ago, Miss Hale, never a feminine soul would have dared evoke such questions. As you have asked, I shall answer. I have already attracted a notable physician from London who has drawn up an operating strategy. His focus is on isolation of the sick, and prevention of the spread of disease. He has been working amidst the cholera outbreak and has much to contribute to our growing city, Miss Hale.”

  Margaret paused in thoughtful silence. There was something about this plan that John Thornton did not trust, and if a man of his experience and judgement felt so strongly about the matter, it was certainly good enough reason for her to hesitate. What she heard, however, sounded exactly as it should. Thornton- John- had admitted, had he not, that he could possibly be in the wrong?

  She drew a tight breath and gave a quick nod. “I would be honoured to be of service, Mr Draper.”

  “Excellent, Miss Hale! I have here a list of names and a sample letter for you to transcribe.”

  Margaret took the portfolio he handed her, noting that the list of names was so long that it would take her nearly two entire days to work through.

  “My dear wife,” Draper was saying, “has the most elegant hand you have ever seen, has she not, Miss Hale?”

  Emmeline Draper observed her husband coolly, then offered Margaret a long shrug of her delicate shoulders. “I simply have not the time to pen so many letters. I trust you will have no trouble emulating the original copy, Miss Hale?”

  “You write beautifully indeed, Mrs Draper. I shall certainly give it my best efforts.”

  “Excellent Miss Hale!” Draper stood and helped his wife to her feet.

  At that very moment, Dixon arrived with a hastily assembled tray of refreshments, her face pink with the combined effects of her haste and her lingering fever. The fashionable couple looked somewhat askance at the humble offering and made their excuses. For a moment, Margaret feared that Dixon would pick up one of the little finger sandwiches and force feed their guests herself in her vexation. To Margaret’s infinite relief, she merely returned to the kitchen in silence.

  “I shall send someone by to collect the letters in a few days, Miss Hale,” Draper promised. They departed, and Margaret stepped back to the kitchen with the very greatest of trepidation.

  “I am sorry to have troubled you, Dixon!” she apologized. “I know you are still ill! Had I known they did not intend to stay long, I... what did you do with the sandwiches?”

  Dixon looked up from her kitchen chair, her cheeks rounded and full. It was a moment before she could respond. She swallowed hastily and with a painful gulp. “Well, Miss it was those little sandwiches or that stew you made yesterday. Beggin’ your pardon, Miss, but one bowl of that was enough.”

  Margaret chuckled. “Have you any more sandwiches?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Thornton had spent the larger part of that Thursday exactly where Hamilton had found him earlier in the day- at his desk trying to conjure numbers which simply refused to materialize. He ached to call again upon Margaret after everything which had passed, but his reason told him it was too soon- both for propriety’s sake and for his own duty. He had no business pressing matters with her when he did not know where he stood financially! A wife had a right to expect to be supported, naturally. That last thought lent new vigour to his efforts.

  He churned through stacks of documents until the numbers swam before his eyes. He dragged himself to bed late that night and spent the next day in a similar pursuit. There simply must be something he was overlooking!

  During the dinner hour he had stirred, only to refresh his mind and stretch his legs. He had been gratified during that short tour to note Higgins keeping vigil over the looms with the young Sacks boy. The older man shot him an irreverent wink as he passed, warming him somewhat. At least there was one man who thought well of his efforts.

  The return to his office, however, was a cold reminder of his circumstances. Hamilton had been generous in his estimate. If cotton prices spiked again or his buyers continued to delay their payments, he would not last long enough to see the expected uptick in summer orders.

  He drafted reminder letters to the most delinquent of his buyers, and at last determined there was little else he could accomplish at his desk. Late in the day, he emerged once more. There was nearly an hour left in the work day, and all of the machines and workers hummed along with utmost efficiency. He was not needed for the moment.

  He frowned and took a determined breath. One obligation had weighed upon him for two days, and fulfilling it would be a pleasure he was going to allow himself- now, while he could still afford to do so.

  He walked briskly into the market square until he reached the shop he had destined for himself. The door jingled as he entered.

  “Why, Mr Thornton, good afternoon!” the proprietress came from behind her counter to offer a warm, motherly greeting. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs Andrews. I am looking for a new tea service.”

  “Oh! We have several new designs to choose from, Mr Thornton. I never thought you would persuade Mrs Thornton to a new set!”

  “Er… it is a surprise. I was rather hoping you had something with a… with roses? I think… I think she might like that.”

  “We have this rosebud spray, sir, but I might urge you more toward the ivy leaf. Mrs Thornton tends to prefer these colours, I believe.”

  Thornton leaned carefully over the counter as the matronly shopkeeper drew out some of her samples. He made his mind up quickly. “This one,” he declared, turning over a delicate cup in his large hands. Dusty roses trailed along the edge, and the shape was very fine while not appearing overly ornate. Yes, it was perfect! It looked something like the set he had caused her to drop. More importantly, it reminded him of her. “Do you have the entire set here in the store?” he asked hopefully.

  “One moment, sir, let me check.” Mrs Andrews waddled to her storeroom, and he could hear the woman chattering breathlessly for her husband’s attention as he moved about the crates in the back room.

  He could quite imagine her excitement. She had been trying to persuade him to expand his mother’s already generous porcelain selections for years, but Mrs Thornton was far too practical to permit it. His mouth curled in secret delight. If only the woman knew the true recipient of his purchase! She would embark upon the wildest speculations if she imagined her modest little shop to be the purveyor of such a gift.


  He sighed happily as he imagined giving the set to Margaret. She would thank him, say he was thoughtful… but she would try to refuse it, of course. Her modesty alone would require her to… he frowned. Perhaps he would need to have it delivered by someone else.

  It would be a shame to miss the light in her face when she first beheld the set, but she might be more comfortable if he were not present. He tamped down his disappointment. This was for her benefit, after all, and not his own. Though he had been responsible for the previous set’s destruction and rightly owed her a replacement, it was a most suggestive gift. He would have to see things done as properly as could be.

  “Here we are, Mr Thornton! The entire set.” Mr Andrews followed his beaming wife, carting the fully loaded crate of china. The top had been left off so that the sample cup and saucer from the display could be included. Thornton reached inside and lifted another piece of the set from the crate with satisfaction. Yes, it suited her wonderfully!

  The door jingled behind him to admit Mrs Slickson and Mrs Hamper. He drew to the side, keeping his face turned, but his presence in such a shop was rather notable.

  “Mr Thornton, what a pleasure to see you today!” Mrs Hamper sidled close, peering indiscreetly into the crate. “A gift for Mrs Thornton?”

  He clenched his teeth. “A surprise. Good day, Mrs Hamper, Mrs Slickson.” He paid for his purchase and arranged for the crate to be delivered to his own door, then fled the shop. He would have to work out delivery to the crate’s final destination later.

  ~

  He was walking back into the yard gate just as the last string of workers were making their way home for the day. Higgins, of course, was among the stragglers. “G’d’evenin’ Master!” he tipped his cap.

  “Good evening, Higgins. How are you finding your new assignment?”

  Higgins chuckled. “Wondrin’ what yo’re abou’, Master. Did I do some’at amiss?”

  “We’ll find out, I’m sure,” Thornton half-smiled. “I have been meaning to ask you- how are the children getting on in school? They began already, did they not?”

  Higgins smothered a proud grin. “Come wi’ me now, Master, see for yo’r own self. The’ll be ri’ pleased. The lass, sir, she’s been workin’ ‘ard, ‘opin’ t’impress yo’.” There was a crafty twinkle in the old weaver’s eye, almost as if he were daring his employer to accept the invitation.

  Thornton looked beyond Higgins to his own residence. If he returned home now, he would feel compelled to spend more fruitless hours behind his study desk. There was the additional misery of a recent war waged among the female denizens of his household- he had not been quite late enough last evening to avoid an entire recounting of their day. He did not look forward to another such uncomfortable evening! He drew a long breath. “Do you know, I believe I will.”

  They walked together, Master and Union leader. It would have been an entertaining experiment to be able to observe the onlookers as they passed, but they kept to themselves as they walked and talked.

  Higgins expounded upon his recent ideas about the kitchen. He had already spoken to a meat wholesaler and seen to the relocation of an unused cook stove. His daughter, he thought, might make the perfect cook. He hoped they would have all of the necessary arrangements complete by the end of the following week.

  “What do the men say? Is the idea well received?” Thornton wondered.

  “Ever’one’s clamin’ ‘e thought of it first,” Higgins grinned.

  “It ought to be a benefit,” Thornton mused. “I cannot help but think full bellies would do much for everyone.”

  “Aye, Master. Yo’ should’a seen young Willy Sacks when ‘e ‘eard o’ it. I think it’s been a long while since the lad ‘ad a square meal.”

  Thornton scowled. “His father is still spending his days at the Dragon?”

  Higgins shook his head. “‘Is wife tossed ‘im out. She said she won’ ‘ave ‘im takin’ the childers’ wages and drinkin’ ‘em. Trouble is, now ‘e’s workin’ o’er the Union folk, tryin’ to start trouble again. ‘Tis just noise, sir, don’ bother with it.”

  “The last time I had a particularly discontented worker, he stirred enough trouble to incite a riot.”

  Higgins winked. “I’d almos’ say yo’ deserved that, sir, but it still wasn’a right. Broke up a perfectly good strike, it did.”

  “Yes, what a pity,” Thornton turned a sardonic expression upon his employee.

  Higgins grinned, facing forward again as he walked. “Don’ worry ‘bout Sacks, Master, no one pays ‘im any mind.”

  ~

  Margaret’s week had altered rather drastically from the prior one. Her father was improving already, which gave her great reason for hope. He seemed stronger and better aware of his own vulnerability, and she had already begun to fear much less for him.

  She looked forward to longer and more frequent walks now, but her charity work had kept her constrained to her writing desk for many hours together. She had intended to visit Mary Higgins on the previous afternoon, but she had felt it only right to complete her task before venturing on any pleasure outings.

  At last she had finished, and she was pleased to settle into the old chair in Mary’s kitchen. The children filed dutifully around her, the older two eager to display their new learning. She admired their neat scrawls and encouraged their blossoming phonetic skills with enthusiasm. The glow of scholarly achievement was still fresh upon them, and they humbled her with the great pride they took in their education.

  Margaret had just shifted Jenny onto her lap to listen to her new words when the door opened. She looked up, smiling. “Nicholas! You see, for once I have come when you are… oh!” Her cheeks burned as a tall man stepped inside the little house behind Higgins.

  “Aye Lass, I won’red if yo’ mighn’ be ‘ere,” Higgins slanted a sly grin over his shoulder. “We ‘adn’ seen yo’ a’ week. Mary, we’ve ‘nother guest!”

  Margaret’s eyes were still on the figure in black, who now approached her with an enchanted warmth upon his face. She could not rise with the child on her lap, but she smiled shyly. “Good evening, Mr Thornton.”

  His pleasure wilted into disappointment. “‘Mr Thornton’ again, is it? I shall have to remove my coat once more.” He turned to his host with a bemused expression. “At least one of us is on first-name terms with the lady!”

  Margaret felt the heat crawling up her neck. She coaxed Jenny off her lap and rose to draw near. “I am a guest here as well, sir,” she blushed, keeping her voice low. “I had assumed such informality extended only to my own home.”

  “And I had hoped otherwise,” he whispered, bending close. In a more conversational tone, he looked to little Jenny, who had leaned bashfully into Margaret’s skirts. “I understand your studies are coming along very well, Miss Boucher. Mr Higgins invited me to come see for myself.”

  Jenny nodded, giggling and looking up to Margaret with a beaming smile. Margaret felt her breast swell beyond explanation. This man who had slowly captivated her interest appeared to have thoroughly won over the heart of the small girl at her side. Was there any surer way for a man to secure a woman’s affections than by seeing to the pleasure of a child? She met his eyes once more and found them silently waiting for her approval.

  Higgins was tactful enough to make a great show of greeting Mary while his two guests shared their private exchange. After a proper pause, he raised his voice. “Miss Marg’et, I see yo’ brou’ a wee tart!” He chuckled loudly. “yo’r Miss Dixon vowed I’d na’ get another!”

  Margaret turned. “I pleaded your case, Nicholas. I threatened to make it myself if she did not. She has a reputation to uphold, after all.”

  Higgins guffawed. “Thank yo’, Lass! Tho’ I’d be righ’ pleased to try yo’r own cookin’, if it came to it!”

  Margaret reddened again as the tall man by her side shot her a knowing wink and a secret smile. “I have had that honour, Mr Higgins, and t
he pleasure was most certainly mine.”

  “Ho! I thou’ as much.” Higgins chortled.

  Margaret’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “What- a pleasure! Why, we could hardly stand to eat it!”

  “Miss Hale is too modest, Mr Higgins. It was the most delightful meal of my life.” He offered a kindly little bow in her direction before submitting to Jenny’s pleading tugs on his hand. Danny by now had found him as well, and eagerly pressed his primer into Thornton’s other hand. He followed the children to a chair, his warm gaze lingering on Margaret as he went.

  Margaret could scarcely meet his eyes. A strange, new feeling welled up within her. Her stomach tingled when he looked at her, and her old maidenly independence warred with the pleasant allure she felt whenever he was in the room. He drew all of her attention, and it mortified her to consider what others watching her might think. The temptation, however, was too great. Her cheeks stained crimson, she dared to raise unwavering eyes to where he sat across the room.

  He was looking steadily back at her.

  Margaret’s limbs quivered with a thrilling little flutter. She caught her breath and forced herself to look away, but not before he treated her to another of his crooked smiles. Oh, dear! Silly little fool that I am, but that smile of his! Clenching her fingers tightly to still the tremble in her hands, she rushed to help Mary as the girl made ready to serve Dixon’s fresh tart.

  Though her eyes were down before her, her thoughts were trained only on the rich, deep voice across the room as he spoke with the children. His tones were utterly unique to her ears; a voice which could belong to him alone. At once cultured with the sophistication native to his bearing and roguish with the autonomous spirit of his northern heritage, the now familiar cadence of his speech lilted comfortingly to her as she listened. What would it be like, she wondered fleetingly, to lay my head upon his chest and listen to that deep rumble of his voice, as Jenny does?