Margaret tilted her head. “Why would he have done so?”
“Well, it seems that John had hoped that Mr Hamilton might become a financial backer at the mill. It has fallen on rather hard times since the strike, you know, and John told me recently that the market is bad in general at present.”
“Oh,” she nodded. “That would indeed be a godsend for the mill. Was Mr Bell able to offer much information? I am certain,” she went on confidently, “that Mr Hamilton will find Mr Thornton an honest and clever business associate.”
“Margaret,” Mr Hale’s voice lowered seriously, “Mr Bell believes that Mr Hamilton desired more than a business associate.”
She shook her head vaguely. “I do not understand.”
Mr Hale draped his head back upon his chair, his fingers digging into his eyes as he worked up the courage to speak. “Mr Hamilton was searching out information on John’s personal life and character. It was this of which he wrote to Bell, not the financial particulars of the mill. Hamilton seems to be interested in joining his family to Mr Thornton’s.”
Margaret’s breathing slowed. Her hands went suddenly clammy and she fought a tremor through her heart. “In what manner?” She did not like the way her voice shook.
Mr Hale raised pained eyes to his daughter.
She blinked, clenching her fingers into her skirts. “I… I see.” Her vision blurred inexplicably. If she had yet suffered in any doubt regarding the nature of her feelings for John Thornton, it vanished in that moment.
“My dear,” Hale reached between their chairs for his daughter’s hand. “When Bell was last here he said something which shocked me very greatly, and I disbelieved it at the time, but I think…” he sighed and forced himself to continue. “I think I must now ask you. Have you any reason to believe that Mr Thornton cares for you?”
Margaret’s head bowed, her lower lip quivering faintly. She could not find her voice, so she simply nodded.
“Are your feelings also so engaged?” her father asked quietly.
She drew a long breath, then another. At last, in a whisper, she choked out, “Yes, Father.”
Mr Hale squeezed her hand, but his own grip was unsteady. “I can think of nothing,” he murmured, “which could please me more, my dear.”
Margaret tried to swallow the tight knot which had formed in her throat. “Father, if… if Mr Thornton requires a dowry… or if Mr Hamilton’s support is contingent upon….” Her voice broke and she huffed a quick breath for composure. “I would not see him injured, Father.”
“If I am correct in my guess, my dear, it would injure him very greatly if you were to refuse him.”
“It did, Father.” She trapped her upper lip in her teeth as she met her father’s eyes once more.
“You… you refused him? But I do not understand!”
“It was some while ago, Father. Matters are different now, but he has not made any further mention of… but I suppose no man would wish to be refused twice. Perhaps,” she tried to sound cheerful, though every instinct objected to the insincerity of her words, “he truly has only acted as a friend of late. It would be more prudent, of course, for him to be considering Miss Hamilton. She is a- a respectable….” Her voice began to break, and she was not able to finish her words.
“He may not be,” Hale offered hopefully. “He did not sound as though he were moving toward any such arrangement.”
Margaret tightened her fingers through her father’s hand. “Father,” she whispered, “I have nothing to offer him. So many depend upon the mill! It would be selfish to consider such a possibility.”
Hale rose stiffly from his favourite chair and came to sit next to his daughter on the sofa. Her eyes were closed and she was trembling. He placed an arm about her, drawing her head to his shoulder as he had when she was a little girl. “Would that I could feel right in encouraging your feelings for him! I do not desire for you to be made unhappy, my child.”
Margaret’s only answer was a shuddering sigh.
“I wish,” he mused softly, “that Bell had not already invested most of his available capital.”
“Oh, I had not considered Mr Bell!” she looked up quickly. “But he cannot help?”
Hale shrugged. “Bell is a businessman, Margaret. Not the typical businessman, you understand, but he must look to his own affairs. When he was here this summer, I believe he was consulting a Mr Watson regarding some scheme- you must forgive me, my dear, but I had no head for such matters. I do not remember the particulars.”
“I remember Mr Watson,” Margaret squinted in thought. “He was at the Hamiltons’ dinner party. I heard someone make mention of his financial strategies.” Her typically serene face crumpled in disappointment. “I am certain that Mr Bell knows what he is doing, but oh, Father! Such a pity that he could not have purchased a share in John’s business instead!”
Mr Hale stroked his dear child’s hair. “It seems to me that he put himself at great risk, chancing so much in one place as he has, but I am sure I do not rightly understand such matters.
“Come, my dear, it is possible that it all may come to nothing. John is a clever fellow, after all. I am certain he will find a way. He has built from nothing to where he is now, you know.”
Margaret sighed a deep, quivering breath. “But what if he cannot, Father? After everything, how would such a loss affect him? The mill has been his life’s work; it is who he is! If he were to lose everything now, after so many years of work and so much devotion, I fear for his spirits.”
“‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,’ii” Hale quoted. “But I am weary now, my dear. I think I shall retire upstairs.” He kissed her temple and rose unsteadily.
Margaret blinked away her cares for the moment and took a cleansing draught of air. “Let me see you upstairs, Father.”
He turned, smiling gently, and rather leaned on her arm than offered his. “I do not know that I would wish any man to take you from me, my child. If it had to be any, I would be delighted if it were John, but I do not know how I would do without you.”
“And now it is you who are borrowing trouble, Father!” she teased half-heartedly. “That path is not presently before us, and we shall only rob ourselves of sleep tonight with such worries.”
Chapter Twenty
“Rupert! Rupert Hamilton, open this door at once! Where have you been?” Genevieve’s muffled voice drifted under the oaken door to her brother’s chambers as her flattened palm pattered upon the outside. “I know you are in there!”
There was an exasperated grumble, the rustling of blankets and the tapping of light feet. Finally, her brother’s heavy tread sounded and the door cracked open. “What now, Gen?” Rupert’s hair was tousled and he was still in his bed clothes, but that was all she could see, as he pressed his body firmly into the gap of the open door.
“Where have you been?” she hissed, her little hands fisted upon her hips.
“Right here. Why?”
She scoffed. “Not until late in the night! Where have you been the last two days? You crawl into your room after everyone is abed and then you disappear before breakfast!”
A rakish grin formed upon his lips. “You wouldn’t want to know.”
“Oh, bother! Let me in, the servants are going to hear us!”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Not now, Sis.”
She slapped his face as it turned back into her view. “Swine!” she spat. “Is it that same little kitchen tart you were ‘detained’ with during the dinner party?”
His cheek flickered, wincing just a little- she did not hit that hard, after all- and he looked over his shoulder again. “I don’t remember. Was she blonde?”
“I still cannot believe you! Mother was so cross! Of all the foul, vulgar….” She pinched his nose, a remnant of their long-ago days of youthful skirmishes. “You are a disgusting r
odent, Rupert!”
“Ow!” he pulled back, rubbing his abused face. “I’m closing the door now.”
“No!” she whispered fiercely, sticking her foot in the door. With a frantic gesture, she pointed his attention down the hall, where two or three of the household staff could be heard from around the corner. “Let me in!”
“Oh, suit yourself!” He threw his hands up and backed away from the door, allowing her entry.
She marched indignantly into the room, her resentful gaze sweeping the corners and window ledges for a third occupant. She even went so far as to peer under the bed. “You cad, there is no one here!” she cried at last.
“Not anymore,” he grinned smugly.
“Oh, spare me. Rupert, I am serious, I needed to talk to you! Why have you been avoiding me?”
“I haven’t been avoiding you, so much as finding better things to entertain myself.”
“It’s Father you’re avoiding, isn’t it!” she stalked toward him, shaking a finger.
He spread his hands helplessly. “The old man? Bleeding right. Why would I let him chain me to a desk? He’s been on that again, Gen, making threats to indenture me out as some,” he shuddered, “manufacturing clerk! Me! I could write a few letters to my mates at the Club, and men like Hamper or Thornton would topple!”
“Father doesn’t seem to believe that. Why was it, Rupert, that you had to return to Milton?” She crossed her arms and tapped her toes. “Well, go on, I’m waiting! It wasn’t really just to come welcome me home, was it?”
“Father cut off my funds,” he grumbled. “He doesn’t understand that for a fellow to get his foot in the door in places like the Exchange, he has to live in style! And you don’t make much to begin with. Oh, I have money of my own, Gen, but it has yet to come through! You’ll see, I’ll be out from under Father’s thumb soon enough.”
“You are not out from mine, Rupert. You promised! Did you ever go talk to Margaret Hale like I asked?”
“Sort of.” He rubbed the back of his neck and took a seat on his rumpled bed. She glared at him. “What?” he cried. “Look, if your delicate sensibilities cannot handle seeing a man’s bed, maybe you shouldn’t force your way into his room!”
“I’m waiting, Rupert! What did you find out?”
“She’s smarter than I am,” he groused. “And she thinks I am a fool.”
“She said all of that? You’re making that up! Margaret is at least polite, if you are not.”
“Oh, polite, yes. And has no sense of humour. What on earth do you see in her, Gen?”
“It annoyed Fanny Thornton that I was friends with her, that’s what. After that, I started liking her for her own sake. She is the one person I know who speaks only the truth, without ulterior motives. I thought I could at least count on her as one trustworthy friend, until I saw the way John Thornton was looking at her. What did she say about him when you asked?”
“She despised him, or rather she used to. She doesn’t anymore. Why have you always been so stuck on Thornton? I’ve a dozen friends in London I could introduce you to!”
“Oh, you wouldn’t understand!” she waved a hand in angry dismissal.
“Well, then you’ll get no further help from me.” He crossed his arms obstinately.
She blew out an irritated huff. “Oh, very well. I told you how I used to call on Fanny when we were in school? My governess insisted that I learn to make proper calls on all of the other girls, and Mother was not often around in those days; you remember, she and Father couldn’t stand one another for years!”
“I remember. Father finally made Mother come back under the same roof because people were starting to talk.”
“And I had to make do with old Mrs Mitchell instead of my own mother!” Genevieve pouted. “She took me to the homes of all the girls my age- I suppose she thought she was doing right. I barely knew Fanny, and I was terrified of her mother, but one day when we were there, I saw him. He only passed by the hall, then spoke a few words to his mother, but I saw how his mother and sister respected him. It was so strange! He was so young, but they looked up to him far more than we ever did to Father.”
Rupert shrugged. “Mrs Thornton is a queer one. You heard what her husband did, did you not?”
“Yes, but Rupert, you don’t understand! It fascinated me to watch them. He was so strict, even in a way with his mother, but so protective at the same time. I started wishing that Father had been more like that. He always let us do whatever we wished.”
“Precisely!” Rupert cried. “It was marvelous!”
“You don’t remember when old Mitchell would use the switch on me for just about anything? Father never did a thing about it!”
His face sobered. “I do remember a little. One time was because you made a mistake during your piano practice. That was harsh, Gen. I hated her for you.”
“Well, I started thinking that a man like Mr Thornton would do more than hate her for me. He would have put a stop to it. I said as much to Father- without naming any names, of course- and that was when he started making plans to send me away to the Continent. It was easier, I suppose.”
“Father was always one to throw money at us,” Rupert frowned. “I never had any objections until he stopped doing so. Besides, I thought you liked shopping well enough!”
“Never mind, Rupert,” she sighed in resignation. “I said before that you wouldn’t understand. Just tell me what Margaret said!”
“Why do you care?” he wondered intractably. “She’s no competition for you! I’d imagine Thornton is rather desperate for Father’s support, after all.”
“Mother got Father to tell her what Mr Thornton said the other day. Rupert, he doesn’t want me!” She buried her face in her hands and began to sob dramatically.
He stood and began to pat his sister’s shoulder awkwardly. “What do you mean, Gen? I hadn’t heard anything about this.”
“He- he refused Father’s offer!” she blubbered through her fingers.
“Bah,” Rupert scoffed. “Thornton is too fond of his own way. He’ll come round, Gen, he just didn’t want Father to dictate terms to him.”
She raised her face, sniffling. “Do you really think? You think I’ve a chance?”
He sneered distastefully. “Women!” he muttered under his breath. “Gen, you can have any man you please. Trust me,” he emphasized his remarks with a leering smile.
She snatched the pillow from his bed and slashed at his head with it. “You are revolting!”
He actually laughed. “No doubt.” He stretched in self-satisfied pleasure and resumed his comfortable seat on the bed, draping his arm over the rail of the footboard.
“Rupert,” she turned seriously to him, “I think he has been thinking of Margaret Hale! I don’t believe half of what Fanny Thornton says, so you must tell me. What did she say about him? You don’t think she would accept him, do you?”
“She might. She seemed rather uncomfortable when I brought his name up, and she refused to be baited into abusing him.”
Genevieve growled and at last fell to a seat beside her brother. “If only Father had not sent me away for so very long! I feared surely he would be married by the time I returned, and it is nearly as bad as that. He has found another while I was away!”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Thornton and Miss Hale fought all evening last Monday! Didn’t you see them?”
“I’m not blind, Rupert, but you must be. If Margaret Hale cast him a bone, he would be hers in a heartbeat. I don’t understand it!”
He merely shook his head and rolled his eyes, bracing his weight back behind him with his hands.
“Rupert,” she turned, grasping him by the shoulders. “Do you think you might be able to interest her in yourself instead?”
“That would be disastrous,” he predicted with a little laugh. “She’s frightening.”
“Margaret, frightening? Why, she is the least intimidating person I know!”
“You do not know her as well as you think. Believe me, Gen, I know women. She is the sort who would find some way of proving me the fool before everyone. No, thank you.”
“There must be some way of diverting her! Surely, if she were to lose interest, John Thornton would as well!”
“Well…” Rupert scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “She has mentioned Henry Lennox a couple of times now. She seemed a little embarrassed when I first said his name. I wonder if I could get him up here.”
“Oh, do!” his sister pleaded, grasping his upper arm in desperate entreaty.
“Get off of me!” he scowled. “And get out of my room. It’s high time I dressed and got out of Father’s way for the day.”
Chapter Twenty-One
John trotted down the stairs of his home, still smoothing his suit coat and only a few minutes later than his usual precise time. His dreams this morning had been far too pleasant to interrupt in favour of the reality of his work day. “Good morning, Mother,” he greeted cheerfully as he entered the dining room for the morning repast.
Hannah wordlessly raised her coffee cup, her dark brow curved suspiciously.
Her son took a seat near her, rather than his proper seat at the head of the table. “I am sorry I was out so late again last night. How are you this morning, Mother?” he inquired gently.
Rather than making a reply, she raised her own embossed cup again, pointedly inspecting the design work on it. Her son’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“I had not realized,” she answered at last, “that you were so weary of my ivy leaf, John.”
“Ah!” He flushed with mortification. He had assured himself that his own motives and actions were above reproach, but he did not relish explaining yesterday’s delivery to his mother.
“I thought the pattern,” she went on, eying her own cup, “looked a little garish- like some country squire from the South. If you wish to purchase me a gift in the future, you ought to solicit my opinion on the matter.”
“Now you are teasing me,” he smiled in embarrassment.
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