Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  “Well,” he replied with a wry twist to his mouth, “I suppose that depends on you, Watson. I need one hundred fifty pounds to see the mill safely into next summer. However, if you were in the mood to make a little greater profit, I would borrow as much as five hundred, paying off my loan at the bank and one of my private investors.”

  Watson pursed his lips. “At what interest?”

  “I could pay you four percent. That is a tidy profit.”

  “Tut, tut, Thornton.” Watson tapped his desk with a pen. “I made a greater margin than that in a single month earlier this year.”

  “That was sheer chance,” Thornton reminded him. “I offer a steady supplement to your income without fear of default or loss.”

  Watson sighed reluctantly. “I am sorry, Thornton, but I cannot commit my resources where the yield is not greater. Your offer would be attractive had I not already embarked on this most recent venture. It is a sure profit! Are you certain you have not fifty pounds to invest with me? You would recoup it and many times more in less than a month, you have my word. Why, you would not need to beg a loan of anyone!”

  Thornton shook his head adamantly. “Even were I inclined to agree with you, I cannot in good conscience invest funds which are not rightfully mine. While I yet owe the bank and while I hold private money in my trust, spare capital is not mine to spend.”

  “It is not spending, my friend!” Watson cried. “It is no different than using the funds to buy a new loom which may break! Your creditors expect a profit, that is all. With this speculation, you would be able to repay them all the more readily. Egad, it is irresponsible not to put your assets to good use!”

  “And what if your scheme should not pay out?” Thornton countered irritably. “Honest men are ruined by a rogue!”

  “But it will, Thornton! It cannot fail, I assure you.”

  “I cannot see it as you do. I will not risk that which belongs to others, nor chance the livelihoods of my men on such a scheme.”

  Watson sighed and crossed his arms with finality. “I am sorry to hear it, Thornton. I wish I could be of more help.”

  Thornton grimaced for a fraction of a second, then his legendary self-control snapped firmly back into place. “So am I. I must thank you for your time, Watson.”

  He began to rise when Watson spoke again. “Hamilton was here yesterday.”

  Thornton froze, then shifted his weight back into the chair. Of what particular interest was that information? “Oh,” he commented neutrally.

  Watson studied him. “He bought into the rail speculation. Three hundred pounds.”

  Thornton cringed inwardly, but his face was a mask. “I must wish him good fortune, then.”

  Watson pursed his lips, then fumbled in his waistcoat for his pipe and began to fill it. “That daughter of his is a fine woman, Thornton.” He tapped the tobacco to his liking without looking up.

  “I do not deny that point,” he replied cautiously.

  Watson at last put his pipe to his lips and lit it, puffing repeatedly around the stem. If his intention was to cause his guest some unease, he had miscalculated the man. Thornton stared back impassively. Watson took a great final puff and lowered his pipe to blow an expressive wisp of smoke.

  “Word is,” he continued, “that Hamilton intended to give her to you but you refused. I did not believe the rumour, of course. I have never known you to act the fool, Thornton.”

  Thornton’s jaw went slack in momentary horror. “How dare you!” he cried. “To speak such things, slandering an innocent young lady-”

  “Calm yourself, Thornton!” Watson was chuckling. “I am not your adversary. I only felt you ought to know what is being said, that is all.”

  “By whom?” he questioned tersely. “Not by my lips were such things spoken!”

  “Oh, come, Thornton, you know that nothing so juicy stays quiet for long.” Watson leaned back and blew himself a rather inexpert smoke ring.

  “It was Hamper, was it not?”

  “He had heard a few things, yes. Hamilton has spoken nothing that I have heard, but I expect that son of his has been running his mouth.” Watson shook his head, lowering his pipe. “If that lad were any son of mine…”

  Thornton growled, drumming his fingers. “Hamper must have found it all most amusing.”

  “So did Slickson and Anderson,” Watson grunted. “Hamper says… well, Thornton, you must understand that I am only repeating-”

  “What did Hamper say?” Thornton snapped testily.

  Watson hesitated, dropping his eyes and tapping the contents from his pipe. For all of his posturing with that infernal prop, the man was only putting up a front. In truth, he possessed very little of the boldness which he tried to affect. “That… er… well, that is to say that… I suppose he suspects that you might have a… a reason for rejecting such a fine prize… a rather compelling reason….”

  Thornton’s eyes had squinted quizzically as he strained to make sense of Watson’s jumbled excuses. “A reason… I do not understand you.”

  Watson’s face scrunched for a brief second in the agony of his embarrassment, but then he plunged recklessly forward. “Margaret Hale.” He watched the other’s face bleed of all colour, confirming his suspicions. “I am sorry, my friend, but someone had to tell you. Hamper went as far as to openly suggest carte blanche… only to Slickson and myself, of course.”

  The blood rushed back Thornton’s face, and he spat in a fury, “Miss Hale is a lady! To even suggest such a notion is the basest, vilest slander!”

  “Of course, Thornton! Believe me, I do not think anyone present actually gave credit to the notion. You know Hamper, how he talks! The man is crude.”

  “He dares risk a lady’s honour for his own amusement? I shall have words-”

  “Stay, Thornton!” Watson jumped to his feet in pursuit of his guest, who had lurched from his chair and was already halfway to the door. “You will do your Miss Hale no good by calling out Hamper. If you will only sit! I may be able to offer you some assistance.”

  Thornton forced himself to pause, dropping the hand which had already reached out to take his hat. He stood, panting in rage, as his mind stumbled to make sense of Watson’s words. After a moment, he slowly turned and resumed his seat.

  Watson sighed in relief. “Thank you, Thornton. I always said you were a good chap.”

  “What do you have to say?” Thornton demanded.

  Watson fumbled once more with his pipe, now beginning to grow cold. “I was thinking we could perhaps help one another, Thornton. Your sister…” Watson released a sentimental breath. “I fancy Miss Thornton- she’s a right fine woman, you know- but she has eyes only for that Rupert Hamilton.”

  Thornton stilled, taking long, slow breaths in an attempt to think rationally. “What do you hope to gain from me? I will not force my sister to marry where it is convenient for me, Watson.”

  “No!” the other man fairly yelped. “I would not have it so! I beg your pardon, Thornton, that was not what I meant at all. I only hoped you might speak kindly of me to her, and perhaps… Thornton, I do not believe that Rupert Hamilton is a young man to be trusted. Call me a jealous man if you will, but.... I was only hoping that Miss Thornton might be made to see past his charms. He is young and dashing, I am afraid, whereas I am not.”

  Thornton sighed, swallowing the ire with which he longed to lash out at someone. It suited his own purposes as well to distract Fanny from Rupert Hamilton. “I will consider it, Watson. Perhaps you might call on Fanny yourself, allow her to see a little more of you. She has always been fond of gifts,” he suggested slyly.

  “Thank you, Thornton! And in return, I shall quietly defend your Miss Hale’s honour.”

  “I did not confess-” he began to protest.

  “Oh, come Thornton, I have seen you watching her. You look like a dog parched for water- if you will pardon my indelicacy.”

  “I will not. I will not tolerate an
yone speaking of Miss Hale in such vulgar terms.”

  Watson shrugged in half-apology. “Well, let me only say that I understand your urgency to see to the mill’s financial standing. I do wish I could interest you in the speculation, Thornton. Only consider! I must know within only a few more days.”

  “I have given my answer.” Thornton rose determinedly from his chair. “Thank you for your time, Watson.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Good afternoon, Mrs Thornton!”

  Hannah Thornton offered her accustomed stately nod as she entered the dress maker’s shop. “Good afternoon, Mrs Gentry.”

  Mrs Gentry spoke no more to her customer. It always delighted her when the dowager mistress of Marlborough Mills patronized her little shop. Hannah Thornton’s business lent distinction and the lady’s loyalty as a customer was a high compliment which she did not take lightly. She knew, however, that it was not her own sales abilities which brought the Thorntons’ regular custom. Gentry’s happened to be the only shop in town where one might find the latest and most fashionable dress goods to suit a young lady of Miss Thornton’s taste, as well as an assortment of discounted selections to satisfy one of Mrs Thornton’s economy.

  Hannah browsed the front room of the shop only briefly, but naturally under the eager eye of Mrs Gentry. She gave but a cursory glance at the front rows of shelves. In her typical efficient manner, she soon directed her steps across the room. The farther one traveled from the front desk and the door, the lower the prices. From the far corner of the front room, Mrs Thornton would no doubt make her way toward the back room. There, rows and stacks of last season’s styles, inexpensive materials, and smaller swatches offered the economically minded consumer a number of choices.

  “Mrs Thornton, we have some new chiffon selections just in. Would you like to see the rose or the light blue for Miss Thornton?” Mrs Gentry offered hopefully over the counter.

  Hannah could barely suppress a curl of her lip. Such a frivolous, impractical material, and for winter! Ladies’ fashions had lost all semblance of rationality since she had been a girl. Light, fragile materials might do very well for those fine ladies of London, but a Milton girl ought to dress more sensibly! “No, thank you,” she answered politely. “My daughter has quite enough gowns at present.”

  “Of course, Madam.” Mrs Gentry silently scolded herself. She would have done better to have brought the lady’s attention to the new bombazine, but it was too late now. Mrs Thornton had wandered to the back room, most probably in search of more fabrics for her charity sewing. Unfortunately, it seemed she would not be making any extravagant purchases today. A moment later, Mrs Gentry’s hopes had cause to soar again. The door jingled open to admit two of her very favourite customers.

  “Mrs Draper, Miss Hamilton!” This time she came from behind her counter to greet the new arrivals. A typical visit by either one of these particular ladies tended to keep Mrs Gentry’s household in gentle comforts for the week. “What can I do for you ladies today?”

  “Oh, only browsing!” replied Mrs Draper airily.

  “Let me know if I can show you anything,” she smiled sweetly. She withdrew to a nonintrusive distance and awaited their pleasure. She kept her gaze averted, but, as often happened, she was soon privy to snatches of their conversation. The pair migrated about the front of the shop, admiring all of the newest fashions.

  “Em, just look at this!” Genevieve exclaimed. “I always love wearing this colour.” She fingered the very rose chiffon sample in which Mrs Gentry had, only moments ago, tried to interest Mrs Thornton.

  “I thought you would have preferred something a little bolder,” Mrs Draper replied archly. “Something to turn the head?”

  “Oh! It is no use, Em. I have come to think it rather hopeless. He only has eyes for you know who.”

  Emmeline Draper laughed. “Margaret Hale! Oh, you cannot consider him wholly lost to the likes of her, can you?”

  “Em!” Scandalized, Genevieve raised a hand in a plea for silence.

  Emmeline tipped her feathered hat toward Mrs Gentry, who had turned away and seemed utterly preoccupied with folding her new samples. “Nothing to worry about, Gen,” she smiled. They were far from the front door and counter now, having wandered over almost the entirety of the front shelves. In addition, the abundance of cloth filling the shop insulated the echo of any words.

  She did lower her voice somewhat- just enough so that Mrs Gentry on the far side of the room might not overhear. Truly, secrets were safer in the dark corner of the dress shop than in her own home, where lived a number of servants with sharp ears.

  “As I was saying,” she whispered, “John Thornton is far too levelheaded to throw everything away over a mere tendresse for… well, I suppose she is handsome enough, but I simply don’t see the appeal. There is positively nothing interesting about her, and so self-righteous! Why, you ought to hear how she goes on! Truly, I do not see how any gentleman, particularly a sensible man like John Thornton, would trouble himself.”

  “It is not your opinion which matters,” Genevieve pouted. “And he just might do anything! He is rather tenacious- downright unmanageable, in fact!”

  “Is that not what you have always liked best about him?” Emmeline teased. “He is rather the hard-headed, charismatic sort, is he not?”

  A muffled sigh escaped the young lady. “Only think what a man like John Thornton could achieve if he had my father’s resources to back him!”

  “Mayor of Milton?” asked Mrs Draper innocently, pulling out another sample of fabric.

  “Oh, darling, that might only be the beginning! Why, he is clever enough for Parliament! You just see if I am not right by and by. Only think how thrilling! Parliament! London! Think of the soirees, and the circles such a man might move in!!”

  “I never thought he had any political ambitions. He is a manufacturer to the bone, dear.”

  “Oh, do not be silly. Of course he would leap at the chance! He only wants the opportunity, you know, and I would make certain that he had it!”

  “Or perhaps,” Emmeline suggested, slanting a coy look to her friend, “your father desires a son-in-law after a certain pattern, and of the available candidates, John Thornton is… shall I say the least repugnant?”

  “Far from repugnant.” Genevieve wrinkled her nose. “I declare; I do not know how ladies suffer marriage to such old gentlemen! You tell me it is not so dreadful, but would it not be more pleasant to find one’s husband appealing?”

  “Oh, one can always find other diversions, if that is what you refer to,” was the blasé reply.

  “Em!” Genevieve’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. “You would not!”

  “I confessed to nothing, darling,” the other woman whispered neutrally as she sorted through some muslins. “I only suggested that others do. Gentlemen, for example, often marry where it is prudent and seek their amusements elsewhere.”

  “I do not think I would care for that,” Genevieve retorted primly, forgetting to keep her tones hushed. “You might call me the jealous sort, but if I had John Thornton for my own, I would not share him!”

  “Oh, but you would, darling,” Emmeline assured her. “And really, where is the harm? If a man keeps his indiscretions quiet and does not trouble his wife with scandal, what is there to complain of? You would still have the social status as his wife, even if he did spend some of his time abroad. And one never knows- perhaps marriage will settle him somewhat, and he might get Margaret Hale from under his skin. Surely,” she winked, “he must already be growing weary of her.”

  Genevieve crossed her arms, her face several shades of crimson. “He is too honourable for that, I think. And Margaret! No, she is as innocent as a dove! I really wish I could dislike her as you and Fanny do, but I cannot believe she would entertain such a proposition.”

  “Would she not? They’ve been saying that John Thornton is a regular visitor to the Hale’s household- more so than ever late
ly. He has also been seen more than once returning with her from the Francis district- one can only imagine what goings-on might take place there.”

  “Oh, Em! Surely you cannot think…!” Genevieve gasped in revulsion.

  “And there is the little matter of that tea service,” Emmeline shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Tea service? I do not understand.”

  “Oh! Surely it is nothing,” she murmured, moving on to the next row of fabrics.

  “Em!” her friend hissed, glancing over her shoulder to be sure that Mrs Gentry was still far out of earshot.

  “Oh, very well. It is only that Mrs Hamper saw Mr Thornton purchasing an entire tea set, and she thought it odd enough to remark upon. He was selecting them himself, and rose patterns are not to old Mrs Thornton’s taste, she claims- though, privately, I wonder if anything is to her taste.”

  “Oh, do go on with it!” her friend implored.

  “Well, wouldn’t you know, darling, I called on Margaret this morning to collect those letters she wrote for Randall, and she served me out of this perfectly delicious, brand new rosebud spray tea set!”

  Genevieve’s face had grown thoughtful. “I think… yes, now that you mention it, I do remember something different the last time I called upon her. Oh, Em, you do not think-”

  Emmeline Draper confirmed her thoughts with a sage nod of her head. “Now, I ask you,” she continued, “why would a gentleman purchase such a thing for a lady unless he meant to… enjoy them himself?”

  “You are perfectly horrible!” Genevieve gasped.

  “And perfectly right,” she slanted a wicked grin at her friend over a swatch of wine-coloured satin. “Oh, do not be such a goose! Every man has his indiscretions! Think of your own brother, darling!”

  Genevieve felt herself growing ill. “I would rather not.”

  “Oh, Rupert is quite charming! And you know, darling, he is not the sort a woman marries- too unpredictable, you see- but….”

  “Please stop!” Genevieve begged.

  Emmeline tilted her head, frowning at the other young woman. “You want what does not exist, darling. You may as well face it. A man does not reserve himself for only one woman, and John Thornton’s eye is as apt to wander as any man’s.”