Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  ~

  Three feet away and through a paper-thin wall, the hushed voices of the young ladies drifted to the ears of a properly horrified Hannah Thornton. Eavesdropping was shameful, of course- she ought to have declared her presence to the young ladies at the very first words of their conversation, but by the time she had realized what they spoke of, it had already been too late.

  The best course would likely have been to distance herself from the door so that she might not overhear more, but it was impossible in this small rear chamber. Instead, the fiercely loyal mother was compelled to remain to hear the gossip propagating about her son. She lingered in astonishment and then stayed in utter incredulity.

  Any allegiance she might have once tendered toward Miss Hamilton evaporated. Manipulative, heartless girl! she could have spat. And that Draper woman! A more shameless, brazen, graceless tart she had never had the misfortune to know! And they say such things about my John! The two trollops masquerading as ladies would not know an honourable man if he were to lay his whole heart at their feet- a thing, she assured herself, that her John would never do!

  Her ire had caused her to single-mindedly focus on the infuriating conversation just around the door from her, but a soft noise finally caught her attention. It sounded like… like a young woman sobbing.

  Having some premonition of what she might find, she peered around the tall stacks just behind her, into the rearmost set of shelves filled with the very cheapest fabrics. Seated on a step stool, her face hidden in her hands, was Margaret Hale.

  She looked as though her strength had failed her and she had merely collapsed where she stood. It was likely fortunate that there had been a stool nearby, else she might have crumpled completely to the floor. At the sound of the creak in the floorboards before her, she raised her tear-streaked face to Mrs Thornton’s.

  Her pride still intact, she shot to her feet. “I-” she choked, struggling for something coherent to say. “I-” she whispered, then her features crumpled as her heartbreak overwhelmed her. Her hands covered her face once more and her body shook pitifully in her anguish.

  Hannah drew a long breath, then another as she strove to calm her own rumpled sentiments. “Here,” she whispered in reply, and gave the girl her own handkerchief.

  Margaret received it hesitantly, glancing up at the older woman’s face with her eyes full of questions. Hannah gave a grim nod, charging her to make use of the item for her dripping cheeks. Margaret silently complied, the tremours which still racked her frame gradually slowing.

  “Now,” Hannah whispered softly, “chin up, girl.” She nodded in grave satisfaction as Margaret pulled her shattered feelings once more under regulation. Margaret blinked and nodded, summoning her courage.

  Hannah Thornton took the arm of the woman her son loved and drew her out of the small aisle, just before the doorway to the front room. Margaret swallowed, visibly nervous, but at Hannah’s encouragement she sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. Her eyelids fluttered as she sought serenity and poise once more. At last, she gave a firm nod. Whatever the matron’s intentions were, Margaret was trusting herself to Hannah’s direction.

  Arm in arm, they strolled quietly through the dividing curtain to the front of the shop. Margaret unconsciously lifted her shoulders and chin, emulating her dignified escort. The hushed discussion was still underway, the participants blithely unaware that any of their acquaintance or social status might possibly choose to shop in any part of the store but the very front. As one, however, their eyes rounded and their lips remained parted in surprised little rosettes when they beheld the others.

  “Mrs Draper, Miss Hamilton, how do you do today?” Hannah greeted them indifferently. “You remember Miss Hale, do you not?”

  Genevieve gave a little rasping cough. “M-Margaret! Why, it is such a p-pleasure to find you here!”

  “Indeed, Genevieve, the pleasure is mine.” Margaret, having recovered her usual regal deportment, extended a polite greeting to each of the ladies. “I had tried calling on you on my way here this morning, but you were out. Mrs Draper,” she smiled tightly, “It is good to see you again so soon. Do give Mr Draper my regards.”

  Emmeline, her features quite ashen, only nodded mutely.

  “Well,” Hannah beamed, causing Margaret to reflect that it may perhaps have been the first time she had witnessed such an expression on the woman’s face. “It was lovely to see you both. Good-day, Mrs Draper, Miss Hamilton. Good-day Mrs Gentry!” she called cordially to the proprietress, who saw her go with some dismay.

  “Miss Hale,” she spoke clearly to Margaret as she began to steer her young charge toward the door, “I trust you still intended to take tea with me after our little shopping excursion today? I believe you said that your father was improving enough that you might spare the time?”

  Margaret made her hesitant reply in the affirmative just as they reached the door, leaving two astonished and humbled young women in their wake.

  Margaret’s eyes were cast over her shoulder until she was certain that the door had closed behind them. “Mrs Thornton,” she managed in a broken voice as they gained the street, “I beg you… you do not believe… that is, I-”

  “Hush, girl,” Hannah ordered from the side of her mouth, her eyes trained steadfastly forward. “I know my son. Come, we will not speak of this on the open street.”

  Margaret’s breath escaped in a shuddering, painful rush. “Thank you, Mrs Thornton!”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It had been some while since Margaret had partaken of Mrs Thornton’s hospitality. On those few occasions, she had been impressed by the opulent, yet somehow austere decor which composed the family’s drawing room. It was richly beautiful, but not welcoming. The room had seemed to her at the time to be of a piece with the severe, almost imperious family she had at first taken the Thorntons to be. Now, glancing around with the scales fallen from her eyes, she thought she understood.

  Hannah Thornton was savagely proud and protective of her son, and that esteem for him had compelled her to present a home which reflected his status in Milton society. It was, however, a relatively new position in the memories of the old Milton families. Like many other self-made men, his rise to prominence had been nearly meteoric, and almost overnight Hannah had found herself mistress of one of the finest homes in Milton. She had rapidly secured furnishings and draperies she cared nothing about so that she might portray the proper image, impressing the right people to pave her son’s way.

  Naturally she was proud of her home, of the fine things her son’s labour had purchased and the elegant taste which caused many to proclaim hers the most fashionable home in the district. Her heart and her light, however, were in the son who had been her helpmeet and comfort since her husband’s death. The home appeared uninviting because Mrs Thornton welcomed into her deepest affections only the one who had always been there.

  Margaret turned to her hostess as that lady took her own tea cup, her eyes now full of tender gratitude for the forbidding matron. “Thank you for having me, Mrs Thornton,” she repeated humbly, uncertain the lady had heard the first time.

  Hannah observed the young woman cynically as she stirred her tea. “You need have no fear of me, Miss Hale,” she surmised at last. “I did not believe a word of what was said.”

  Margaret drew a deep breath of relief. “I was certain you would not have, but it eases my mind to hear it.”

  “Indeed. It seems, Miss Hale, that we are presented with a problem. Apparently my son’s… ‘gift’... is known about town.”

  “I know I ought not to have accepted it!” she whispered miserably. “He was so thoughtful, and I did not wish-”

  “It is done,” Mrs Thornton stated with finality. At Margaret’s dejected expression, she softened. “It was his wish that you would accept, Miss Hale. He understood the risks as well as you or I, but he felt responsible and desired to do you a kindness. My son has never been one to shrink from his duties.
”

  Margaret nodded, blinking rapidly. “I know, Mrs Thornton.”

  “Then you know that he will not do so now.” Hannah took a long sip of her tea, not savouring what she had to say next. “Your reputation is compromised, Miss Hale.”

  Margaret looked up swiftly. “You do not think they would spread more rumours! After we exposed them today- and they saw us together! Surely they will be far too ashamed!”

  “I do not think that Draper woman,” Hannah retorted sourly, “knows the meaning of shame. However, it is not only they who are aware of the tea service. Mrs Hamper, and no doubt Mrs Slickson, must also be. I have never known either of them to exercise discretion with their tongues.”

  Margaret dropped her eyes sorrowfully to her tea. “‘Death and life are in the power of the tongue!’iii” she quoted bitterly into her cup, more to herself than to Mrs Thornton.

  Hannah’s lips curled into a crafty smile. “‘And they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof,’” she finished.

  Margaret peered more carefully at her hostess. Hannah met her eyes with a flinty coolness, but that novel smile still played about her mouth. Margaret began, reluctantly, to smile herself. Of all the peculiar allies to discover at her side, none could have been more unexpected- or more potent- than Hannah Thornton.

  She took another pensive swallow of her own tea, striving for rational thought. “I do not believe,” she proposed at last, “that it can truly be so widely spoken of. Even if it were, can we not simply let the truth be known? Mr Thornton has been a regular pupil of my father’s since we first arrived in Milton; everyone knows as much. Is it really so difficult to believe he might replace something which was broken?”

  Hannah leveled a grim stare, arching a brow in silence. Margaret sighed. “I suppose you are right. What must we do?”

  “You will have to marry my son, Miss Hale.”

  Margaret’s face flushed. Her eyes leapt to her hostess in a mixture of joy and trepidation. “But the mill! He cannot marry me, Mrs Thornton!”

  Hannah narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying you would refuse him… again?”

  “No! I mean… Mrs Thornton, if I were to accept, I would only injure him! I cannot! Oh, please, do promise me you will not speak to him of this?”

  “I am not in the habit,” she replied carefully, “of keeping information from my son- particularly where his own reputation might be concerned.”

  Margaret’s face pinched in some agony. “You heard as I did, Mrs Thornton,” she whispered. “It is not he who would suffer. No one would think the less of him….”

  “I would!” declared his mother vehemently. “I do not care to have my son’s name slandered in any case.”

  “Mrs Thornton,” she pleaded, “I beg you, do not bring this to his attention now! It would only trouble him the more, and it may all come to nothing, you know. I would not wish to obligate him... it may yet be that he will need… need more than I can offer, Mrs Thornton.”

  “If you think,” Hannah returned coldly, “that I would allow him to ally himself with that Hamilton clan after what that strumpet said today….”

  “Of course not!” Margaret soothed, her thoughts coming more clearly now. “Mrs Thornton, please forgive my candour, but am I wrong in thinking that the mill is facing rather substantial hardship?”

  Hannah’s eyes slitted suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

  Margaret bit her lip nervously, but forged on. “My father believes that J- that Mr Thornton is in great need of… of some other support… only because of the strike, of course!” she added quickly as she watched Mrs Thornton’s face harden. “I did not mean to imply that Mr Thornton had in any way mismanaged-”

  “Spare me your platitudes, Miss Hale,” Hannah snorted impatiently. “Come now, out with it! I can speak as frankly as you.”

  Margaret drew a tight breath and swallowed, boldly now facing the affronted mother. “Mr Thornton needs a supporter of sorts, and times are hard now. There are likely very few such to be found.”

  Hannah’s eyes flickered with savage ferocity, but then, as if in surrender, she lowered her gaze. “There are,” was the terse reply. “You have come to take an interest in Milton matters after all, Miss Hale,” she added drily.

  Margaret relaxed somewhat, sensing that perhaps Mrs Thornton might be reasoned with. “Even in London, I think, many are more interested in the war and rail companies just now than in cotton. Surely, however, there must be other wealthy heiresses in the kingdom, and… why, certainly, Mr Thornton is a fine gentleman, and might find favour with-” her breath caught as her heart lurched agonizingly. She swallowed and somehow found the courage to utter her final words. “While Mr Thornton remains unmarried, perhaps there are yet other opportunities for him to- to-” she choked on a sudden knot in her throat.

  “John will not marry for monetary advantage.” Hannah cut her off before she could recover. “Nor would he wish to be dependent upon inherited monies, plundered from a wife’s dowry! All of that matters little in any case. You know as well as I, Miss Hale, that he would have only you. I can see clearly that you wish the same, else you would not have suddenly taken such an interest in John’s mill! Why, Miss Hale, would you now presume to judge for my son what is best?”

  Margaret swept a hand before her eyes, wishing to tuck away her pain from Mrs Thornton’s penetrating gaze. “I do not presume, Mrs Thornton,” she rasped. “I only implore you- do not cause him to act hastily! I would not see him harmed; I am content to wait. If he should find it possible in the future to marry, and if he should still hold feelings for me-”

  Hannah made a derisive noise. “I think you underestimate the depth of my son’s feelings, Miss Hale, as well as his determination.”

  “He is also a man of duty, as you have said yourself,” Margaret countered gently. “Many depend upon him, and he bears that weight with honour. I would not have him betray that responsibility simply to protect me. I have faced scandal before, Mrs Thornton,” she finished softly.

  Hannah stared thoughtfully at the young woman before her. “Miss Hale,” she mused, “I did not approve of my son’s attachment to you.”

  Margaret swallowed. “I know, Mrs Thornton. You think me ungrateful and unworthy.”

  Hannah shook her head slightly. “I no longer do so. You are headstrong and foolhardy, I think. Perhaps, though, you may be the only woman in all of the kingdom who might, just possibly, be worthy of a man like my son.”

  Margaret’s heart skipped a beat. “I beg your pardon, Mrs Thornton?”

  Mrs Thornton was still contemplating her in some wonder. “You have courage and dignity, Miss Hale; moreover, you are the most selfless young lady I have encountered in a long while. I must respect that, though you are heartily imprudent and unreasonable.”

  Margaret tilted her head in confusion. “I… thank you?”

  Hannah sighed. “I will honour your wishes, Miss Hale, but only for now. I may choose to speak to my son if it is in his- or your- best interests. I did, after all, promise your mother that I would watch over you,” she finished kindly.

  Margaret stared in speechless amazement, then blinked away a sudden moisture from her eyes. “I appreciate that, Mrs Thornton. Thank you so much for your goodwill and your indulgence. I would not have been able to compose myself at all in the shop today, had it not been for your compassion.”

  Mrs Thornton’s eyes twinkled sagely. “Do not underestimate yourself so. You have more strength than you know… Margaret.”

  The two women could not have told later how long they sate together, but both, at their parting, found their spirits lightened and their understanding improved. Hannah watched from her sitting room window as the petite, dark-clad figure made its way to the outer gates.

  A heavy sigh left her. Mightily as she had striven to sustain and nurture her son, hoping to eliminate any desire he might have for a wife, she at last found herself replaced in his affections. She allowed the
drapes to fall when Margaret’s form disappeared behind the oaken gate.

  She turned away, her fingers touching thoughtfully to her lips. It is often the case when confronted with the very event one has dreaded and railed against, that its final revelation takes on a far less bitter taste than had formerly been expected. She no longer feared losing her son to Margaret Hale. Rather, she thought she might welcome the one who could procure his happiness. She might even be proud of a daughter with sense and courage. Perhaps not all of her hope and joy were to be lost, after all.

  She was suddenly seized with an irrational desire to once again set eyes on the flesh and blood woman, assuring herself that the genteel, humble young lady who had so recently graced her drawing room was not a phantom. Though her logical mind knew it to be futile, she snatched the drapes aside and peered hopefully toward the gates once more.

  Margaret, of course, did not materialize. What she did see, and what lent her the purpose she required, was John. He had only just entered the gates, likely missing Miss Hale’s departure by mere seconds, if at all. She studied his manner as he walked, and decided that his path had not crossed the young woman’s. Her heart ached to see him, dejected and weary as he made his way toward the mill doors.

  Hannah pressed her lips together in firm decision. She rang for her maid. “Jane,” she commanded when the girl arrived, “please bring my jewelry box from my vanity to me.”

  ~

  Mr Thornton was of several minds after he departed from Watson’s home. His strongest impulse and greatest desire was to rush immediately to Margaret’s door and declare himself. At the same time, he longed to seek out those whispering about Margaret and crush them- with words, or even fists, if necessary. The other urge at war within him was to return to the bank, to see if there were some detail he had overlooked, some asset he might yet leverage to secure the funds he needed.