Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  Nicholas nodded. “I ‘spect she is.”

  Margaret was, indeed, at the Higgins’ home. There was much to care for there, and she had formed a fast friendship with Mildred Sacks- a soft-spoken woman with a backbone of iron. Margaret liked her immensely, and pitied her for the dreadful way many treated her on behalf of her late husband. Her younger children- the oldest just barely old enough for factory work- had fallen into league easily enough with the orphaned Boucher children. The strain, quite naturally, came rather from the families’ limited resources than any lack of goodwill.

  Little Jenny always accosted Margaret as soon as she had walked in the door, demanding rather bluntly that Margaret tell her all of the details of Mr Thornton’s recovery. The little girl quite fancied him, and though she denied it when her brother teased her, she had shed many a tear for the nice man with the wonderful voice who had taken an interest in her.

  On this day, as her father arrived with Higgins, Margaret had been just preparing to start out again. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “Father, Mrs Thornton sent me a note asking me to call at four-o’clock. I was planning to go now, before I return home. Did you wish to come?” She eyed him dubiously, thinking that he had already exerted himself enough for one day. He and John took such great comfort in one another’s company, however, that she hated denying his wishes.

  Mr Hale stood a little bewildered, pondering her offer. He was already quite breathless from this latest walk, despite his improving strength, and knew enough to think that another long cold walk of several miles would not do him good.

  “We could take a cab,” she suggested hesitantly.

  “No… no, my dear,” he sighed. “We ought to spare the expense. I shall rest here briefly, and then see you at home.”

  “I’ll walk wi’ yo’, sir,” Nicholas offered smartly. “But set and rest a bit.”

  “Thank you, Nicholas,” he smiled weakly. “Perhaps I could take your place at reading to the children, Margaret.”

  She moved to accommodate him, but before taking her hat and coat to depart, she drew Nicholas aside. “What word?” she whispered.

  Nicholas Higgins frowned and decided it was betraying no duty or loyalty to share with her all of the news of the Union meeting. She was not, after all, the wife of the master of Marlborough Mills, as she might have been. She was merely his friend, Miss Hale, and her concerns were as genuine as his own. That she would turn about and repeat everything he told her to John Thornton, he had no doubt, but since his former nemesis was no longer an employer, it mattered little. Reluctantly he shared with her all that had been said, and all that he feared for the coming weeks.

  She closed her eyes in real sorrow before resting a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Nicholas. I must go to John now before it grows any later, but I plan to return tomorrow.”

  “Aye, Lass. Give the master my r’gards.”

  Margaret smiled sadly. “He is not the master now, Nicholas.”

  He laughed wryly. “Long’s ‘e’s breath, Miss, Thornton’ll be a master. ‘E’ll ne’er be otherwise.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Margaret walked slowly, not out of a lack of desire to see John, but out of curiosity at the faces she encountered. The streets were beginning to show some of the same early signs of tension which had led up to the strikes, so many months ago. Sensitive now to the things which she had been blind to before, Margaret made it a point to sample the climate on the streets whenever she left the house.

  She was well-recognized now, where she had not been before. Word of her enduring friendship with Nicholas Higgins had endeared her to many of the working class, and for some while she had been used to friendly greetings along her way. Lately, however, the countenances she met were increasingly turned inward with dread.

  Hannah Thornton met her at the door, and if it were possible, her face too, was more drawn than it had been. Margaret greeted her warmly as she removed her cloak. “I received your note. Has something happened?”

  Hannah’s eyes shifted to the maid who had entered behind her. “That will be all for now, Jane.”

  Margaret’s stomach tingled with foreboding. She waited for the door to close and looked expectantly back to John’s mother. Mrs Thornton blew out a weary breath, and before Margaret’s troubled eyes the woman transformed from the proud matron of majestic grandeur to the diminished widow who knew not where she would lay her head in a month’s time.

  “Come,” she offered graciously. “Let us sit a moment, and then you may tell me.” As Hannah had once extended comfort and strength to her, Margaret now found herself able to return the gesture. She took the woman’s arm and together they strode to the dining room, Hannah’s favourite room of the house. Margaret helped her to a seat.

  Hannah took a moment to collect herself, then looked her future daughter full in the face. “John has finally had word from Mr Bell.”

  Margaret straightened. This hardly sounded like the dreadful news she had prepared herself for! “What does he write?”

  “You might say it is better news than any had dared to hope. It seems that Mr Bell had years ago taken out an insurance policy covering the structures here. John never knew about it, but apparently Mr Bell thought to protect his own interests. Industrial accidents are not at all uncommon, you must know, and though the policy cost him a great deal, he felt it a better strategy than to go without.”

  Margaret’s expression had grown brighter with every word Hannah spoke. “Why, that is wonderful news! The mill may be rebuilt after all! However…” her face clouded, “the destruction was an act of sabotage, not an accident. Will the policy be honoured?”

  “Well, it seems that was a part of the reason Mr Bell had delayed his response. The policy protects him, as a landlord, not John. Mr Bell’s interests are in the structures, and as they were destroyed while under lease, and Mr Bell retained the services of a skilled attorney, the underwriters were obliged at last to authorize payment for the damages to be issued.”

  Margaret’s eyes narrowed. “You say only that the structures are covered. I take that to mean that the looms and the boiler will not be replaced?”

  Hannah nodded tiredly. “And the combers. That wing was damaged, too.”

  Margaret’s dropped her gaze in long thought. “How are they to be replaced? Are they very costly?”

  Hannah snorted. “Costly, and collateral. The bank will have their repayment before John can even think of purchasing more. However,” her voice turned more serious, “it will not come to that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Hannah shifted uncomfortably. “The underwriters of Mr Bell’s policy have made an unusual stipulation. The mill is to be let to another.”

  Hannah had never before been privy to the passionate indignation which had marked one of two of John’s more memorable encounters with Margaret. Now, however, she witnessed a breathtaking transformation. Gold flecks flashed in her green eyes, rage blossomed over her cheeks, her fine nostrils dilated, and it seemed almost that she grew in stature. If Mrs Thornton had ever doubted Miss Hale’s fire and grit, she did so no longer.

  Margaret’s slender fist crashed down on Hannah’s dining table. “Why?” she demanded. “Do they blame John for all of this? Do they not know he is the most capable master in the city, the one who knows this mill the best? Do they not understand what he had already achieved here?”

  “I doubt they care,” the mother smirked drily. “Only that someone must be held to account, and that someone can be no other than the master.”

  “But it makes no sense! What could another do that John cannot?”

  “You and I both know this, girl, but those men in their suits in London know only their bottom line. They will not honour the policy unless Mr Bell seeks another tenant. Once he does so, they will issue payment for the repairs under that individual’s name.”

  Margaret’s lips were pressed into a determined scowl. “And it will be even longer before
the mill can work again! What does John plan to do?”

  “What can he do? He must give up the lease, as he intended to do in the first place. I think he is relieved at least to hear that a start can be made at restoring the mill so that it may all the sooner become operational under the authority of another. My son is not vain or selfish,” she asserted with a twinge of her old pride.

  “No, he is not,” Margaret agreed stoutly. “It is a hard blow, though! Is he taking all of this well?”

  Hannah’s lined mouth softened. “One who knew him less would think so. I doubt you would be fooled, so I shall not even try to pretend it.”

  The pair of women joined together in commiserating silence for a time. Neither the pretense of taking refreshments nor the effort of hollow platitudes were necessary, for they had at last come to acknowledge the commonalities they shared. Both would give over every remnant of their own gratification had it only brought him the least measure of contentment. For a man who gloried in his work and the glad satisfaction of leaving the world improved by his energies, to have the opportunities created by his youthful ambition snatched from him seemed too harsh a fate.

  After a long spell, Hannah spoke again. “There is more, and I cannot say if aught will come of it. Mr Hamilton sent over a note, asking if he might call on John in the morning.”

  At this, Margaret’s lips puckered in suspicion. “What does John think?”

  “You may ask him yourself,” the older woman sighed. “He is in his study.”

  Margaret’s jaw dropped, aghast. “His study! I thought he had been remanded to his bed for the duration of his recovery!”

  Hannah gave a low grunt. “He has not remained in his bed since Christmas Day! Dr Donaldson was most vexed when he found John had cut the binding from his ribs and has been wandering about on his feet. He does seem to be improving more rapidly, and his breathing sounds less laboured, but do not tell him that I admitted as much.”

  “Oh, indeed I shall not!” Margaret declared. She rose and began to sweep away in her exasperated grace, but some sudden impulse caused her to return. Placing her hands timorously on Hannah’s shoulders, she leaned down to touch a quick, impetuous kiss on the older woman’s cheek before hurrying off to see John.

  Stupefied, Hannah watched her go. “Well!” she huffed to herself. “If I haven’t gone and fallen under her spell! I said I never should, but she’s bewitched me for all of that. She’s a match for my John, and that’s a deal for me to say!”

  ~

  “John Thornton!”

  The crisp, irritated inflection in the beloved voice jerked his spine to attention even as he was trying to ease himself into a more relaxed position. He reflexively dropped the ledgers he was studying, which alteration to his carefully balanced posture- however minute- triggered another jolt through his torso and left him breathless. An excruciating snapping sensation in the next instant drew an agonized groan from his lips, and it was two or three full seconds before he could brace himself to turn around.

  Margaret had already crossed the room to him, contrition drastically softening her manner. “Oh, John, I did not mean to surprise you!”

  He growled, barely in control of his pain, and not above extracting a full apology. “You most assuredly did, Madam! I shall demand restitution, you know, and if I remember correctly, you are already once in my debt. I should think that nothing less than your most convincing grovel will do.”

  She crossed her arms and leveled a cynical stare at him. “I am not good at groveling. What are you doing up and about, sir?”

  “Not so hasty, Miss Hale. Let us return to the severe pain you have just caused me! If you cannot grovel, I shall have to think of another form of remuneration.”

  “While you thus employ yourself, I will ask again. I thought you were to be resting, yet I find you attempting to work!”

  “You would not have found me so, had I any knowledge you were expected,” he winked rakishly. “I would have packed myself off to my room with an ice bag on my head and a mournful expression upon my face. Surely you would have taken great pity on me and bestowed your very tenderest mercies.”

  “It is too late, John, for you have lost my sympathy.”

  “Oh!” he mimicked stabbing himself through the heart- very gently, of course. “You are a cruel woman, Margaret! You must try to comfort me in exchange for your harsh words.”

  She glared at him, but the amusement dancing in her eyes soon overcame her annoyance, and she gave way to her mirth. She bowed her head, kneading her brow in defeat. “What am I to do with you!” she laughed.

  The victor grinned mercilessly. “Come here and greet me properly, of course.”

  “I hardly think what you have in mind is ‘proper’.”

  “No harm in finding out for sure,” he maintained, still smiling cunningly. “Ah!” he cringed as she came near and started to hesitantly reach for him. “Not there, Love,” he groaned between clenched teeth.

  Margaret’s hands hovered uncertainly near his shoulders, but he flinched again. “Oh, your burns!” she winced in sympathy. She drew back helplessly. “It is no good! You are wounded everywhere!”

  “Not quite,” he smiled and gingerly reached for her. At last he dared to extend his arms just enough to rest his fingertips at her hips- such a pity that a more civilized posture would cause him even greater pain- and carefully kissed her forehead. He lingered a long while, catching his breath and reassuring himself that she really was there, loving him for all her scolding words, and that she really had promised him her future.

  “What brings you to me today, Love?” he murmured into her hairline.

  “Your mother sent for me. She told me about Mr Bell’s insurance policy.”

  A slow whiff of his exhaled breath stirred through her hair, causing the back of her neck to prickle. He pulled back somewhat, his smile still rigidly in place, but there was a tightness around his eyes. “Yes, it is good news, is it not?”

  “John, you need not feign happiness with me. I am sorry that you were cut so.”

  He would have offered a careless shrug, had it not been so painful. “It changes nothing for me, save that I must only repay Bell for the premium on his policy rather than the damages to his buildings. I had difficulties enough before all of this! I would never be able to replace the equipment.”

  “Do you think that Mr Hamilton intends to make you an offer of some kind?”

  “Naturally. If it is anything like the last ‘offer’ he made me, it will not even be worth my while to listen.” He slitted his eyes, his jaw tense, but Margaret’s warm hand soon slid over his face.

  “John,” she whispered gently. Instantly he was all hers again. What he would have given to be able to crush her to him, to have her hold fast to him in his trials! His fingers crept more intimately along the curve of her hips, and very slowly he slanted his face down to hers. Sweetly, tenderly, she allowed him to seek his comfort. She curled her arms round his head, twisting her fingers deeply into his hair. For this moment, at least, there was only her.

  “Aye, my Margaret,” he breathed into her neck. “I’ve no idea how I ever survived without your kisses!” He trailed dusty caresses over the top ridges of her ear for emphasis.

  Margaret shivered deliciously, arching up as high as she could reach so he did not have to bend so far to her. “You were a good deal harder to manage,” she teased, gasping as he nibbled down her throat. “I think I have at long last discovered the secret means of controlling the indominatable John Thornton.”

  “You have possessed that secret for many months, Love. It is a pity you have only recently begun to employ it!” His lips traced a sweeping arch from her ear and over her delicate brows, imprinting his senses with the feel of her. How he had missed her! All at once, he raised himself away from her face. “Margaret, does it trouble you that I wish so much to hold you as we are?”

  “Trouble me?” her muffled voice spoke against his jaw. �
��Why should it?”

  “It is not the way of good society,” he confessed.

  An amused warmth lit her eyes. “I have long since given over the thought of you ever behaving with propriety.”

  “You do not feel I take advantage of you?” he inquired, his tone becoming more serious.

  She shook her head gently. “No, John. I am not afraid to touch you, as some might say I ought to be. Growing up in London, it was sometimes days on end before one would feel an affectionate touch. It was sorely wanted at times! I would share this with you every day, and if by holding you for a time, I can bring you some little comfort, then I am glad.”

  Relieved, he lowered his face once more into the hollow of her neck- dash the pain in his chest, it was worth it all to explore the lavish bounty of her tenderness. He took his time about returning to her lips, but once there he lingered for a divine respite from all of his other cares. Reason, however, dictated that he must in the end stop. She was not yet his wife, and cost him what it may, he would not disgrace her.

  “I expect,” he pressed a last retreating kiss to the tip of her nose as his mind turned purposely to duller matters, “that you have spoken lately to Higgins?”

  She nodded, nibbling her upper lip in apprehension.

  “And what does he say about the most recent Union meeting?”

  She glanced up in surprise. “How did you know there was a meeting? It only happened today!”

  “They have to have some place to assemble, and most of the guest lecturers at the Lyceum Hall are rather territorial about their time. They took over your father’s lecture hour again, did they not?”

  She gave a little huff. “Indeed. Of course you would have expected that!” She sighed and told him all that Nicholas had conveyed to her.

  He shook his head, his eyes misting over in thought. “Would that I had a way to reopen the mill in my own right! Troubled or no, it would provide everyone with some income during the winter. I fear for what may happen if Hamilton takes over the mill, as I believe he wishes to do.”