Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  “You must not think ill of her, John,” the old man murmured. The creased stationery shook as Hale offered him the letter he had been clutching. “This arrived today from her.”

  John took the missive, which the father’s anguished hands had crumpled somewhat, and read in disbelief. “She thought she was protecting me!” he cried in denial. “It should not be for her to bear!” He continued to read. “Her aunt would not see her? Margaret does not deserve… why would she take it in her head to go?” he demanded of the weary father.

  “I could not persuade her to stay,” Hale mumbled, paralysed by his own loss and utterly unable to empathise with John’s outrage.

  Bell, who had been watching the commotion in some wonder, at last scoffed in impatience. “Come, Richard, stop all of this fuss. Thornton, man, clear your head!”

  John, indeed, had been so lost in his own self-loathing that he only gazed blindly at the letter. Did she really think he would be better off without her? She should not have taken such blame upon herself! He ought never to have been persuaded to stay away! Bell’s words, however, broke through the haze clouding his thoughts and he looked back to the anxious father.

  Hale lifted his face to his favourite pupil and steady friend. “John, my son… bring her back. Bring back my daughter!”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Gilbert Hodges had been the butler in this Harley Street home for three and twenty years. He had opened the door for the pretty young Mrs Shaw when her much older husband had first brought her here, and he had ordered carriages when the new Mrs Lennox had celebrated her own marriage in this house. He had been one of only a handful of household staff left to keep up the place when the family had been away for over a year, and he had been the one to welcome them all back at their return.

  A butler got to know the family he worked for. Mistress Shaw was proper and everything fashionable, and her people might be proud to claim her employment. The younger lady- the true heir to the home- was light-hearted and kind, and easily directed, while her husband the captain was content to allow the household to flow as it always had.

  The enigma, and the one who had long intrigued Hodges the most, was the cousin. It had always cheered him when little Margaret would return in the fall after the summers in the country with her parents. She tended to be grave and steady, in contrast to her more frivolous cousin. Hodges had, on more than one occasion, discovered the young miss tucked away in the service staircase with a book, so that she might enjoy it without interruption.

  He had struck up a kindly friendship with the little girl, and as he had with the younger mistress, had watched her grow into a graceful woman. Always she had retained something of that far-away quality; in the world, but not of it, as the saying went. That was not to say that she was oblivious to her surroundings. If he had been forced to describe it, he might have said that she cared little for people- their name or their place in society- but was deeply sensitive to persons. She was fascinating to watch.

  On this particular late afternoon, he was passing by the library in the normal course of his duties when he discovered her in a most mournful posture. She was seated upon the floor, of all places, her head and arms prostrate over the cushions of the sofa. Under her hand, predictably, was a book, but he did not see the title- nor could he have understood the significance of Plato to her if he had.

  He rapped slightly upon the door as he entered. “Miss Hale, forgive my interruption, but is there something I can do for you?”

  She lifted her head, and he could clearly see the evidence of a long battle with tears streaked over her face. This alarmed him, for though Miss Hale’s nature was not as boisterous as her cousin, neither had she been prone to fits of depression. She was always balanced and sensible, and to know that something had shaken her so troubled him greatly.

  “Miss Hale! Shall I call Mrs Lennox to come to you?” he inquired kindly.

  “No, thank you Hodges,” she shook her head. He came near and offered his hand to help her rise, looking away as she sorted out her tangled skirts. “I am only weary, that is all,” she explained at last.

  “Of course, Miss,” he bowed very slightly. “Would you like some tea, or perhaps some warm chocolate?” His eye twinkled cheerfully as he made the suggestion. It had always been her favourite treat as a child, and well did he remember it.

  She returned a wistful smile. “No, thank you, Hodges. I am afraid that chocolate will not help today.”

  “Miss Hale,” he frowned uncomfortably, glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone else was about, and recklessly decided to plunge forward. “Naturally it is no concern of mine, but this awkward business in the papers… I beg you would pay it no mind, Miss. I have heard no one in this house speak against you. I do not think anyone believes a word of it.”

  Her eyes lowered. “I know, Hodges. It will all come right in time, but… thank you.”

  His heart went out to the poor girl. What a year she had had of it! There was little an old butler could offer a young lady in the way of comfort, but clearly she had a heavy burden on her mind. “Shall I send one of the maids to you?” he offered hesitantly, unsure what that effort could hope to accomplish, but wishing to do something.

  “No, thank you,” she answered. She blinked, as if struck by inspiration, and her chin lifted in swift resolution. “I think I should like to take a walk.”

  “It is raining, Miss Hale!” he objected. “If it is fresh air you seek, would you not prefer an outing in the carriage?”

  “No,” she declared firmly. “I prefer to walk, and I would like some time alone, Hodges.” She leveled an assertive gaze at him, ensuring that he understood her properly.

  “As you wish, Miss Hale,” he relented. Mrs Shaw would be most distressed, but it was not his place to prevent her going. It would certainly not be the first time in his experience that she had done so.

  A short span of a dozen minutes saw her out of the door. Hodges peered unhappily out into the downpour, but possessed too much the dignity of his post to display any outward signs of disapproval. He certainly hoped the young lady knew what she was about!

  Some twenty minutes later, the bell was rung, and Hodges answered to its summons himself. If it were the dripping young lady returned from her walk, it would not do for the rest of the household to see her thus! On the doorstep, however, he discovered not a shivering Miss Hale, but a rather large, coarse-looking fellow he had never seen before.

  Slightly annoyed, he greeted the man stiffly. “Solicitations to the back door, please.” He began to close the door, but the man’s raised voice objected.

  “I have come to see Miss Hale, please!”

  Hodges paused and took a second look at the man. He was clearly a tradesman of some manner, and he spoke in that wild northern dialect, but his enunciation was clear enough. Perhaps an educated tradesman, then. “I am sorry, sir, but Miss Hale is not available at present,” he replied with all hauteur.

  The man’s face expressed clearly that he had expected such a response. “I believe she will see me, even if she is not taking other callers. Will you please tell her that John Thornton wishes to see her?”

  This name caused the butler to look at the man full in the face, examining him carefully. He had heard the name whispered among the servants as Miss Hale’s intended, but none knew any specifics about the fellow. He could certainly see why! Miss Hale betrothed to a tradesman? The very notion was offensive! That such a delicate flower should be thrown away on one who could not appreciate her worth was unpardonable! Hodges straightened, aware that it was not he who had the right to oppose such a match, but feeling it his duty to protect the young lady where he may.

  “I am sorry, sir, but that is impossible at present. The young lady is not available at all,” he explained.

  At this response, the caller’s eyes took on a sudden clarity. “She has gone walking. Do you know when you expect her to return?”

  Hodges frowned,
surprised that the man seemed to anticipate the young lady’s movements. Indeed, he must at least be well acquainted with her. “I do not, sir. In this weather, I should have looked for her to return already.”

  The man- Thornton- actually smiled despite the evident worry in his demeanour. “Not if I know Margaret,” was the softly voiced reply. He looked over his shoulder to the street, clearly not feeling comfortable asking to wait for the lady within the house. “I shall call again in perhaps an hour,” he decided, his entire bearing reluctant.

  “If I may, sir….” Hodges stopped the man as he began to retreat down the steps.

  Thornton stopped. “Yes?”

  Hodges studied him for one final second, reading the disappointed hope in the man’s eyes and finally matching it to the despondency he had lately witnessed from the young lady. “I may suggest, sir, that if you should so choose, there is a rather pleasant park three blocks to the south. You may find it an agreeable means of passing the time, if you can tolerate the rain.”

  The light of understanding flickered in the tall man’s eyes. “I thank you, sir!” he answered eagerly. Hodges watched him stride away, his steps light and impatient. He closed the door, but determined to stand by himself to answer it once again. He wished to be assured of the young lady’s pleasure with his own eyes when she came back on Thornton’s arm.

  ~

  Margaret had chosen an ornate little stone bench beneath a sprawling pine; one of the few varieties in this park whose branches still afforded some protection in the barren winter months. It was cold, she admitted, and miserable. Little wonder that not another soul had ventured out on a pleasure walk today! It was exactly as she would have wished.

  The tears came again then, in this private place where she could be assured that no unsympathetic ear might be troubled. She could not depend upon Edith to allow her to explore her second thoughts or her ponderous cares, for Edith could not bear to look into sorrow without turning from it in discomfort. Margaret had learned in this past year to embrace it for what it did offer her- an opportunity to reflect upon her regrets, and how she might on another occasion do better.

  Why, she chided herself, was I persuaded to leave Milton? Distanced now from the immediacy of all that she had feared, the looming giant of sure ruination and calamity seemed but a fuming toddler when compared to what she had done. She had betrayed John.

  In her very efforts to shield him from herself and the swath of destruction which presently followed her, she had effectively lost faith in his ability to prevail, to beat back his circumstances and claim the victory. What greater disloyalty could she have exhibited? He had asked nothing more of her than her faith, and she had failed him! Tears mingled with the raindrops pattering over her skirts.

  If Mr Hamilton had a shred of honour within him, and if Mason had meant his assurances, she should soon be exonerated of wrongdoing, but at what price? The trust that she and John had so slowly built with one another was now damaged. That was the worst of it! He might have been brought to understand the urgency with which she had left town, if she had only found the courage to tell him of it. She had known, however, that he never would have permitted her to make such a sacrifice. Had he known what she intended, he would have employed any means to stop her, including actions which would doubtless only expose him further.

  She closed her eyes, squeezing out more tears and lowering the brim of her hat to shield her face. She could not bear even for the elements to witness her degradation! One thing only remained for her to do- she must make it right. Was it too soon to return to Milton? Would she only make matters worse? Was John even aware yet that she had gone? Poor John! What a shock it would be for him when he discovered her absence!

  “Excuse me, Miss,” a rich voice interrupted her reverie. “I was wondering if I might share your umbrella?”

  Gasping in recognition, she had fairly leapt to her feet before she had quite recovered her powers of speech. “John!” she cried, tumbling into his arms. She burrowed her face into his wet coat as far as her hat would allow, wrapping her arms tightly about his neck. “Forgive me, John!” she sobbed into his chest.

  John was grimacing in pain. “Ah, Love, not so tightly!” he groaned.

  Startled, she jumped back. “Oh! I nearly forgot! Are you not much better?”

  “My entire world is better now,” he sighed, taking her gently into his arms again. “Please do not ever leave me again, my Margaret.”

  She shook her head vehemently against his coat sleeve. “Never again!” she agreed. “Oh, John, I am so sorry! I do not deserve….”

  “Lift your head, love,” he whispered to her ear. When she did so, he tenderly cupped her cheek in his hand. “Listen to me, Margaret. If either of us was undeserving, it was me. It was my own failings, not yours, which occasioned such trouble. It is for me to ask forgiveness!”

  Margaret had tipped her head back to look him full in the face as he was speaking, but scarcely had he finished when she arched up to her toes and pulled him down to her.

  For long minutes, the air all about them misted with the warmth of their shared breath, and the only sound to be heard was the soft, insulating patter of the rain in the trees. John held the woman he loved tightly within the sanctuary of his embrace, as if at any moment the world might intrude to snatch her from him once more. He worked his way up her jaw until his mouth hovered over her ear, and in a hoarse voice, murmured his plea. “Come home with me, Margaret.”

  She began to nod wordlessly, but then her eyes widened in realization. “The investigation! John, is it not too soon?”

  He gave a short, rueful laugh. “It is all settled, but I fear you will think the less of me when you discover how.”

  She tilted her head curiously, and he released a long sigh. “Hamilton expected me this morning to sign his contract and to speak to his daughter. I arrived on schedule, which I think gave him reason to believe I had decided to cooperate. However,” here, his face took on an aggrieved look, “I think I may have misled the lady to think I had come for quite a different reason than my true purpose.”

  “You did not deceive her, surely!”

  “Not precisely,” he cringed, not at all proud of himself. “I was rather cordial, hoping only to obtain her assistance. I am afraid I disappointed her in the extreme with what I had to say,” he sighed again, “but I asked a very great thing of her, a thing which I ought never to have demanded of any young woman.”

  “John!” Margaret’s stiffened in apprehension. “What is this dreadful thing?”

  “I made her to defy her father, jeopardizing her own security, and, I am afraid, permanently disrupting any chance at harmony between father and daughter.”

  Margaret regarded him in some confusion. “I do not understand. What could you have asked of her?”

  His mouth tugged wryly. “I asked her to provide Mason with two witness statements- one in your behalf, vouching for your innocence in the fraud- and one a charge against her father, exposing his attempts to intimidate and coerce you into doing as he wished. After she had signed the statements in duplicate, we had them taken directly to both Mason and Davenport… and then we went to inform her father of what she had done. He was… displeased.” His face twisted into a pained grimace. “I lost my temper most fearfully, and may possibly have given him cause to send me before the magistrates, but only if he is not too ashamed to do so.”

  Margaret drew back in alarm. “John, you did not attack the man, did you?”

  He cleared his throat. “I suppose you might say I was defending Miss Hamilton from her father’s wrath. I think I might have broken one of his teeth, for I have a dreadful cut just here.” He lifted his wounded appendage in a weak attempt at sympathy, but found very little.

  “That is appalling!”

  “Abominable, I know,” he agreed seriously. “I have the manners of a barbarian. You really ought to keep better company, Margaret.”

  She scoffed impati
ently. “I meant about having to protect his daughter from him! Poor Genevieve… what is she to do? Has she anywhere to go?”

  “I think the young lady is even now on a train to visit some distant relative she claimed in Leicester.”

  Margaret was pale from the shock of it. “I still cannot believe she would go against her own father! How did you persuade her to it?”

  He shrugged lightly. “She is not a bad sort, after all. I may have tugged a little on the lady’s sympathies by sharing my own woeful tale of heartbreak and true love,” he grinned widely and clasped his hand over his heart with exaggerated affectation. “She has more compassion than Fanny, I will say that for the lady.”

  “John!” Margaret cried, still suffering some in horror despite his jest. “Her father might very well cut her off entirely! Why, this could ruin all of her prospects!”

  “She knew that, but in the end I think she believed she owed it to you. She felt badly about losing your friendship, Margaret. I think she has had few such genuine companions.”

  Margaret blinked and set her jaw in determination. “Then I- we- shall do all we can for her. I insist, John- though, at present, I do not know what that can be!”

  Smiling, he tugged her back into his arms once more. “I thought you might feel that way. I think when I tell you the rest of what I have to say, you will be able to think of some ideas.”

  Puzzled, she frowned. “What can you mean by that?”

  His smile grew wider. “Mr Bell came looking for the both of us this morning. Apparently, as soon as we wed, he intends to sign the deed to the mill property over to you. So, I was thinking, Margaret, would you object to obtaining a special license while we are here in Town? The sooner we marry,” he intoned with all seriousness, “the sooner all of the hands can get back to work.”

  “What?” she laughed. “Do you mean that we would own the mill?”

  “I can scarcely believe it myself, but it is true. The buildings are to be repaired, and Mr Bell also intends to set up a generous bank account in your name, with, as he says, the remaining balance to come to you at his death. Did you know he owns three whole blocks of commercial buildings in addition to the mill?”