In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (9 page)

Margaret returned his smile weakly, feeling very much averse to discussing her situation any further. She longed for some time alone so that she might have the opportunity to digest all that had occurred since the tumultuous events of yesterday. She did not know whether to rejoice or to recoil in trepidation at what lay ahead of her.

Entering the room her father had just vacated, she found her mother very much alert, sitting in her preferred cushioned chair with Dixon standing at the ready nearby.

“Margaret!” her mother enthused at the sight of her. There was an energy in her voice that Margaret had not heard in months. “It’s quite a surprise, isn’t it — Mr. Thornton offering for you?” she remarked with a measure of disbelief.

“It is,” Margaret responded with amazing calm, not wishing to reveal anything of the flood of doubts and uncertainties that threatened to undo her.

                  
“You have done very well, I believe. Although he is not a proper gentleman, he is very well respected in Milton,” she reasoned thoughtfully. At this, a huff of disparagement was heard from the loyal servant who felt it was a tragedy that her mistress had been brought to live in Milton. The brief censure was ignored.

                  
“And to think I had once thought of pairing you with Edward Gorman,” her mother continued. “Do you remember the Gormans of Southampton, Margaret? They were carriage manufacturers, but I don’t think they were quite so wealthy or powerful as Mr. Thornton,” she remarked, thinking out loud as she contemplated her daughter’s level of success.

                  
“In any case, it is very pleasing for me to think that you shall be well cared for, my dear,” she confided, her eyes revealing a melancholy at the thought of a future she might not see. “Of course it also means that you will be making a permanent home here in Milton,” she added, searching her daughter’s face for any sign of regret. She remembered well how Margaret had disparaged this city in front of Mr. Thornton at tea months ago.

                  
“Yes,” Margaret replied hollowly. She did not know how she felt about it. She had initially yearned to return to Helstone in those early months, longing for the life of her childhood. But she had come to realize that pining for the past would only bring unhappiness and had resolved to make the best of things in her present place. She had grown to appreciate the energy and promise of this city. She doubted Mr. Thornton would ever leave Milton. It would be her home for life.

                  
“We must invite Mr. Thornton to dinner tomorrow evening,” her mother announced officiously, pleased to have formal arrangements to consider. “Dixon, you must prepare a roast and make your delicious custard,” she instructed, her mind already whirling with the necessary preparations.

                  
Dixon took a deep breath, but only nodded in compliance with her mistress’s commands. She was loath to work herself to the bone to welcome a Milton manufacturer to the family, but could not help but be pleased to see the frail woman animated with a purpose.

                  
Margaret excused herself to visit Bessy, promising that she would return to help Dixon ready the house for the next day’s occasion. Her mother nodded her acknowledgment, but had already set her attention upon composing a formal invitation.

                  
*****

                  
Mr. Thornton could not contain his exuberance, and with every stride of his long limbs felt the shackles of a gloomy past falling away, the future now gloriously unveiled to him.
She had accepted him!
His head reeled with this simple fact, the words resounding within him again and again in a joyous refrain —
she had accepted him!
She had not thrown herself into his arms or confessed her undying affections, but it did not signify at this moment. He had time to win her love, for she had promised to marry him.

                  
He could almost laugh out loud, so agog was he at his fortune. And although he reined in his euphoria to avoid the stares of passersby, a short burst of air escaped his lips in unconstrained joy and wonderment. The corners of his mouth were curled into a fixed smile that transformed the Master’s face into one of effusive contentment, attracting the curious glances of those accustomed to the forbidding scowl of the respected manufacturer.

                  
Mr. Bell caught sight of the tall mill owner from across the street, at once intrigued by the younger man’s obvious pleasure. “Thornton!” he called out as he carefully crossed the cobbled street to approach him.

                  
Mr. Thornton stopped and tipped his hat politely at his landlord. The Master had known and respected the Oxford scholar for many years. “Mr. Bell,” he responded with an air of caution, wary of the gentleman’s more meddlesome ways.

                  
“Congratulations, Thornton,” the wealthy landowner said with a knowing satisfaction.

                  
Mr. Thornton’s brow contracted in confusion, his eyes focused intently on the elder gentleman.

                  
Mr. Bell’s lips twitched as he studied the Master’s face. “I hear the strike has ended. You must be pleased,” he elaborated, observing the other man relax in sudden comprehension.

                  
“Yes, of course, but there is still much to be done,” Mr. Thornton replied, once again the serious manufacturer.

                  
“Of course, of course. I shan’t keep you then. You are a busy man,” Mr. Bell responded with a slight smirk.

                  
Mr. Thornton tipped his hat again toward the elder gentleman before resuming a more staid stride toward his mill.

                  
Mr. Bell watched Thornton’s tall figure retreat for a brief moment while his mind whirled with speculation. His suspicions were aroused as to why such a busy man should be so far from his factory and closer to the Hales’ residence. He had seen the kindling of unspoken admiration in Thornton’s eyes when Margaret had greeted the Master at his dinner party, and it had been his devilish pleasure to observe the sparks of contention fly between two such passionate natures as theirs during the meal’s first course. A suggestive smile crept over his face as he surmised that the reason for Thornton’s extraordinary contentment might indeed reside in Crampton.

                  
*****

                  
As the Master entered the broken gates of his property, he was sorely tempted to retreat to his office to contemplate the astounding implications of what had just occurred. But he knew that his mother would be waiting to receive his news, so he turned himself toward the gray stone building that had been his home for the past twelve years.

                  
Mrs. Thornton halted her sewing at the first sound of her son’s entry into the house and knew at once by the spry footsteps on the stairs that he had succeeded in his object. She took a long breath to prepare herself.

                  
Her eyes followed him as he quietly walked to the window to look over his domain.

                  
Mr. Thornton gazed out at the mill yard, the scrabble and noise of industry below a comfort to him after the weeks of silence. A soft smile illuminated his countenance as he breathed deeply his contentment. Today the world was at his command. All that he could ever want was within his grasp. With Margaret promised to be his bride, his future spread gloriously before him a brilliant panorama of endless splendor.

                  
“You’ve returned from Crampton then?” his mother prompted, breaking the silence.

                  
“Yes,” he answered as he turned to face her, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at his lips.

                  
Mrs. Thornton’s stomach turned at his blithe expression, and tensed to hear the confirmation of his betrothal. “She has accepted you,” she offered calmly as fact.

                  
“She has,” he returned, a thrill of elation sweeping over him as he said it. He moved to stand before her, endeavoring to temper, for her sake, the bounding zeal that swelled through him at this moment.

                  
She averted her gaze, disconcerted by his glad triumph in an arrangement that would sunder the close ties between them. “When do you marry?” she queried, the words feeling stiff and uncomfortable as she spoke them.  

                  
A look of uncertainty flitted across his features, creasing his brow. “I don’t know,” he answered. He had not given thought to a date; it was enough to know that she would be his.

                  
“I suppose next spring will be soon enough. I’m sure Margaret will want time to plan a grand wedding,” the austere widow declared, presuming that her son had been caught for his wealth and prestige.

                  
“I’m certain there is no need for a grand wedding,” the eager lover countered, a cold chill seeping through his veins at the thought of a long engagement.

                  
His mother studied his face, discerning with a twinge of jealousy the impatient yearning seething beneath his placid demeanor. Her heart fell to recognize that he had fallen hard for the brazen young girl from Hampshire. “You are content to have her as your wife,” she pronounced evenly, resolved to confront the truth.

                  
He crouched down before her, and with imploring eyes of purest blue, sought her blessing. “Mother, will you not be happy for me? You know that this is what I have wanted. I fear I cannot contain my happiness; my life, I feel, will forevermore be full of light,” he breathed with honest fervor.

                  
Her icy stoicism melted at his earnest plea, and she reached out to caress his cheek. She saw before her the boy who had sacrificed and toiled for many years with little reprieve. “I will be happy for you, John. I’d give my life’s blood to see you happy,” she averred, swallowing the lump in her throat as she stared into his shining eyes. “Just give your old mother time to give up the first place in your heart that she has held so long,” she pleaded gently, bowing her head at her open admission. Unaccustomed to indulging in such outpourings of emotion, she felt the desperate tug of desire for him to assuage her vulnerability with some filial reassurance. But he was silent, unaware of the tremblings of enduring love within his mother’s breast.

                  
Falteringly, she brought her eyes to his again and saw the hope that burned therein. “I only hope that her love will be strong and true; that she will truly know how grand an honor it is to be chosen by you,” she declared. “She would be a fool not to know it,” she added defiantly as a small teasing smile slowly warmed her face.

                  
His chest ached at her words; his great love yearned for its fulfillment. But in the next instant, his child heart smiled back at his mother for her proud pronouncement.

                  
*****

                  
Margaret sat at the end of Bessy’s worn mattress in the dim alcove of the Higginse’s humble one-room dwelling. Propped up with faded linen pillows, Bessy sat with her arms lying limply on the thin gray blanket over her lap. Although she still gazed at her friend with worry, Margaret was relieved that today the hacking coughs were less in evidence.

                  
“Where’s Nicholas?” the welcome visitor asked, noting as soon as Bessy’s sister, Mary, had gone out on her errands that no one remained to tend to the sick girl.

                  
“Oh,” she replied in deflated weakness. “He’s gone out. I’ve never seen him in such a state, Margaret. Boucher were here and father was so fierce with him. Yo’ know about the riot at Thornton’s place, that what’s brought down the strike?” she asked wearily. Margaret nodded meekly.

                  
“It were the one thing the union was determined against. How many times, father shouted, did they explain that the only way to win the strike was to follow the law of the land and avoid acting like animals? Did yo’ hear that Boucher threw a stone at the Master that might have killed him?” she asked, her expression one of anguish.

                  
Margaret paled at her remark. She opened her mouth to speak, searching desperately within for what she should reveal. “Was Nicholas there, in the mob?” she demanded as a faint blush crept into her cheeks.

                  
“Not he, he’d ha’ given his right hand if it had never come to pass. He’s fairly knocked down in the mind by it all. Yo’ never saw a man so down-hearted as he is. It’s that that’s fretting me,” she answered with a hint of fear in her eyes. “The union men, father being one of the special committee, were ready to lay down their all to win as long as there was no going against the law. It’s all been ruined by the riot, and father lays the blame on such men as Boucher. He threatened to lead the police to his door, he did, and sent Boucher wailing for his life. I can’t take the hollerin’ and the anger, Margaret. It’ll do me in for sure,” she painfully confided.