Margaret of the North (11 page)

Before John could reply, Hamper
volunteered, "I think it must be that parson's daughter, that handsome
young woman from the south, Miss Hale."

Several exclamations of disbelief
greeted this declaration.  Most of them remembered Miss Hale as the young woman
who, at the Thornton's last dinner party, spoke with self-assurance about her
sympathies for workers.  They had thought her beautiful with the natural grace
of a lady but the frank manner with which she asserted her radical views turned
them off.  Her charms were forgotten and, to them she, became just someone poor
who was too independent-minded for her own good.  Everyone, therefore, thought
that if Hamper was right, then John Thornton had to be out of his mind,
marrying imprudently for a more uncertain future.

Although John was annoyed that
Hamper preempted his response, he continued as if he had not been interrupted,
"I know you're all quite curious who I have been lucky enough to persuade
to be my wife.  You have all met her—Margaret Hale."

Hamper smiled triumphantly and
was the first to approach John to congratulate him.  The others stared at him,
then at each other but quickly recovered from the surprise and followed Hamper
in expressing their congratulations, most of which John knew were insincere. 
They were dubious about his choice and were convinced that, finally, John
Thornton had made a serious mistake and proved that a paragon of a businessman
could sometimes be stupid.

John could not control the urge
to continue the provocation of his colleagues and asked to be excused, "I
am sorry but I must leave now.  Margaret is at home with my mother and I
promised to accompany her on her daily walk."

He could hear the buzz of
sneering comments and speculations that issued from his parting communication
as he was walking out of the room.  He  could almost hear the gossip that would
ensue when these men went home to tell their wives about foolish John
Thornton.  It did not matter to him.  In fact, he was realizing that he had
begun to look at many things in a different way ever since Mr. Hale introduced
his daughter Margaret.  It had been a contentious first meeting—with flashing
eyes, she challenged the way he treated his workers.  She consternated him with
her charge and thought her then ignorant of the danger in cotton mills.  Still,
her conviction had caused him to think.

At home, John found his mother,
embroidering with Jane in the drawing room.

"Where is Margaret,
Mother?"

"How should I know?  I have
not seen much of her since that servant of hers arrived.  She seems to be
spending a lot of time with Dixon in her room."  Mrs. Thornton could
hardly hide her annoyance.

John replied evenly, "They
were unpacking this morning.  They must still be arranging Margaret's
belongings."  He hurried out of the room.

In the bedroom, Dixon and
Margaret were quietly working on the wedding dress; Dixon was adjusting the hem
and Margaret sewing one on the lace that was to be her bridal veil.  Dixon made
a motion to get up when she heard the knock on the door but Margaret stopped
her.

"It's all right, Dixon,
continue your sewing.  It's John.  We're going out for a walk."  Margaret
rose to open the door but John had already opened it and entered.

John immediately noticed the
changes that Margaret had made in the room.  His eyes quickly took in books
lying everywhere, a couple of them open, vases filled with roses that he had
instructed Williams to bring every other morning, and various vessels that
brightened darker corners of the room.  Woolen throws draped on the heavy
armchairs by the fire made them more casual and inviting.  With those small
touches, he thought Margaret breathed life into what was, before, a cold large
space and arranged it to her tastes, geared to both gracious living and
reflective pursuits just as the Hales had done in Crampton.

Dixon, sat on a chair by the bed,
working on a white gown that John assumed was Margaret's bridal gown.  She
abruptly stood up when he came in, "Good afternoon, master."

"Good afternoon, Dixon. 
Please continue what you are doing.  I hope you won't mind that I am taking
your helper away for a little while."  He turned towards Margaret who was
carefully folding the lace she was working on.

She smiled brightly at him as she
approached.  "I am ready."  She picked up a shawl hanging on the back
of an armchair and draped it on her shoulders.

John was standing by the writing
table as he waited for her and, unable to resist his curiosity, he briefly
opened a small chest on top of the table.  He was not surprised that his quick
perusal told him it was full of notes in other languages as well as English
written in a feminine hand.

Margaret, who had reached his
side as he was closing the lid on the chest, passed her fingers over the chest
with obvious nostalgic affection.  "It belonged to my mother, a family
heirloom that was one of the few things saved from the pawn shop when her
parents lost what little fortune they had.  The piece is of Chinese origin,
more than 200 years old and the design is a cloisonné."

"It is beautiful!" 
John remarked, glancing at Margaret, astonished at how like a caress her touch
was on that chest and he could not help running his fingers over it as well. 
She clearly treasured it.  If that chest had belonged to his mother, it would
be displayed inside one of her glass domes, never used.

"It had always belonged to
the youngest daughter in the family and was used as a jewelry box, if you had
jewelry, of course.  Mama kept the letters from her courtship in it."

He pulled her close and planted a
quick kiss on her lips.  He led her out of the room, closed the door behind him
noiselessly and said, "They did not look like love letters to me."

"No.  Except for one, my
father burned those before he left for Oxford and that letter was buried with
him.  I'm afraid the chest now contains something mundane in comparison, notes
on my reading or passages translated into French or Italian."

**************

It was nearly evening when they
returned.  In the drawing room, they found Mrs. Thornton still busy
embroidering linens.  Jane was there, too, helping her.

Margaret picked up one that was
finished.  "What exquisite work.  My hands have never been steady enough
for such beautiful flourish."

She regarded Mrs. Thornton curiously and
thought that she would never have suspected this stern woman, whose somber
tastes in adorning her home were in keeping with her image, to have chosen such
delicate and intricate motifs and do such fine embroidery.

She put it down for a glimpse at
what Mrs. Thornton was working on but shifted her attention abruptly to the
pile on Jane's lap.  She saw then that the maid had been very carefully cutting
out the letter "H" from the initials "H.T."  on each
napkin and Mrs. Thornton had been replacing it with "M."

Margaret was appalled and she
protested with a vehemence that surprised the other three.  "Oh, no! 
Please.  You do not need to change the initials on these linens.  It's a shame
to destroy the beautiful work you have already done.  I
do not need to have my initials on them."

Mrs. Thornton replied, annoyed. 
"Of course, you do, as mistress of the house.  Perhaps, you would rather
replace them with new ones.  These are perfectly fine, made of the best
material you can find."

"No!  What I meant was there
is no need for new linens nor for changing these to my initials." 
Margaret's voice faltered.

Mrs. Thornton continued a little
more kindly, "Well we have started and some as, you can see, are already
finished."

"Yes, of course, but perhaps
you can leave the others alone as they are."

"I never do anything
halfway, Miss Hale."  Mrs. Thornton retorted superciliously.

"No, of course not.  Still,
you have been mistress of this household for a long time and I believe your
monogrammed linens would be like a wonderful legacy to us."  Margaret
tried once more, although she was certain she could not convince Mrs. Thornton.

"As you wish," Mrs.
Thornton replied coldly.  She put down the piece she had been working on and
rose as majestically as she could.  "Anyway, I am tired and would like to
rest before dinner."  Turning to Jane, she motioned for the work to be
taken away and left the room.

Margaret, dismayed, turned to
John who had been silent and had considered it best not to interfere.  He knew
there would be more such confrontations in the future.  She said a little
mournfully, "I am afraid I did not handle that well."

John took both her hands in his. 
"You held your own.  She is not used to that."

"I could not quite tell her
that I do not define my status as your wife with monogrammed linens.  I think
it would have caused offense that was not intended."

He pressed one hand and then the
other to his lips.  "It might have.  Anyway, it will naturally take time
to get used to each other and compromises are probably inevitable."

Margaret looked straight into his
eyes.  "I know that.  But I do believe that she is irreplaceable as
mistress of this house.  I could never run it as she does."

"No, perhaps not.  In any
case, I believe my mother is aware that, as my wife, your decisions in this
household will take precedence over anyone else's including hers.  For her,
that idea will take getting used to."

"But I don't want her to
feel she has been displaced."

John, feeling her distress,
gathered her in his arms.  "Sadly, that may be unavoidable.  I wish I
could tell you what you could do, but right now, I am as much at a loss as you
are."

In her room that night, Margaret
sat staring at the fire, her apprehensions renewed regarding whether and how
she could thaw Mrs. Thornton's frosty behavior towards her.  Mrs. Thornton
could barely disguise her indifference and, more often than not in her
interactions with Margaret, she assumed a formal politeness usually accorded to
strangers.  Margaret could not but chafe at this chilliness and realized,
painfully, that in marrying John, she was exchanging a day-to-day life of
habitual ease and the implicit regard of relatives in London for one of cold
civility in the home of the man with whom she sought to make her permanent
home.  But she had made her choice and she told herself that she had no
regrets.  After all, on that day in church, the vows to love and honor would be
between her and John, not his mother.  Still, it depressed her to think that
Mrs. Thornton who was going to be her mother, by marriage, would only tolerate
her at best.

Margaret did not doubt that her
life with John would be full enough to compensate for the discomfort of living
with his mother.  And yet, she could not quell her apprehensions.  She closed
her eyes tight to hold back tears and bit her upper lip until it hurt.  She had
considered herself at peace and reconciled with the passing of so many close to
her but there were times, during the last few days, when the sadness, the
emotional turmoil of all those losses haunted her again; and this evening, full
of trepidation about her future life in Milton, Margaret felt acutely alone and
lost in the wide dark space of the bedroom.  She longed for what she could not
have: the understanding immediate presence of her father, or the loving
reassurance of her mother or even the cool rationality of Mr. Bell.  Once more,
the grief from her lost loved ones blindsided her.  Margaret pursed her lips to
keep from crying, sighed many times and indulged in some self-pity at having no
one to turn to.

The first time she ever felt as
acutely alone was when her father left her in the care of her aunt in London
where she was to keep Edith company and be taught along with her all the arts,
the skills, and the dainty comportment of ladies.  Barely nine years old and
feeling abandoned, she had cried herself to sleep.  But it did not take long for
her to find some solace in the affectionate nature of her aunt, so like her
mother in many ways, and in the sympathy and patience of the wise governess who
let her cry but stayed close by until she fell asleep.  Edith did what she
could as well, offering toys, bonbons and frequent hugs.  There was no one now
older and more mature to give her counsel or support her, no friend close by to
help her take her mind away from her worries.  The only older adult she could
possibly turn to was Dixon.

With just the two of them left
together, Dixon had grown as solicitous and protective of her as she had been
of Mrs. Hale.  Loyal, reliable Dixon, who had known her longer than anyone else
and who could be trusted to keep the deepest secrets, shifted her full
allegiance to her.  When she acquired considerable wealth, Margaret had thought
that, Dixon would become more snobbish of those she thought below her station
but she surprised Margaret.  Dixon's demeanor in the Thornton household had
shown some deference towards the other servants.  Margaret could not readily
account for it because Dixon's pretensions as a lady's maid became more evident
when they lost her father's modest but steady income.  Could Dixon have gained
wisdom from the pain and suffering of all the loss that they had both gone
through within such a short period?  Or, perhaps, Dixon was merely in the
process of finding her place in this new setting.

Only a week away from being the
mistress of her own household and aware that her mother had relied heavily on Dixon,
Margaret wondered how much she, herself, could open up to someone society
considered below her station but who she had come to regard with affection. 
Despite her position as a maid, Dixon and Mrs. Hale had a friendship that
Margaret knew was close and trusting, that allowed for confidences, including
some that her mother could not share with her father.  Would there be matters
she could not tell John but could confide in Dixon?