Margaret of the North (3 page)

He reached Helstone by
mid-morning.  The place was, as he had expected—tranquil, luxuriantly green and
bathed in the sort of mellow sunlight that would have been swallowed in the
dense, dingy atmosphere of Milton.  He found the parish where Mr. Hale had
preached and a large cottage nearby where the family must have lived.  Walking
along a particularly well-trodden path near the parish, he passed a hedgerow of
fragrant yellow roses, unseen in the bleakness of Milton where it would have
struggled to survive.  The sight of the roses made him pause and he picked a
newly opened blossom.  The fragrance it gave off was not entirely new to him
and was reminiscent of some pleasing citrus.  As he stared at it, he imagined
seeing Margaret, as he had done so many times before: Margaret—nurtured in the
same unspoiled, lush and placid setting—intrepid yet vulnerable, indomitable
yet sensitive.  He frowned in annoyance at himself: How could he have allowed
hurt pride and jealousy to preclude that Margaret had a defensible reason to be
with a young man at the train station late at night?  It perturbed him that his
resentment could forever deprive him of happiness with the one woman he ever
loved.  But he was not one who gave up easily.  He only hoped he was not too
late.

John resolved to visit Margaret
in London on the pretext of discussing the fate of Marlborough Mills.  It was
true enough that he needed to talk to her about the mill but his real purpose
was to ascertain if his suspicions were correct.  This time, he would approach
her with more care, listen more attentively, show her in many little ways how
much he loved her and that he regretted the arrogant manner in which he proposed
to her the first time.  He knew she had not married and, he hoped, she had not
formed an engagement with Henry Lennox who, it had been plain to see, was in
love with her.  This thought made him uneasy and impatient to go as soon as he
could to London.  But first, he needed to go home to reassure his mother and
tell her he was ready to face the challenge of starting all over again.

On the train halfway back to
Milton, what had merely been hope turned to utter happiness, what John had
wished for became reality.  Margaret's love was already his.  He marveled at
the audacity of her quick decision to turn around and return to Milton with
him.  He knew that such an act could only have been prompted by deeply felt
sentiments and that any other woman, less true to her feelings and more
concerned about malicious gossip ruining her reputation, would not have dared
to undertake it.  Once Margaret knew what she wanted or what was right, she
acted upon it.  She had done the same when she stood between him and a rioting crowd.

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

John recollected how Margaret
raised her arms protectively around his shoulders in front of that rioting
crowd, and thought, "She must have cared for me even then!"

His eyes earnest and shining, he
said.  "Margaret, my love, you must know that I never stopped loving you
regardless of what I might have said to the contrary, not even after that night
at the train station when I saw you with that dashing young man with his
refined bearing and handsome face.  I thought: Here's someone from her world,
just the man she would love.  I was devastated with jealousy."

She stared at John,
flabbergasted.  "Jealous of Frederick?"

She thought all along that she
had lost his esteem mainly from his having caught her at a lie when she denied
being out, alone and surreptitiously, with a man who was a stranger—an act
that, in itself, was considered improper.  Mrs. Thornton, unaware the stranger
was her brother, had told her so in no uncertain terms and Margaret had been
offended at her insinuation of impropriety.  It never occurred to her to
attribute jealousy to John, particularly after her rejection.

Before she could say anything
more, he asked, "Is that your brother's name, Frederick?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. 
"You knew about Frederick!  But how and for how long?  Did Mr. Bell tell
you?"

"No, but he tried.  It was
Nicholas Higgins I must thank, just recently, really.  When he told me, I felt
relieved of this great burden of losing you, losing the mill.  And I dared to
hope again."

Margaret touched his cheeks
tenderly, her eyes brimming with both renewed wonder at the way events had
unfolded and gratitude for his having continued to love her despite all that
had passed.  She felt humbled by his constancy, his deep love and, in a
tremulous voice, she made her own confession.  "Don't you know that I have
loved you for some time now?"

"Since before you left
Milton?"  He asked, with some consternation, regretting once again the
months of separation that they could have been spared.

"Yes, I think so.  I know so. 
But at the time, I was convinced you thought badly of me because I lied to the
police to hide a secret indiscreet meeting with a strange man."

"No, not because you lied. 
It hurt that you could love another man but not me, and you loved him enough to
protect him and lie for him."

"Frederick was in danger of
being executed if he was caught and we could not let anyone, especially an
agent of the law, know that he was in England."

"If I was not so jealous, I
would have realized that there was a reason you did not tell the truth."

"I was sorely tempted to
tell you but I thought Fred was still in the country."

"Did you not think I would
keep your brother's presence a secret if you had confided in me?"

"I was in great fear for my
brother's life and I already felt so indebted to you that I could not let you
compromise your position any further on my account."

For an instant, her eyes
fluttered at an uneasy recollection and she turned towards the window at the
hypnotic blur of green trees speeding by.  After a few moments, she spoke
again, her eyes on the yellow rose on her lap, her attempt to sound casual
betrayed by the slight quiver in her voice.  "I knew by then how wrong I
was about you, just when you declared I was merely a foolish passion that was over,
that you were looking to the future."  She paused, took in a long breath,
and added in a more collected manner.  "With someone else, I
assumed."

Margaret kept her eyes glued on
the rose as he explained, a hint of amusement in his voice.  "Perhaps, I
did mean to forget you.  Fanny contrived situations to bring Miss Latimer and
me together, with my mother's blessings, no doubt.  Miss Latimer seemed quite
interested so I did turn my attention towards her.  But, alone in my room at
night or even in my office at the mill, it was always your face I saw.  Miss
Latimer is very pretty and very much the lady.  She would make any other man
happy."

He placed a hand under her chin
and gently turned her face up but she kept her eyes hidden behind half-closed
lids.  "But, me?  I was haunted by this vibrant young woman with the skin
of ivory and large expressive blue eyes"—he peered closer into her
eyes—"or are they green?  I have never seen a pair that can turn fiery
with anger but also serene and radiant with love.  I am afraid I found every
other young lady very dull."

She met his gaze then but the
intensity of his flustered her and she had to lower hers.  Her cheeks burned
and her heart raced once again.

She was still struggling to
master her fluttering heart when he continued, his ardent voice just above a
whisper.  "When I first saw you on the train platform this afternoon, you
looked at me with eyes glowing with promise and such a bewitching half-smile on
your lips"—he bent over and kissed her—"that I could hardly control
myself from taking you in my arms and whisking you away with me right there and
then."

Struggling for control of her own
emotions was impossible for her then and with eyes half-closed, she swayed
against him and buried her face on his shoulder.

John murmured, his breath warm
against her cheek, "When you left Milton, it became clearer to me that it
was only your good opinion I really cared about and yours the only face I
wanted to gaze into were I to wake up with someone in the morning."

Her cheeks blushed deeply.  She
suppressed a sob, threw her arms around his neck and snuggled her face against
it, amazed by how agreeable it felt and she thought, "This is where I
belong.  I could stay like this a long time.

John laid his cheek on her hair
and clasped her close.  "If I had known then what I know now, do you think
I would have let you go to London?"

Reluctant as Margaret was to
leave that exquisite niche she just discovered in the hollow of his neck, she
raised her head and gazed into his eyes for a long moment.  Then, she said
frankly but regrettably, "I would have gratefully accepted your proposal
had you renewed it then and things had been different.  But the truth is I was
incapable of any feeling but grief when I left Milton."

The anguish Margaret suffered all
those months past came flooding back, taking her by surprise.  She thought that
she had been mostly in control of it and had tucked it away where she could
regard it with proper detachment.  But face-to-face with John, the weariness
and sorrow she felt was nearly as vivid as it had been when she bade him
farewell nearly a year ago.

"I saw such suffering as I
had never seen in my sheltered life in the south, lost so many people I cared
about in a rather short period.  I was drained, apathetic, my reserves of
energy and compassion depleted.  I needed time to mourn, to put into
perspective all that I had been through, to recover my strength."  The
quiver in her voice grew as she spoke and she sucked her breath in a few times
to hold back tears.

He held her closer, "Oh my
love, I am so sorry that you had to endure such sorrow when you first came to
Milton.  But I would have patiently waited for as long as you needed to arrive
at this moment."

She laid her face on his shoulder
and clung to him once again, trying to suppress another sob, but he felt a few
tears dampen his neck.  After a few minutes, she whispered tremulously,
"Maybe, your mother is right that I do not deserve you but my heart is
yours fully and for as long as I live."

"My mother thought me too
good for you but I did not think I was good enough and yet, what does it
matter?  You are finally home, my love—with me."  He lifted her face to
kiss her.

Mrs. Thornton was pacing
restlessly in the drawing room.  Once in a while, she walked towards the window
and looked down at the empty courtyard.  She had not seen her son for two days
and she was getting increasingly worried.  He had not left any note nor said
anything that gave her some inkling of where he might have gone.  When she last
talked to him, her heart ached painfully at seeing how broken his spirits had
seemed, how profound his misery.  She raged at the injustice of a world that
seemed to have punished him, he who was all that was good in a man.  The loss
of the mill weighed on him deeply, she was certain of that.  But she was also
sadly aware that, since Margaret Hale left Milton, he had become
uncharacteristically somber, more withdrawn, less communicative.  She suspected
that, were it not for that unfortunate matter with Miss Hale, the loss of the
mill would not have plunged him into such deep despair.

Mrs. Thornton had never liked
Miss Hale and, when she rejected John, that relatively passive dislike had
turned into an active hatred.  So when she saw her that morning at the Mill,
her rage at the world found its outlet.  She accused Miss Hale of coming back
to mock John for the misfortune that had befallen him.  But Miss Hale disarmed
her when, with guileless candor, she conceded that Mrs. Thornton was right,
that she had not really known John when she rejected him.  Then, with a gentle
reproach for misjudging her and with sorrow in her eyes and her voice, Miss
Hale lamented the fate of the unfortunate mill.  Still, Miss Hale was the woman
who had dared to reject her son and caused him deep unhappiness.  While Mrs.
Thornton mellowed a little towards her, she found it difficult to forgive her.

Mrs. Thornton was roused from her
musings by the unexpected sound of a carriage.  Rather odd, she thought,
because since the mill closed, no vehicle or horses entered the courtyard
anymore.  She hurried towards the window, anxious and curious and she sighed
with relief when John got off the carriage.  But chagrin immediately displaced
her relief when John turned to offer his hand to a woman alighting from the
carriage.

"Miss Hale!"  Mrs.
Thornton cried in dismay, stepped back from the window and, afraid that her
knees would give way under her, sat down on the nearest chair.

Exceedingly agitated at seeing Margaret,
she did not immediately notice that Jane had rushed in until the maid was
standing in front of her, announcing frantically.  "Madam, the master is
back and a young woman is with him, I think it is the daughter of that parson
from the south who lived here a year ago, the lady who stood in front of the
rioters."

"Yes, Jane," Mrs.
Thornton replied, irritated at her officiousness.  "Calm yourself and go
prepare some tea.  The master must be tired from his journey."  She tried
to assume as normal and commanding a tone as she could.  When Jane was gone,
she wearily got up from the chair, picked up her needlework, and sat on the
sofa that was her preferred spot in the drawing room.

Trembling with consternation and
foreboding, Mrs. Thornton, absentmindedly jabbed stitches on the linen she had
been working on for the past two days.  She knew what the presence of Margaret
Hale meant and her whole being revolted against it.  Her breast churned with
confusing emotions.  On the one hand, she could not let go of her hatred,
hatred that was aggravated by the ease with which Margaret had acquired wealth
and property that John had worked hard for, much of his life.  But her return
did mean John's happiness and by their marriage, Margaret would be giving him
ownership rights to the house and the mill, allowing him to reopen the mill
much sooner than anyone would have expected.  Mrs. Thornton knew that she ought
to be glad that all would be well for John.  Instead, her breast fluttered with
trepidation: She was about to be supplanted by someone she did not even like
and who she would have to live with.