Margaret of the North (4 page)

Mrs. Thornton clenched her jaw
and scowled, listening for footsteps, her muscles tense and her body rigid in
her efforts to appear as calm as possible.  The footsteps came too soon and she
compressed her lips until they nearly turned white.

"Good evening, mother,"
John greeted her in a gentle voice as they approached, "we've come
home."

Mrs. Thornton stood up slowly,
with as much dignity as she could muster, and turned towards them.  She could
not answer and merely stared.  John had drawn Margaret close as if he was
trying to protect her, a gesture that did not escape his mother.  Margaret
glanced at her for an instant but directed her eyes back at John.  They had
both smiled at her, hesitantly, their eyes anxious, but as they gazed at each
other, their faces shared the warm glow of a new and joyous attachment.

Mrs. Thornton shifted her eyes
from one to the other and stopped at her son's face.  She blinked, amazed at
the tranquility he exuded amidst his happiness.  She saw brilliance in his eyes
just as she had ten years ago when he came home to announce that he had
successfully negotiated to run his own mill.  His bearing wore the same
confident and expectant air but, this time, she saw a placidity she had never
seen—a calmness in his expression that relaxed his often-furrowed brow and
deepened the smile that reached his eyes—instead of the defiantly triumphant
countenance of one who was conscious of having overcome difficult obstacles. 
Mrs. Thornton smiled at her son and she felt the worries that had weighed on
her for some time gradually crumbling.  She uttered a prayer and, despite
herself, she felt grateful to Margaret.  But Mrs. Thornton was the sort who
clung violently to her emotions, whether for love or hate.  Her mind rather
than her heart was grateful to Margaret and deep within, her repulsion to the
reality confronting her hardened her hatred against this young woman who was
about to become her son's wife.  She kept her eyes on her son and studiously
avoided Margaret.

"Mother, Margaret and
I," John hesitated.  He found it difficult to say to his mother what he
knew was obvious to her already but which he could sense she was determinedly
resisting.  He was keenly aware that his mother disliked Margaret but he hoped
that seeing him happy would temper her ill feelings.

The "Margaret and I"
spoken by her son chafed at Mrs. Thornton, however, and she could no longer
hold back.  With anger barely suppressed, she turned to Margaret.  "So,
you've finally come to your senses, have you?"

"Mother………"

Margaret laid a lightly
restraining hand on John's arm, walked slowly towards Mrs. Thornton and around
the sofa so the two of them stood face-to-face.  While boarding the carriage at
the train station, the thought of meeting Mrs. Thornton again had suddenly
oppressed Margaret.  She sat restlessly in the carriage, wondering how she
could clear the air with Mrs. Thornton.  By the time they reached Marlborough
Mills, she decided she must do so now, rather than later.  Perhaps, she
thought, it would avoid awkwardness and lessen the distress of living with
someone who clearly did not like her.  It was, in any case, her duty and not
Mrs. Thornton's to take the initiative at greater civility in their
relationship.  She hoped that some ease, if not warmth, would come with time. 
But Margaret was more rational than experienced about emotions and she
proceeded on that basis to explain herself to Mrs. Thornton.

"Mrs. Thornton, I am truly
sorry for any pain I might have caused," Margaret began deliberately, her
eyes pleading but unflinching, fixed on the older woman in an attitude that
Mrs. Thornton remembered and regarded as proud and haughty.  Thrusting her chin
out, Mrs. Thornton stared back with disdainful skepticism at Margaret and said
nothing.

Margaret, who had calmly
responded to Mrs. Thornton's accusation earlier that morning, was now
disconcerted, her confidence replaced by a vulnerability borne out of the fresh
alliance she had just formed with John.  She continued with more formality in
her tone and voice.  "When I first came to Milton, I was rather unhappy
because I did not fully understand why we came.  My unhappiness was aggravated
when I saw my mother in so much distress.  I found Milton strange and so
different from anything I knew in the south.  I struggled a long time to learn
and adapt to its ways."

Margaret paused and took a long
deep breath.  The conviction with which she had started this attempt at a
rapprochement waned steadily at the older woman's withering indifference.  She
was beginning to doubt that she was getting through but, having already
started, she knew she must finish.  She resumed in a somewhat louder voice, as
if doing so negated her growing sense that her efforts were futile. 
Ironically, this sense of futility began to free her, allowed her to say what
came to mind more spontaneously.  "The sorrows I endured came rather early
in our life here when my mother became seriously ill and I had to care for her,
knowing her time was short.  Not too long after, a friend of the same age as I,
died.  I had watched her suffer from a disease she contracted working at a mill
when only a child.  Through all that, I saw deprivation and desperation among
the poor that I had never seen in Helstone, in particular, that of a family of
six young children, left helpless and all alone when both parents died within
days of each other.  They had no relation who could house and feed them."

Mrs. Thornton's impenetrable
countenance showed a little crack at mention of the workers' plight and she
pursed her lips contemptuously.  Margaret was not surprised.  She had once
listened to the older woman's views of the working class and she knew that Mrs.
Thornton believed workers were inferior to those who rose to be masters. 
Workers got what they deserved and were not worthy of sympathy.

Margaret turned towards John, who
had been watching her with some apprehension.  "I have no reason or excuse
that would satisfy you as to why I rejected John's proposal after the riot,
except that circumstances did not favor us in forming an understanding.  We had
an inauspicious beginning with a rather unpleasant first encounter at the mill
and, after that, we seemed to clash at every turn."

She faced Mrs. Thornton once
again and a hint of defiance crept into her voice, "Later, I was appalled
to find that my behavior during the riot was interpreted as something
calculated to generate a proposal from him.  It distressed me that anyone
thought me capable of that."

The revelation made a visible
impression on Mrs. Thornton, whose eyes darted briefly towards her son before
being fixed again, arched superciliously, on Margaret.  Mrs. Thornton thought,
"pride, Margaret, pride is definitely one of your failings.  You had rejected
my son for that."

The pain and burden of explaining
to the older woman had begun to wear on Margaret and, turning away, she stared
pensively into space for a long moment.  Her voice was sad when she resumed
with an explanation she felt she must make although she knew Mrs. Thornton
would regard it as a quaint southern affectation.  "Were I aware, much
less capable, in those unfortunate times, of an attachment, I am afraid my
pride and confusing feelings would have precluded my accepting John or anybody else,
in fact.  I did not know what it was to have strong sentiments for someone who
was neither my father nor my brother and I was certainly unprepared to
marry."

She reached out to Mrs. Thornton
whose cold, inscrutable façade had returned.  Margaret, determined to appear
undaunted, looked her straight in the eye, "I admit that it took me some
time to understand John and recognize my own feelings for him and by then, I
had neither hope nor right to expect that his attachment had endured.  I know
you do not think me worthy of him and I suppose you and I will often see things
differently."

She took another deep breath and
as she finished, the strain of the encounter finally brought a quiver in her
voice.  "If you are inclined to doubt all that I just told you, then
please believe, at least, that I do love John very much and that is really the
only reason I am here now."

Mrs. Thornton studied Margaret's
countenance and, in her mind, begrudgingly admired her frankness.  She was
nonetheless not about to cede her upper hand and she retorted somewhat
scornfully.  "What of that man at the train station and your disgraceful
behavior with him?"

John had listened intently to
Margaret and only then began to comprehend what she had gone through.  He saw
her blink a few times to hold back tears that had begun to well up and he felt
compelled to answer his mother, a little vehemently, "Mother, that was
Margaret's brother Frederick."

"Brother!"  Mrs.
Thornton exclaimed incredulously.

John, who had held back despite
his growing exasperation at his mother's uncivil manner towards Margaret, tried
to answer as calmly as he could, "Yes.  He came to be with his mother when
she was dying but his life was in danger and they had to keep his presence here
a secret."

"Really?" Mrs. Thornton
seemed unconvinced and looked askance at Margaret but, seeing her imploring
eyes glistening with the struggle to keep from crying, Mrs. Thornton relented a
little and demanded of her son, "How long have you known about the
existence of this brother?"

"Not as long as I would have
wished.  He lives in Spain and may never return to England.  He remains in some
danger so I ask you not to say anything about him to anyone, least of all to
Fanny."

Anxiously, he looked at
Margaret.  She had been trying to compose herself and attempted a half-smile. 
He resumed, his eyes still on her, "Sometimes secrecy is necessary and it
can lead to misunderstandings that cannot be helped."  John smiled
reassuringly at her, who was now a little more collected  "Fortunately,
truth has a way of coming out."

As tenacious as Mrs. Thornton's
dislikes were, her attachment to her son was stronger and she was anxious to
maintain it.  When she heard the irritation in his voice, she reluctantly
accepted, at least in words, the truth that she could not wish away.  She
addressed Margaret without much warmth, "My son is attached to you, that
is obvious enough, and you say you are to him as well."

She approached her son, reached
out, and touched his cheek affectionately.  "I can accept any woman who
makes you happy and if that happens to be Miss Hale, so be it."  Then,
with her usual proud demeanor, she started to turn around.

Margaret bit her upper lip to
suppress an urge to let her tears ago.  To be merely tolerated was not exactly
the reception anyone wanted in joining the family of the man one was about to
spend her life with.  For a few seconds, she wished she had gone back to London
but she thought of John, his eyes tender with concern throughout her ordeal of
explaining to his mother, and she knew she was where she wanted to be.  So,
despite the coldness and lack of enthusiasm with which Mrs. Thornton received
her, Margaret could not help reaching her hand out to touch Mrs. Thornton's arm
and planting a kiss on her cheek as the latter was turning around.

Taken by surprise, Mrs. Thornton
pressed Margaret's hand briefly but kindly, "I'll see what's happened to
the tea.  After that, I'll show you to your room so you can rest and freshen up
before dinner.  We always have it at eight."  She turned and walked
towards the kitchen.

Margaret, in fact, surprised
herself with the gesture she made towards Mrs. Thornton who was clearly not
comfortable with public display of affection especially when it involved
someone towards whom she was indifferent if not outright hostile.  But Margaret
acted spontaneously, compelled by her natural temperament to act as she felt,
and by her southern graciousness and London gentility, to do so with a blend of
sincerity and cultivated directness in her manner.  The act did disarm Mrs.
Thornton and it calmed Margaret's own uneasiness, if only for the moment.

As soon as his mother left the
room, John clasped Margaret in his arms, searching her countenance for residual
signs of distress.  A little more serene, she snuggled closer in his embrace
and he was content to hold her close in silence, delighting in the warmth of
her against him.  A few minutes later, he whispered, pressing his lips against
her forehead, "So you do love me."

"How can any girl resist
you?" She answered with an attempt at lightness, her voice muffled against
his chest.

Mrs. Thornton rustled back into
the room noisily, "Tea is here."  John let go of Margaret reluctantly
but his hand lingered like a caress on her back as he led her to the sofa where
they both sat down.  Jane who had walked behind Mrs. Thornton, laid the tea
tray on the table, glancing surreptitiously at the couple.

Teatime passed with the three
saying as little as they could.  Although thirsty, Margaret had difficulty
swallowing her tea.  She was, thus, thankful for the dainty cups in which it
was served—somewhat incongruous with the gray massive drawing room, she could
not help thinking with some amusement—so that she could finish her tea without
leaving any of it in her cup.  She was as anxious not to offend as to mask her
discomfort, so she took a small piece of cake and ate it slowly.  Mrs. Thornton
sat tall and upright, in an attitude Margaret remembered from the only other
time she had tea with the older woman who had called upon them then in
Crampton.  Then as now, Mrs. Thornton had an air of dignity but not ease.  She
did not hide her feeling that she would much rather have been somewhere else
than sitting there, having tea with them.  Both times, Margaret was conscious
of being under Mrs. Thornton's scrutiny but in Crampton, the idea amused her;
now, it caused her discomfort.  John was too famished to notice the unease
between the two women he cared most about.  He had not eaten since morning and
the exhilarating end of this particular day gave him a voracious appetite.  He
drank a copious amount of tea with milk and ate a large piece of cake.