Margaret of the North (47 page)

She was about to turn around to
return to her seat when she felt his hand gently clasp her wrist.  He had taken
the cup she offered him with his other hand and set it back on the coffee
table.  Then, he kissed the inside of her wrist.  Margaret gasped at the
burning sensation his lips left on her skin but before she could take another
deep breath, she found herself cradled on his lap while his lips pressed
against hers, first lightly and then more deeply.  He muttered against her
cheek, "It has been a while since we have had a quiet moment like this
together."

Margaret thought that it was
hardly a quiet moment when she felt herself trembling deliciously inside.  She
wound her arms around his neck and with her face against his, she answered in a
low voice, talking a little too rapidly and, she thought, a little too much. 
"Not since before our first party here.  It seems so much has been going
on with preparations for the party and, not too long after, for Christmas at
the mill.  This was the first big celebration I have ever organized almost
single-handedly.  I helped my parents a little during festive occasions at my
father's parish but there were not half so many people there and different
families helped with preparations and brought in dishes to share.  Then there
was Edith's elaborate wedding but that was all about dainty and pretty feminine
touches I was not as familiar with as Edith was and all I had to do was
faithfully follow her directions."

"I would say from the looks
of it that your first attempts at organizing a big affair met with much success
and left many with good memories and, I hope, some goodwill for the mill as
well."

John's relatively neutral tone
took the edge off of her agitation and, looking at him, she asked with almost
naive enthusiasm, "Do you think so?  The goodwill part, especially?"

John frowned thoughtfully. 
"We cannot really know.  But I hope so.  When we masters talk about what
to do to prevent strikes, none of us ever considers the value of developing
good relations with workers.  Not friendly necessarily but at least one that
allows for and even encourages talking among masters and workers.  I do think
that what you did tonight made that more possible."

Margaret smiled broadly and kissed
the tip of his nose lightheartedly, "I am glad I can help you.  Strikes
are quite unfortunate, miserable for workers and a big headache for
masters."

"I am afraid they are
inevitable even if they can be forestalled for some time.  We cannot control
markets appreciably and workers are becoming more enlightened about their
rights.  Still, I think that we can prevent acrimonious strikes before they
happen or, at least, make them less bitter when they do happen if we can get
masters and hands talking to each other even about matters outside of those
that concern the mill."

"If this Christmas
celebration made it more likely that masters and hands talk seriously and
calmly about work at the mill, do you think other things we do for workers and
their families might help too?"

"Do you have something else
in mind?"  He smiled at her enthusiasm.

"I might but I need to think
about it some more.  It might cost some money to do but we have hardly used
that money gained from Mr. Bell's investment in Watson's speculation."

"Ah!"

"Is that acceptable to you? 
I am still not certain how you feel about money earned from risky
ventures."

"I have moral objections to
investing in such ventures if the capital is not my own or it rightly belongs
to others who could be hurt by failed schemes."

"Mr. Bell had more wealth
than he could use and he invested some into Watson's schemes.  Surely if we
used such profits to help others, that would be a good thing, would it
not?"

"It would seem so."  He
answered warily.  "But I cannot shake off the thought that I have no right
to the money and therefore have no right to spend it even for charitable
purposes."

Margaret nodded, got up and
picked up his cup.  "It is getting cold.  Do you still want it?"

He took the cup from her and took
a sip of the wine, now lukewarm but still infused with enough spirit that it
tingled as he swallowed it.  "Still good."

She poured herself a cup,
replenished his and returned to her chair.  They sat for some minutes, sipping
their wine.  She broke the silence.  "You have told me at least once
before that you were uneasy about using the money I inherited although,
legally, it is yours now, as well.  I thought that I understood why but now I
think there must be some other reason."

He looked at her a long moment
before he answered.  "Yes.  Mr. Bell."

She exclaimed, puzzled, "Mr.
Bell!  I don't understand."  Then, a suspicion percolated in her mind. 
"Well, maybe I do.  He did ask me in his indirect way not too long after
my father died.  My response did not surprise him.  I think he had always
known, maybe even before I admitted it to myself, that I was in love with
you."

"I believe he did what he
could to drive a wedge between us.  He was subtle and underhanded about it. 
So, yes, I resented him and I wanted to punch his face more than once." 
He smiled in a self-mocking way before adding, "But, of course, I could
not.  He was my landlord."

"I thought you liked
him."

"I did.  In many ways, I
liked him.  He was one of the cleverest men I knew and it was a delight talking
to him.  I had no quarrel with him before you came.  After that, he lost no
chance to provoke me in your presence."

"You mean such as that
incident at your mother's last annual dinner?  When he pointed out that Boucher
worked at Marlborough Mills after I said his children were starving?  He did
succeed in provoking you then.  You studiously avoided talking to me for the
rest of the evening."

He nodded, "Yes!  Just when
you began to think better of me."

They were both silent, sipping
their wine thoughtfully.  At length, he said, "My sense of pride will
allow me to take money from your inheritance only as a loan to be paid back
with interest.  I do mean what I said about the challenge of rising on my own
resources.  But I am a practical businessman as well so I know one needs
capital to do business and, if he does not have it, he borrows it.  You—on the
other hand—you were given this inheritance.  I have no qualms about you using
it for your projects.  I trust your judgment."

"Are you saying that I can
go ahead with whatever plans I might come up with and use profits from the
speculation?"

He smiled, "I suppose I am
saying that.  Go ahead and use it any way you wish and show me your plans and
cost calculations only if you want my opinion or you need my advice."

"Well, I must say the
challenge of doing all that is exciting but scary as well.  And, of course I
cannot do without your opinion or your advice and I do need you to go over any
cost estimates I make."

"I can teach you a thing or
two about handling money that I am sure Henry Lennox did not."  He said in
a teasing tone but she did not reply, merely nodded and smiled.

They sat for some time, sipping
more wine, nibbling on Christmas biscuits, occasionally gazing at each other. 
Soon, however, John remarked in a matter-of-fact tone that had a hint of
wistful sadness he could not hide from her.  "This is the first Christmas
I am spending without both my mother and sister."

She replied casually, "It is
my third without my parents."

He looked at her, a mixture of
surprise and solicitude on his countenance, "I am sorry.  It was
thoughtless of me to forget."

"I am a little more used to
my family's absence than you are to yours although I admit it sometimes makes
me quite sad on holidays like this."  Margaret answered with a rueful
smile.  "My mother was a great believer in Christmas and always insisted
on baskets tied with large gay ribbons and filled with staples for those in my
father's parish who were less fortunate.  I used to go around with her a week
or two before Christmas, gathering together contributions from families able
and willing to share.  It was the one time in the year when our home became
truly colorful.  We had traditional dinners that seemed more elaborate when she
and my father were going through trying times."  Her voice trailed to a
melancholic softness and she stared pensively into space.

That was all the incentive John
needed to resume the loving advances he had started earlier before talk about
strikes interrupted him.  He got up, kneeled on the floor by her feet, and
clasped her in his arms.  She entwined her arms around his neck and laid her
head on his shoulder.  He whispered, "I suppose I did not think about your
parents because I thought your daughter and me are now your family.  We will
always be here with you."

She rubbed her cheek against his
then murmured against his neck,  "And Elise and I, with you."

After a long moment, she slid
down on the floor and sat down next to him.  He had not anticipated her action
but he was quick to adapt to it and he dropped effortlessly to the floor next
to her, placed an arm around her shoulders, and leaned against the chair.  She
turned to gaze at him and, with the back of her fingers, caressed his cheeks. 
Then, she kissed him, took off his cravat, flung it on the chair, and slowly
unbuttoned, first his vest, then the top part of his shirt.  He sat immobile,
charmed, fascinated, excited, wondering what she was going to do next.  She
nestled her cool cheeks against his bare neck, warm, pulsing with the steady
beat of his heart, and exuding a faint agreeable smell of soap, sweat and,
probably cotton dust that she associated with him.  She wound her arms around
his chest and he held her closer to him. 

She thought that these were some
of her favorite moments—neither of them needing words and luxuriating in the
warmth and feel of their bodies close together, keenly conscious of each
other's presence.  He relaxed and laid his head lightly on her hair, as content
as she was to stay in this attitude.  He held her for a long time, occasionally
pressing his lips against her hair or her cheeks.  Neither of them spoke nor
noticed and minded the hard floor underneath the rug they sat on and it was not
until the clock struck midnight that they budged.

"Merry Christmas, my love,"
he murmured against her cheek.

She lifted her face up for his
kiss before answering, her lips brushing his, "Merry Christmas, my
darling.  It has been a long, frenzied, wonderful day, has it not?"

"Yes and you must be
tired."  He said softly as he pressed his lips to hers again.

"Quite.  And so, to
bed?"  She got up on her feet in one lithe movement, belying her claim to
tiredness.  As John stood up, she added, "We'll have a quiet cozy
Christmas day to ourselves."

He raised an amused eyebrow at
her and sharing the same thought, they chuckled in unison.  She said
flippantly, "Well, as peaceful, anyway, as unintelligible chatter and
occasional crying allow."

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

They descended to the drawing
room late Christmas morning, with John carrying Elise and Margaret walking
behind them.  The large Christmas tree towered over everything in the room and
the candles adorning it were already lighted.  Those of the household who had
not gone home for the holidays were gathered around the tree ushered there by
Dixon when she heard the Thorntons coming down the stairs.  A new piano stood
on one corner of the room.  A large sheet, thrown over it was unsuccessful in
its attempt to hide or disguise it.  It had not been there the day before and
Margaret, guessing it was to be a surprise, said nothing and proceeded as she
had planned. 

She had bought gifts for the
servants and she gave them out after Elise, with much help from her mother,
tore open the ones she had received.  John said nothing about the piano until
everyone began to pile into the kitchen for a late Christmas breakfast that had
been laid out on the large dining table there.  Margaret, suspecting that the
servants would be uncomfortable in the dining room, had told Dixon to serve
everyone there including the master and mistress of the house.

"That piano is too big to
hide," he said wryly.

She beamed at him.  "Yes.  I
am deeply touched.  Thank you."  She hesitated and then added, "But I
have never been good at playing."

"Perhaps.  But I had more
pleasure listening to you than I did to Edith despite her superior skills and
since that evening I heard you, I have imagined having that pleasure repeated. 
Besides, Elise would have to learn when she is old enough."

That was all that was said about
the new piano.  Margaret returned to it that afternoon when the household
bustle had died down, Elise napped, and John sat reading a newspaper in the
adjoining conservatory.  She took off the sheet and folded it neatly, laying it
on a table nearby.  She sat on the bench, opened the cover noiselessly and
placed her fingers gingerly on the keys—not to play them, only to reacquaint
her fingers with their springy smoothness. 

Music that was well-executed gave
her great pleasure and it was for that reason she did not deign to play.  She
never thought her playing good enough and was content to listen to those, like
her cousin Edith, who had real mastery of the instrument.  Perhaps, Elise would
learn to play better than she did but that was not for a few years yet. 
Meantime, she felt she could not neglect the new piano.  She would have to try
it out, if only in gratitude at her husband's generous gift.  She did not think
she could ever play as well as Edith but she was certain she could do much
better with practice.  If her playing gave John pleasure, she thought that
incentive enough to spend some time practicing on the instrument.  Besides, she
thought, music did give her pleasure and calmed her spirit when she was alone
playing the piano.  Above all, she wanted her children to grow up learning to
love music.  For that, she needed to bring music into her home and until Elise
was able to play, she would have to be its main source.