In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (28 page)

For the first time since she had moved to this dark, soot-tarnished town, she felt a semblance of peace. Weary of trying to make sense of the changes thrust upon her by her father’s own doubts, she began to believe there had been a purpose to all of the struggles she had endured. A strain of gratitude swelled in her breast and her features lifted in glad response.
She had been brought to Milton to find him.
Amid all the eager ambition and bleak striving of this place, she had been led to John Thornton — a man as sturdy and solid as the granite hills, but with a heart as true and noble as any she had ever known. She would not have found him in London or Hampshire. It was Milton that had molded him to the man he was, where he had struggled and grown into the full stature of manhood. She would not find his like in all of England.

She loved him.
The thought of it struck her anew, filling her with awe. How it had all unfolded to her she could scarcely describe. And when she considered how all of the Milton girls must have undoubtedly cast their eyes his way, it seemed a thing incredible to her that he had chosen her to be his wife.

A shiver traced her spine at the thought of becoming his — body and soul. She shook herself back from her distraction and with mighty effort endeavored to bring her attention back to the vicar’s echoing speech.

*****

Mr. Thornton sat in impassive stillness on the long wooden pew next to his mother’s rigid form. From the corner of his eye, he spied Fanny’s gloved hands fidgeting restlessly in her lap. His lips twitched. Everything was the same as it had been for years. His family occupied the same seat each Sunday, following the same familiar routine with every passing season. His existence had been an undeviating pattern of work and obligation, and he had been satisfied to build a respectable home for his mother and sister.

He could no longer endure such an existence. All his former peace, his staid plans and hopes had been upturned and tangled with the appearance of one who revealed the promise of a life so beautiful he hardly dared believe it might be his.

With Margaret’s acceptance of him, the future lay bright before him — days and years in which his home might be filled with tender affection, joy, and laughter. And someday, perhaps not so very far in the future, he might be surrounded by the boundless energy of children.

He felt the commensurate awe of this blessing, deeply grateful for this chance to live a lifetime of love. He knew not if she could ever love him with the depth of feeling that burned so powerfully in his own heart, but he was confident that he could earn her fond affection with his fervent attention. He was ready and eager to show her how complete his devotion was. He yearned to stand before God and man and take the vows that would make him her husband! The thought made him close his eyes to subdue the swell of passion that forced his chest to heave with impatient longing.

With a firmer resolution to keep his mind from straying, he opened his eyes. The solemn words of the sermon, a drone in his ears, once more became the intelligible speech of man’s purpose and place under God.

*****

That afternoon in the Hales
’ drawing room, Margaret skimmed the same page of her book countless times without truly reading a word. Her mother was resting quietly on the sofa while her father read from one of his worn tomes. It took all of her determination to remain still and wait for Mr. Thornton’s arrival to take her on their promised walk.

A smile played upon her lips as she reflected upon the changes wrought in her demeanor. Impatient for his arrival, she could not even enjoy the leisure of a favorite pastime. And, although she was usually unconcerned about her appearance, she had taken particular care today to appear to her best advantage. She wore a sky blue day dress with a modest neckline that revealed the delicate white lace of her chemisette. Her hair was freshly washed and carefully coiffed upon her head; it gleamed with a reddish hue when occasional sunbeams glinted into the drawing room windows.

At the sound of the bell, she started and placed her book aside. Aware of her parents’ gaze, she restrained her zeal to abandon her seat and hasten to the entranceway to open the door.

She held her breath at the sight he presented. His tall hat accentuated his towering height and the patterned gray waistcoat and silver cravat he wore seemed to lift his ordinary appearance into something more dazzling. He had never seemed more handsome than at this moment; when his face broke into a gleaming smile, she felt her heart skip a beat.

A glow of tenderness swept over her features as she noted the basket of fruit he was carrying.

She ushered him into the house and looked on happily as her intended offered the sumptuous array of grapes, apples, and peaches to her mother. Mrs.
Hale’s face illuminated as she received the basket. She enthused over the gift, very much pleased at his thoughtful consideration.

After exchanging a few more words with her parents, the young couple returned to the hallway where Margaret hastily put on her shawl and bonnet before they both started down the steps into the street.

Mr. Thornton beamed as she threaded her arm through his and they weaved through the traffic of people and carts as one. They talked of the weather and casual sundries as Mr. Thornton reveled in the privilege of escorting so beautiful and divine a creature.

Last night’s storm had brought a cooler breeze, ushering in September with a hint of autumn. Margaret listened carefully as Mr. Thornton explained that he had been grateful for the hot summer, as it had created more demand for cotton. She had never thought to link the seasons to the flow of his business and asked several probing questions concerning the general pattern of his work throughout the year.

“And have you been able to fill all your orders since the strike?” she asked with a slight furrow of her brow, remembering the pressing obligations he had mentioned at the exhibition.

The corners of his mouth edged upward at her interest in the welfare of his business. “Time will tell if we can make good all our obligations,” he answered enigmatically with a slight sigh. “But we will try our best,” he added with serene confidence.

Margaret looked searchingly at his face and received a wry but warm smile in return for her concern.

He placed his free hand over the gloved hand that lightly gripped his arm and pressed it gently as he changed the subject to inquire about her London family.

Margaret replied readily that all was well at Harley Street, and they soon began to speak of the exhibition’s success and the effect it might have to bring an end to the centuries of wars in Europe. Thoroughly engaged in their conversation, they were blithely unaware of the covert looks from passersby who had never seen the Master amble happily down the street with a handsome girl draped on his arm.

Mr. Thornton led her to a hill at the very edge of town that overlooked a plain where the river wended its way to the city. The smokestacks in the distance stood sentinel to the sleeping industry which, for one day each week, allowed the air to clear just enough for blue sky to appear in patches overhead.

The steady breeze that had cleared the oppressive skies of this outlying area, moved the pastel ribbons of Margaret’s un-tied bonnet so that they fluttered and danced about her face as they took in the sight of the open verdure below.

“Do you come here often?” Margaret inquired.

“Not often enough. Sometimes, when I grow weary of the sight of what man has made and long for a glimpse of what God has wrought,” he replied as his eyes reverently surveyed the wide expanse of greenery.

Margaret turned to study his reflective profile for a moment before returning her gaze to the view.

Mr. Thornton turned his attention to the girl from Hampshire. Her face, pink from the wind and their long walk, was even more beautiful in the natural light of this grand setting. He watched the breeze play with the loose tendrils of her hair as they brushed her cheek. She seemed a creature too exquisite to be housed in the gray gloom and crowded confines of this industrial town.

“Perhaps someday we could build our home here, so that you could enjoy the countryside,” he suggested, gesturing vaguely to the land near the river bend.

Margaret remained silent for a moment. The very thought of sharing a home with him made her nerves tingle, and she imagined living in such a secluded spot with romantic relish. “It would be lovely to have such a view, but it would not do for you to be so far from your work,” she answered thoughtfully, regarding him with slight confusion.

“I wish above all things for you to be happy,” he returned, a look of sincere concern etched on his brow.

“I believe I will be happy wherever we live,” she declared, wishing to erase those lines of worry from his face. She blushed to meet his incredulous gaze, averting her eyes for a moment before raising them again to his.

Her selfless answer moved him. His hope swelled at the promise of her contentment to be wedded to him. Unable to resist her any longer, he bent to gently press a single kiss on her lips.

“We shall be seen,” Margaret murmured as she opened her eyes to find him straightening himself.

He smiled. “There is no one about,” the Master assured her even as he furtively surveyed
their surroundings.

Margaret met the glimmer in his eye with a twinkle in her own. She turned to lead them back toward town. “Perhaps in Milton there is a reckless disregard for propriety, but I assure you that in London there is the strictest adherence to rules of decorum,” she stated with haughty righteousness.

Mr. Thornton could not subdue a grin as he kept pace with her easy stride. “But you have professed a preference for Milton society,” he smartly reminded her.

She laughed at his quick rejoinder. “I have,” she admitted. “I’ve grown accustomed to your Milton ways; I believe they are much more forgiving of my impetuous habits and forthright nature.”

“I think, given time, you might pass muster as a true Darkshire lass,” he smugly mused.

“In time? Am I truly so incorrigible?” she taunted, casting a sideways glance at him.

The Master’s lips curved into a mischievous grin. “Perhaps not. I think you have lived here long enough now to understand how things are done in Milton — how we masters only strive to grind our workers into the ground,” he teased.

“I certainly do not think that, as you well know!” she returned in mock offense, tugging at his arm in retribution.

A short laugh escaped from him, as he immensely enjoyed their game.

“I did not understand why there should be so much suffering and strife between masters and men. You spoke so adamantly of your own position. Is it any wonder that I thought you quite indifferent to those beneath you?” she posed in playful defense of her former assumptions.

“And is there hope for me yet?” he posed with a quiver of a smile on his lips.

“Yes,” she answered bashfully at his deference to her judgment, unable to suppress the smile that pulled at her face.

Margaret grew pensive, marveling at how much her opinion of him had changed. She remembered with a pang of remorse how wrongly she had once judged him. He was not indifferent, but perhaps not fully aware of all that his workers faced. She was proud of him for forgiving Boucher his folly and offering him work.

“I understand from Mary that you have taken on Boucher. Thank you for doing so,” she said solemnly after several moments of silence.

“Children should not starve for their father’s mistakes. I had not considered that the Union forced some men into compliance,” he answered.

“You have little patience with the Union, yet Mary also says you have offered Nicholas work. I did not expect ... I did not ask
you ...” Margaret stuttered before he interrupted her.

“I know he was one of Hamper’s best — that is, until he began gathering his forces for the Union. I need all the skilled hands I can find right now,” he explained grimly. “And since he is your friend, I thought I might be able to trust him not to stir up trouble again,” he added, partly in jest.

Margaret smiled at his good-humored prodding, but was taken aback by his faith in her. “I fear I have little influence over Nicholas. But I know ... that is, I hope that if he takes work with you, you both might come to understand each other better. I’m sure if you could only talk over your differences, there would not be a need for such drastic measures,” she declared with rising fervency.

“Only time will tell,” he replied, conceding the possibility of her bold vision with doubtful reserve. “I have not yet heard from him,” he added.

“No,” she acknowledged rather hesitantly, anxious not to reveal her friend’s obstinate state of mind. “He has been out of sorts of late since the riot ... and since his daughter’s death,” she explained.

“I am sorry for his loss ... and yours,” Mr. Thornton stated solemnly.

Margaret nodded as a strain of sorrow reminded her of the fleeting friendship she had cherished. How much Bessy would have rejoiced to see her marry the Master!

Her silent reflections awoke a dormant suspicion that remained unconfirmed.
Their matched footsteps kept steady rhythm as she pondered how to ask him. “Was it you that sent that fine coffin for Bessy?” she finally asked, searching his face for the truth.