In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (5 page)

                  
“In front of all those people?” Fanny asked aghast, her eyes and mouth broadened in wide surprise. “I thought she was after John, mama, and this proves it! I was quite certain her lofty scoffs were just pretense, but I didn’t think she’d be so bold in her devices! These London girls ...”

                  
“That’s enough, Fanny!” her mother commanded, her daughter’s chatter vexing her spirits. It was enough to contemplate how her son had at last been caught. She felt a heaviness descend upon her. Something unnerved her about the way her son and Miss Hale had both behaved.

                  
Fanny continued to titter about how frightened she had been, and asked Jane more circumspectly about the actions of the mob.

                  
Mrs. Thornton spun around at the sound of her son’s returning footsteps.

                  
“The Irish are still frightened. The constable will send ... where is she?” he asked abruptly, his eyes darting wildly about the room.

                  
“She has gone home,” his mother answered with tight lips, her head thrown back in defense.

                  
“Gone home?” he repeated hollowly, his brow creased in displeasure. “But I told her ...”

                  
“I reminded her of your request, but she was determined to return home at once. Such a headstrong girl, John, I've never seen!”

                  
He strode to the window as his mother spoke and looked out, chest heaving, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her. He longed to go after her, to take her in his arms — to look into her eyes and discern whether she might feel just a fraction of what he felt for her.

                  
He could not stay the fervor which consumed him, nor command his mind to think of other things. With every passing moment, he was more certain of the feelings that coursed through his veins. One clarion thought rose over the tumult of emotions raging in his breast — he would have no one else for his wife.

Chapter Two

Margaret looked warily about her before turning onto the narrow street that would lead a circuitous way home. She walked briskly, her limbs shaking uncontrollably as she fled the confusion and commotion behind her. She feared that he might pursue her upon discovering her absence, and quickened her pace. Each step bore her safely away, but she could not evade the torrent of images that flashed before her.

She glanced down and noticed with a start that her pale skirts were smudged with dirt. Instantly, she remembered the fall she had willingly taken and how she had knelt at his side. Even now, she recalled with a flash of terror, the handkerchief in her pocket was stained with his blood.

Her mind raced to make sense of all that had happened — everything had unraveled so quickly! How unfortunate it was that she had been caught up in such a dreadful event. What had possessed her to take part in the great drama of it all? She, who prided herself on her self-control
, scorning any display of unbridled emotion!

She recalled the frightening furor of the throng and how she had tried to send them home. It was not just that he should stand there and let the soldiers come upon those poor creatures without a word!

But it was not the crowd alone that she had wished to save from danger.

‘I could not allow them to inflict harm on one who was so grossly outnumbered! I only wished to forestall any violence. Did I do any good? I am not certain, but I feel justified in my attempt.’ Her eyes flickered to a man clambering up the steps across the way, no doubt in haste to relay the news of the day.

A flush of shame colored her face as she recalled how she had clung to the man whom she had sent into danger. The vision of all those nameless, angry faces bore into her consciousness, so that she felt quite faint in mortification at the remembrance of who had witnessed what she had done. ‘But I was duty-bound as a woman to protect him. If I had not been there ...’ A shiver ran up her spine at the thought.

The returning image of his still, serene face unnerved her, for she had never believed she would see him rendered so powerless. A moment later, she swiftly pushed away the vision of how tenderly his eyes had gazed into hers; she was frightened that such an image might coil adroitly about her and strangle all ability to reason rightly.

‘He must know that my aid was compulsory. I should have tended to any one in the same manner,’ she resolved, sweeping away all other feelings with her willful logic. Her resolutions settled uncomfortably within her, and she could not subdue the feeling that some strange impulsion was bearing down upon her. She found that she could not quell the trembling elation that coursed through her every nerve.

Upon arriving home, she stole away to her room unseen and changed out of her soiled dress. When she finally joined her parents, she poured tea for them and entered their pleasant conversation when directed with a calm countenance. Gratified to see her mother sitting comfortably in the drawing room, she endeavored to sweep aside the swirling thoughts that plagued her and enjoy her parents’ company.

*****

Mr. Thornton’s heart lurched as he stood at the window, gazing down at the path she had certainly taken only moments before. Every sinew ached with the impulse to go after her; his pulse raced with the desire to feel her touch once more, but he was compelled to stay at the mill and manage the repercussions of the riot. He turned with decision from the window and crossed the room to depart.

His mother watched him anxiously. “Where are you going?” she called out after him, a tremor of urgency straining her voice.

His eyes met hers steadily. “The constable still awaits me, and I must help settle the Irish,” he answered forthrightly. “If there’s time, I will go to Crampton to ensure that Miss Hale has returned safely,” he added, evading her worried gaze.

“Surely you are not well enough to go all about town after suffering such a blow. I will have the water mattress sent to
Crampton and Mr. Williams can ask after her. You must rest when your business is done.”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with a smoldering intensity.

“John ... I’m asking you not to go tonight. You will come home for supper this evening?” she pleaded in thinly veiled desperation.

He let out his breath and released the tension in his shoulders. He shot a penetrating look at her,
then gave a swift nod before quitting the room.

As Fanny lay on the sofa to calm her nerves while Jane fanned her, both watched this peculiar exchange with great interest. Mrs. Thornton gave them a cursory glance in discomfiture. “Jane, you will attend to your duties now,” she curtly ordered as she sat to take up her sewing. She could not abide Fanny’s exaggerated antics and frailties.

“But, mother, I was so frightened! They could have stormed in to murder us all!” she cried out, her eyes wide in horror as her blond ringlets bobbed with the movement of her head.

“Oh, Fanny! They would have done no such thing!” Mrs. Thornton chastised her daughter in exasperation.

Fanny huffed at her mother’s dismissal and observed her mother’s expert fingers dart and pull her needle with uncommon brusqueness. Eventually sitting up, she shunned her mother’s silent company to find calming distraction in playing her favorite piano pieces.

Hannah Thornton let out a small sigh. She felt that the proud, predictable life she had led up to this time was fast slipping away. She had always known, of course, that John would marry, but he had never taken an interest in the fairer sex before, so consumed by his work had he been. She had grown accustomed to being the most important figure in his life and had not been prepared for the abrupt change in her son’s behavior since this young southern woman had arrived in Milton.

Mrs. Thornton had sensed a disturbance in the air from the very first time she had spotted the girl wandering the mill yard below. Her son had been overly keen to impress these Hales — as if they were visiting gentry! He looked up to Mr. Hale as a man of learning and intellect, and sought his company often – this disgraced preacher!

As for Miss Hale — the light that sparked in his eyes at the mention of her name had not escaped his mother; she had noted all the signs of his attraction to this lively beauty — his small smiles and half-hearted protestations of indifference. She had hoped it would prove a passing fancy, for although she had been surprised at his awakening interest in Miss Hale, she reasoned that even should her son fall captive to the charms of womankind, his business would soon absorb him once more. But, much to her chagrin, he showed every alarming sign of falling in love with this haughty young woman.

The proud mother tugged her needle forcefully from the underside of her embroidery. It had galled her considerably when, weeks before, the girl had scornfully laughed when she had mentioned John’s privileged status as the most sought-after bachelor in town. How quickly she had seemed to change her mind!

Mrs. Thornton gave a huff of incredulity at the girl’s fickleness. Perhaps the pretty newcomer had soon discovered how well John was respected in this town. To be chosen by her son would elevate a kitchen-wench to the esteem of the world. A wry smile crept over her lips. No doubt the well-bred girl had also realized that his wealth and position were not to be scoffed at, although he was not the feckless, dandified sophisticate that she might aspire to in a London gentleman.

Miss Hale was a spirited, outspoken girl, quite unlike her mild and harmless father. Mrs. Thornton was quite shocked, however, that a gentleman’s daughter would act so shamelessly as to embrace her son in public. She halted her sewing, her hands resting limply in her lap. It was of no use now to censure the girl. She had won her aim. John must offer her his name to secure her reputation. She would be his wife, and must be accorded the respect due her as such.

The troubled widow cast her eyes about the immaculate room. She would be replaced soon enough as mistress of Marlborough Mills and fade into the shadows of her son’s life. Margaret would reign over his heart and home.

A dissonant chord sounded from the neighboring room, jarring the stalwart matriarch from her reverie. Unfortunately, Fanny’s skills as a pianist did not match her enthusiasm. Mrs. Thornton inhaled deeply and took up her sewing again. For now, it was just the three of them. She would endeavor to hold on to these days, and keep them close to her heart. She would bear the change, whenever it fell upon them. For John’s sake, she must.

*****

“Mr. Thornton ... Mr. Thornton? Are you quite all right? Perhaps you should sit,” the constable urged, studying the distracted Master with some concern. The man looked dazed, he thought, though whether from the injury he had sustained or from the sheer enormity of events he did not know.

“No, I am well,” Mr. Thornton replied, tearing his gaze from the barren platform across the yard, the same platform where she had stood with him amid the furor of the masses not an hour ago. It seemed a thing incredible to him now — that she had dared to come down to save him. She had used her body as a shield, and had wrapped her arms around his neck....

He shook himself from these thoughts and looked with furrowed brow at the sturdy, uniformed man in his mill office. “You were saying?” Mr. Thornton prompted, determined to offer his full attention to the matter at hand, though his heart beat strong with unfettered exhilaration.

“We will seek out the perpetrators and bring justice to those who caused you bodily harm ...” the constable began solemnly.

“I will not press charges,” Mr. Thornton interrupted. “The guilty parties will become known and they will find it difficult to obtain work. Their own actions will give them punishment. That will be justice enough.”

The constable raised an eyebrow at his decision but returned not a word. Mr. Thornton was not a man with whom to quibble.

Before the constable had departed, Mr. Hamper and Mr. Henderson, masters from nearby cotton mills, arrived at Thornton’s office to speak to him. They related to Mr. Thornton the word on the street as well as their own boastful predictions.

“The strike is over. The Union has lost its stance with the outbreak of violence. Mark my words, they’ll be at the mill gates with hats in hand come tomorrow morning. We’ve won, Thornton!” Hamper exuded with triumphant grin.

Mr. Thornton acknowledged the truth of their reasoning, but felt no impulse to rejoice over the trouble that had been wrought and the trouble still facing him concerning his Irish hands. Completing his discussion with his colleagues, he climbed the stairs to reach the upper floor of his mill. He found the men and women from across the Irish Sea castigating him with frightened outcries and demands to return home. Mustering all his mental strength, he spoke to them with calm authority and endeavored to quell their fears. Impatiently, he bore his responsibility, when all he truly longed to do was quit the mill and follow the road to
Crampton.

As he walked home later across the quiet yard hours later, images of Margaret flooded his thoughts and began to ignite the simmering emotions that he had endeavored to control these past few hours. A swell of hope rose as he recalled how gently she had tended to him, and the sweet look of care on her face was etched in his mind. Did she carry some affection for him after all? He burned to know if any fondness, any budding warmth of feeling might be ripening in her heart for him. If there was any chance at all, any possibi
lity that she might feel toward him the merest part of what he himself felt for her, then he would risk everything to secure a place in her life.