In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (54 page)

Yet these remained, the only remnant here of what had taken place just days ago. The other flowers had been sent to a few invalid acquaintances and to Mrs. Hale, whom she knew was resting from the strenuous activity of her daughter’s wedding.

Hannah had busied herself returning the household to normalcy, preparing the rooms in which the new mistress of the house would reside. Margaret’s gowns, sent to her new home in her absence, now hung in the carved oak wardrobe in her son’s bedchamber. Her belongings were placed among the freshly arranged furnishings of a private sitting room. There was nothing to do now but wait for the exultant pair to return, securing their place as master and mistress of this establishment.

The aging widow turned to dispel the gloom that gathered in contemplation of her own future. She walked to the window with sedate steps, endeavoring vainly to evade the despairing thoughts that chased her every waking hour.

She had been unprepared for the barrage of emotions that had swept through her since her son’s carriage had last disappeared from sight. For fifteen years she had been his sole guide and solace, his one true companion. No one could tell the dark trials that they had endured, and no mother’s heart could beat with more pride than hers for what her son had become. Did the girl know his true worth?

She observed the activity in the yard below, where men carried on the regular work of the mill her son had worked so hard to
raise to great success. His accomplishment was visible everywhere, never more so than when men and machines kept to their task like clockwork despite his absence.

Each man and machine to his purpose, she mused with satisfaction. But what would her purpose be? She quailed at the notion of abdicating her useful role and lapsing into uselessness, astounded to learn how much she relied upon the familiar routine and pattern of life to retain her equanimity. She dreaded the changes the girl would bring, but swallowed her selfish worry to pray that her son would be happy. She would sacrifice every earthly pleasure to see him truly content.

A jolt of anxiety quickened her pulse as a cab appeared into view and made its way to the house. She watched intently as the carriage stopped, the door was flung open, and John alighted — alone. Her heart plunged to see the dark expression written on his face, where triumph should have been.
Where was Margaret?
A spark of jealous relief stole in swiftly as she hoped to claim him as her own once again.
Had they quarreled?
The fleeting elation dissipated with the sober remembrance of the binding sanctity of marriage. An uneasy feeling turned her stomach, and she clenched her jaw. If something had happened to cause a rift between them, careful pain would need to be paid in the endeavor to mend it.

“Are they here?”

Her daughter’s voice interrupted the stream of Hannah’s disquieting thoughts. “Yes,” she answered distractedly, resolved to wait for John’s explanation of events before revealing anything was amiss to Fanny.

She steeled herself for whatever he had to say, feeling a lightness of spirit flutter in eagerness to offer him a mother’s devoted comfort and support.

“Mother,” he gave her a faint smile and kiss on the cheek in greeting as he entered the room. Fanny rose from her seat as he turned to offer her a similar greeting.

“Where is Margaret?” she asked with measured composure, searching his f
ace for any sign of hidden pain as he approached her once again.

Fanny
’s eyes fastened on her brother, waiting impatiently to hear how he should explain this curious development.

“In
Crampton. Her mother is not well,” the returning groom answered with a deep sigh.

Mrs. Thornton let out her breath slowly, chastising herself for overlooking this possibility as her gaze fell to the floor.

“Mother, I must speak with you — privately,” he continued in grave tones, glancing at his sister’s attentive posture.

His manner sparked dread in her breast
, and all the disquieting musings of some breach of the girl’s devotion returned to unsettle her.

“Fanny, play for us your Brahms piece,” she directed her daughter in clipped tones.

Fanny opened her mouth to protest, but gathered herself up from the sofa as she caught sight of her mother’s grim stare.

When the first tinkling notes of the piano could be heard, Mr. Thornton began his hushed discourse. “Margaret has a brother….”

“A brother! Why have we not heard of this?” The words poured out from her lips in an explosive whisper.

“He is wanted for mutiny by the Navy. He lives in exile — in Spain. But he has come; he is at the
Hale’s home this instant.”

“…To see his mother,” she finished with dawning realization.

“Yes.” Shared glances revealed the gravity of Mrs. Hale’s condition.

“What can be done?” the widowed woman asked in sympathy for this plight.

“Nothing at present. Dr. Donaldson has said there may be periods of lapse and recovery throughout. There may still be time …” he relayed with hopeful fervor, although his brow was furrowed in concern. “No one must know of their visitor — no one. I am willing to risk my reputation to keep this secret. Whatever happens, he cannot stay long; it is too dangerous. I have left Margaret in Crampton while I see to things at the mill. I will go for her after dinner.”

Mrs. Thornton nodded, somewhat bewildered by the flurry of unexpected news and arrangements. One question remained unsettled in her mind. She looked up into her son’s somber countenance. “Was your trip agreeable?”

A soft haze of light broke over his stern features; his focus grew distant. She knew the answer before he opened his mouth. “It was more than agreeable,” he answered reverently as his mouth curved into a small smile. “I would have liked to stay longer if circumstances would have allowed.”

She gave a swift nod and forced a smile to her lips. It was well he was happy, she reminded herself as she felt the throb of her heart resume its normal pattern.

*
****

Without the expected addition of Margaret at the dinner table, the established residents of the Thornton household ate their meal together much as they had for years, although with palpable silence this particular evening.

Mr. Thornton made no delay afterwards to take the family coach to Crampton. He joined his wife in the parlor, where brother and sister quietly shared accounts of the years spent living separate lives. He smiled to hear the siblings’ exchange of Helstone memories centered on playful traditions and eccentric and cantankerous villagers.

Mr. Hale slumped in a chair in the shadowy periphery of the candle-lit room. His wife slept peacefully at present, but her struggle with pain and weakness drove terror deep into his heart. The voices of his children drifted in and out of his dazed consciousness, his eyes lifting to their faces at the call to mind of the indelible characters of his former life.

Frederick asked a good many questions of Mr. Thornton about his experience in trade and relayed his own eager plans to become an essential partner (and fond son-in-law) at Barbour and Company in Cadiz.

The Milton manufacturer answered with simple wisdom the conjectures of inexperience as he kept a wary eye on the despondent figure of his good friend, so recently his father-in-law. He knew by Margaret’s manner that she also did not forget the one
who neither spoke nor moved in his chair.

When the newlyweds prepared to leave, Margaret kissed her father and brother
good-night with a solemn heart and promised to return in the morning. Until her husband had arrived, she had been absorbed in her role as daughter and sister.  She marveled at the change wrought within her, for only days ago she had been a maiden, living within these walls; she was no longer that girl, but wholly a woman who knew what it was to be loved by a man. She belonged to him.

No pang of wistfulness for the past made her long to stay behind. Instead, the stirring of excitement lifted the heaviness in her heart as she travelled with him in the carriage through the darkened streets.

A tingle of nerves set her stomach fluttering as the coach stopped by the great house in the silent mill yard. She wondered about the welcome she would receive from the occupants within the lighted windows and what arrangements had been made for her living quarters.

They climbed together the scrubbed, granite steps leading to the front entrance. The new bride caught the glint of mischief in her husband’s eyes a second before he whisked her off her feet. “John!” she gasped as she clung to his neck, feeling her smile grow broader at his own wide grin, neither of them forgetting that this was the place where such fateful drama had unfolded between them, midst the fury of countless strangers.

The newly married master carried his bride across the threshold and set her down in his house with great satisfaction. “Welcome to your new home,” he muttered with a swell of jubilation in his breast, giving her a quick kiss for good measure.

A smiling blush still suffused the girl’s face as she entered the drawing room on her husband’s arm, raising the sober widow’s brow.

Margaret received a kindly, if not altogether warm, greeting from her reserved mother-in-law. The requisite kiss on the cheek and polite words of concern for her mother’s health were given by both older woman and daughter.

“You have arrived in time for our evening round. It is has been my custom to read a chapter of Scripture before we all retire,” Hannah Thornton announced with practiced pleasantness, as she looked to the new mistress of the house.

“By all means … please continue. It sounds a fine tradition,” Margaret faltered, unprepared for the deference paid to her by the stern matriarch.

The servants gathered into the room while Mrs. Thornton searched for her place in the heavy, leather-bound book. After reading a few sober verses from Jeremiah, she closed the book and the servants silently turned to leave.

“Sarah will be your lady’s maid,” Fanny addressed Margaret, indicating a slender girl of similar age who made a slight curtsy at the call of her name, glancing nervously at the master’s wife.

Fanny led the way toward the stairs behind the papered walls with her own attendant and Sarah in her wake.

Margaret began to hesitantly follow, casting a bewildered look at her husband.

He gave her a reassuring smile and watched wistfully as she disappeared from view.

The proud mother rejoiced inwardly to have this private audience with her son, as they had always done. She listened to his brief account of Mrs. Hale’s condition, the stupor of the old vicar, and the brother hidden from public view.

The somber reality of the troubles Margaret wou
ld face weighed heavily in John’s mind as he bade his mother good-night. But nothing could stay the rise of elation he felt as he climbed the stairs to seek his wife in their private living quarters.

He hesitated only a moment before he opened the dark paneled door of his bedroom without knocking.

Margaret heard his entry and looked up to see his reflection in the mirror of the dressing table at which she sat. “Thank you, Sarah. That will be all,” she announced kindly, dismissing the maid who had been brushing her hair.

The girl laid the brush down without a word, and escaped past the imposing figure of the master with downcast eyes.

Margaret rose from her seat to face her husband. His heart twisted at the sight of her full beauty, rendering him speechless and immobile. She looked soft and beguiling in some delicate creation of pale blue silk, her hair falling luxuriously over her shoulders. He could not breathe.

“Do you have all that you require?” he asked, discovering his voice as he stepped forward to take her hands in his, his body aching to feel the press of her form against own. The intervening hours since the morning’s blissful tryst now seemed an arduous separation.

“There is a sitting room for your use,” he continued with creased brow, a sense of doubt suddenly clouding his stubborn insistence that she should share his bed every evening.

She laid a hand on his forearm. “I am well pleased with the arrangements,” she said with blushing timidity. “Truly,” she assured him, lifting lowered eyes to meet his.

“Margaret,” he breathed, taking her into his arms, the pounding of his heart sounding the joy he felt to have her in his room at last.

“I will not … ask anything of you this evening,” he falteringly promised in whispered tones as he held her soft form against him. He detected the
merest of nods from the head at his shoulder and pulled her tighter against him for a moment before slowly releasing his grasp.

He saw the weary sadness in her eyes at this acknowledgment of her sorrow. A spark of guilt cast a shadow over his blithe happiness. “Perhaps I should not have taken you to Scarborough….”

“No,” she answered, surprising him with her earnest avowal as she grasped his arm. “No matter what happens … I am resolved I shall not regret the time we spent away. My mother wished us to go …” she declared, holding her gaze to his so that he would understand.

He took her into his arms again and held her close. “Then you make me confess that I cannot regret it either,” he said near her ear, knowing he would treasure the memory of those days forever.