Epilogue
Summer roses, peonies, and foxgloves of mixed colors filled a wide silver vase at the center of the long elaborately set dinner table where invited guests sat.
New wallpaper of pale yellow with slender floral vines gave the grand room a warmer, gentler tone.
Indeed, the entire atmosphere of the Thornton dinner party was much lighter than that of the year before.
The same people attended, with one fresh addition—the Thorntons had invited Nicholas Higgins to join them, to allow a different perspective to sit at the table.
The other mill owners were surprised to see him there, but they kept their opinions to themselves.
They assumed the new mistress of the house impelled this change.
Indeed, she seemed also to be mistress of Mr. Thornton himself.
When conversation at the table lulled a moment, and the clinking of silver on fine china was the only sound, Mr. Hamper spoke up.
“How has your experiment in creating a workers’ dining hall fared thus far?
” he asked the host at the head of the table.
“I imagine it comes at quite a cost to you,” he added, giving a knowing glance around the table at his colleagues.
“The initial investments such as cooking equipment, tables, and dishes have indeed been costly. But I’m not running a charity. The workers pay for their mid-day meal with us, and it will eventually cover all costs,” Mr. Thornton explained.
“But if there’s no profit in it, why go to all that trouble?” Mr. Slickson asked, with hums and nods of agreement from many of the others.
“There’s more than monetary profit to be had, gentlemen. I’ll let my friend Higgins here give you an idea of what I mean,” Mr. Thornton answered.
The newcomer cleared his throat; himself surprised to be sitting among these men. He had bought used apparel in town that he thought would pass muster for the occasion.
“Yo’ ask if there’s any profit in helping a man find a decent meal while he’s spending long hours at your mill.
Mayhap it doesn’t fill your coffers to set up a dining hall.
But it fills a worker’s belly for a decent price and keeps your workers sharp and alert instead o’ dreaming of his supper with a grumbling stomach.
It gives men a space to gather and enjoy the company of others for a time. ”
“And when the Master comes a time or two to eat with us, it helps to knock down that wall of distrust between us. We see each other as humans, each of us with our own concerns—all of us needing to eat.”
“Given a place to eat good food for a good deal while at work, the workers see their needs being met. Men are less apt to grumble, to be careless in their work. They begin to take pride in their work. The profit is in making a man feel that he counts for something.”
There was silence in the space after his speech.
Hannah Thornton looked around at the other masters’ stony faces.
She herself still wasn’t thoroughly convinced a workers’ kitchen was worth the extra effort and upkeep.
And she wasn’t certain she approved of the influence Margaret appeared to have over her son.
But she was certain about one thing: her son was happy, and she was glad his marriage to Margaret had thus far been more successful than she had imagined.
It satisfied her greatly whenever she caught her daughter-in-law gazing at her husband with adoration.
Seated at the other end of the long table, Margaret Thornton smiled admiringly at her husband.
It was not only that he had developed a friendly fellowship with Nicholas and other workers that made her heart sing with joyful gratitude that he was her husband.
It was also how much he had been a strong comfort to her in the great sorrows that had befallen them since they had married—when Bessy had died, and later when her mother had also died.
He had given up his position as magistrate to better accommodate his future role as a family man, he had said. But he had done so to avoid the moral conflict of keeping her brother Frederick’s visit a secret when he had come to see his mother one last time.
John had been her father’s greatest friend and comfort when her mother died.
She owed everything to her husband’s gentle ways with her father.
John had insisted that her father move in with them right away.
That her father was sitting with them tonight and could smile, she attributed to the time her husband had spent with him during those first few months of darkest grief.
After the dinner party was over, the young married couple retreated to their bedchamber. This was John’s favorite time of the day, when the two of them alone shared a private space to talk and indulge in the various forms of physical touch and connection which he so craved.
Margaret stood still in the candle-lit room while her husband unfastened the hooks at the back of her evening gown.
“Did you see Slickson’s face when he saw Higgins was here?” John asked, recalling the vision with great mirth as his fingers nimbly unclasped the tiny hooks.
Margaret laughed gleefully. “And Mrs. Slickson! I thought they both might turn and leave.”
He chortled in response.
“I believe it was good for them all to hear him speak,” Margaret said more seriously as he continued to unhook her dress.
“Not one of them will follow my lead,” he answered.
“No, but perhaps his words will come to mind occasionally. Anything that might soften their hearts towards their workers will do.”
Finished with his task, John couldn’t help leaning down to kiss the curve of her neck—where he had longed to kiss her all evening.
A shiver of delight ran up Margaret’s spine. She sighed approvingly as he pulled her body to his and wrapped his arms around her from behind. The prickle of his roughened cheek brushed against her own soft cheek.
His hands moved to envelop gently the slight swell of her belly.
She had told him merely weeks before. It was incredible to him that the passion that they shared in this very room had created new life within her.
The utter joy and contentment that filled his soul at this moment surpassed all he had ever dreamed of happiness.
If mortals could attain bliss this side of heaven, then this was it.
“I must go to London soon on business; will you come with me?” he murmured near her ear. He could not bear to be away from her for even one night.
She turned around in his arms to face him. “I don’t know,” she said, her brow creased in mock seriousness. “I once had to dance with a stranger from the North at a ball in London. It happened that he was a manufacturer from a smoky factory town.”
“And you were foolish enough to marry the brute?” he teased with a wide grin.
“I was…and I will never regret it,” she answered, looking straight into his eyes, all her playfulness vanished.
Something deep within him twisted and ached, and he leaned down to crush his lips to hers—to show her his love.
The End