Chapter 2 Passages in Time #7
He appeared a moment later in the kitchen. “I hope you have not gone to much trouble, Miss Hale. It seems wrong that a refined young lady such as yourself does not have someone to help with domestic duties.”
“I am not a grand lady, Mr. Thornton. I will admit that my parents employed a woman to help with cleaning at the vicarage. She was a part of my life when I lived at home. She had a sharped tongued personality, but she was devoted to my parents – especially to my mother – and of course, like everybody, she adored my brother Frederick. Please have a seat. Would you care for a glass of wine?”
“That would be very nice. Perhaps I could decant it for you, while you serve the food.”
She smiled. “There is a bottle of Australian white in the fridge.” She pointed to the appliance he had got the milk from earlier.
“You have wine from Australia? I was not aware they produced wine.”
“Yes, they are famous for it.”
“It must be very expensive.”
“No, it’s cheap and cheerful.”
He retrieved the bottle from the fridge and studied the label. “It seems it is an ideal accompaniment to chicken or fish. Are we having either of those?”
“We are, Mr. Thornton – Chicken Supreme,” she said, placing two plates on the table.
“That looks delicious. If you tell me where the corkscrew is, I will open the wine.”
“That bottle has no cork. That wine isn’t expensive enough for a cork. Twist the top. It unscrews.”
If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, but just unscrewed the top. “As it is cheap, I presume it does not need to breathe?” he said, his tone humorous.
“Isn’t it red wine that needs to breathe? I think you should just pour it.”
He smiled, causing crinkles to fan out from his brilliant blue eyes.
Wow, MJ thought, that smile changed his whole face. Gone was the forbidding brooding man. She wondered if he realised how handsome he was. He must have been the catch of Milton.
“As the daughter of a parson, I assume you say grace.”
“My father would have said not nearly often enough. But I can if you’d like.”
“I have noticed how you speak of your father. You use the past tense. Forgive me for prying but…”
Before he could say any more she interrupted. “Has he died? Is that what you want to know? Sadly, yes. Both my parents died in a car accident five years ago.”
“I am very sorry – I know what it is like to lose a father.”
“Thank you. I am grateful that they were together when they died. They were so entwined with each other; it was fitting somehow. My father’s faith was very strong.
He had no trouble believing in the concept of heaven.
So, let’s honour him by my saying grace.
” She bowed her head. “God, we give thanks for the food and ask you to bless it and those who eat it. Now, eat up while it is still hot.”
She held her breath as he took his first forkful. She wasn’t sure why, but she really wanted him to enjoy what she had prepared. He chewed and swallowed. “This is really very good, have you had training?”
Relieved it was to his liking, she smiled and thought for a moment. “In a way. Harry Stephens helped me every step of the way – he’s a celebrity chef and I have his cookbook.”
“Harry Stephens. It’s strange, but that name is very familiar to me.”
“Well, it’s not an unusual name. I imagine it’s very possible that you knew somebody of that name in your own time. It could have been a tradesman, another mill owner, a worker even. Chef Harry Stephens’ family has always lived locally; he is a well-known Milton boy made good.”
As she was speaking, Mr. Thornton paused, a forkful of food hovering between his plate and mouth. His mind cleared and suddenly he knew why the name was familiar. MJ watched as he lowered the fork to his plate, the need to speak outweighing the need to eat.
“Mr. Thornton, is everything all right?”
“Yes, you are right. Harry Stephens is a mill worker – not a very good one, I’m afraid.
I had to sack him for smoking in the mill a few weeks ago.
To be honest, he’s a pathetic idle wastrel.
I should have given him his cards months ago, but he has a family.
So, against my better judgement, I kept him on.
The smoking was one incident too many. He put the whole mill at risk.
” He picked up his fork and continued eating.
It was obvious to MJ that he was thinking deeply about something.
She could see it in his eyes. Not wanting to interrupt his train of thought, she too ate on in silence, retreating into her own thoughts.
When he finished eating, he took a sip of the cold wine. “The food and wine have been excellent. I’m sorry my company has not been more congenial.”
“You have been fine company. It is I who should be apologising. I had an opinion of mill owners, unfavourable and unfair. I am sorry I offended you earlier. It is obvious that you do have a great regard for your mill workers.”
“I do. I am sure the labour market is very different nowadays. Please tell me children are no longer allowed to work.”
“No, not in this country. Sadly, in other poorer parts of the world, they still do.”
“I wanted to stop all children under the age of fourteen from working in the mill, but their parents were against it. In the words of one, ‘mouths that need feeding need to be earning.’ Still, reforms are coming, and I won’t have them in my mill under the age of ten.
“There you go, enlightening me again about how good a master you were. I understand now what Bessy Higgins meant this morning.”
“May I share something with you, Miss Hale? I have not told anybody this.”
“I would be honoured if you told me.”
“I have acquired some land on the outskirts of Milton where I propose to build a village for my workers. Each house will have a small garden and there will be a school, a church, a doctor, and a hall where they can meet. The workers need to be away from the slums if they are ever to be truly healthy.”
“It is a wonderful idea; I wish others from your time had been as concerned about their workers’ wellbeing. I hope we can get you back to your time so that you can make your dream a reality.”
“I’ve been thinking about that ever since you mentioned the name Stephens.
I am certain that his was the voice that called out to me in the cotton store.
That means that the snivelling weasel is working for whoever did this.
We must try and find out who he worked for after I dismissed him. We should look now.”
“No, Mr. Thornton, we will look tomorrow. It is late. We have done enough today. We are going to have another glass of wine and relax for an hour or two. Tell me, are you a fan of Mr. Dickens?”
“Very much, I attended an evening of his reading when he came to Milton.”
“Then I have a treat for you. It is an adaption of his novel, David Copperfield.”
“His latest? I have only lately finished it.”
“If you open that white door over there, I will do the dishes.”
He opened the door and stared. “A machine that washes the plates?”
“Yes, it has taken the place of servants. Take the wine into the lounge. I’ll just load the dishes and then we will watch David Copperfield.”
When she came in the lounge, she switched on the box that she had earlier called a television.
This time, she placed a small flat disc in another machine.
“This is a DVD version of the novel Dickens wrote – like a play, but filmed.” She smiled at his baffled look.
“I suppose it is a major advancement of a Magic Lantern show. I assume you’ve seen those before? ”
“Yes, Miss Hale, I have.”
“Well, this is like a play, but the images come up on the screen.”
“I think it is best I just watch. I am sure it will be good. When I have time, I enjoy the theatre.”
“I’m sure you will enjoy it, but you will see better if you sit over here on the couch. I promise it is all right for us to sit together.”
He hesitated for a moment before moving to the other end of the couch where she sat. She had done something to the lighting which was now dimmer than it had previously been.
She pushed a button and images appeared on the screen.
The story was exactly as Mr. Dickens had written but brought visibly to life on the screen.
He enjoyed it immensely, but it did not hold his concentration completely.
How could it, when he sat close enough to Miss Hale to hear her breathing and smell her perfume?
Occasionally, their hands touched as they reached for their wine glasses.
Did Miss Hale feel the same slight tremor and quickening of heartbeat when their hands met, he wondered?
He sighed. He hoped not, for surely nothing could come from the stirring of attraction he was feeling – nothing but pain, and he would spare her that if he could.
Chapter Seven
It was good to escape the house for the afternoon.
They had been holed up in her home for the past three days, researching the mill and the aftermath of the fire in the 1850s.
Once Mr. Thornton had remembered the name of the man who had called out to him in the cotton store, they had a starting point for their research.
Thanks to MJ’s contacts in the city archives, they were able to discover where Stephens had found employment after he had been dismissed from Marlborough Mills.
The name of the man who had taken him on had not come as a surprise to either.
Joseph Slickson was the owner of a rival mill and a man for whom Mr. Thornton obviously had no time.
“The man is a fool – he cuts corners and uses cheap inferior material, and his mill has the worst safety record. He turns out shoddy work that he sells cheaply. By cutting corners, he keeps his costs down so that his mill makes a very healthy profit,” Mr. Thornton had said when he heard the name.
“So healthy that after the fire he bought your mill: Marlborough Mills is owned by the Slickson family,” MJ had told him.