Loose Leaves from Milton #6
She resolved to visit Marlborough Mills the very next day. This proved unfortunate, since it was also the day upon which the angry strike force also chose to pay a call, and they were not merely going to leave a card.
Margaret arrived to find the front gates locked, and had to rap several times before Lipton, the overseer, opened a very small window and peered out at her.
‘I have come to see Mrs Thornton upon a very important matter,’ declared Margaret, firmly.
‘Today of all days,’ sighed Lipton, but opened the door just enough for her to squeeze through without damaging her depressing brown hat. ‘Best get inside the house, miss, and stay there.’
Margaret was going to say she had no wish to stay longer than absolutely necessary, but the look of worry on his visage kept her silent.
She was announced into a small sitting room, though neither Mrs Thornton nor Miss Thornton was sitting.
Mrs Thornton turned from the window. Her face was grave, but then it was like that much of the time.
‘You have come across town alone, Miss Hale?’ Mrs Thornton sounded shocked rather than applauding her bravery. ‘Such foolishness when there are strikers about, and they are short of money through their own actions.’
‘I had to come, Mrs Thornton, for you are the only lady in Milton with whom Mother has spoken, since she has not been able to get out since we arrived. Dr Duckworth recommended that she have the opportunity to - talk - with another lady of her age and - she is very far from well, in fact nearly as far from well as one could be without not being at all.’
Margaret’s voice wavered for a moment, then grew strong again. ‘I could not delay.’
‘I see. Well, in that case I understand your impetuous behaviour, Miss Hale, but this is the worst possible day on which to visit. My son is currently trying to pacify the Irish workers we have had to bring over, for they are convinced that the Milton men are going to break in and smash their teapots, if not their heads, and -’
‘Look, here he comes,’ cried Miss Thornton, pointing out of the window, even though it was rude to point at someone.
All three ladies looked out of the window, as J Tea ran, his long legs enabling him to cross the yard in but fifteen strides (for Margaret counted them).
A few moments later they heard a door shut loudly, and he entered the room, his expression taut.
‘I have locked the door of - Miss Hale, what are you doing here?’ He blinked at the sight of her.
‘I came to ask your mother if - you locked those poor people in? That is imprisonment.’
‘It is saving their teapots, if not their bones, Miss Hale. I have had word the strikers are making for Marlborough Mills as we speak. Please stand back from the windows, all of you. I have sent to the militia barracks, so with luck reinforcements will arrive before serious injuries occur. They are a mob, a rabble, and could do anything, even fire the mill.’
‘Surely not, sir. They are desperate, yes, for their children lack bread and I doubt not many are trying to get four brewings from a single pot of tea, but they are men, not animals.
Go out and speak with them, as a man.’ Margaret’s voice shook, not with fear, but with passion.
In the face of the passion of Miss Hale, J Tea obeyed not sense but his heart, which throbbed at the only passion he thought he would ever receive from her.
He turned, ignoring his mother’s command not to be foolhardy, and went from the room. She turned upon Margaret.
‘What have you done, you stupid girl? Your ignorance may cause his death.’
‘Oh dear,’ murmured Margaret, lowering her gaze, ‘that would be very, indeed most, unfortunate. I must make reparation.’
Without another word, she too absented herself from the chamber, whilst Miss Thornton cried that they would all be murdered in their beds, despite it being mid morning, and hid in a cupboard, since it was nothing like a bed.
Even as Margaret emerged onto the open porch at the top of the steps, the heavy bar across the gates began to splinter, and a huge crowd of angry strikers, bearing banners which, owing to incomplete educations, declared ‘ARD WORK DEZERVS ‘ARD BISKITS’ and ‘NOWT SOGGY IN OUR TEA’.
They looked not only militant but martial.
J Tea was suddenly aware that he was not alone, and half turned, horrified, to see Miss Hale bare-headed, for the ribands of her depressing brown hat had come loose as she rushed down the stairs.
‘Miss Hale, you cannot be out here. These rough men are seeing you hatless. Go inside, I beg of you.’
‘No, sir, even though I breach every code of decency. You are risking your life at my beseeching, and I must therefore take as great a risk. Speak to the men, and -’
Before she could finish, a voice from the crowd yelled ‘Look, the shameless hussy has not even a shawl over her hair and is standing with The Maister. It’s a Den of Iniquity here as well as full of Irish Potato Dunkers.’
J Tea tried to thrust Margaret behind him, but she resisted, creating what looked like an intimate dance sequence.
‘Shame! Shame!’ cried voices, and suddenly a cobble from the yard came flying through the air.
It missed, but Margaret made every attempt to stand in front of J Tea, in the belief that the men would not throw missiles at a Miss Hale, even if she was hatless.
She was wrong. A second cobble executed a perfect parabola as J Tea tussled with her to reverse their places, and it struck her upon the temple. She collapsed senseless in his arms.
‘You call yourselves men, and yet throw stones at defenceless women! The shame is all yours!’
‘Aye, it is,’ a Union man wailed. ‘A broken head will break t’strike,’ at which moment a clatter of hooves announced the arrival of the militia, wielding batons.
Mayhem ensued, but J Tea was aware only of Miss Hale in his arms, and the blood upon her pallid skin, skin broken more than the leaves of an orange pekoe.
‘Miss Hale, Margaret,’ he whispered, ‘I pray that tea will revive you, but in this moment you are all mine, and my heart beats only for you.’ He carried her within, calling for assistance, and laid her upon a chaise longue in the drawing room.
‘Have a care to her, Mother. I must see to the Irish. And get my sister out of the cupboard. The door is jammed and she is going to run out of air if her hysterics continue.’
When he returned, an hour later, the chaise bore his sister, not Miss Hale.
Leaf Six - Not Her Cup of Tea
J Tea remonstrated with his mother, insisting that Miss Hale could not have been sufficiently recovered to return home, but Mrs Thornton was adamant that all had been done to aid her.
‘ When her senses returned we gave her two cups of strong sweet tea and a biscuit with currants in it. I was ready to fetch the doctor, but she was determined to go home, and so I sent her in our carriage, once the bruised strikers had been cleared from the yard. What was she thinking, going outside without her hat? Men saw her! She risked her reputation and then - is it true she forced herself upon you, shamelessly?’
‘No, Mother, she was trying to protect me from violence. She thought nobody would launch a missile at me with her in the way.’
‘Well, it is clear that she is besotted with you, and there is no help for it, you must marry her immediately. Anything less would ruin your reputation as well as hers. I despair of modern misses who let themselves come into but eight layers of clothing distance from a man’s torso, but I admit her recklessness was also brave. ’
‘I shall go immediately, Mother.’
‘No, J Tea, go in the morning. Now you also are in need of tea to steady you, and I am sure Miss Hale will have gone to bed with a headache upon reaching Scotland Yard.’
J Tea, coloured, having heard ‘Miss Hale’ and ‘bed’ in the same sentence, but sighed.
‘You are of course, right, Mother. Er, why is the chaise long wet?’
‘I threw a bucket of water over that girl who is your sister. Her hysteria was showing no signs of abating, and she spilled a cup of tea all over the floor.’
‘That explains it. I shall go to Scotland Yard tomorrow morning and confess my love, for love it is, Mother, be she ever so southern and proud. Yet I do not feel that she will accept me, for all that you say.’
Secretly, Mrs Thornton also wanted to be wrong for once.
J Tea stood with his back to the fire, conscious that his buttocks were getting rather warm, and in what he hoped was the formal attitude of a man about to make a Declaration.
From his frown of concentration it might as easily be a Declaration of War.
Miss Hale was pale, and her hand flew to her womanly bosom, which was modestly covered in several layers of concealing garments.
Nevertheless, J Tea could not resist looking at that hand, that hand that had passed him the teacup with the delicate curving sides and very fine quality transfer printing.
Oh, how he wanted to cup her teacups in his hands. He was stirred, but without the spoon.
‘Miss Hale, my feelings for you are very strong, like the tea you make. I never knew a woman who could brew a cup of tea so exactly to my . . . needs, even my Mother’s tea is . . .inadequate in comparison.’
‘You have come to praise my tea, sir?’ Her voice, like tea-leaves, was a little strained, for no man had ever mentioned his ‘needs’ to her before.
‘No . . .yes . . .to praise all of you.’
‘My entire family? Have you even heard of my cousin Marmaduke?’
‘Marmalade?’ He was now so confused his brain reeled, in fact it did a Highland fling with full bagpipe accompaniment.
‘Mr Thornton, are you well? You mention preserves? You are rambling.’ She wondered for one brief moment if he had taken strong drink, had let his tea stew to an excessive level of tannins, and with too little milk.
‘Rambling,’ he mumbled, half to himself, ‘like a rose, a yellow tea rose.’ He blinked at her. ‘I am not well.’