Loose Leaves from Milton #8
The end came within a few days, and over and above the grief in the house was fear that Frederick’s presence had been compromised by his being recognised, even in his curate’s disguise, by the Bad Apple of Helstone, a labourer who had spat in the thoroughfare, failed to touch his forelock to the lord of the manor, and been banished to urban life.
Mr Hale declared that Frederick would have to leave before the funeral, not least because he did not want his wife’s obsequies interrupted by police whistles and the sound of ‘I arrest you, Frederick Hale . . .’
Margaret accompanied her brother to the railway station, disguised as an apothecary assistant’s sister.
The train departed for Liverpool at a late hour, and the station was in darkness but for the gas lamps.
They were seen by no one, other than the Bad Apple, who was best part drunk, and then, as Margaret hugged her brother and begged him to make an honest woman of Dolores of the Castanets, Mr Thornton.
J Tea, unable to sleep (probably from too much tea) had risen, dressed, and then gone for a long walk through Milton, hoping to take comfort from the dark, satanic mills in darkness.
As he passed the railway station at Weaver’s End he happened to glance at the platform.
It was not a time when many passengers awaited trains.
In the pool of light beneath a gas lamp he saw a young woman in black hug a man in black, with some vehemence.
The light caught her pale visage, and agony shot through J Tea.
It was Her. The man must have his sombrero rolled up in his valise.
Margaret had lied to protect her lover. J Tea was desolated, and also furious.
All the love his heart had poured out for her had been thrown away like a stewed brew, was unimportant when she idolised a young man with a sombrero and impressive castanets.
J Tea sighed, for he was not even very proficient with a pair of spoons.
Leaf Eight - Look Back at Tea
It was three days later when Margaret, who was sat knitting a warm black scarf for her father, was informed by Dixon that there was a police officer in the morning room, wishing to speak with her.
Margaret gasped. Was he come to say that Frederick had been detained?
She went downstairs with her heart beating fast, but not thick.
It was with relief that she heard the sergeant say that he was making enquiries into the death of a man whose body had been found by the Cotton Exchange in Milton, and who had been in an altercation at Weaver’s End railway station with a man who was taking fond farewell of a young lady.
The young lady had been identified as a witness as ‘Miss Hale of Scotland Yard.’
Margaret took a deep breath, of which the police sergeant was appreciative, and denied that it could have been her. The witness was mistaken.
‘But the witness was sure, Miss Hale.’
‘Oh no, that is impossible. My aunt is Sure, and the entire family live in London and the Home Counties.’ If some incident occurred at a railway station, but the dead man was found a mile away, she could not see there would be any connection for the police to investigate in any case.
‘The death is as yet unexplained, and the description of the man, who was not local from evidence found upon his person, matched that of the man being disruptive at the station. If it goes to the Coroner, we may yet need you to swear an affidavit that it was not you at Weaver’s End, miss.’
‘I shall do so if required, sergeant, but I dislike the thought of my name being bandied about in the newspapers. I hope that no inquest is required.’
As the sergeant departed, sharpening his pencil, Margaret pressed her hands to her cheeks. She was going to have to lie to The Law in print as well as word!
J Tea found out about the suspicious death the same day, and when the officer asked if Miss Hale might have been the young lady seen at the station, J Tea instantly supported her.
If she said she was not there, she was not there.
He also asked the sergeant to leave matters in his hands as a Justice, and went off to the mortuary to see the body.
The medical practitioner who had signed the death certificate said that the man showed advanced signs of cirrhosis, and might well have fallen down some steps in a drunken stupor.
The injuries upon him would not be such as would occasion death in a normal individual.
Armed with this information, J Tea wrote to the Coroner, saying that further investigation and an inquest would be an unnecessary expenditure of the public purse.
He had no doubt this was true, but also knew that he was saving Miss Hale’s reputation, and he knew that she had lied to protect it, and her unknown lover.
His heart hardened against her, at least a little bit, and he resolved to cease his Latin lessons in Scotland Yard.
The police sergeant took Miss Hale the news, which she received calmly, as though it were obvious, but she was suffering palpitations at the realisation that Mr Thornton had been instrumental in keeping her good name safe, and that he knew she had lied and had been at the railway station late at night with a man.
He would never know it was her brother, and she could not reveal that to him.
She must therefore be damned in his eyes as a woman of low morals, or at best, poor judgment.
Margaret was listless, and not from the lack of a notebook.
Her father was not listless, but aimless, wandering about the house looking for his slippers even when they were on his feet, and generally acting in the manner of a man who has lost the will to live.
It was therefore ironic that it was upon a visit to his old haunts in Oxford, and his friend ‘Ding Dong’ Bell, that he actually expired.
Margaret felt guilty as well as lonely, since she had encouraged him to go to raise his spirits, rather than his spirit to Heaven.
She contemplated life as an orphan with misgivings, and was not made happier by the arrival of her Aunt Sure, who was adamant that Margaret must return to the safety of London with her immediately.
The thought that struck Margaret was that she would never again see the man she had refused, who was the one man who had ever entered her dreams, and lingered there even when she knew that he despised her.
She needed the excuse to say goodbye, and found it in books.
‘I understand, Aunt, that the household goods must be sold, for your house can have no need of additional utensils, but I reserve the Minton tea set that was Mother’s, and I would have Father’s books go to the local public library for the education of all who seek knowledge, excepting his texts of Pliny the Elder and his History of Tea.
Those I would give to Mr Thornton, for he was Father’s friend here. ’
‘Well we are catching the train at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, so pack up this minute. We will go to the railway station via this Mr Thornton and his mother.’
All of which meant that at ten o’clock next morning, a hansom cab entered the gate of Marlborough Mills, leaving wheel tracks in the snow that was already lying several inches deep upon the ground.
Aunt Sure sniffed at the idea of people living adjacent to their place of work, likening it to a shopkeeper living above his shop, but was impressed by the quality of Mrs Thornton’s bombazine, which outshone her own.
Mrs Thornton greeted the news of Margaret’s removal to The South with outward calmness, but did suggest they leave as soon as possible, in case the cab was delayed in reaching the railway station in time.
She even announced that, in the circumstances, offering a cup of tea was unwise.
She secretly hoped that Miss Hale would be gone without encountering J Tea, but he had seen her alight from the hansom cab, and he hastened to the house as soon as he was able.
‘I was deeply saddened to hear of your father’s demise, Miss Hale. He was a good friend to me, and I hope I was to him.’
‘Yes indeed, Mr Thornton, your friendship is - has been - very important to - my family.’ Her eyes were declaring ‘To me, to me,’ but her lips formed the polite phrases.
‘Now that I must return south, I would like you to have these, both in memory of Father, and because he would be delighted that you have them.’ She took from her reticule the Pliny and the History of Tea, and proffered them, her eyes not leaving his face.
His outstretched hands met hers, their fingers touched as once over a teacup.
‘I will treasure them,’ he murmured, his voice very chocolatey, and, as he saw the titles, he smiled a sad smile. ‘Tea. Yes, very appropriate.’ He paused. ‘So you are going? And will never come back?’
‘There is nothing to keep my niece in The North, Mr Thornton,’ announced Mrs Sure, loudly. ‘She has been here far oolong, er too long, and it has killed both her parents.’
Margaret winced at the harshness and the insult, but J Tea said nothing, and just gazed at Margaret, trying to commit her to his memory as his heart whimpered in his chest.
‘You must go, or you may miss your train.’ Mrs Thornton would prefer it if Miss Hale waited in a chilly railway station waiting room rather than in her drawing room.
‘Yes, we must.’ The two older ladies, who knew they disliked each other, shared the same resolve on this.
Margaret offered J Tea her hand, and shook his without a tremor.
Then she made her farewell to Mrs Thornton and left with her aunt.
J Tea followed, and tried to shut out the fervent ‘At last’ he heard from the drawing room.
Upon the very steps where Margaret Hale had clung to his manly bosom to protect him, where she had swooned in those manly arms, his voice nearly unmanned him entirely.