Reeducating Mr Thornton #3
Frederick and Dolores lived on Plaza de Mina in a white three-story house topped by a belvedere that Frederick explained was some type of lookout.
From there, former merchant owners of the house could look out to sea for the arrival of trading ships from other countries.
Its top two floors had narrow balconies—miradores, Dolores said—that faced the plaza.
Like other houses on the plaza, pots of red and pink geraniums and orange nasturtiums hung on the balconies’ metal railings.
On the second floor, a large verandah jutted out into a courtyard at the back of the house.
It had a large daybed of lacquered mahogany and woven cane, six large matching chairs, and a distressed wooden table with elaborate Moorish carvings on the edges.
The house was nothing like Mr. Thornton and Margaret saw in Milton.
It delighted her but, while he had taken his cues from his wife when they looked at art and architecture in Paris, he kept silent throughout their tour of the house.
In his mind, he debated whether a house should be this open.
It was a house that he was certain would not work well in Milton where, frequently, residents had to close windows to reduce the noise of textile machinery or minimize the smell of dyes used in cotton production.
His silent internal debate did not last. By the second day of their stay, he was convinced that verandahs and balconies were a clever idea and necessary in the hot Mediterranean climate.
Frederick and Dolores left the doors to the balconies open day and night, letting ocean breezes flow through the house and out the verandah.
Mr. Thornton was grateful for the open spaces that provided welcome relief from the heat.
On that second day, he also saw his wife as he had never seen her before.
Margaret kept wiping her neck and face with her handkerchief throughout lunch. Dolores had noticed Margaret’s discomfort. When lunch was over, Dolores turned to Margaret and said, “Come with me. We leave our men to get more acquainted, yes?”
Taken by surprise, Margaret hesitated for a moment. She glanced at her husband before she answered, “Where are we going?”
“Your skirt and blouse, they are too hot for this weather, no? Also, your body—it is beautiful. You do not need the……” She groped for words as she traced her torso with her hands.
“Stays,” Margaret said.
“… stays, yes. And petticoats. It is cooler without them, you think?”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m burning in these clothes.” Margaret pushed her skirt down and agreed with an embarrassed laugh.
“You are taller than me but not bigger.” Dolores shook her head as she placed her hands on top of her chest “Spanish blouses—they are loose. My skirts are shorter, but no one will notice.”
“They would in England. You can’t show ankles.”
“Many, many ankles show here in Cádiz. In Andalucía, dancers kick their skirts to dance flamenco, and you must watch how fast they click their heels. So, come with me. You will feel better.” Dolores waved her hand toward Frederick and Mr. Thornton. “We join them later.”
The two men, glasses of sherry in their hands, got up and went into the verandah to indulge in an after-dinner Andalusian custom. Dolores led Margaret to her bedroom.
When the two women joined their husbands on the verandah, Margaret was wearing a new outfit—a short-sleeved blouse of deep rose through which one could glimpse a shadow of her ivory-colored chemise, and a forest green flowing skirt that clung to her limbs when she moved.
She had exchanged her shoes and thick stockings for a pair of sandals.
Mr. Thornton was taken aback. He said nothing while Frederick expressed profuse approval.
He had much he could say but judged it best to wait until he and Margaret were alone in their bedroom.
She always dressed appropriately, her choice in clothes simple and impeccable.
Seeing her in scantier clothing outside the privacy of their home disconcerted him.
She did look beautiful in them. They showed her graceful, unbound figure to advantage.
“Isn’t my little sister beautiful?” Frederick said, interrupting his musing.
He had returned to the seat next to Mr. Thornton’s after serving cool chocolate drinks to the two women.
“You know, when we were children, Margaret hated wearing petticoats because she could not run fast enough to keep up with me. So she would drag me to the fields away from Dixon’s watchful eyes, where she would take them off.
Without them, she did sometimes outrun me, partly from sheer determination, I think.
” Frederick chuckled and finished with another recollection.
“Unfortunately, after she was sent to London, she started acting more like a lady, and she was not as much fun anymore.”
“She thought you let her win all the time,” Mr. Thornton said. “You’re right, though. She is quite lovely. I suppose, as her husband, I thought I was the only one privileged to see her dressed so … casually.”
Frederick laughed. “You are on the Andalusian coast. We dress for the public when we leave the house. In here, what you do is between you and your conscience. You make your own rules. Most of the year, we cannot wear those layers of clothes you do in Britain. This climate won’t let you.
It encourages an informality that is good for the spirit. ”
“But does not the Spanish temperament figure into it?”
“I can’t be sure about the Spanish temperament.
The Gaditano’s, certainly. Cádiz is ancient, dating back several hundred years before Christ. It has endured and absorbed many influences.
Its location is a natural for trade, so you will see all kinds of people when you go out for a walk at the plazas. ”
“They were all at the Customs House.”
“They come from all over Europe, North Africa, and the Americas. Many have set roots here, bringing their own culture. To live here, you can’t insist on proper English decorum. You must be open to different things, strange things—learn to accept them.”
“You seem to have adapted quite well.”
“It took years. I was forced to come here and couldn’t accept that I’d probably never return to England.
Once I accepted my fate, I saw so much about this city and its people that I liked and admired.
I believe there’s nowhere else in Europe where you’d find a more liberal outlook.
And Cádiz is so alive. It infects you with a joie de vivre, though older folk who’ve lived here a long time insist that, as good as it is now, its most glorious years came and went with the past century.
But Cádiz still seduces. It has seduced me. I’m more Gaditano now than English. “
“Meeting Dolores probably helped, too,” Mr. Thornton said.
“Yes, indeed.” Glancing at his wife, Frederick grinned.
Their wives were standing by the stone balustrade.
Margaret was enchanted with the garden, gushing with delight as Dolores pointed to purple bougainvilleas and passion flowers climbing toward the balustrade, large pots of red and deep pink roses whose characteristic damask fragrance wafted up the verandah.
Flower beds along the edge of the garden were aflame with bluebells, red and orange poppies, and yellow gazanias.
Margaret sighed, voicing her doubts that those flowers could ever grow in the smoky atmosphere and dye-saturated soil of Milton.
“Margaret would have adapted to this society with ease, particularly with you here,” Mr. Thornton said with a mix of pride and concern as he gazed at his wife.
Frederick shot him a curious glance. “She would have, maybe sooner than most—sooner than me, surely. She has the advantage of all the letters I’ve sent her about life in Cádiz. And since she can speak French, she’ll learn Spanish in no time at all.”
“She told me you wrote and invited her to come live with you after your parents died.”
“I did. I worried about her,” Frederick said.
“She wrote me long letters after our father died. I sensed the silent despair in them, not only because of her grief at Father’s loss.
I think Margaret faced the reality that she no longer had anyone in Milton whose wisdom she could trust in her bleakest hours. ”
“But she had her aunt and cousin,” Mr. Thornton said. “Her aunt came to take her away from Milton shortly after Mr. Hale’s funeral. I understood that she looked after Margaret, and her daughter could give Margaret comfort and affection while she was grieving.”
“That’s true. Sadly, though, they could not comprehend all that she was going through.
Margaret is capable of deeper feelings, and her intellect is superior to our cousin’s.
Anyway, she considered my offer to live with us, but she wasn’t ready to leave England.
She said it was a momentous change, and she was right.
Anyway, she understood that she would be welcome any time.
I did try to entice her, telling her how much I’ve been enjoying my life here.
Later, to my surprise, she sent me a letter telling me she was getting married. ”
Although Frederick appeared to have more to say, he paused, his brow creased in thought.
When he spoke again, his voice was subdued, regretful.
“I wanted to come, give her away in marriage. I couldn’t wait to meet you, but England is now lost to me.
I despaired, worrying that I might not see my sister again, and I spent many sleepless nights after our parents died wondering how she was and what would happen to her, alone in England. ”
“She wasn’t alone,” Mr. Thornton said with more firmness than he intended, “and, I confess, I am glad she didn’t come here. If she had, I would have invented some excuse to come for her when I found out who you were.”