Cinders and Smoke #8
“John Thornton: to use your own words, none of that! The question of station is utter foolishness. I may have been born to a man and woman of gentle birth. That fact does not confer any greater goodness upon me than Mr. Higgins’ darling Bessy.
“There is a young woman in full possession of the virtue to which I would aspire. She looks not at her lot in this world but instead to the place she will occupy in our Father’s kingdom. She should be the vicar’s daughter, not me.
“You and I are two persons passing through this world doing the best we can and hoping that we will not have to do it alone.”
Her last sentence was accompanied by a meaningful squeeze unnoticed by anyone but Thornton. His heart soared and he looked deeply into her eyes, two pools in which he desired to swim for the next several decades.
Donaldson finished his work. Noticing both of his patients locked in their own world, he cleared his throat, causing them to break apart.
“As dawn now is upon us, I suggest that Miss Hale and Miss Dixon make their way home. I am sure her father is concerned,” he said.
After a degree of hurly-burly, Margaret was wrapped in a blanket and carried down the stairs by the doctor. A hackney had pulled all the way into the mews. A guard of honor made up of Irish workers created a path door-to-door. She leaned on John and Nicholas as she walked between the files.
Once she was safely settled in the carriage and Dixon had fussed over her, Margaret looked at the two men who, oddly she thought, had become dear to her.
Thornton found the courage to speak first, “If it would be convenient, I would ask if I might accompany you to assure myself that all is well and offer some explanation to your father.”
Margaret smiled to herself. How typical of a man! Once the ice is broken, the male of the species, who before had strutted and demonstrated to attract the female, is at her mercy, insecure and bashful. Best to help him along.
“No, dear sir, not now, not at this moment. Rather, you may call upon me tomorrow…oh, this…afternoon.
“I must, though, ask Mr. Higgins to join you. My father would wish to thank him for his role in saving me.
“I insist that you, Mr. Thornton, be the one to convey him to our house in Crampton. You know the address. I fear that Mr. Higgins may not.
“I would not be deprived of the companionship of the two men whose company I crave,” she archly said, “one the father of my dear friend, the other my father’s student. Both I have learned are the best of men and are also the most stubborn and bull-headed of creatures.
“Yet I have learned to deal with determined persons,” at this, she held a little more tightly to Dixon’s arm, “and, I have, in my own way, learned to express my own determination.”
“So, Mr. Thornton, you may call upon me this afternoon. However, sir, do not appear at my door without Mr. Higgins at your side. You two will need to learn to abide one-another for my sake and that of this town.”
Her speech finished, Miss Hale, still pale, leaned back upon the worn squabs. Higgins’ men circled around the cab like frigates guarding the flagship. The vehicle pulled away, moving along at a walking pace to avoid jostling its cherished cargo.
Thornton gulped, his Adam’s Apple bobbing between open collars, and quizzed, “Where do you live, Higgins? I would not dare offend that woman, not if I hope to have any chance with her.”
Higgins chuckled, “Ach, Master Thornton, dinna defy her. I hae come ta admire ye with all yore ‘ide. But ye remind me ‘o meself when I was a’courtin’ my wife.
“Don’cha look at me lak that. I seen meself looking back from the glass in me Da’s ‘house. If’n I couldn’a see mah gurl thut day, I t’would drag around lookin’ like one o’ th’ Old Gen’ral’s ‘untin’ dogs if’n one ‘o th’ grooms ‘ad given ‘im a swift kick…deserved or not.
“Ah got a feelin’ that you’d look the same.
“So, Frances Street ‘bove the Golden Dragon. Meebe ‘bout 30 minutes afore teatime?” He clapped Thornton on the shoulder and finished, “An’, ah do believe you ‘ad best hie yourself ta the ‘ouse. I see two faces peerin’ out from ‘hind the drapes waitin’ for yor story.”
Thornton smiled and shook Higgins’ hand before turning and striding purposefully across the courtyard to explain his desired future to his mother and sister.
*Author’s note: John Thornton and Margaret Hale regularized the accent of the working classes with whom they communed on a daily basis.
Hence Nicholas Higgins’ modified tone, although he slides between more cultured English and heavily accented Darkshire speech.
I also employ the concept of solipsism where the act of writing fiction creates the universe within which that story is real.
Elizabeth Gaskell wrote about forty years after Jane Austen and, thus, could easily have positioned her characters within a universe (in this case that of the Bennet Wardrobe) with foundations laid down by Austen.
Don Jacobson has written professionally since his post-collegiate days as a wire service reporter in Chicago.
His output has ranged from news and features to advertising, television and radio.
His work has been nominated for Emmys and other awards.
Earlier in his career, he published five books, all non-fiction.
As a college instructor, Don teaches United States History, World History, the History of Western Civilization and Research Writing.
Don turned his passion for reading The Canon into writing #Austenesque Fiction.
He has published eleven works in the genre since late 2015.
As a member of The Austen Authors Collective, Don joins (and he is modestly bowing his head to admit that he is the knave in this deck of Queens and Kings) other Janites who seek to extend the Mistress’ stories beyond the endings she so carefully crafted.
Don Jacobson’s books include: Miss Bennet’s First Christmas, The Bennet Wardrobe: Origins, The Keeper: Mary Bennet’s Extraordinary Journey, Henry Fitzwilliam’s War, The Exile (Pt.
1): Kitty Bennet and the Belle époque, Lizzy Bennet Meets the Countess, The Exile (pt.
2): The Countess Visits Longbourn, The Avenger: Thomas Bennet and a Father’s Lament, The Pilgrim: Lydia Bennet and a Soldier’s Portion), Lessers and Betters Stories, Of Fortune’s Reversal, The Maid and The Footman