Looking to the Future #2
While she dressed for dinner the evening of Dixon’s return, she asked Dixon if she would not like to see Master Frederick and his new wife.
Dixon expressed the concern topmost in her mind. ‘She’s a Papist, Miss, isn’t she?’
‘I believe so,’ replied Margaret.
‘And Spain is a Papist country?’
‘Yes.’
Dixon sighed in resignation. ‘Then I’m afraid I cannot go. As much as I love Master Frederick, I would be in constant terror of being converted.’ Seeing Margaret smile, she added tartly, ‘Well, I would. And you should not put yourself in temptation’s way, either, lest you lose your soul.’
‘It is just an idea,’ said Margaret. ‘I do not know for certain that I will go. But if I do go, I am certain I could manage on my own and, in that way, you may remain here and keep your soul quite safe, dear Dixon.’
But in the contrary way she had once she had gotten her way, Dixon immediately doubted her choice.
She did not like the thought of being left behind while her young mistress had adventures.
And to see Master Frederick again would lift her spirits inordinately.
After carefully clearing her throat, as if to show her willingness to do away with difficulties, she asked Miss Margaret whether she thought that, if she took care never to enter a church or clap eyes on a priest, there would be little danger of her being lured to Catholicism.
Margaret maintained a sober mien, not wanting to laugh and injure Dixon’s pride. ‘I believe you would be safe. But we should not let our fancies run away with this plan of travelling to Spain, given Mr. Bell’s capriciousness of late.’
Margaret sighed in resignation. The thought of Spain, an exotic land that she imagined consisted entirely of sunshine and blue water, helped divert her mind from her fervent wish that Mr. Bell would explain all to Mr. Thornton.
What a bright escape such a trip would be from the monotony of my present life and my treacherous thoughts of what might have been!
While Margaret had no desire for Henry Lennox to renew his suit, she recognized that his presence at Harley Street added an agreeable aspect to daily life. His intellect and wide knowledge of the world served to redirect the otherwise insipid conversations centered on fashion and gossip.
Margaret suspected him of disapproving of his brother and sister-in-law’s mode of life, which he appeared to consider frivolous.
She often heard him speak to his brother in a sharp tone as to whether he meant to give up his profession.
On Captain Lennox’s offhand reply that he had quite enough to live on, Mr. Lennox would shake his head and say derisively, ‘And is that all you live for?’ He would then suggest other avenues of employment where Captain Lennox might better direct his energies and talents.
Despite their differences in temperament, the brothers were attached to each other as long as Mr. Lennox led, and Captain Lennox was content to let him do so.
Edith loved nothing more than to throw dinner parties that consisted of beautifully dressed guests conveying large dollops of gossip leavened with smatterings of intelligent conversation on topics of the day.
These topics were guided in part by the luminaries that Mr. Lennox brought to the table— politicians, bankers, lawyers, and men of science—who helped sustain a rapid flow of conversation.
Margaret found these dinners tedious. The conversation was never serious, but rather amusing and brittle.
Every topic was open for discussion and a target for ridicule.
Margaret thought these friends of Henry shallow and chafed at the time she must spend at table and in the drawing room.
Nothing was of substance; all was superficial.
Everything in London seemed too bright and colorful to Margaret.
All seemed too beautiful without having purpose.
She missed the sepia tones of Milton, the sound of the mills, even the tinge of smoke in the air—though she was reluctant to admit it.
Because her face was a tolerable indicator of her thoughts, Henry knew she was not happy during these dinners.
One evening, when the men joined the women in the drawing room, he surprised her by drawing near and speaking directly to her.
Previously, he had only spoken to her when prompted by Edith or Aunt Shaw.
Now he drew close to her upon the sofa and remarked in a low voice, ‘You were not pleased at what my friend Shirley said at dinner.’
‘No? My face must be very expressive,’ replied Margaret.
‘It always is.’
Margaret hesitated before her words tumbled out. ‘I did not like his way of advocating what he knew to be wrong—even in jest.’
‘But it was very cleverly done.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you despise it. Pray, do not deny it.’
‘I do not care for joking about a topic that deserves serious consideration—’ she stopped short, reddened, and turned away.
He said in a low voice, ‘If you dislike my tone or mode of thought, will you do me the justice to tell me, and so give me the chance of learning to please you?’
She turned back to him in surprise. His serious demeanor and steadfast gaze gave her pause. Perhaps her aunt was right—perhaps he had grown to care for her again.
She shrank from the thought of having to disappoint him once more, for his suit was no more acceptable to her now than it had been in Helstone.
Then she was a young girl and did not understand love; he had frightened her with his avowals.
Now she believed she better understood what it meant to love someone, even when it appeared all hope had gone.
As summer passed to the early days of autumn and brittle leaves began to fall from the trees along Harley Street, Margaret despaired of receiving any intelligence of Mr. Bell traveling to Milton.
He had spoken of it at Helstone as a journey he would shortly undertake, but Margaret concluded that he must have transacted his business in writing.
She could not be angry at him; he did not comprehend the great importance she pinned on such an explanation that could only be given face to face. Margaret tried to tamp down her disappointment and put aside her aspirations with some degree of grace, but it was hard.
On a wet September morning, Margaret received a letter from Wallace, Mr. Bell’s servant. Margaret and Edith were at the breakfast table, lingering over their cups of coffee, when a servant brought in the letter.
Breaking the wafer and spreading the sheet before her, Margaret read with rising alarm that Mr. Bell had been seized with an apoplectic fit.
Wallace wrote that he had sent for the medical man at once, but the doctor did not believe he would survive the night.
The frightened servant feared that, by the time Miss Hale received this letter, Mr. Bell would be dead.
Margaret turned pale as she read the dreadful news. Dropping the page upon the table, she left the room. Edith snatched at the letter to discover what had so disconcerted her dear cousin and was shocked. Mr. Bell dead—that hale and hearty man? It was inconceivable.
Edith began weeping loudly; never had death touched her so closely.
Her husband, hearing her noisy lamentations, came to discover what had happened; upon hearing Edith’s halting tale, he did not know what to do or say.
He patted her shoulder awkwardly and entreated, ‘Edith, you must not cry so—you will frighten our child. Where is Margaret—how has she taken such news?’
His continued consolations at last quieted her, and he reminded her that someone else was grieving, too. She left the breakfast table to find her cousin and found Dixon packing a small valise, while Margaret hastily donned her bonnet with hands trembling so that she could hardly tie the strings.
‘Dear Margaret!’ Edith exclaimed, ‘You are not going out? Do you want us to send a telegraph?’
‘No, Edith. I am going to Oxford—indeed, I must. There is a train in a half hour. I must see Mr. Bell again—he may have recovered and need assistance.’ Seeing the look of dismay on her cousin’s face, she added, ‘Don’t try to stop me, Edith.
He was there for me in my time of need, and so I must be for his. ’
‘But I must stop you.’ Edith wound her arm about Margaret’s waist. ‘I know you want to help Mr. Bell. Even as a little girl, you always did the right thing. But Mamma won’t like it. Come and let us ask her about it.’
Edith’s insistence overcame Margaret’s reluctance, and so she missed the train. As Edith had suspected, Mrs. Shaw became incensed at the idea of Margaret travelling alone to a bachelor’s quarters.
But Margaret was not to be swayed, and her firmness overcame the weaker objections of her aunt and cousin. After ceaseless discussions on propriety, it was decided that Captain Lennox would accompany Margaret to Oxford.
As evening fell upon London, she found herself sitting in a railway-carriage opposite Captain Lennox, praying that Mr. Bell’s servant had exaggerated his diagnosis and that Mr. Bell was simply unwell.
However, when they arrived at his rooms, Wallace met her at the door with the news that Mr. Bell was dead.
In later days, it was a comfort to her that she had gone though it was only to hear that he had died in the night. She saw the rooms that he had occupied and associated them ever after most fondly with the memory of her father, who had loved him so faithfully.
Margaret shed many tears that day for her friend and was reluctant to leave, but she had promised Edith they would return that night if, indeed, Mr. Bell had died.
Margaret took a long, lingering look around the room where her father had taken his last breath and gave a silent farewell to the friend who had supported her so in her time of need, who had loved her father, and who had given her time at her precious Helstone.