Looking to the Future #5
A crushing disappointment overcame Margaret, and she fell silent.
So, there had not been time to divulge the truth about Frederick.
She knew she was being irrational and heedlessly selfish, but she had held onto that slender reed of hope.
Tears burned her eyes once more, and she could see Mr. Thornton gazing at her quizzically.
It fell upon Henry to advance the conversation.
‘Does not Miss Hale look well?’ he asked. ‘Milton did not seem to agree with her for, when she first came to London, I thought her drawn and pale. To-night, she is radiant and has so recovered her strength that she can walk several miles, as she did last Friday evening when we walked to Hampstead.’
Margaret thought that Mr. Thornton looked displeased, and she felt a prickling aggravation at Henry and his exaggerated gallantry. Her spirits sunk even further at the thought that Henry’s dismissal of Milton had injured their guest’s innate pride in his home.
Before she could speak, Mr. Colthurst was announced, and Henry herded Mr. Thornton toward the guest of honor.
Mr. Colthurst was a rising Member of Parliament with a quick eye at discerning character and little patience for fools.
Over dinner, it was obvious that he was impressed with Mr. Thornton’s knowledge of the north and manufactures.
He appeared familiar with Mr. Thornton’s name and reputation, and he spent a greater share of his time at table talking with him on subjects of mutual interest.
All during dinner, Margaret watched Mr. Thornton’s face, trying to decipher his expression.
He never returned her gaze, absorbed as he was in Mr. Colthurst’s narrative, so she was able to study him without notice.
On closer examination, he looked tired and despondent.
Only when he laughed at some quip of Henry’s did she see a flash of his old humour in the brilliance of his eye and the gleam of his smile.
One time, at a lull in the conversation, his glance met hers.
But when their eyes met, his smile faded and he became grave again.
That was the last time he looked at her during dinner.
In the drawing-room, Margaret had no desire to join in the various conversations among the ladies, and she took up her needlework to occupy her anxious hands.
It seemed to her that the men lingered longer over their brandy and cigars this evening—would they never appear?
When the gentlemen finally entered, she was disappointed that it was Mr. Lennox who came and sat next to her.
He was in an amiable temper. ‘Your tenant is such an agreeable fellow. He is up on any number of topics and has been able to answer all of Mr. Colthurst’s questions on industry. How in the world did he come to botch his affairs so badly?’
‘Not everyone has the backing and friends that you do, Henry,’ Margaret replied. She could tell he was displeased with this answer but was in no mood to cater to his vanity.
As they sat in a strained silence, she heard Mr. Colthurst say to Mr. Thornton, ‘I heard your name frequently mentioned during my short stay in Milton. Everyone to whom I spoke said you were a leader among the Masters.’
Mr. Thornton laughed, but the sound was humourless.
‘If they spoke of me in that way, they were mistaken. I am not quick to take up new fads or projects and I do not make friends easily. I thought I was on the path to success and, since the other masters had similar objectives, I gained the acquaintance of many. All of us benefited by learning from each other.’
‘You say you were on the path. Don’t you intend to stay the course?’
Mr. Lennox arose to intervene, but Mr. Thornton replied with a simple air of dignity.
‘I was unsuccessful in business and have had to give up my position. I am currently looking for a position in Milton where I may work under someone who will appreciate my experience and let me manage affairs to my liking. My only wish is to be allowed to interact with the hands to devise improvements to manufacturing the cloth and managing the mill. Unfortunately, the masters I have met with so far shake their heads and look doubtful about the experiments that I should like to try.’
‘You call them experiments,’ said Mr. Colthurst, his kindly face radiating interest and respect. ‘Why so?’
‘Because I do not know what the outcome might be—but I still believe they should be undertaken. Working men are closest to the machines and have a more thorough knowledge of the methods of manufacture. Masters need to harness this knowledge and fire their workers’ enthusiasm to devise new and better methods. ’
‘And you believe this will help avoid strikes?’
‘No, but it may help us understand one another better so that the strikes won’t be the source of such bitterness. If I were more hopeful, I might be able to envision masters working side by side with the hands.’ His voice trailed off. ‘But I am no longer a hopeful man.’
Margaret’s heart was pierced by the simplicity of his words and the look of sorrow on his face.
Glancing up, he noted her expression of concern and crossed the room to stand before her.
‘Miss Hale, my men presented me with a list of those who would be willing to work for me if I were ever in the position to employ men again on my own behalf. I suspect it was Higgins’ idea. That was good of him, wasn’t it?’
Margaret’s heart beat so thickly she could hardly speak.
‘Yes, I am glad of it, for your sake,’ she whispered.
He had to lean toward her to hear her words and, for a moment, towered over her.
Her words were inadequate, but the glance she gave him was full of warmth and admiration, and it seemed to strike him to silence.
They gazed at each other, neither willing to break the enchantment that held them immobile, until Mr. Lennox appeared at Mr. Thornton’s side to announce that Mr. Colthurst was leaving and requested the pleasure of his company.
Mr. Thornton gazed at Margaret for a moment more, as if uncertain what to say. Then he sighed and a rueful smile played about his lips. ‘I knew you would like it,’ he replied. ‘Good night, Miss Hale.’
He turned from her, and Margaret had the strongest urge to stop him from leaving—when would she see him again?
Would these be their parting words? She felt almost wild in her despair and longing as she watched him leave the room.
She wanted to run after him, to grasp his sleeve and tell him to come back, to come and see her again, to never leave.
‘Henry!’ she exclaimed, ‘Could you come to see me tomorrow? I have a business proposition I wish to put before you.’
Henry stared at her. ‘A business proposition? What is this about, Margaret?’
‘I have a business proposition which I wish to put before...Mr. Thornton. Will you come tomorrow?’
His eyes brightened with interest. ‘Certainly—will ten suit you?’
She nodded and bade him good night.
Mr. Lennox left in exultation. She looked upon him as her closest adviser and confidante. Surely, her dependence on him would pave the way very soon for a deeper understanding!
Edith loitered outside the drawing room the next morning, anxious to hear any happy news.
Henry had come so early and seemed so happy.
But the morning passed without any sight of Henry or Margaret and, shortly before the midday hour, they were still shut up about some mysterious business.
Too agitated to write letters or settle in the parlour, she paced the length of the room, imagining wedding gowns and floral arrangements.
The slam of a door and footsteps interrupted her reverie, and she arrived at the hallway in time to see Henry rush by on his way to the door. She had to call his name twice before he halted his progress.
‘Well, Henry?’
‘Well, Edith?’ he retorted.
‘Come into the parlour!’
‘No, thank you. I have no more time to waste.’ He consulted his pocket watch.
‘Oh! Then nothing is settled between you and Margaret,’ Edith pouted.
‘No, and it never will be settled, if matrimony is what you mean—at least, not between Margaret and myself.’
‘But it would be so advantageous for us all,’ pleaded Edith.
‘Miss Hale would not have me. And I shall not ask her again. So give that notion up.’
‘Whatever have you been talking about all this time?’
‘Investments,’ he replied succinctly, impatiently beating his hand against his leg. ‘I really must go—I must ask Mr. Thornton to come meet with us tomorrow.’
‘Mr. Thornton! What has he to do with Margaret?’
‘He is Miss Hale’s tenant and means to give up his lease. Margaret has concocted a scheme that will let him keep it. That is all. I only ask that you let us have the back drawing room tomorrow morning and that you ensure we will not be disturbed.’
He turned to leave, hesitated, and turned back. ‘Do not tease Miss Hale about this, Edith. It is between her and me, and really none of your business.’ With these cutting words, he departed.
The following morning, Margaret received word from Dixon that Mr. Thornton awaited her in the back drawing room, but Mr. Lennox had not yet arrived.
Margaret wrung her hands, reluctant to start without Henry.
She needed Henry to explain her plan to Mr. Thornton.
He must have been detained—she would wait.
But an hour later, Mr. Lennox had still not appeared and Margaret knew she could not keep Mr. Thornton waiting any longer. Sick with anxiety, Margaret entered the room.
She had dressed carefully that morning, wearing a day dress in her favorite green, and had surprised Edith by asking if her maid would dress her hair. She was distinctly off kilter, wanting to appear beautiful for him one moment and despising herself the next for such foolishness.