Chapter 3
Chapter three
Candles burned mid-day to provide cheering light that the sun failed to supply on a dismal November day in London.
Beyond the window panes in the Harley Street house, all was gray and indistinct as rain attempted to wash away mankind’s accumulated grime and soot from the layered bricks and stones of the city landscape.
The steady sound of pelting rain outside gave the dry, opulent drawing room a peaceful feeling. Margaret loved the rain. No respecter of persons, it fell on the meek and the mighty alike.
The gliding strains of piano music that filled the atmosphere with calm exuberance ceased abruptly. Margaret raised her gaze from the pages of the book in her hand as Edith swiftly rose from the piano and crossed to the nearest window.
“This dreadful rain! I shan’t be able to wear my new dress,” she muttered at the paned glass.
“Perhaps it will clear up in time,” Margaret offered, with little conviction.
“I won’t have my violet gown spattered with mud. And if I cannot wear that, then I won’t go at all!” Edith declared, folding her arms across her chest in defiance of the rain’s disregard for her plans.
“You could wear your best blue gown, the brocaded silk with gold trim. Save your new gown for another occasion,” Margaret proposed, knowing her cousin only needed a little coddling to soothe her agitation.
An appeal to the wide variety of beautiful garments from which she could choose often steered her thoughts more happily down endless paths of vain adornment.
“Hmm,” was all she received in reply, a sound edged with faltering resistance.
Edith continued to threaten the abandonment of her scheduled soirée, but when the time for the dinner approached, she could not deny the stronger impulse to be seen and admired.
She was determined to wear her violet dress; the weather would not ruin her pleasure in displaying the glory of her beautifully crafted new gown.
Margaret watched the footman and houseboy as they contrived—in the pelting rain—to lay a plank over the puddles that covered the brick pathway to the carriage.
Careful maneuvers with several umbrellas and a handful of attending servants kept Edith’s fetching attire from any offending dampness.
Aunt Shaw accompanied her with only one umbrella to protect her broad skirts before she climbed into the dry coach.
Margaret let out a contented sigh as the carriage trundled away and was swallowed by the darkness beyond the gas-lit street lamp.
She was glad that she had not been invited to the dinner party.
She would enjoy taking her meal on a tray in her room much more than partaking of lavish courses and tedious conversation amidst a select gathering of men and women whose only care centered upon their own amusement.
It would be well enough to join the party later, when there was more freedom to move around and join the various circles of conversation and activity.
At nine o’clock, Margaret climbed into the carriage wearing a deep burgundy dress trimmed with velvet ribbons and cream lace. Only a few drops of rain fell from the sky, the clouds having expended their efforts in their daylong tirade.
Margaret wished the carriage windows were open.
Fresh bursts of wind blew the branches of barren trees, and the smell of damp earth and stone filled the chilly night air.
She thought of how warm and comfortable it would be at home in Helstone on such a night, with a glowing hearth in the drawing room; her father would be reading a book in his favorite chair, and her mother sewing while the wind buffeted the windows outside.
All would be serene, and picturesque in the morning light.
Lost in her reverie of home, she was unprepared for the gentle halting of the horses at the gate of a tall brick mansion.
She alighted with the aid of the ready footman, and he escorted her to the door, casting his wide umbrella over her.
Hastening to put on her gloves, one fell from her beaded reticule onto the wet cobblestones below.
She stopped, but had not even time to declare her loss when a gentleman stooped to retrieve the fallen article. Her heartbeat quickened as she thought he might be the northern stranger.
The man stood, and she saw at once that he was not.
“Allow me,” a well-dressed man said, offering her the glove in a graceful gesture.
This gallant action took Margaret aback. She accorded her thanks with a nod, her lips still parted in surprise. The kind smile that met her gaze dislodged the appropriate words from her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered, holding the dampened glove in her outstretched hand.
“It was my pleasure,” came the easy reply, and, with a faint bow of his head, he turned to stride up the dark walkway to the heavy doors of the house.
The faint sound of music and the murmur of voices wafted through the air as the doors opened to receive him.
As Margaret moved to follow in his footsteps, she took a long breath of the cool air.
Tall windows cast light on the sculpted shrubs outside, which glittered with raindrops.
She lingered a moment in the quiet semi-darkness before the doors burst open again and she was ushered into the midst of the gay commotion of society, ablaze with light and color.
Margaret had long since stopped searching crowded halls and anterooms for the figure she knew lived far from London.
The hopeful sense, however illogical, that had previously made her scan every social venue had faded over the passing months.
She looked now instead for the familiar faces of her family, and swiftly found the full figure of her Aunt Shaw, who appeared more engrossed in the gossip of the plumed and ruffled ladies surrounding her than in the game of cards set out on the table before them.
Following the strains of a delicately played piano piece, Margaret wandered into the next room.
There was Edith at the center of an admiring contingent as her fingers worked their well-trained magic over the ivory keyboard.
She was a perfect picture of beauty and grace and had captured the particular attention of a gentleman who stood near her.
Margaret studied with curious interest how a tall, earnest man in crimson regimental attire gazed at her cousin with mesmerized intensity.
When the last measure was played, Edith looked to him first for his approval and was rewarded with words that made her dip her head and smile.
A rare blush colored her cheeks. She alighted brightly, however, when she saw Margaret and swept past the small gathering to greet her cousin, the young man in uniform close behind.
“Margaret! I would like to introduce you to Captain Lennox, who has just recently returned from Crimea, or some such place,” she added with a flustered look to the towering gentleman by her side.
“This is Margaret Hale, the cousin of whom I have spoken,” she finished, smiling with satisfaction at this meeting.
Both parties bowed and offered their proper greetings.
Margaret was introduced to a few others who surrounded their group, and joined in the polite inquiries and trivial conversations required in such circumstances.
The chatter of the small gathering continued for several minutes until Capt.
Lennox interrupted it with an enthusiastic exclamation.
“Henry!” he called out with a broad smile, looking beyond the closed circle.
Margaret turned to see who it was that deserved such an earnest welcome. Her eyes caught those of the gentleman approaching, and she recognized at once the man who had retrieved her fallen glove.
“Allow me to introduce you to my brother, Henry Lennox. Henry, this is Edith Shaw and her cousin, Margaret Hale,” Capt. Lennox announced with constrained eagerness.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the newcomer replied, bowing to both ladies.
Margaret smiled at the sparkle in his eyes, which acknowledged the humor of their previous encounter.
“Henry has come to London to study and practice law,” Capt. Lennox continued. “He is perfectly satisfied to surround himself with books and to be kept within the confines of an office.”
“Your calling is to serve in body, while I do so in mind,” Henry gently retorted.
“Indeed,” Margaret agreed, “One of you has chosen to defend and expand the empire in Her Majesty’s army. The other has dedicated himself to upholding and defining the great law of this land. Both are important in strengthening the glory of England under God’s rule.”
“Indeed, they are,” Henry answered, studying her with increasing interest. “And may I ask what your father does…for the glory of England?” he added with smiling emphasis on her own vaulted words.
A warm smile spread over Margaret’s face, in part for the deep satisfaction she always felt at the mention of her father as well as for the friendly challenge to answer a quick-witted inquiry in kind.
“My father surpasses you both in glory and honor, I’m afraid.
For he serves God and the Church. And there can be no higher calling than that. ”
“I am sufficiently abased,” Henry answered with a sardonic lift of an eyebrow. “I hope you will allow me to meet your distinguished parent.”
“He is not here. Uncle’s parish is in the Hampshire countryside,” Edith interjected. “Margaret cannot wait to go home every summer. I’m half persuaded that she prefers her quiet hamlet to our dear city.”
Henry saw the confirmation of this conjecture in Margaret’s downcast gaze and pressed lips. “I’m sure it must be very beautiful there,” he suggested. “And much more peaceful.”
His reply was soundly rewarded with a gaze of appreciation from Margaret’s eyes.
“It is,” she answered, with the calm assurance of one who knew both worlds.
“It was a perfectly lovely evening, despite the weather,” Edith declared much later, as the carriage drove through the darkened streets toward home. “As I’ve always said, so much depends upon the company. There were such interesting people there tonight.”
That Edith had almost denied herself the occasion to meet the handsome Captain Lennox was not lost upon Margaret, who could not refrain from smiling to herself at the remembrance of her cousin’s former display of childish petulance at the uncompromising rain.
Whether this new acquaintance would capture Edith’s attention for longer than a few weeks or months, Margaret was not altogether certain.
She studied her cousin’s face. Even in the shadowy darkness, a light gleamed in her expression.
Her eyes had a new depth of vibrancy, and a smile lingered upon her lips.
Perhaps this acquaintance was something different from the rest.