Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Margaret stared vacantly at the white table linen in front of her as her father read the menu card in the high-ceilinged dining room of the hotel.
The room smelled of bread and some kind of savory broth.
A twitter of laughter reached her ears from the far end of the room, where a trio of young travelers sat.
It was incomprehensible to Margaret that there were people going on as if it were an ordinary day.
She could not speak. All she had known of life seemed overturned and discarded. Nothing could ever be the same again. The shock of what had just happened crashed over her anew, sending all her thoughts into disarray.
Her father had talked to Mr. Thornton for above a quarter hour while she had awkwardly stood apart by the window, pretending to take great interest in the view outside. All the while, her heart had pounded in trepidation that she might be called to speak, and that in doing so their eyes would meet.
Even now, her muscles were taut with the tension of strong surprise and the reverberation of a thousand conflicting emotions. Every word he had spoken echoed in her mind. And the manner in which he had spoken them—with such vehemence of feeling! The memory of it caused a trembling throughout.
“Mr. Thornton seems a very respectable fellow,” she heard her father say through the haze of her confusion.
“I believe I shall enjoy taking up the classics with him,” he continued. “Imagine you having met him before in London! He very probably travels there often enough. Mr. Bell says he’s very much admired here in Milton, and that members of Parliament dine at the Thornton’s house.”
She muttered a weak acknowledgment, grateful that her father’s mind was too zealous of his meeting with Mr. Thornton to take any account of her own reaction.
Mr. Thornton had been kind to her father.
In fact, she had been surprised at how easily and naturally they had conversed.
Papa had even invited him to dine with them here at the hotel!
But, of course, papa had no inkling of what had transpired before he had entered the room.
She was relieved when Mr. Thornton stated he had to return to his work.
What had happened in those few moments before her father had come, Margaret could scarcely believe. It was not possible. They had met only once before. And had not even known each other’s names!
“I think I shall just have the pork pie.” Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts again. “Margaret?”
She had not so much as glanced at her menu. “I shall have the same.”
He gave their order to the server standing by and then turned to Margaret with a satisfied smile. “We can rest awhile after this and then catch the late afternoon train back. We’ve accomplished our venture in one visit! And I have my first pupil!”
She was pleased that her father was happy. Mr. Thornton had seemed sincere in his interest in taking lessons from her father. Would that mean he would come to their home? Her heart thumped at the thought of it.
They returned to their hotel room afterwards to rest before taking the train back to their seaside accommodations. Margaret doubted she could rest now. But some quiet time to think would be much appreciated.
As she lay across the bed while her father stretched himself out on the sitting room sofa, Margaret could not stop the endless stream of images and voices in her mind that made her relive every moment of the encounter.
Her chest rose and fell more quickly as she recalled how her heart had pounded at his nearness.
She had never been spoken to with such an air of intensity in her life!
How was it he, truly a stranger to her, evoked such conflicting tremors of anticipation and fascination—when Henry or any other man had never moved her thus?
And to think he was a manufacturer! The tinge of distaste this provoked she used to quell the disturbance in her breast. He was not even a gentleman, but worked in the clash and expediency of markets and chasing money.
He had confessed to working in an industrial city upon their first meeting. What should she have expected him to be? Why, she had never expected to see him again! And now—now she was thrust into his world.
What kind of man he was, she didn’t really know. Or did she? Was it possible to know the essence of someone upon one brief encounter—or two?
Mr. Thornton walked brusquely through the streets, the world around him a blur. What had he done?
He castigated himself for frightening her with his urgency. What had made him take leave of his senses to demand such an answer from her? Had he ruined all his hopes of gaining her interest?
He slowed his pace. He fought the impulse to turn back and find some reason to return to the Hales—to see in her face what she might think of him.
But he knew it would be casting away all prudence.
And what he needed most right now was to take deliberate and well-considered action to repair what damage he might have done.
Ah, but she had recognized him! She had put her hand in his to dance. And she had laughed once again in his arms. These remembrances lit the hope in his breast afire. She had felt a connection to him, had she not?
Between burning hope and bitter despair, Mr. Thornton was thrown into a cataclysm of pulsating emotion as he navigated his way to Mr. Donkin’s house to give him the details on his new tenants. And to demand that he tear down the garish wallpaper.
Upon the voyagers’ return to their seaside escape, Mrs. Hale was full of curiosity, and Margaret bent her efforts towards shining a hopeful light on the prospects of their new home.
There was nothing to be done about it, but Mrs. Hale must be prepared for their arrival at Milton.
Margaret could scarcely think about aught else, albeit for altogether different reasons.
“There is a great deal of energy in Milton, with people everywhere. We shall not lack human contact. And with so many of the working kind about, I’m certain it won’t be difficult to find help,” Margaret told her.
“It is true that the skies are smoky and there is much dirt in the streets and stubborn soot on the buildings, but we shall keep our little place spic and span. And though we may not see much greenery, you will have a pleasant little sitting room on the third floor, where if one looks out the window, the canal can be seen in the distance with a hint of pastures beyond.”
“And what of this manufacturing man your father has been corresponding with? What did you make of him?” Mrs. Hale asked.
“Mr. Thornton was very cordial, a great help to us,” Mr. Hale replied. “I liked him very much.” He looked to Margaret for her corroboration.
The mention of his name sent Margaret’s composed thoughts askew and her insides quavered. “He was very kind to us,” was all she could muster to say at the moment.
“But what is he like?” Mrs. Hale persisted.
“He’s a very distinguished man in his community, I should say,” Mr. Hale answered.
“He runs the largest cotton mill in Milton.
He is an efficient man, as a man of business should be.
He appears not to waste his words but to get straight to the point.
And one feels he is sincere. "Did you not find him so, Margaret?” her father asked, giving her a smile in expectation of her agreement.
Margaret opened her mouth but had no words. Her father could never have known why his assessment struck her dumb. The few words Mr. Thornton had spoken with her were indeed full of the deepest sincerity and efficiency!
“He is very sincere,” she mumbled, attempting to smile amid her discombobulation.
Her awkwardness stirred her father’s memory.
“Ah! Margaret has not told you all, Maria,” he began. “Under extraordinary circumstances, Margaret has met Mr. Thornton once before—at a ball in London, with Edith.”
“Yes,” Margaret acknowledged, gaining command of herself again and smiling prettily for her mother.
“Why Margaret! How extraordinary indeed! And one would hardly expect these manufacturing men to attend a refined ball such as Edith would attend. Does he know how to dance?”
Margaret felt her face color. “Yes, he does,” she answered in a quavering voice, remembering again the press of his hand upon her back, and the feel of her hand in his.
“Well, I suppose there is hope of finding some culture and society in Milton after all. I am glad of it,” her mother replied, her shoulders relaxing a little. Behind her, Dixon disagreed with the sentiment, shaking her head in silent dismay.
“How old is Mr. Thornton? What does he look like?” Mrs. Hale continued, much to Margaret’s discomfiture.
“I should say about thirty. A very commanding stature, a tall frame, not ungainly. Dark hair and a serious mien. Although a very pleasant smile,” Mr. Hale offered, and then looked to Margaret.
“He was very plainly dressed, but that would suit his work, I suppose. His presence has a power—one can feel his strong intentions. He would not be a man to trifle with, I imagine. Although he was very kind to us, as papa said.”
“And Mr. Thornton will be my first student, as he is eager to learn the classics,” Mr. Hale said, beaming at his wife.
“Well then, I suppose there is something to be said of this class of manufacturers,” she returned with cautious approval.
At the close of the evening in the Thornton house, family and staff gathered round to listen to the mistress of the house read a few passages from the Bible. After the gathered servants departed for bed, Mr. Thornton remained, walking back and forth in the dark shadows of the room.
“What can you be pondering, John? Is there any unfortunate news?” his mother asked, watching him warily.
Her question stopped his pacing. Could she see it? he wondered. Of course, she would have seen how occupied his thoughts were. He knew not how to tell her, or whether he should say anything at all. But he did not know how to contain the magnitude of what had happened entirely to himself.
“Mr. Hale, the vicar from the South, arrived in town today,” he began.
Mrs. Thornton’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I wish Mr. Bell would not involve you in such extraneous affairs. Your attention should be focused on more important things!”
Mr. Thornton let out a silent sigh. “As you know, I find Mr. Hale’s case worthy enough to lend my help if I am able. Besides, he is not alone; he has a wife and daughter he must care for. His daughter accompanied him today…here, to Milton.” He staggered again that she had come straight to him.
“A daughter? Surely he would not have brought a child,” his mother chided.
“She’s a young lady, mother. Not a child,” he replied, turning away to hide any hint his face might reveal of his feelings.
His mother’s gaze sharpened at his tone. “Be careful, John. A country girl from the South may be looking for a rich husband to give her a life of ease.”
He turned to her with a pained expression. “She has not come to Milton for that. It is her father that….” He stopped speaking at the sight of his mother’s penetrating look. He hung his head for a moment, letting a long breath out, and then paced to the fireplace to escape her gaze.
“Do you remember the ball I attended in London the summer of the year past?” he began. “I told you about a girl that I thought…differed from the rest.”
“Yes,” she answered with feigned disinterest, her hands stilled from her needlework.
“She was from Hampshire; her father was a vicar.” He looked up to catch his mother’s confused face. “She is here, Mother. Mr. Hale’s daughter is the girl. She has come to Milton.” A smile broke across his face at this declaration.
Her stomach clenched to see his boyish grin. She was speechless, for she had convinced herself that this day would never come—that her son was above being caught in any girl’s web of attraction. It had not happened in the many years thus far. But now….
His mother’s silence gave him more confidence. Walking up behind her, he laid his hands on the back of her chair. Only the ticking of the clock on the mantel could be heard.
“I only tell you this…” His voice was low and earnest. She must know something of what may come to pass. “I believe it right to tell you of my interest in Miss Hale,” he breathed. Never would she know what he had already made plain to Miss Hale that very afternoon!
“Interest? You hardly know her!” Mrs. Thornton retorted, surprised at her own vehement response.
Mr. Thornton sighed inwardly and left his mother’s side to walk to the windows. He stared out at the dark forms barely visible in the clouded moonlight. He could not explain anything more to his mother. He hardly knew himself what had moved him to speak to Miss Hale today as he had.
But it was done, and he would do what he could to keep himself in favor with her.
“In any regard,” he said, breaking the silence. “The Hales will be new to town, in a place unfamiliar to them. And they know no one.”
He approached his mother again. “Once they are settled, I should like you to call on Mrs. Hale and her daughter.”
“I?” she countered, aghast at his request.
“Yes, and Fanny as well. As I said, they will be in need of good company.”
“I should hardly know what we will discuss. People from the South live entirely different lives than those of us in town.”
“Then you will be helpful by telling them what may make them more comfortable with our Milton ways,” he suggested.
Mrs. Thornton opened her mouth to protest yet again, but then sat back in silence. Averse as she was to all formal social obligations, her ire at his request began to fade as her curiosity to see this southern girl grew.
Satisfied with his mother’s quiet acquiescence, Mr. Thornton informed her of one more confidence.
“I will be taking up the classics with Mr. Hale on Thursdays. I have long intended to return to more expansive study, Mother,” he explained before she could object.
“My head has been full of business, machinery, and matters of money these past many years. My work has given us a fairly secure life for some time. I now have the opportunity to turn some of my attention to intellectual matters. This is, after all, a town of great motion and change. We cannot expect to remain the same.”