Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
The sodden ground and gloomy skies did naught to lift Mr. Thornton’s mood the following morning.
He threw his mind into work and was short with his words.
It was nothing out of the ordinary to see the Master with a stern face and quick step.
However, the underlying cause of such demeanor was entirely different on this day.
Feeling keenly Miss Hale’s disapproval, he was determined to dismiss this cantankerous disturbance to his peace of mind and carried on a mental defense of his principles, knowing full well that Miss Hale could have no understanding of the factors over which he had no control.
Nor did she comprehend the reason he must act as an autocrat in his position. There was no other way.
However, all his justifications offered no salve to the wound, which still festered from her verbal blows at his moral stance.
When Williams entered his office, he asked about a name that kept troubling him.
“Do you know anything about the Higgins family? A mill worker—I’m not certain at which mill.”
Williams thought for a moment. “Higgins?” Then his brow creased as it crossed his mind. “I believe Higgins is one those Union fellows, a rabble rouser. Not one of ours, though. Is there some trouble?” he asked.
“No,” the Master answered, letting out a low sigh. “I’ve only just recently heard of him. I was only curious.”
“Best to watch out for that kind. They’ll be up to no good, and that’s for certain,” Williams replied.
Mr. Thornton gave him a nod that was at once a reply and a dismissal.
Left alone, he sank his forehead into his hands. How was it possible Miss Hale befriended not just a common hand, but a man bound to promote the most incendiary claims against him?
Margaret longed to get out of the house and go see Bessy Higgins.
She wished to hear more about Bessy’s life and what her father would say about the fight between masters and men.
But her mother was feeling ill that day and for a few days afterwards, so Margaret dropped her own wishes to be available to attend to her mother’s.
She did not mind spending this time with her mother, as she had spent so many years apart from her parents in London, seeing her mother only in the summer. Now, she had the opportunity to draw closer to her mother, as she had longed to do.
On one of these occasions, she had the courage to ask her mother about her brother, Frederick.
It was something they never spoke about, and Frederick had left for the Navy when she was only about nine years of age.
She had never understood exactly what had happened that kept him from returning to England.
“Frederick?” Mrs. Hale said the name with a tremor of sorrow.
“Yes, mamma. I was in London at the time it all happened and was perhaps too young to be told. I never knew what took place. If it won’t pain you overmuch to tell me,” Margaret pleaded.
“No, I shall have no shame in talking about my boy. Fetch me the letters from my bureau just there,” Mrs. Hale directed, pointing to a lower drawer. She untied the ribbon that held the stack of letters and began to tell her daughter about her brother’s exile from England.
“You see, it all started with an unfortunate assignment to a ship that was captained by a rival of his, a cruel young man, Reid was his name, who never liked Frederick. This Captain Reid made an impossible order to his men to manage the ropes high upon the masts in which the last man at his task would get a flogging. Attempting to avoid this punishment, a young man made a desperate leap to the next mast, but fell and later died.”
“Frederick was so incensed by this needless loss—you know, dear Margaret, how impassioned your brother was—that he rose against the captain and swiftly organized a mutiny.”
“Captain Reid was put out on a skiff, but was—rather unfortunately for Frederick’s sake—picked up by a passing freighter.
Frederick was identified by Reid as the leader of the mutiny, and it was published in the newspapers that he was a blackened traitor.
Your brother, who only wanted justice for those with no power! It makes me angry to this day!”
“Oh, Mother!” Margaret breathed. “I have never been so proud of my brother as I am now. Why, he was only trying to depose a ruthless man. Couldn’t he argue his case against this Captain Reid?”
“Never. It would never do. The Navy requires strict obedience, no matter what the directives. They would never listen to justice. Some of the other men caught in the mutiny tried to present such a case—but they were hanged, Margaret.” Mrs. Hale’s eyes began to fill with tears.
“I couldn’t bear to see him end up as those men did.
And so I’m glad he is far away—although I so long to see him! ”
“Perhaps if we took a trip abroad. He is in Spain, is he not? It’s not so far—“
“No. No, it is too late. I’m not well enough for travel now,” Mrs. Hale moaned, but a glance at her daughter’s concerned face made her hurry on, “Forgive me, darling. I’m feeling very discouraged this week. Do not fret about me.”
But Margaret fretted about her mother from that time forward.
She worried that her mother might suffer from some ailment that should not be dismissed lightly.
Asking Dixon about it later gave her even more cause for concern, as the loyal maid insisted that Margaret take no thought about it or worry her father.
One afternoon shortly afterward, Margaret slipped out of the house to walk with her father to the Lyceum, where he sometimes gave lectures.
Happy to be out of doors, even in the sooty town of Milton, Margaret’s spirits lifted with the warmer weather.
It appeared the people walking about also enjoyed the change of seasons.
No longer were their heads bent down or arms crossed to keep their coverings close about them as they moved briskly to get out of the cold.
The pace of the town slowed just a mite, and now faces could be discerned and arms were free to hang down.
Just before they reached the imposing granite building at the town center, Mr. Hale surprised Margaret with a gentle request.
“I should very much like for you to sit in on my discussions with Mr. Thornton occasionally on Thursdays—when you are not busy with your mother, of course. I believe you’ve quite misunderstood Mr. Thornton’s character.
In any regard,” he continued, seeing her resistance in the straight line of her mouth, “I think you’d be very interested to hear our discussions of Plato’s Republic. ”
This he finished saying as they arrived. He gave her a smile, proud of his daughter’s interest in intellectual moral wrestling.
“I will try, papa,” she answered, swayed by his loving countenance.
Later that week, as Margaret padded quietly down the hallway, her father’s voice became clearer as she neared his study. She paused at the sound of the replying Darkshire voice, confused and a trifle annoyed that Mr. Thornton’s voice should cause an unbidden flutter within.
She raised her head, took a breath, and walked into the room with her sewing basket.
Her father smiled at her entrance. “I thought Margaret might like to listen to our discussions from time to time, if you don’t mind,” he announced to his pupil.
“Not at all,” Mr. Thornton replied with a warmth that surprised her.
Sitting by the back wall, Margaret met his eyes for a moment and saw the hopeful sincerity that so unnerved her. She had a right to her own views, and would rebuff any feeling that she ought to repent and sweetly submit to his perspective.
Truth be told, she wished she were not under his scrutiny tonight and would have gathered her things and departed were it not for her father.
“As I was saying,” Mr. Hale continued, “there are very strict rules and few pleasures for the guardians of society, as Plato has outlined. They must remain devoted to their purpose for the benefit of the community.”
“I believe that indicates the crux of the matter regarding the setup of human governments: the balance between individual freedom and the responsibility to society,” Mr. Thornton replied.
“While, in theory, I should like for every man to be free to make his own choices, at our present stage of development, a large portion of society seems not ready for self-government and is better served to follow the dictates of those who have earned a place of authority through knowledge and experience.”
Margaret bristled at his talk of putting most men under authority. “And who will choose which men deserve to be these figures of authority?” Margaret interjected.
“We have many lines of authority in our own government, Margaret,” her father answered. “Do you suppose Captain Lennox doubts the authority of his commanders?”
Who is this Captain Lennox? Mr. Thornton wondered, the disquieting suggestion that Miss Hale might have other suitors sweeping away his concentration from the discussion at hand.
“I suppose there are places where lines of authority must be in order, but I still believe authority cannot be accepted wholesale if it is used to subjugate others unfairly. There must always be recourse for those who may be trodden down,” she posed, thinking of her brother.
“Which is why, I believe, Plato argues that the guardians of society must be those who have grown into higher moral standing through long experience and training of self-denial and self-discipline. They must prove their moral character first before becoming leaders. It is not a haphazard authority,” Mr. Thornton endeavored to explain.
Margaret made a movement of her head, which he took to be reluctant acquiescence, and took up her needlework again. She remained quiet for the rest of the lesson, still feeling a resistance to Mr. Thornton’s comfortable assurance that most men needed authority figures—as if they were children!
When the hour had passed, Mr. Thornton stood to leave, giving a smiling nod to Mr. Hale and turning to glance cautiously at Margaret.
As he passed by her, she remembered her intention to ask him about a doctor.
“Mr. Thornton,” she called out softly, trailing after him down the stairs. He turned around, the hope in his breast brimming to the full at her calling. The soft skin of her cheeks and neck glowed in the shadowed hallway.
“Does your family know of a reputable doctor?”
“Are you ill?” he asked, his face immediately stricken.
“No, no. It is my mother,” she answered, almost in a whisper as she glanced up to ensure her father was not listening.
“I’m sorry to hear she is not well. I will find the name of the doctor my mother calls for Fanny,” he replied in a lower voice, detecting her want of secrecy.
“Thank you. I did not want to trouble you—“ she began, wringing her hands.
“Please,” he insisted with such deep imploring, she was forced to look up and was arrested by his expression of tender concern. “If I can be of any help, you must call on me.”
“Yes, thank you,” she muttered, nonplussed by this unexpected show of kindness after her condemning remarks.
“Good evening, Miss Hale,” he finished, setting his hat on his head and taking a last glance at her before heading out the door.