Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
The next day, Mr. Hale bored his wife with the details of the event as he sat with her on the blue velvet sofa in her pale yellow sitting room.
His chosen mate had never matched his enthusiasm for education, in particular for reading.
Maria Hale had dissuaded him from reading aloud to her early in their marriage.
Such a disparity of interests had long prevented a closer harmony between them over the years.
Margaret saw that her father’s love of learning indeed thrived here, whereas her mother was withering from a lack of purpose. Taken from her role as a vicar’s wife who helped poor parishioners, her only occupation of late seemed to be lamenting her situation and her frail health.
As Margaret went into the hallway, contemplating what the forthcoming doctor’s visit might reveal, their new servant girl, Martha, appeared.
The sight of the girl sparked Margaret’s curiosity. How well did she really know Mr. Thornton? For she had been surprised to discover that he had given generously to the new library.
“Martha, if I may ask,” she began, halting the girl from her purpose a moment, “how do you find working with the Thorntons? You could have taken work at the mill instead.“
“Oh no, Miss Margaret! I owe the Thorntons my very life. If it were not for them—“
“Whatever do you mean?” Margaret asked, taken aback at the impassioned response.
“My father knew the elder Mr. Thornton. They worked together and were friends many years ago. When my parents took sick and died a few years ago, my sister and I were left behind. I was gravely ill from the same fever that took them. We had no one to turn to, no relatives in town. But somehow Mrs. Thornton and the Master found out and took us both in. They nursed me, so kindly and patiently, back to health.”
“You mean Mrs. Thornton nursed you,” Margaret endeavored to correct her.
“No, I mean the pair of them. Mr. Thornton took care I had everything I needed and watched over me a time or two. He’s not at all what they might say of him in the streets. They don’t know him as I do!” she said, her emotion rising in his defense.
“And that is why I am honored to serve them. I dare not think of what would have happened to me were it not for their kindness,” Martha said more softly.
Realizing the sordid path Martha’s life could have taken as an orphan made Margaret shudder. “Thank you, Martha. That is all.”
Margaret stood in silent wonder for a moment, endeavoring to match the image of Mr. Thornton as a gentle caretaker to the memory of his stony face when talking of his workers.
Eager to hear what Nicholas Higgins had to say about the new library, Margaret made her way to Bessy’s house as soon as her mother lay down for her afternoon nap.
Margaret knocked but had to let herself in, for Mary was gone—she had found work.
“I thought we were right friends,” Bessy playfully accused, as soon as Margaret took a seat on the slatted wooden chair next to the ailing girl. “Yo’ could have told me yo’ were going to the grand opening with the Master. Some as said you even rode in the Thornton carriage with ’im.”
“Mr. Thornton invited my father and me. It wasn’t anything to note,” Margaret answered defensively, aghast at the intimation.
Bessy grinned. “Yo’ can deny it all yo’ like, but to be seen with ’im makes you the Master’s girl.”
“I am no such thing!” Margaret exclaimed, although a strange thrill quickened her pulse.
“Ah, yo’ didna know how fast one can become the tittle-tattle of Milton. Yo’ ought to be honored, I’d say. He’s never showed a liking to any girl in Milton before. There’s many as said he’d be an old bachelor. Married to his mill… or his own mother!” At this last remark they both had to laugh.
Margaret quickly grew solemn again. The knowledge that she was the subject of gossip made her stomach churn.
“I wish I were there to see yo’. What did you wear?” Bessy asked. “You didn’t wear that old dress, did yo’?”
“No, I did not!” Margaret answered with pretended affront. “I’ll have you know I have several nice gowns to choose from which I acquired during my years in London. I wore a midnight blue dress with black lace trim.”
Voices sounded outside before the door swung open. Nicholas and a weary-looking man entered.
Higgins halted, noting Margaret with suspicion.
“She’s only here to visit me, she’ll bring no trouble,” Bessy said, imploring her father to listen.
“I dunno,” he replied, keeping a steely gaze on Margaret. “She were sitting with the Master.”
“Mr. Thornton takes lessons from my father…to study the classics. He invited us both to attend the lecture as we are still new in town,” Margaret answered his accusatory stare with defiant calm.
“Tell him to learn something about democracy from the Greeks. Workers ought to have a say in what goes on. It’s our work as well as theirs, and ours even more so in numbers.”
“I will agree that you should have a voice. Doesn’t your Union meet with the masters? Don’t they let you air your grievances?” Margaret asked.
“Ha! They only tell us what they’ve decided. Tell us what to do with no questions asked of us. That’s what they think of us—as no more than children to be obedient to their orders.”
“Well, I could advocate for you, but as I said, Mr. Thornton’s connection is to my father, not to me. What I say can matter very little to him,” she replied with na?ve confidence.
Father and daughter shared a doubtful glance.
“What would you tell him if you could?” Margaret asked with sincere interest.
A thin man behind Higgins hollered his answer, his face contorted with fierce anger. “I’d tell ’im to increase our wages! A man can’t feed his family on sixteen pence a week!”
“Boucher has eight children,” Bessy explained.
“And none of ’em old enough to work yet,” the young father answered. “How am I supposed to feed them? I work all day, and my wife must be caring for the children.”
“I’ve told yo’ that we’ll keep yo’r family fed, even if I have to share my own bread,” Higgins told the man. “You can’t keep working at the mill if the Union decides to strike. We all must make sacrifices to make our demands heard. The only way to communicate with them is to strike!”
“I don’t understand,” Margaret said. “Why must you strike? What is that you are demanding?”
Higgins studied her for a moment, assessing whether to bother explaining himself.
“We’ve not been given an increase in wages in six years!
And now there’s rumors that the masters plan to cut our wages instead of increasing them.
How would you react to that? We work week after week to make them their profits, and this is how we are rewarded! ”
Margaret sympathized with their outrage, but she wanted to believe there was a reason for the masters’ stance. “Perhaps the master cannot pay more. There may be reasons—“
“Blast their reasons! We’ll understand their reasons better when we’re assured of food in our bellies. They don’t have a worry about their own children going without a meal,” Higgins answered, his fist punching the air in his vehemence.
“Perhaps if you talked to Mr. Thornton—“Margaret suggested.
“Thornton?” Higgins exclaimed, his voice rising. “Talking to Thornton is like talking to that wall. He won’t budge an inch once he’s made his decision.”
Margaret was shaken at his assessment. “Is he truly so stubborn?” she dared to ask. “I had hoped better of him.”
Higgins observed her downcast expression before saying grudgingly, “He’s not the worst of them, I’ll give him that.
He says what he means, and he won’t play his cards to trick us into thinking he’ll change his mind, as Henderson and Slickson have done.
No, Thornton lays down his position as clear as day. ”
Margaret nodded, although this further knowledge did little to alleviate the sinking feeling in her stomach at the enmity between these men.
Margaret walked home from Bessy’s house much disturbed.
It was preposterous to her that the workers and master—those whose lives were so dependent one on the other!
—should be in such a state of perpetual opposition.
There must be some way to ameliorate the deep distrust. Why could they not communicate civilly with one another?
These questions consumed her thoughts as she passed the section of town where Marlborough Mills stood behind a row of houses.
She regarded all the factory chimneys cluttering the skyline.
Perhaps it was her purpose to be a connection to both workers and their employers, to find some way to bridge the gulf between them.
She halted her steps, pondered her impulse, and strode towards the mill.
Marlborough Mills shut down half an hour before sunset. The massive clacking looms now lay still and silent in the weaving shed that comprised the bulk of the factory. The Master’s office, and those of his clerks, were in a separate section, away from the daily commotion of industry.
The growing heat of summer made every enclosed space less comfortable, and the Master sat at his desk with his cotton shirtsleeves rolled up past his elbows.
He rubbed his eyes and closed his ledger for the day, tired of looking at figures, doubly tired of drawing up contingency plans for if—or more than likely—when there would be a strike.
He let out an exasperated sigh. When would the workers ever learn to trust his judgment?
It irritated him they could believe him to be withholding pay merely for cruel sport or for his own ungodly gain.
They did not know the dangers involved in managing such an enterprise when the market was unstable in America.
In their minds, it was all so simple, and the masters were ogres for keeping wages steady for years.
Well, they would learn that he could not and would not meet their demands for a five percent increase in wages. It would put the entire enterprise at risk of closure. If they would strike, then he would look for other hands to fill their places. It was his right.
His thoughts were caught up in such furious justification when there was a knock on his door. “Yes,” he clipped without turning in his chair. He did not wish to answer any more questions.
“A Miss Hale for you,” one of his clerks announced.
Mr. Thornton turned and stood immediately, his face softened with hope. “Miss Hale,” he repeated, his heart thudding with pleasure that she had sought him out. “What can I do for you? Is it your mother?” he asked, his voice at once full of concern.
“No. No, thank you. I have come to speak about something else that troubles me,” she began, her courage waning now that she was standing in front of him.
“Will you sit—“
“No, I won’t stay long. I came only to speak to you for a moment. I know you must have much to attend to,” she babbled, lowering her gaze to the floor, away from the sight of his strong, sinewy forearms. Heat flooded through her veins to be alone with him when he was so casually appareled.
He waited curiously as she gathered herself.
“I beg you to forgive me for my ignorance in such things, but I have heard talk of a strike today, which I know you must wish to avoid. I cannot stand by and watch such a drastic measure be taken if there is no need for it. I thought perhaps if you could meet with Nicholas Higgins, you could explain to him your position,” she pleaded. “He is a Union leader—“
“I know who he is,” he snapped, his face hardening as he realized she had come on another man’s behalf. He felt a fool to feel a twinge of jealousy at her utterance of this man’s Christian name, when she had never spoken his own or advocated for his cause.
“You are sorely mistaken if you think a mere conversation will appease these men,” he continued. “If they want to usurp my authority and make the decisions, then I invite them to become master for a time to see what presses me to refuse their ignorant demands!” he practically shouted.
She set her jaw firmly in response to his rebuff. “But don’t you see that is exactly why you should talk? They know nothing about what you are facing. If you told them—“
“If I told them, they wouldn’t believe me. They think they know it all already, and that I am making myself rich at their expense,” he shot back, barely controlling his pent-up rage.
She stood her ground, her chest heaving at his rebuke.
“I see, then, that coming to you is fruitless. I expected you to be reasonable, but I am mistaken,” she said, keeping her voice even with a shaky deliberation.
She pressed her lips together as she studied him.
“You are just as stubborn in your views as you say these men are,” she added. She swiftly turned to go.
He lunged forward and grasped her arm, spinning her back to face him.
Her eyes went wide, and her lips—not far from his now—were parted in surprise. He hesitated, every nerve ending burning with the desire to capture that bold mouth of hers with his.
He loosened his hold of her and stepped back from his overbearing position.
“Forgive me,” he said, looking to the floor in disgust at what he had done. “I had no right to…” He could not finish.
He met her frightened gaze, his anger tempered now by guilt at his recklessness. “I will attempt to meet with this Higgins…for your sake. But I make no promises beyond that.”
“I thank you,” she replied in a breathless voice, and quickly left the room.
He stood, running his fingers through his hair, as remorse overtook all other emotions. What kind of brute was he, to handle her that way? What she must think of him!
He agonized over the reasonable answer: that she must now see him for what he truly was—an uncouth and rough man, who was not worthy of her affections.
He drew his hands into fists at his own stupidity, at letting violent passion overthrow his self-control. What was the power she held over him, to undo all his careful restraint?
She would never see him as a suitor now. Why should he torture himself by pursuing her further? It tore his heart to reason thus, but it was of no use. He still wanted her.
That she had dared to come to him at all made him want her all the more. And she had come—she with her pure heart, full of compassion—and proved herself unafraid to stand against him for what she believed.
She made him doubt himself again and again. She drove him to madness in wanting to prove himself to her.
Nevertheless, he wanted her as his wife. And there would be no cure for his yearning until she was in his home, and in his bed.