Chapter Four – Melancholy and Melodrama
…
Thornton's office, Marlborough Mills, Milton
"Now, I remember why I never got married. Histrionics, that is why, from ladies and their daughters. Inescapable," Bell said as he sank into a chair in Thornton's office, visibly fatigued. "And if I hear one word from Dixon again about how Milton has killed the whole family, I swear, I will pull out my beard."
"Unfortunately we have to concede that Miss Hale has lost so much in Milton," Thornton replied.
"Margaret is different, mind you- such a sensible, practical and sweet girl. I have tried to keep her here for as long as I could, in the hope that a better solution may be reached, but I may now have to capitulate and send her back to those ladies in London," Bell said.
"What could possibly be a better solution for a girl who has just been orphaned?" Thornton asked
"She needs someone to care for her. I am a bachelor, you see, too old and set in my ways, I cannot take her to live with me in Oxford. I suppose that is the same dilemma you would face, unless….never mind."
"Unless?….you were saying?…" Thornton asked prompting Bell to complete his train of thought. Instead, Bell waved his hand dismissively. "Please sir…you wanted to say something….." Thornton insisted.
"Hale and I did wonder if there was a tendresse between Margaret and yourself," Bell said.
"Miss Hale will never have me," Thornton scoffed. "To her, I am merely her father's friend."
"That was in the past. Bereavement has a way of bringing clarity into matters of the heart," Bell said.
"I believe her preferences might lie elsewhere," Thornton said, staring intently at several contract papers to feign some nonchalance, anything to quell his agitation.
"Are you thinking about Henry Lennox?" Bell asked
"No, I was not. Is he courting Miss Hale then?" Thornton's head shot up in evident alarm.
Bell smirked. "Until now, it never did occur to me that there could be another gentleman. A third suitor? Hmm… Oh well, we may have the Bard's midsummer's night dream at work. Now, now, how do I get hold of Puck's salve?" Bell said with a mischievous lilt.
Thornton gave a deep sigh, irritated that Bell could find any humour in a topic so painful to him.
"Come now, Thornton, as much as it would please me, and Hale, if I might add, for he thought highly of you, I could never impose on you that you marry her, but if your promise still stands," Mr. Bell said, rubbing his eyes in frustration, "she needs your help."
"If she needs my help, I will gladly oblige," Thornton said. He will not be goaded into admitting that depth of his feelings to this wily old man, to confide that marrying Margaret will be no imposition. On the contrary, it will be his delight.
"I received a reply to my telegram today," Bell said. "The aunt is unable to travel because her daughter, Edith Lennox, is about to put to bed, and I have to return to Oxford to make the funeral arrangements."
"How may I be of assistance?" he managed to ask as he rose to pour himself a glass of water from the jug to camouflage his eagerness that perhaps Margaret may be allowed to come to stay with him after all. His hands shook and he spilled some water on the paper in front of him, running the ink, and he swiftly fetched a strip of blotting paper to dab the mess.
"I want Dixon to stay behind in Milton, and pack up the house, and put up their goods for auction. Margaret needs to be escorted to London, and the aunt said the only option may be to send Henry Lennox over."
"I will escort her to London. There is no need for Lennox to come," he offered without hesitation. "I will do it…."he repeated for emphasis. He will think of that pesky problem of needing a chaperone later.
"Very well, thank you," Bell concluded. "I trust you to take care of my precious goddaughter. She needs friends like you at this time, and I hope to see you in Oxford."
"It will be an honour to do this for Mr. Hale…to assist his daughter," Thornton replied. "My sister, Fanny will be the ideal escort. She will always jump at any chance to travel to London." His mother was out of the question. She had never gone more than twenty miles outside of Milton and would definitely not wish to travel two hundred miles to London to help a girl who had broken her beloved son's heart.
With that settled, he made his way to Watson's house to speak with Fanny. This was to be the first favour he would ever demand of her, and he hoped…prayed..she would oblige.
Fanny agreed.
Everyone had their price, and Fanny's chaperone services will set him back twelve pounds; twelve pounds well spent as it would give him three more days with Margaret.
…
Hale House, Crampton, Milton
Thornton returned to Crampton two days later, and this time round, he brought some of his ledgers with him to work on in the study whilst he waited to see Margaret and tell her the plans for their impending travel. Dixon had already started packing up the house for the auction, and boxes and crates littered everywhere. He almost tripped over an open trunk box by the door to the study door. It held what seemed like Margaret's dresses and personal effects.
He began to clear a section of Mr. Hale's desk to work on, and he soon came across a bundle of letters held with a blue ribbon addressed to the Hales, a few photographs along with some jewelry and legal papers that Margaret had put aside to take with her to London. He was too well bred to snoop and encroach on another person's privacy, so he moved the bundle out of the way.
One of the photographs fell on the floor and he bent to pick it up. He looked at it. It was of a young man with his arms around two young girls. The HMS Orion Navy Gun-ship could be seen in the background. They were all smiling. Thornton's face fell as recognition dawned on him. He slowly turned it round and looked at the back and it read – Margaret, Frederick and Edith, Woolwich Dockyard, London, 1843. It was taken, eight years past. Dickenson was in a Navy Petty Officer's uniform and Margaret and her cousin were in boot-length summer dresses and both had their hair down, and their girlish grins reminded him of what Fanny looked like at eleven to twelve years old.
Epiphany. It now made sense why Frederick Dickenson was not known in Helstone- for he was a sailor, and they were acquainted with him in London, when she lived with the aunt and cousin. He now understood everything, and that piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. As he pondered this, he heard Dixon's footsteps coming towards the study and he swiftly returned the letters and photos back to the place where he had found them.
"Miss Margaret is waiting for you in the Drawing Room," Dixon said and came to summon him. "Thank you, thank you," he said and he bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time. Dixon followed him bearing the tea tray and a few biscuits.
He put his head through the door and saw her, seated staring vacantly at the burning embers in the fireplace, regal and beautiful, even in deep mourning.
"Miss Hale…" he said from the doorway.
She looked up. "Oh.. Mr. Thornton…..Papa….Pa," she began, and her lower lips began to quiver.
He propelled himself towards her and realised his advance could startle her, so he slowed down and gently took a seat next to her on the couch. Dixon placed the tea on a nearby stool and went and stood by the door.
"I am so sorry for your loss," he said in a low urgent tone, "Mr. Hale was like a father to me." Once again, at the mention of Hale's name, Dickenson's image came up vividly in his mind's eye and his face darkened, which startled Margaret.
"I would never see him again," she said and began to whimper and rock gently, back and forth.
Thornton knew it was not the right time to bring up Frederick. It then occurred to him that perhaps Mr. Hale was trying to send him a message, from beyond the grave, asking him to protect his daughter from that scoundrel. "You are not alone," he said quietly to her, "you will always have me."
She nodded but the whimpering did not stop.
His heart was in torment, watching her suffer. "Excruciating." Margaret desperately needed someone to comfort her. He desperately wanted to be that person. Uncompassionate Propriety would not permit it, yet his beloved suffered in agony, a mere seventeen inches away from him. He could not wrap his arms around her, and cradle her in his lap and console her, because she did not belong to him. She did not belong to Lennox or Dickenson or anyone else for that matter. Three men loved her, and yet she had no one to comfort her. Then Thornton, without thinking, for if he had, he would have lost his nerve; so without thinking, he moved closer to her.
She stared at his clenched hands, which had become cold because the fireplace in the study where he had spent the last quarter hour had not been lit. "You may warm them by the fire," she offered, but he was reluctant to leave her side and take the seat next to fire, therefore he began to rub his hands together to generate some heat.
"May I pour you a cup of tea?" he should have asked.
"May I hold your hand?" he would have loved to ask. He was certain he would get all the heat that he needed if he could only touch her hand.
He only realised he had thought out loud when Margaret extended a dainty hand towards him and it coincided with a sharp intake of breath from Dixon. He stared at it for a moment, dazed, and he tentatively took it, and enclosed it within his large ones.
"Miss Margaret, Mr. Thornton…pst…," Dixon hissed, "Mr. Thornton ….pst …pst…. improper…you cannot…" Thornton flinched but decided to ignore all her mutterings. He did not let go of Margaret's hand. He could not let go. He rubbed it and until his cold hands warmed up, and her warm hands cooled.
Thornton could have sworn that his heart pounded louder than the entire percussion section of the Milton Philharmonic. She soon stopped sobbing but did not pull away. It was inappropriate to enjoy the contact particularly under such sad circumstances, but he had dreamt of this moment almost from the very first time he'd met her. He would gladly stay in this position all evening if propriety were to allow, so he decided to cherish this moment, like he had done with every other contact, pleasant or not, that he'd ever had with her.
"Miss Margaret," Dixon's voice cut into their reverie, "Miss Margaret, I will be in the Master's room if you need me," she said, and gave Thornton a pointed glare as she departed, leaving the door slightly open to give them some privacy, but wide enough to draw in the cold draught from the hallway.
"We leave at noon, on the day after tomorrow," he said as soon as Dixon was out of earshot. "My sister is looking forward to the trip. She can't stop talking of ordering dresses and furnishing for her new home from London to show off to the ladies in Milton."
"Mrs. Watson has been very kind. Please give her my thanks," Margaret said.
"I'm curious. What can you tell me about your family and friends in London?" he asked, going against his earlier decision to not inquire about Dickenson just yet.
"There is not much to tell, that I believe will be of interest to you," she said. "I feel you have a more fulfilling life here in Milton. I know I do."
"You do?" he pondered her words and asked with a tentative hope….."..and you approve of Milton?"
She nodded.
Thornton grinned. "If we are improving on more acquaintance, perhaps you may wish to visit us sometime in the future. We will be happy to receive you."
"Thank you, but I do not know if I could. My aunt will not let me."
"If Fanny was to invite you as her friend, perhaps she may be swayed," Thornton offered.
Margaret sighed. Everyone, Mr. Bell, Dixon, Mr. Thornton, it seemed, all wanted her to go back to London, yet she was reluctant to leave Milton. "I'm not good company today, I'm afraid," she said and pulled her hand out of Thornton's and clasped it with the other one and tucked them in her lap.
Thornton was alarmed. He did not want to lose the ground he had just acquired, and he berated himself for discussing frivolities at such a time.
"Forgive me. I….I've been foolish. May I just sit with you?" he asked. That was the next best thing, seeing he had scuppered his chance to continue to hold her hand.
She looked at him. Her wide eyes had pooled with tears and, she gave a barely perceptible nod. They remained side by side, in companionable silence, staring at the crackling embers in the fireplace.
Thornton was about to apologise again when he realised that she was fast asleep. Without warning, and to his bewilderment, she had nodded off. After he checked to assure himself that she had not fainted, he rose up with as much gentleness as he could manage, and went to the door to call for Dixon. He got no reply. He then returned to Margaret and eased her onto the couch to lie down properly. He took of her slippers, but wisely counseled himself not to linger at her feet, lest he brought on those other sensations that constantly beset him in the privacy of his bedchamber, and at the mere thought of this woman. He swiftly set the cushions around her and draped a shawl over her.
The only time he had come so close to an unconscious Margaret was when she was rendered senseless by a rioter's missile at Marlborough Mills. On that occasion, he carried her from the balcony into the Drawing Room and laid her on a couch and then bared his heart to her unhearing ears.
This time round, he was content to pull a chair next to the couch, sit there, and watch her sleep, praying and hoping that underneath that steady rise and fall of her chest resides a heart that will one day, beat for him. He tucked back a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and returned to his seat, leant back with his elbow on the arm of his chair, crossed his long legs, and rested his chin in the palm of his hand to resume his watch. He was smiling.
Dixon came in to collect the tea tray, and was alarmed at the scandalous sight they presented in the low lantern lights of the Drawing Room.
"I called for you," he started with an accusing tone. Dixon put down her lantern and moved towards Margaret and bent to look closely at her. Thornton rose to give Dixon some space around Margaret, and looked at the maid with concern. "She just fell asleep. Completely without warning," he said and clicked his fingers to illustrate.
Dixon replied, "It must be the draughts from the doctor. She had them with her tea." She straightened up and looked at Thornton. "It had not worked so well before, but now that she is asleep I think you would have to leave now."
"Oh, goodness no" he begged Dixon. "Please let me stay. Please. I promise not to disturb her." She agreed, left the room, and returned with a blanket. She tucked it snugly around Margaret's shoulders, and then left them, but with the door now wide open.
"Mr. Thornton," she said, "You know this is highly improper, and you cannot let anyone know about this. I will only let you stay because she has hardly slept in the past week, and she looks so peaceful now. Besides, I still have a lot of packing to do."
He nodded gratefully and took his seat.
He left a full hour and a half later, in a very good mood, and with Margaret still sleeping soundly.
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