Thanks for all the lovely reviews. Scarlet Pimpernel TV series line :D
"Margaret?" a soft voice called, rousing her from her sleep. It was only a few hours since she had fallen asleep fully clothed. By now, her parents had gathered in the drawing room for the evening and would wonder at her absence.
She opened her eyes, wincing as she felt the loose pins of her coiffure jab in her in the scalp as she shifted her head. Turning her stiff neck to the door, she espied her mother holding the door tentatively with a forlorn expression on her face.
"Dixon said that you had come straight to your room, my dear, whatever is the matter?"
Margaret sat up slowly, her eyes watering as her mind started to recall the events that occurred earlier in the day. Struggling to retain her composure, she kept her gaze down, "I apologize for alarming you, I fear I experienced a trying day."
Her mother closed the door gently behind her and moved to sit on the bed gingerly, taking Margaret's cool hand in her own warm ones. "Will you not tell me of it?"
Margaret lifted her eyes and regarded her carefully. For any casual observer, Maria Hale was a delicate woman of fragile constitution, but Margaret remembered her from before their move to Milton. A woman of kindness and quiet observation, who could always ascertain the source of her children's foul moods and dissipate any unpleasantness.
She did not know what prompted her to open her mouth haltingly and relate the tale of how she came to meet Bessie Higgins, but as she did, she became aware of the tears trickling down her cheeks and her mother's tender ministrations as she withdrew her own handkerchief to dab at Margaret's cheeks.
Margaret sniffed and wiped at her eyes, "I am indeed sorry for relating such a sad tale to you . . ."
"Oh my dear child, while I would not have chosen her as a companion for you, I am glad you had someone to talk to, and am equally grieved to know that the young woman died as she did," Mrs. Hale said sadly, patting Margaret's hand comfortingly. "I know that I have not been myself since I arrived, but do not think that I have been unaware of your own struggles. You have done remarkably well, dearest, and have been such a comfort to your father and I. We are indeed proud of you," she finished quietly.
Margaret scoffed lightly, "I have been narrow-minded and more than a little spoiled."
Mrs. Hale sat a bit straighter, "I do not believe so . . ."
Margaret shook her head, "No Mother, I have. I spoke of the south with such reverence, completely unwilling to see the merits of our new home, as different as they may be. I have offended others with these views and for that, I regret my behavior."
Mrs. Hale was silent for a moment before replying. "I think you have been more successful than your father and I, and that shows a maturity of spirit. You have assisted in the running of the household, a duty which should have fallen to me, and I have heard you complain little."
Margaret gave a small smile but looked away, prompting her mother to bring up something else her keen eyes had noticed. "To be sure, the gentlemen here are not those of London, but you never were particularly fond of them, were you Margaret?"
Her daughter blinked and met her mother's gaze warily. "I suppose not."
Mrs. Hale nodded, "I had thought as much. For I myself was not inclined to the hordes of young men and their empty accolades, I found I much preferred someone to have a good conversation with."
Margaret stared.
Her mother continued, "Your father was one of the few who made a genuine effort, and he was so very handsome. Still rather so, in my opinion," she remarked, drawing a blush to Margaret's cheeks.
"As I said, I have been slower to adjust but I do recognize when one of my opinions no longer holds any merit," Mrs. Hale said slowly, "And I hope you understand me well when I say I would like you to find happiness here."
Margaret nodded, slightly in wonder at this turn in the conversation. Her mother placed her handkerchief in Margaret's hands, leaned forward to kiss her cheek, and murmured, "Come down soon to the sitting room and we will talk some more."
Margaret gripped the handkerchief tightly and watched her mother leave. Her sorrow still weighed heavily in her mind as she straightened her clothing and smoothed her hair back. The tightness in her chest and lungs was no longer present, but a sort of blind weariness pervaded as she left her room. The arrival of nightfall as she had slept was a bit disorienting as she gazed out a window, but there was also relief in knowing that the day was over, and she could once again seek the solitude of her room.
She was just . . . worn. And altogether too tired to cry anymore. Holding the burdens of her family and harboring her own grief had taken its toll and for now, she just needed to put one foot in front of the other,
Upon reaching the sitting room, her father stood and greeted her warmly, directing her to the sofa and softly offering his condolences. She patted his hand and he returned to his seat, picking up a letter from the side table. "I received a note, my dear, from Mr. Thornton."
Margaret turned her head at this and stared at the small square of partially unfolded parchment. Her father opened it slowly, "He says that business at the mill will keep him away. Dreadful business, nothing has quite been the same since the strike. I am most aggrieved to know that so many are suffering in its wake."
Mrs. Hale looked uncomfortable but ventured, "Is it so very bad?"
"I am afraid so, for I understand that many of the masters have not yet recovered from the time that their mills closed," Mr. Hale said grimly.
Mrs. Hale cast her eyes down meekly and sighed, "So much tied into commerce; livelihoods, families . . ."
"And reputations," Mr. Hale remarked. "Mr. Thornton worked hard to raise his family back up, and now by a twist of fate, he now struggles to keep them afloat."
Margaret hesitantly spoke, "How do you know of this?"
"Mr. Bell has quietly kept me apprised of their situation," her father murmured, "And that of the industry here in Milton. I am afraid that such a setback spells trouble for all of the masters unless they can find additional funds to operate."
"Surely the Thorntons will persevere," Mrs. Hale said with some alarm, "They truly have been so kind since we arrived."
Her parents' voices faded away as Margaret grimaced and shifted uneasily in her seat, thinking of the especially cold looks that Mrs. Thornton had shot her way.
And of Fanny's offhanded remarks, not meant to inflict hurt, but nevertheless rather callous. She understood, to a degree, that Fanny had mostly been sheltered by her mother and elder brother, but now in hindsight, allowing her unbridled Thornton honesty loose on Milton society was rather a jarring sensation for anyone within earshot.
And that of Mr. Thornton himself . . . It was a curious sensation to almost crave the open discussions they had and at the same time, be rather put off by his observations. He was not used to withholding information or altering what he saw as the facts. And despite her churlish attitude towards him, and his rather standoffish manner with her, they had seemed to acknowledge the other as an individual.
"Margaret?"
She looked up quickly into her father's searching gaze and gave a tired smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Standing slowly, she asked quietly, "I think I will retire, Father, with your permission?"
"Of course, my dear, and I will look in on the Higgins tomorrow morning," he assured her.
She nodded, and came over to kiss his cheek gently and clasp her mother's hand on the way out of the room, not registering that two pairs of worried eyes watched her exit.
John quietly shut his office door behind him and made his way down to the yard, and across to the house. It was only mid-day and he had stopped to take his usual quick tea with his mother before going back to work, but the news that he must impart made his feet drag.
They were weeks from being completely bereft of funds. Many of their customers, dyers and warehouses alike, had not paid for their orders. New machinery he had ordered in preparation for an expansion into another warehouse still sat in packed boxes.
His payroll was safe, for another week at least, but he knew that an announcement would have to be made that day to the workers. And now, he would have to tell his Mother that once again, they would be living in more modest means.
Adam Bell scrutinized the letter in front of him, more of a note really that came from his friend Richard Hale. Already knowing the particulars of the strained relationship between Thornton and his goddaughter Margaret, he supposed it was only a matter of time before one of her parents came to realize that there was something more than polite civility between the two of them.
The letter's contents contained its usually pleasantries but seemed to dance around the topic of Richard's now absent pupil and his worry for the man he almost had come to affectionately regard as a son.
Mr. Bell was acutely aware of the downturn of Milton business, for it all but consumed his correspondence. His lawyers were trying their upmost to convince him to find a new tenant, or to sell the property outright before the decline of Marlborough Mills impacted its value. But he considered himself rather sentimental in the fondness that he had developed for the bustling energy of the mill.
And of his tenants.
Thornton was not a bad sort, on the contrary, he was one of the most upstanding masters in Milton. His rigidity in refusing to speculate was rather understandable, naturally, but he did not doubt that more than one mind considered the implications of what might have happened if Thornton had taken part in Watson's lucky scheme.
It was almost unpardonable, in Bell's mind, that such a man and his employees be brought to their knees by the fickleness of the cotton industry. Thornton had a strong head for business, and despite being a stern taskmaster, had begun to earn a reputation amongst his workers that he had no doubt was due in part to Margaret's influence.
But, knowing Thornton as he did, the man would bristle like an affronted porcupine if offered financial assistance, even if it was a loan. If worded carefully with a casual nudge in the direction of some solid investments, and a bit of frugality, the mill master would be able to recover both his mill and dignity intact.
And the sooner, the better. He wasn't a young man and he didn't fancy watching this odd courtship dance with his goddaughter dither about for another year.
He drew a fresh sheet of paper from inside his desk and dipped his quill into the inkwell briskly, looking outwards for a moment before chuckling and addressing his letter with a flourish.