Hannah could sense the change in the air, a difference in the relationship between her son and his wife, as surely as she could sense the rising of the sun or the arrival of spring after winter.
The first time she noticed this change was on the day after her talk with her son, when John and Margaret came hurrying into the house in the midst of a sudden rainstorm. Hannah was surprised to see them together. Margaret had left just before noon on some sort of errand, and Thornton was supposed to be hard at work in his office in the mill. Yet here they were, lunging through the front door as though being pursued by a gang of footpads. Thornton closed the door behind them with an unceremonious thump and they stood together in the entryway, gasping for air and laughing at the same time.
Hannah was standing in the parlor giving instructions to Jane, so she had full view of the breathless, bedraggled pair. Margaret was wearing Thornton's jacket around her shoulders, incongruously large on her petite frame, and Thornton's hat was nowhere to be seen. Both of them were wet from head to toe and graced with spackles of mud besides. They did not notice Hannah standing slack-jawed, staring at them as the rainwater dripped off of them and onto the floor.
Finally Hannah recovered from her surprise. She did not ask what had happened to cause the sorry state of affairs in the entry way. The answer was too obvious in the rain now beating against the windowpanes. "Where have you been?" she demanded instead. "Take off your shoes before you dirty the carpets! You should have come in through the kitchen."
They sobered immediately. Thornton looked at Margaret who looked down at the floor, embarrassed. He volunteered, "It is my fault, mother. I met Margaret while she was out and insisted on accompanying her on her errand."
"What does that have to do with muddy shoes in my hallway?" Hannah crossed her arms over her chest.
"If I had not held her up she would have been back before the storm started. We shall carry our shoes to the kitchen for you and try not to ruin the rest of the house as we go." He balanced awkwardly on one foot while he tried to pull the shoe off of the other.
Hannah studied her son for a moment, frowning at his careless tone. This was not the strict, stern master of Marlboro Mills, with his mind firmly focused on business. His cravat hung loosely and his hair was tousled, blown in every direction. "Where is your hat?" she demanded.
"Somewhere on Baker Street, I think. It blew off when an omnibus went by." He and Margaret exchanged a private look, a secret expression of amusement.
"And you left it there?" She could scarcely believe her ears.
"I offered to chase it down, but John would not hear of it," Margaret answered, speaking for the first time. She retained her usual calm composure, but the corners of her mouth were twitching suspiciously. "It was raining hard by then, and John wanted to get home before we both got soaked through." She quickly removed her own shoes, placing a hand on Thornton's shoulder for balance as she stepped daintily out of each one. "Shall I send one of the servants out to find it?"
Hannah was nearly as surprised by that familiar gesture as she was by their appearance. "There's no point. By now it is ruined anyway." She sniffed and turned away. But as she walked away she heard the couple burst into laughter behind her. She had a strong suspicion that if she turned around and looked, she would find that they were laughing at her expense.
The next event that drew her interest occurred that evening, after the family had left the dinner table. Margaret stayed in the kitchen for a few minutes, supervising the final clean up of the day, while Hannah and Fanny went into the parlor. Hannah took up her knitting while Fanny opened the pages of the latest fashion book from town. Thornton followed them rather reluctantly, it seemed to Hannah. He took his time in the dining room before making his way to the parlor with his mother and sister, where he made a show of spreading out the newspaper and perusing its pages. Hannah noticed that he had picked the one seat where he had an unobstructed view of the entrance to the room. Though he kept his eyes on the paper in front of him, Hannah was not foolish enough to believe that it held his complete attention.
It was not many minutes before Margaret came into the room, but to Hannah's surprise she did not join the two other ladies where they sat, a little off to the side. Instead she approached Thornton at once. She held a small red book in her hand. "May I ask you a question?"
"Certainly." Thornton put his paper down at once, giving Margaret his full attention as he looked up at her.
"In the mill, how does the thread in the loom change from the draw stroke to the return stroke without breaking in the process? I have been reading in this book how the machine works but I cannot make heads or tails of it."
"It is remarkably simple. Allow me to show you." He took the book from her hands, the better to answer her question, and Margaret sat down next to him without hesitation.
Hannah did not listen to Thornton's explanation of the machine's movements, which she herself understood so well already. Instead her attention was focused on the way her son and his wife sat together, their heads inclined over the pages in front of them. They made a pretty picture, with Thornton's head bent protectively over Margaret's and Margaret's dark hair gleaming in the lamplight. Each held one side of the book between them. Thornton's other arm was on the back of the settee, not quite touching Margaret's shoulders but not pulling away either. Margaret did not appear to notice. They looked utterly absorbed in their conversation, oblivious to the presence of the others in the room.
"They really are a handsome couple." Fanny's voice broke through Hannah's preoccupation with her son and his wife. "I could not see why John married her at first, but they get on well together. I hope my Watson will be as devoted to me as he is to her!"
"Hush, Fanny. They will hear you." Hannah tried to stop the flow of words.
"Their children will have dark hair, don't you think?" Fanny continued artlessly. "My hair is so fair and Watson's is so dark that we have no way of knowing how our children will turn out. But John and Margaret are sure to have children who will look just like them!"
"Fanny!" Hannah exclaimed. She had never tried to explain the conditions of John's marriage to Fanny. Such matters were private and a discussion of the topic would not be seemly. But now she wished that she had, for Margaret looked over at Fanny with wide eyes, her cheeks blazing. Then she looked down at the floor, away from John, in deep embarrassment. Thornton, involved in his explanations, had not heard Fanny's words.
"You must learn to hold your tongue! I hope Watson will be able to teach you since I so obviously never could!"
"Why, mother, what have I done?" Fanny's innocence was genuine. She wore a look of startled surprise as she looked back at her mother.
"Nothing. Never mind, you will only make it worse," was Hannah's rather incoherent response. She was distressed to see that Fanny's overheard comments had made Margaret intensely uncomfortable; the ease between her and Thornton was gone. As soon as Thornton finished speaking Margaret expressed her thanks, stood, and moved to a different chair. She was still close enough for conversation, but Hannah could see her son's disappointment that their small moment of intimacy was gone.
The final notable moment occurred the next morning, after breakfast was over but before Thornton left for work. He had gone back upstairs after the meal to retrieve some forgotten item, and on his way out he happened to look in the door of his study. Margaret was standing on a chair, nearly on her toes, one hand high overhead, reaching for a book on one of the upper shelves. Looking through from the parlor Hannah could see the whole encounter.
"Margaret! What are you doing up there?" Thornton exclaimed, walking into the room. He had been just about to go out; his hat was in one hand.
"I saw papa's Plato the other day, the copy that I gave you, and thought I would get it down. There were some notes he made in it that I would very much like to read again."
"You should have asked me get it for you, or one of the servants. I would not like to see you fall."
"I almost have it!" Her hand grasped the volume just as Thornton reached her side. She held the book triumphantly in one hand as she turned and looked to climb down off the chair.
"Allow me." In one swift motion Thornton placed his hands on her waist, lifting her down and on to the floor again. At the same time Margaret instinctively laid her free hand on his shoulder. When she landed they faced each other, her hand still on his shoulder and Thornton still holding her waist. Their faces were only inches apart.
Each of them seemed startled by their sudden proximity, but neither one moved. It was as though they had become statues, frozen in place for a brief moment in time as they stared at each other. The tableau stretched on for several heartbeats while Hannah watched, transfixed.
Then Jane came into the parlor in search of Hannah, her voice breaking the spell. "Mrs. Thornton, I am sorry to disturb you, but I cannot find the frock you asked me to mend. I have looked in the laundry and all through the- Oh! Begging you pardon, ma'am!" she exclaimed, drawing up short. She, too, had caught sight of the couple.
Margaret immediately dropped her hand and stepped back, her face flaming. "I apologize," she said, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. "I did not mean to cause any trouble."
"There is no need-" Thornton began, taking a step towards her, but Margaret stepped around him, keeping her eyes averted.
"Thank you for helping me retrieve the book," she said, rather formally for the circumstances. "I will take it to my room to read there, and I will let you know when I am ready to have it put back on the shelf." Before anyone could react she turned and fairly fled up the stairs.
Thornton exhaled loudly, a sound between frustration and disappointment, and stood stock still for a moment, staring at the floor. Then he whirled around on one foot. Without another word he placed his hat on his head and went out the front entrance.
How long would this state of affairs continue, Hannah wondered. She truly believed what she had told her son on the night of their fireside conversation. The more she saw Thornton and Margaret together, the more she realized that Thornton's heart had not led him astray: he had settled on the one woman who was most likely to make him happy. The docile, accommodating Ann Latimer would never have served, she could see that now. Thornton's strong temperament required someone with an equal strength and intelligence, someone who could stimulate his interest and challenge him at the same time. In Margaret he had met someone whose iron could temper his steel.
But they were in such an awkward position now- brought together by adverse circumstances, with Thornton not willing to open himself to disappointment again by speaking his heart. And Margaret, always on edge, not able to relax enough to open herself to his affections. There had been nothing like a proper courtship between the two. Now they each had demands on their time and attention, and any semi-private moments they might find themselves in were likely to be interrupted by one thing or another. With such barriers before them at every step, how would they ever be able to come together? It seemed a hopeless situation.
The dilemma weighed on Hannah's mind all morning as she took over the last minute wedding preparations. Fanny's trunks for her wedding trip had been filled to overflowing and could not be closed. She helped Fanny unpack, re-organize everything, and then pack everything all over again, this time leaving room for the little items Fanny was sure to bring back to Milton. After that it was time to have Fanny try on her dress one last time, to make sure all was in readiness for the ceremony the next day. But through all these preparations Hannah's mind remained on her son and his wife. Neither Thornton nor Margaret would welcome her interference, yet Hannah would have given a great deal to help them, if any help was possible.
The factory whistle blew loudly in the distance, drawing Hannah's attention to the time. It was noon and the factory hands were stopping for lunch; Thornton would be wondering where his meal was. She left Jane with Fanny, discussing how to arrange her hair the next morning, and hurried downstairs. She would have to organize a lunch to go into the basket normally delivered to the mill office.
But when she went into the kitchen, she frowned when she saw that the basket was not in its customary place next to the kitchen door. "Where is the lunch basket for Mr. Thornton?" she demanded irritably of Dixon, who was kneading bread for dinner on the kitchen table nearby.
"At the mill, ma'am." Dixon barely looked up from the table, working the dough ceaselessly in her hands. Hannah always enjoyed the pleasing rhythmic sound produced by such an activity, but she had no time to appreciate it today.
"The basket has gone already? Who took it?"
"Miss Margaret came and packed a meal for the master. Then she said she might as well carry it over herself and not bother the servants with the trouble of it."
"How long ago was that?"
"Half an hour or so."
Hannah looked at the clock, wondering what was taking Margaret so long. Five or ten minutes was more than sufficient for the small task.
"Shall I go to the mill and fetch her back?" Dixon asked, as if reading her mind.
"That will not be necessary. She must have decided to eat lunch with Mr. Thornton," Hannah decided. If they were able to eat their meal together without interruption, so much the better.
"I expect Miss Margaret will be back whenever she's good and ready." Dixon nodded emphatically to nobody in particular and continued with her kneading.
Hannah turned away with mixed emotions. Perhaps all would be well between her son and his wife and they would come together on their own. But she could not be entirely optimistic when their relationship so far seemed marked by missteps more than by steps forward. She shook her head doubtfully as she returned to her work.
I hope you're still enjoying this story. One step forward, two steps back as they say! I promise our dear couple will eventually get their HEA, but it'll be a bumpy ride until then! I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and that all of my readers are looking forward to a happy new year! See you in 2020! -Elaine