REMEMBER, REMEMBER

From The Thornton Tales

PART 1 OF 2

Margaret was fixing the last pins into her artfully arranged hair as she let out a heavy sigh and contemplated her figure. Twisting from side to side and smoothing down her rumpled skirts, she studied herself in the looking glass with a critical eye.

Have I become fat?

It was November and Margaret had given birth to her and John's sixth and seventh children only four weeks previous, another set of twins, who had been christened Frederick and Hannie. Freddie was naturally after her dear brother abroad in Spain and Hannie was chosen to honour her grandmother. The mite's parents had deemed it sensible that a slight deviation from the original name would be necessary, or else, the already chaotic Thornton household would be in further confusion if there were two Hannah Thorntons to contend with – just imagine! The great matriarch had at first wrinkled her nose and scoffed at the babe's appellation, declaring that Hannie was a silly sounding word, of such she had never heard the like and that it was far too whimsical to be taken seriously.

'Hannie?' she had sniffed. 'What? Like Annie, but with an H?'

'Aye,' John had confirmed with amusement, folding his arms and digging in his heels.

'We like it,' Margaret had campaigned, standing her ground. 'We think it sounds rather sweet.'

'Utter tosh!' Hannah had pooh-poohed.

Nevertheless, both John and Margaret had spied her stealthy smile when the humourless lady had ambled away, clearly as proud as punch to have a little one styled after her. It had also not escaped their notice, that tiny Hannie was rarely out of her namesake's arms, perpetually cradled and coddled upon sleeves of black satin and lace.

But tonight, as Margaret examined herself from every possible angle, she frowned. She was not corpulent, per se, and her complexion was still youthful, often soliciting a compliment or two from both ladies and gentlemen. Again, much to her satisfaction, her slender waist had not grown an inch since the day she had married, and even although Margaret was not prone to vanity, she could not help but feel a flutter of gratification, especially when her condescending sister-in-law's midriff had most markedly quadrupled in size after bearing just two babies.

Still, after a brief survey, Margaret had a distinct feeling that her hips were curvier, her breasts were larger, and her lips were plumper than normal. She did not mind really, and John most certainly did not object, for she had discerned that her husband was more enthusiastic about his wife's body than ever during both her pregnancies and in the months after giving birth. It seemed that she suited motherhood and her skin would glow, her hair would shine, her eyes would twinkle, and the more pleasing parts of her form would protrude just enough to drive her husband wild with desire.

Also, it embarrassed her to admit that pregnancy did tend to make Margaret particularly frisky, leading her to make frequent and fervent demands on her husband's loins both day and night, (more often by day, for that is when her libido was at its most lustful). However, he was no victim of her carnal cravings, for he was more than willing to oblige, especially when his beautiful wife was both so pleasingly vigorous and voluptuous. In fact, during her latest confinement, she blushed to recall that they had indulged in each other no less than five times in his mill office, three of which had been during working hours. There had even been an occasion during her fourth conception, that they had been intimate three times in one day, although, there had been great variety in the location, position, and emphasis of their frivolity.

Even so, despite its advantages, all this roundness did make her dresses rather uncomfortable, with her chest feeling a tad too tight, and she often worried that she would burst out of them, bearing her breasts to all. As delighted as Milton would be with such a saucy scandal, she thought it best to perhaps take the precaution of letting out the bust region in all her gowns, just to be safe rather than sorry. It was as Margaret was twirling round to examine her bottom, that he came bursting in like a gust of wind. Margaret jumped and spun to see John rush into the room like a charging bull, his face grimaced with stress. Then, on seeing his wife not yet ready, he instantly commenced his fussing.

'Come on! Come on, Meg! We are going to be late!' he grumbled, hopping from one foot to the other in agitation.

'Alright, alright,' she laughed, as she hurriedly put in her earrings. 'What is all the hubbub? I have never seen you this wound up about going out. If it is not business related, I am usually compelled to coax and drag you out the house kicking and screaming like one of our tykes. But tonight, John, well you are as eager as the children on Christmas Eve. Will you not tell me what is going on, or are you still sworn to silence?' she asked, fetching her shawl.

'No!' he replied decisively, shaking his head. 'I am sorry, wife, my lips are sealed. But for goodness sake, we need to go or else it will all be for nought, so do hurry up…please,' he added sheepishly, as she shot him a look of mock offence.

'By the way, were you looking at your backside when I came in?' he checked with a furrowed brow.

Margaret blushed. 'Yes,' she muttered. 'I was thinking I have put on weight since having the twins. But it is no wonder, John,' she scolded, 'for your children are not delicate little lambs when they are born. No, they are all as weighty as a Michaelmas goose and as tall as a redwood tree. I am constantly amazed that I managed to carry them at all. Honestly, I should have considered this before I agreed to marry you, for I fear that having John Thornton's babies has quite ruined my figure,' she cooed as she hunted for her bonnet.

John sauntered over to his wife and grabbed her playfully. He pulled her flush against him, so that her back was resting against his chest, and he gently swayed from side to side with her in his arms.

'Margaret, sweetheart, you are the most beautiful woman in the whole world. You are not fat; you are shapely in all the most appealing ways. I think you are just as lovely and desirable in your looks and, more importantly, your personality, as the day I met you, my love.'

They both stiffened as Margaret's bottom scraped against John's crotch and they could both feel a certain part of him respond, stirring into life.

'You know,' she uttered hoarsely, 'we…we have not…you know…since the twins were born.'

John chuckled. 'My virtuous darling! It is incredible that even after eight years of marriage and seven children, you are still so bashful mentioning what we get up to behind closed doors. You are so adorably shy when you allude to us fuc─'

'No!' she tutted, slapping his wrist. 'I will remind you, Mr Thornton, that you may be an uncouth northern tradesman, but I am a fine southern lady, and I will not have my innocent ears offended by such foul language, thank you very much,' she joked.

'Suit yourself,' he conceded, shrugging. 'Although I think you have rather relinquished your innocence, my dear, but hey-ho,' he jested, nibbling her ear. 'I shall try again,' he said, clearing his throat theatrically. 'It is incredible how after eight years of marriage and seven children, you are still so shy when you allude to us having marital relations,' he stated with a sarcastic wisecrack.

'But anyway,' he added, his tone becoming sober again, 'we can certainly try tonight if you wish. It has only been four weeks since you gave birth, so I would not want to rush you or cause you any pain, not for anything. But we can see if you like,' he suggested. 'I promise I will be gentle, as always.'

Spinning her around, John appraised his wife's appearance, who looked back at him with questioning eyes, quietly requesting his reassurance to calm her apprehension. Bless her! How could she not know how bewitching he still found her? How irresistibly attractive and alluring? John decided that in this case, actions spoke louder than words, so his response was to firmly take her face in his hands and give her one, long, passionate kiss, before releasing her and revelling in her dazed gaze, as she swooned in his embrace.

'Now, woman! Get that fine southern arse of yours down those stairs!' he demanded, teasingly smacking her bottom and gently snatching her wrist, so he could haul her away from their bedroom, a strange phenomenon, for it was usually the other way round.

'John!' she hooted, practically sprinting to keep up with him. 'You are the most shocking scoundrel!' she giggled.

'Aye,' he retorted with a gleam in his eye. 'But you would not have me any other way, Mrs Thornton.'

As John marched along the corridor like a man on a mission, Margaret pulled away and squirmed free from his grasp.

'Oh, I must look in on our angels before we go,' she flapped, hastening towards the nursery door.

'M, no!' he whinged. 'We do not have time,' he explained, taking out his pocket watch and brandishing it in her direction.

'John!' she snapped. 'I will not be stepping foot outside this house without seeing my babies and ensuring they are well, is that clear?' she insisted, leaving no room for argument, nor it seemed, for an answer.

John let his head fall back and emitted an immense sigh of irritation. But with his wife's maternal instincts ruling the roost, he had no choice but to trail after her and just pray that she did not change her mind and stay, for it had taken him all week to convince her to come out tonight. It was not that he did not want to see his new-borns, no, but it was that they had already checked on them no less than six times in the last hour and in each instance, they were fast asleep, as snug as a bug in a rug.

Opening the nursery door, Margaret peered around the frame, anxious not to disturb anyone. In the dim lamplight, she could make out the two cots resting side-by-side, both nesting her little cherubs. Mrs Denby-Ashe, their nursery maid, peeked up from her book and smiled at the Mistress as she entered.

Mrs Deborah Denby-Ashe had been a godsend to the Thornton family in recent years. She was forty-nine and was a Yorkshire lass by birth, who had lost her father, husband and two sons in the very same mill fire that John had told Margaret about when they had first been introduced. The grieving woman had come to Milton to live with her sister in Princeton. She had arrived during the strike and had been surprised to learn of the hostility towards Mr Thornton, the Master of Marlborough Mills, for she remembered observing him on the dales, unobtrusively but competently doing everything he could to manage the crisis and comfort the mourners, in his own reserved way. Being a shrewd woman, from the little she had seen of him, she had felt that he was a man who appeared stern and severe on the outside, but below the surface, his heart was likely soft, perhaps just needing the influence of a good woman to unlock it.

It was several years later, when she had volunteered to help at Margaret's school, that she had been introduced to the Master and his wife. She recalled feeling overwhelmed, astounded that people as high as the likes of them would deem her worthy to converse with and would take the trouble to learn her name. She had soon discovered how kindly the couple were, and after the birth of their Lizzie, the family had found it progressively challenging to cope with looking after, and, more accurately, chasing after the growing brood of spirited scamps without any additional help. It was then, that Deborah had been employed as a casual nursery maid, occasionally assisting Dixon in tending to the Thornton offspring, who she had come to love like they were her own grand weans, of which, she would never be fortunate enough to have.

'Here again?' she tittered with a knowing tilt of the head. Little Elizabeth, now almost two years old, was dozing on her knee, exhausted by the exertions of a busy day of tottering, teething, and talking in that charming babbling way that nippers do.

'Yes,' Margaret admitted culpably. 'I just cannot bear to leave them, Deborah, they are only four weeks old,' she fretted.

As she reached their cribs, John joined her and they both gazed down indulgently at the babies who lay slumbering, their shallow breathing and sporadic snorts a captivating sound to both of their doting parents. Swaddled in the blankets that had been knitted by a fond array of friends and family, including their grandmother, their eldest sister, and Mary Higgins, (now Lyon), they looked happy as they rested with their arms stretched out, their tiny fingers curled, and their faces contorted as they let out the occasional yawn. John and Margaret both felt their hearts melt and subconsciously, they shuffled closer to each other, and he placed his arm around her side, while she let her head lull on his shoulder. If truth be told, it would have been easy for the pair to become hypnotised by the mesmerising sight of their most treasured possessions, and both of them could quite contentedly have passed many hours just watching their new-borns as they slept. It was funny to think that this time last year, they were not here, they were not even conceived, not even a glint in their father's eye, yet now, neither Margaret nor John could imagine their lives without them.

'See, Meg,' John soothed, massaging her spine. 'They are absolutely fine.'

'So they are,' Mrs Denby-Ashe concurred. 'You need not worry so, Mrs Thornton. You will only be out for a few hours,' she mentioned, trying to encourage the young Mistress to go out and enjoy her evening.

'I suppose so,' Margaret said, giving in. 'They are just so small; I do not like to leave them.'

'They are settled, Meg,' John pacified. 'They have had their fair share of feedin' and now they will sleep for hours. We will be back soon enough, love.'

Margaret reddened at John's reference to the babies' nursing, for indeed, they did seem to suckle on her breasts so frequently that it was almost improper. She sometimes wondered how they could guzzle so much milk and how she still managed to produce enough to satisfy their appetites. However, he was right, they did tend to feed well in the evenings and would nap soundly until the early hours, so perhaps she could allow herself this rare dereliction of her maternal duties.

'Very well,' she granted at last.

But as they were about to go, Lizzie startled and after wriggling on the maid's lap, she blinked, scrubbed at her eyes, and held out her podgy arms. 'Mama! Dada!' she bawled, bleating with grogginess.

John and Margaret both went over, and John picked her up, beaming as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. 'Are you tired, my little duck?' he asked comfortingly.

She nodded, as she wove her fingers between the material of his cravat and tugged it loose.

'Well, will Dada take you up to your own bed and you can go to sleep and have lovely dreams? Hmm? What do you think Lizzie?'

She nodded again.

Both parents grinned and Margaret pecked a light kiss on her daughter's cheek. 'Goodnight my darling dove, Mama will see you in the morning.'

Then, with the heavy-eyed toddler waving goodbye, John glanced at his pocket watch and stole up the stairs as quickly as he could, ready to put his baby girl to bed before he really was late for this very important date.

John paced back and forth in the parlour, as he inspected the troop of Thorntons who were ready to leave the house. He had decided that Maria, Richard, Daniel and Nicholas could come with them, but Elizabeth, Frederick and Hannie were too young to enjoy the outing, or indeed, to stay awake throughout it.

Maria was their eldest child, now very nearly eight years old and she was like her mother in looks, temperament and intelligence. Richard and Daniel were unidentical twins, aged seven, and as much as their parents adored them, they were complete and utter scallywags, forever getting into scrapes. Nonetheless, in the past ten months, they had been toeing the line and had even begun helping John at the mill, proving their aptitude for commerce. Nicholas was four years old and going through a clingy phase, always bothering about where his parents were, constantly following Margaret from room-to-room, or sitting by the front door building his towers of bricks, faithfully waiting for John to come home from work.

John scrutinised his children, who were lined up like a row of soldiers. They all appeared smart and he had to say with a hint of self-satisfaction, rather good-looking, which he gave full credit to Margaret for. Licking his thumb, he polished Danny's cheek, where a stubborn smudge of dirt still lingered.

'Where are we going, Pa?' Richard queried.

'I told ya, it's a secret,' John replied with a wink.

'You told us that secrets are bad,' Danny countered. 'You said we were-nay to keep secrets.'

All four children glanced up at their father with a mischievous and quizzical gape, amused by his blunder and his obvious slip of hypocrisy.

John puffed. 'Aye, you got me there, lad!' he confessed, as Nikko caught hold of his father's legs. John plucked him off the ground and raised him high into the air, before hoisting him over his shoulder like a sack of flour, rejoicing in his shrill giggles. 'Well, let's call it a surprise then, not a secret. Does that sound better?'

'Aye, alright then, Papa,' they agreed.

After Margaret and Hannah had ensured that all the bairns had their coats, scarves, hats and mittens, John turned to face them, his features schooled into a sombre stare. However, at the corners, his lips betrayed a wily smirk.

'Now then, I will remind you all that you are Thorntons and that means we conduct ourselves with dignity. I do not want to see any charging about, crawling about, or clambering about. And I do not want a constable escorting you back to me with a tale of your tomfoolery. Am I clear?' he concluded, glaring at the twins.

They all consented, although the boys did so with a slight sulk.

'We are going to have a lovely time,' Margaret joined in, even though she had no idea what they were doing or where they were going. 'And we want you all on your best behaviour, so that we can all enjoy ourselves.'

'Will Ruff be coming?' Maria asked, keen for the family dog to join them on their clandestine escapade.

John scowled. 'Certainly not! There will be too many statues of our Queen about and the daft mutt has an unfortunate proclivity for relieving himself on them. I will not have our good name defiled quite so repugnantly tonight of all nights – quite literally.'

Consulting his watch one more time, John jumped and shouted: 'Right come on now, go, go! Outside! Quick-march!' he commanded, shooing them out the door like a gaggle of geese.

As they carefully trod down the icy steps towards the waiting carriage, Margaret laced her arm around her husband's and whispered: 'You are excited, I can tell.'

Placing his top hat on his head, he leaned in to dust his nose against her cheek. 'Aye, I am,' he admitted. 'I just pray it all goes off without a hitch and you all like it…especially you, my love,' he said surreptitiously. But before Margaret could question him, he had taken her dainty hand and was assisting her into the carriage, ready to whisk them away on their adventure.