Chapter 4: Hope
Wednesday morning John arrived early at the mill. He had returned from his illuminating meeting with the Hales the previous evening and worked into the night, trying to compensate for his inattention of the past days. By mid-morning he had nearly caught himself up. He now worked with the vigor of an untroubled mind. To be sure, the mill had yet to recover from the strike, but a burden had been lifted from his soul and he had reason to hope. Margaret Hale was as perfect and unblemished as he had believed. She had faced more sorrow and hardship than anyone had thought and yet bore it with such determined pride and grace. And she trusted him. She had shared her darkest secret, her sorrow, her fears with him in a way he was certain she had not shared with any other soul. Trust was a solid foundation for friendship, from friendship could she not progress to regard and from regard to love?
Yes, the potential of disaster still loomed on the horizon, but with such precious hopes to nurture John was able to devote himself to his work in a way he had not been able to muster since the strike. He knew enough of Margaret's character to know that she would not marry him for security alone, but if she was ever able to to return his feelings, if she did agree to marry him, he wanted to ensure she had that security. Over the past months since her initial rejection thoughts of Margaret had plagued his mind and robbed him of focus, now they served to sharpen it. He would turn the mill around for Margaret, for the workers she cared so deeply about, for their future. He repeated this like a mantra as he worked until the closing whistle. Then, grabbing the book he had suggested to Mr. Hale, he made his way again to Crampton.
He had never truly courted her before. He had admired her from a distance but their personal interactions were often combative — she was quick to accuse and he was quick to anger. It seemed her estimation of his proposal had fallen somewhere between an insulting but inevitable misunderstanding following the riot and a shock that he should profess such feelings. After their discussion yesterday, however, she knew what he was about. He would no longer hide his feelings from her. He would court her openly and pray that she could eventually return his feelings.
The under-servant, Martha, opened the door and as he followed her up the stairs, he heard Margaret's soft voice reading aloud. He stopped Martha with a hand to her arm and asked her not to announce him. The maid bowed in deference and continued about her work. John settled himself against the doorway of the parlor and observed the domestic scene before him. Mr. Hale looked in better health and spirits than the previous day. He watched his daughter with a cautious eye, as if he had finally emerged from his own grief long enough to take note of Margaret. She had an ethereal sort of fragile beauty about her today. She looked pallid and tired, worn down by the weight of her cares, but for all of this she retained her grace and elegance. She read well: she gave the due emphasis, but John could tell her mind was not engaged. Though the picture presented held only a ghost of her habitual spirit, he could envision the utter bliss of evenings spent beside the fire with her reading softly to him. He contentedly watched her read, allowing her soothing voice to flow over him until she looked up at the end of a chapter and caught his eye.
"Oh! Mr. Thornton!" John smiled inwardly to be greeted by the same expression as yesterday but with far more warmth than alarm.
"I'm sorry to startle you Miss Hale, I did not want to interrupt," he said as he bowed and entered the room. "That was very well read."
"Thank you," she said in a low voice and looked down blushing. John was transfixed by that beguiling flush as it spread to her neck. He was pulled from his contemplation of just how far that blush would travel by the sound of a throat clearing.
"Mr. Hale, how are you?" He turned and warmly greeted his friend, his own cheeks flushing slightly at being caught having such thoughts, and by the lady's father no less.
"Thank you John, I am much better from yesterday." The old man cast curious glances between John and his daughter. John handed him the book and renewed their conversation from the previous day. This tactic served to divert Mr. Hale's attention for several minutes, but between the newly rekindled hope and the blushing furtive glances Margaret occasionally sent his direction, John had difficulty focusing on the conversation.
"Margaret my dear, would you ah," Mr. Hale paused and looked around, "would you run down to the kitchen and see about tea? I'm afraid Dixon is still out and Martha is not so prompt."
"Of course," Margaret set aside her work and rose. She turned her expressive eyes toward John and asked, "you will stay for tea?" He would stay forever if she would but ask him, but for now he committed only to tea.
Once she left the room, Mr. Hale turned and began haltingly. "John, do you ... have you ... I know I haven't been terribly observant of the world around me recently but there seems to be something different about you and ... and Margaret ..." He trailed off but his implied question was clear.
"I assure you that my intentions are entirely honorable. I am in love with your daughter." He felt a thrill at expressing it out loud to her father.
"Oh, poor fellow, I'm afraid she's never liked you." John grimaced at this level of candor.
"I am well aware of the low opinion she had of me. I know she does not love me, but we spoke yesterday on ..." he paused, not wishing to distress Mr. Hale over the incident at Outwood station, "on a matter that has been resolved and Miss Hale did not want to trouble you over at this time. Over the course of this conversation we came to a better understanding of each other and it has given me some hope."
"Well, of course I wish you every happiness," said Mr. Hale with a hint of a smile, "but Margaret can be ... stubborn. I would not push her against her wishes."
John scowled slightly, "nor I. If you wish for my happiness, I'm afraid it is entirely dependent on Miss Hale's happiness. For now I am content with the hope that she no longer abhors me. I should like to be a friend to her, to spend time with her, to court her — if she'll permit it." The words hung heavy in the air as a moment elapsed in silence, broken only by the rustle of skirts against the door frame as Margaret returned. He looked up sheepishly, afraid of what she'd heard, afraid that he had once again been too presumptuous, afraid to see contempt in her expressive eyes. She flashed him a small smile and a nod, both nearly imperceptible in their subtlety and gone in an instant, but John's heart swelled. Had she just agreed to a courtship?
"Martha shall be up presently with the tea," Margaret said quietly as she resumed her seat. A few moments of stilted conversation on busy nothings passed before Martha emerged with the tray. When the servant retreated, Margaret began pouring the tea with pretty, noiseless, daintiness. John lamented the loss of the bracelet that had so fascinated him when he first came for tea, stripped of such frivolous ornaments in her mourning. Their hands touched briefly as she handed him his tea-cup. She averted her eyes as she had in the past, but her cheeks flushed beautifully and she unsuccessfully tried to repress a small smile. Given such encouragement, he sincerely longed to ask her to do for him what he saw her compelled to do for her father, who took her little finger and thumb in his masculine hand, and made them serve as sugar-tongs.
John was startled out of his study of his love's graceful movements when she addressed him. "I have received a long awaited letter today Mr. Thornton," she paused and looked nervously at her father. "Of course, we can not expect condolences as of yet as all of our family is out of England at present – my aunt is in Italy and my cousin in Corfu – and the post does not move quite so rapidly. Nonetheless, it is a comfort at such a time to know that everyone is well..." He breathed a sigh of relief. She did not wish to raise the topic directly before her father, but her brother was safely out of England. She softly continued, "... and that we are not alone."
She said this last with such tenderness, and such an earnest look directed at him that for a moment he was unable to do more than drown in her eyes. "I am glad everyone is well." He was struck again with the memory of her despair of the previous day. She must feel the absence of her Aunt and cousin all the more keenly now that she was bereft of her mother. "Will they return soon to England?"
"My aunt winters in Italy and will not return until April for the season. My cousin's tenure in Corfu is dependant on the workings of the Army as her husband, Captain Lennox, is stationed there at present." His heart ached for her, at such a time she should have all womanly care, all gentle tendance and yet her nearest relations were away. He resolved to cajole his mother and sister to treat her kindly.
Their conversation progressed on the topic of her Harley Street relations as they drank their tea. Mr. Hale said little and waivered between solitary grief and quiet contemplation of his two companions. It was after one of these periods of observation that he stirred himself to recall a thread of their discussion from yesterday. "I believe I have a book that perfectly illustrates the, ah, the theological doctrine in question. I'll just go fetch it." He looked John in the eyes and said significantly "I shall be no more than a few minutes." John nodded gratefully at the chance of a few moments private conversation with Margaret.
"Miss. Hale," he began before he was struck by a wave of insecurity.
"Yes?" She answered shyly, averting her gaze.
"So much has happened over the last days," he began and swallowed the knot of anxiety that suddenly lodged in his throat, "amidst the shock and grief ... some of it has given me ... Forgive me, it's difficult to find the words." His eyes intently traced the delicate ivy scrolls of the carpet as he found himself unable to look at her and face the same ire or indignation that was so painfully etched in his memory. He had no wish to pressure her, to rush her into an agreement before she was ready. He would not speak in the haste of his hot passion; he would weigh each word.
"It is perhaps indelicate to ask, but I need to know if you still view me as poorly as you have in the past."
He was bracing himself for her icy tone of rejection, so her gentle reply of: "Mr. Thornton," caused him to snap his head up suddenly. "You are a good man, far more honorable than I gave you credit for in August." John released the breath he'd been unaware of holding. "I am ashamed of how wrongly I spoke to you," she continued.
"No," he replied tenderly, "Your reaction was perhaps proportional to my insolence. I realize that though I was hopelessly in love, it was unfair to assume you to be as well. You hardly knew me. You hardly know me now. You need time to get to know me, to see if your feelings could grow. Would you grant me the opportunity to court you?"
"I think..." she began. Her eyes were intently staring at the needlework on her lap although her hands had long since ceased moving. John was helpless to do more than stare at her, his heart in his throat, as the pause lengthened. "I think I would like that, Mr. Thornton."
As he stepped out of the Hale's home that evening, John was scarcely aware of the attention he drew. He was so caught up in the happy remembrances of the last hour and ecstatic visions of the future that he paid no heed to the inquisitive glances from others on the street. The sight of the habitually grave manufacturer leaving the Hale household with a broad smile was enough to confirm in public opinion the outcome of much anticipated events.
The gossip about the handsome mill master and the elegant southern lady had begun just after the incident at the Outwood station. Mr. Thornton, the prominent master and magistrate commanded far more public scrutiny than the obscure Hale family. A crowd of people disembarking the train had witnessed his mad dash across the train platform to reach her side — indeed it had drawn far more attention than the quarrel at the far end of the crowd. Woolmer, a grocer's assistant, had recognized Miss Hale and noted that she had begun her evening on the arm of one man and ended it in intimate conversation with Mr. Thornton. His tale spread rapidly through the servants and tradesmen of Milton. Upon hearing the tale, Mr. Leonards' fiancee was stricken by the coincidence of such a scene happening on the same day at the same station where her dear George had last been seen alive and well. However, as the surgeon and inspector had assured her that his death was the result of an internal complaint, she resumed her private grief.
When word spread to the laborers, some swore that they had seen Miss Hale clinging to the master during the riot. Others, however, held fast to their initial understanding that it was Miss Thornton who was injured. Most focused on Miss Hale's past kindness to them in relation to this news. Some hoped that she would have a positive influence in their favor over Mr. Thornton while others pitied that such a nice young lady should have to put up with the stubborn and cruel master. Nicholas Higgins punched the first man in the pub who spread the story to him in the nose and warned them all against slandering such a respectable young woman.
In the upper echelons of Milton society, rumors of a connection sprouted from a different source. While Hamper was duty bound against discussing the matter of the investigation in public, he did not scruple to inform Mr. Stephens about the diverting matter of Thornton's unrequited love. Mr. Stephens told his wife, who, of course, combined this report with the tittle-tattle she had heard from her ladies maid and carried the tale to Mrs. Slickson and her daughter who related it to Miss Collingbrook, who rushed to Fanny Thornton with the tale. Fanny, remembering John's strictures requiring her silence about Miss Hale's injury after the riot, stopped short of actually revealing how brazenly Miss Hale had thrown herself at her brother. However, as she dearly loved gossip, especially when she had her own to contribute, she insisted that it was Miss Hale who had set her cap at John.
As seasoned gossips tend to veer around the people involved in the gossip, and the matrons of Milton were intimidated by Mrs. Thornton, it was not until Wednesday that the careless Fanny confronted the unsuspecting Mrs. Thornton with the news. Mrs. Thornton — the only person aware of John's initial proposal and subsequent rejection other than John and Miss Hale themselves — was incensed that her respectable son would be embroiled in gossip tied to that woman! John was proud. Too proud to wish his most private affairs to be bandied about by the gossips. She feared too that this malicious gossip would re-open wounds that had not yet properly healed. He had been more irritable in the last two months than at any time in his life, and exposing his feelings to society would do nothing to improve his temper.
She was not surprised that he didn't return to the house at the closing bell as affairs at the mill had been complicated since the riot and he had been working late hours. When an hour had come and gone with still no sign of her son she made her way to his office. She was met by a empty room and a feeling of dread. The lamps were long since extinguished and she could not fathom where he had gone.
The next hour was spent in agitated worry. Problems were difficult enough at the mill, John did not need society flaunting his failure with Miss Hale in front of him. The whole family had seen enough flaunting of failure when their friends turned their backs on them after her husband's death. John had worked long and hard to regain their footing in society, surpassing even their prior standing. Was he now to be rewarded for his troubles with ridicule over a woman who was not even worthy of his notice?
When she heard the door open just before dinner and her son's quick footsteps on the stairs, she braced herself for the fallout. In this state of trepidation, she was wholly unprepared for the brilliant smile he wore when he entered the room.
"Good evening mother, I hope I've not held up dinner." John said
"Dinner is not for another ten minutes and Fanny's not down yet herself." Mrs. Thornton replied circumspectly. "You know what the servants are saying about Margaret. Out after dark with two gentlemen, yourself included. The masters are no better, crowing over your broken heart."
"I do not know or care what they are saying. And nor should you." John replied, still unable to suppress his smile.
"You do not care that your good name is being bandied about in connection to a woman of such character?" This at last removed the smile from John's face, replaced by a furious scowl.
"Her character! Mother, you do not dare —" he faced about, and looked into her face with his flaming eyes. "That is the woman I plan to marry! There is nothing to be said against her character and I will not hear it from you."
"Marry?" His mother responded in astonishment. "You plan to save her reputation by marrying her? I suppose she'll have no choice but to take you now, though she wouldn't have you before."
"I have no such plan! I wish to marry her because I love her! The truth is that I was there that evening at the station. I saw her escort her brother to the station. I saw a man shove Margaret and attack her brother. After her brother departed on his train she was justifiably upset so I waited with her until she was calm and then put her in a cab home. What about that behavior deserves your reproach?"
"Brother? The gossip has him as another lover that you've scared away."
John exhaled and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Of course it does. The gossips will latch on to any detail and frame it in the most scandalous light. Heaven forbid the latest scandal have a reasonable explanation and ruin everyone's fun," he said dryly.
His mother sat gravely in contemplation for some time as John poured himself a drink from the sideboard. Before either renewed their conversation, Fanny flounced into the room with a superior smile. "How is your broken heart John?" She said with unbridled glee, "it's all anyone can talk of."
"It's been entirely mended Fanny, now that Miss Hale has agreed to a courtship. But thank you for your touching show of concern."
For a moment, she was silent with her shock. When she recovered, she shouted triumphantly: "I knew it! I knew she had set her cap at you and now she's trapped you with rumors!"
"She's done no such thing, Fanny! I'll thank you not to discuss my private affairs in the street."
"She's accepted you?" His mother replied, surprise evident in her tone.
"Why wouldn't she, it's been her goal all along," Fanny said petulantly.
John ignored her and responded to his mother. "She's warming to me," he said giddily with a boyish smile, "she trusts me, and she's willing to get to know me. It's more than I hoped for."
Mrs. Thornton cast an appraising eye over her son before replying. "Well, I can see she makes you happy. I may even grow to like her for it ..." She gave a faint twitch of the right side of her mouth "... in time."
"Mother, Fanny, I know you've never overly cared for Miss Hale, but her mother has just died and her aunt and cousin are abroad. In these trying times she may need help and womanly counsel."
Mrs. Thornton merely nodded with all of the disappointed gravity of a martyr. Fanny, never one to hide her pique, snorted and replied, "lord knows what we should find to talk about. She's not accomplished and she can't play."
"Really? Did you know that she was educated in London with her cousin. Her former piano master is now engaged teaching the royal princesses. Sadly, Margaret gave up the pastime when they moved to Milton." Margaret, of course, had told John this story this afternoon as an example of the excesses of Harley Street, but he knew it would be the quickest way to stoke Fanny's interest.