Chapter 5: Added Laments
On Thursday John again awoke early and headed to the office before even Williams, his overseer arrived. He hoped to visit in Crampton again today as it would be his last opportunity to see Margaret until Sunday. As he now had even further incentive for his mill to prosper, he was determined not to allow his work to suffer from his courtship so he was resolved not to visit during the work day. Friday evening he had a late meeting with Mr. Lattimer and on Saturday they dined at the Slicksons.
He walked the rows of looms, silent and still in the gloom of a Milton dawn, the first time he'd had the chance to do such an inspection since the strike ended. He discovered no less than four spinning frames and three looms that were improperly loaded and would inevitably have led to sub-standard cloth if left un-checked. He sighed. He was loathe to admit his own errors, but it seems the Irish hands he had brought in were making a mull of things. He made a note of the machines that would need re-dressing and determined check the quality of the fabric produced since the strike ended. Of the four orders that were ready or nearly ready for shipment, roughly a quarter of the cloth was unfit to ship. With some careful maneuvering between himself and Williams, they were able to re-distribute the fabric so that two full orders could ship today. The other two would be delivered late, but delays were to be expected following a strike. It would not do to alienate customers at such a time with flawed products.
By the time the closing bell sounded he was haggard and weary from work, but the walk to Crampton and the prospect of seeing Margaret lightened his spirits. But as soon as Dixon opened the door, he could sense the dampened spirits. She scowled and grumbled at him, "I'd as soon turn you away today for all the state they're in, but Miss Margaret said as you're expected she will see you." The servant turned and stomped up the steps, muttering about unwelcome visitors in a house of mourning.
John entered the drawing room to find that Margaret was its sole occupant. Her eyes were red-rimmed with freshly shed tears, her face was wan, and her trembling hands grasped her work that showed little progress from the previous day. "Mr. Thornton, it's so kind of you to visit us today. Father is feeling unwell and resting." Her voice wavered and she offered the forced brittle smile he had seen her direct at her father. The whole tableau broke his heart.
In two swift steps he was kneeling by her side. "Margaret, love, whatever is the matter?" Over the past days she had lowered her guard toward him. He had seen this forced cheerful facade projected for the world at the funeral and subsequently to her father and even Dixon, but not at him. She should not have to bear up before him.
She lowered her eyes to her lap and whispered, "it is nothing," as her eyes pooled with tears.
"Margaret, please, allow me to share your burdens." He lifted a hand and gently swept a lone tear from her cheek.
She leaned into his touch, but then sighed. "I fear it is a topic we will not agree on," she said ruefully. "Today father and I called on our friend, Nicholas Higgins." John tensed at the mention of the union leader, but he had urged Margaret to confide in him and he would not interrupt. "Mary Higgins had helped us here while Mama ... while Frederick was visiting and Martha was away and we wished to pay her — not that they would accept money between friends. While we were there the most dreadful thing happened." She began to cry in earnest now and John moved to sit beside her on the settee. He drew her head to his shoulder and stroked her back — he could not be bothered by propriety when confronted with Margaret's tears.
"We were drawn into the street by the din of a crowd. Six men were bearing home the body of a drowned man atop a door. I have never ... Mama looked so peaceful in the end. After all of her pain and suffering, in the end she was asleep and drifted off peacefully, surrounded by her family. Boucher ..." she trailed off in horror of the memory. John struggled for composure over his own horror that Boucher of all people had caused Margaret even more suffering.
"Boucher had drowned himself in the brook. There was no peace in his death. I shall never forget the sight of that one open, glassy, un-seeing eye, the swollen discolored face, the perpetual drops of water streaming off the sides of the makeshift liter." She buried her face in his shoulder and shuddered.
"I am sorry you had to witness such a scene," he said soothingly.
"That was not the worst of it!" She cried. "The men wanted Nicholas to tell his family as they had been friends. But they had parted in anger and he could not face the widow. I thought father ... last rites were such a part of his former profession that he has borne this dismal task so frequently ... but coming so swiftly after mother's death, father could not bear it. Nobody else volunteered and I could not bear the thought of that poor unsuspecting woman waiting inside for a husband who would never return in this life, so I went in.
"I am certain that I shall forever be haunted by the monstrous sight of Boucher's distorted, agonised face, but the disbelieving invalid wife, the starving children, the undisguised grief and anguish and poverty were the true horrors of the ordeal. He left behind six children and a wife too ill to work. Whatever will become of them?"
Margaret's tender heart would never cease to amaze John. Had Fanny — by some rueful mistake, for she would never willingly visit the Princeton district — endured the same situation, she would be prostrate on a couch fretting about how the shock effected her nerves. Margaret could spare no thought for her own ordeal outside of compassion for that unfortunate family. She suffered from the same grief as her father and lacked his professional and worldly experience, and yet she was able to muster the strength to perform the dreadful task of informing the widow when he was overcome. He felt he had little to say that would comfort her, so he merely held her in silent admiration of her strength as she cried softly.
After some minutes, he felt her stiffen and sit up. "Boucher gave up on life, abandoned his family, because he could not find work. He could not support them." John heard the accusation in her tone and it cut him to the quick.
"What would you have me do?" He asked softly, tamping down the instinctual anger at having his business decisions questioned. "Boucher was one of the first men pounding on the gates of Marlborough Mills the day of the riot. Mother saw him gathering more strikers and riling them to anger and violence. I recall you saw him yourself that day."
"He acted as he did because he had been forced into the strike by the union. His family was starving, he was desperate." She spat at him.
"The hands have the right to leave off work for a strike if they choose. I have a right as a business man to hire those who are willing to take their place. They did not have the right to damage my property, threaten myself and my employees, and hurt ..." his own voice broke and he raised a hand to her temple, a faint scar was all that remained of her injury "... you were hurt. You could have died. Because of his illegal actions I lost a substantial sum in damages, I had to send most of my Irish hands back at my own expense because they feared for their safety, and I nearly ... I nearly lost you." He'd had nightmares about what could have happened if the stone had hit her temple directly instead of merely grazing it, if the mob had rushed them instead of remaining in the courtyard, a thousand scenarios in which things could have gone differently.
He saw Margaret's expression soften at his own emotional outburst, but the defiant tilt to her chin did not entirely relax. "If Martha came in here and threw teacups at us, threatening bodily harm if you did not pay her more money than you could afford, would you continue to employ her?"
She quirked her lips slightly, "I suppose not, it's just ... the children."
"I know, which is why I did not press charges. Unlike the union, I know that it is useless to try to ring money out of those who can ill afford it."
"Considering that you live in a grand house with far more servants than family members and sufficient food on the table and the Bouchers had eight people in a two-room hovel, I hardly think that your own pecuniary problems can compare."
"Be that as it may, were I to cut all of the frivolities out of our household budget, it would only free up a fraction of the funds necessary for the increase in wages for all of my workers that the union demanded, and the servants would all be out of jobs. We may be able to feed the Boucher family, but there are many more in such circumstances." Margaret merely lowered her head. "Truly, Margaret, I am not the overbearing Master you may think me," he said sadly.
She covered his hand with hers and said tenderly, "oh, I do know. You are a good man John Thornton, I did not mean to imply otherwise. I have merely had a trying day."
Overcome by this increase in esteem, he turned his hand so that he was holding hers and brought it to his lips. "Thank you," he said reverently.
She blushed and said, "how abominable I must have been in the past that you would thank me for admitting you were a good man after I had all but accused you ..."
"Come now, I've had my share of abominable behavior in our past interactions to deserve it. And any praise you see fit to bestow on me will be eagerly accepted, little though I may deserve it."
Margaret smiled meekly and asked, "and how was your day?"
It was an obvious attempt to shift the conversation, but he feared his answer would not suit. "Another day at the mill," he dissembled, not wishing to add fuel to her anxieties about the strike.
"And as a woman I couldn't possibly understand or hold an interest in your business at the mill?" She was striving for a teasing tone, but he could hear a tinge of her signature indignation mixed in.
"Nothing of the sort, you've met my mother. Some men may underestimate the intelligence of the women in their lives, but I do no such thing," he responded. "But, if your goal was to shift the topic away from the strike, I'm afraid my day at the mill will be a poor choice."
"The machines are back up again though?"
"Yes, they've been back up for over a month. But, I made an inspection of the machines this morning before the hands arrived and found several of them that were improperly set up. Although most of the Irish went home, it seems that those who stayed were never properly trained in the chaos following the strike. My overseer and I spent the rest of the morning checking the finished cloth and found quite a lot that was not up to our quality standards or those of our customers. We're still behind from the strike, and this has set us farther back than we knew."
"At least you were able to catch it before it was delivered."
"Yes, for these orders. We can only hope those that we've already delivered will not be returned. We cannot afford to put off customers before we're fully back on our feet. Thankfully, I discovered the problems this morning, else who knows how much damage could have been done."
"You've not let them go? The remaining Irish?"
"No, we spent the afternoon either training or reassigning the problem hands. The fault lays primarily with us. Normally training of new hands would be seen to immediately, but Williams and I have both been overtaxed trying to recuperate from the strike, and the Milton hands bore too much resentment towards the 'knobsticks' to train them willingly."
"Is there an awful amount of animosity still?"
"Aye, it's to be expected." He ran a hand over his face. "I regret bringing in the Irish, it has caused me nothing but expense and grief. Without that one decision, there would have been no riot, you would not have been injured, I would not have lost the time and inventory on wasted cotton, and my hands would not hate each other," he sighed.
"Yes, and the strike might still be going without the riot to break it, you would have lost more time — and possibly clients — from the ongoing delay, children would still be starving," she paused and looked at him shyly, "you may not have offered for me, I may not have insulted you, I may have thought your intervention at the Outwood station borne out of officiousness rather than concern, we would not be sitting here having this pleasant conversation, and we certainly would not be courting."
John smiled. It was the first time Margaret had directly referenced their courtship and his very heart-pulse was arrested by the tone in which she spoke. He captured her hand between both of his and said softly, "now that would be tragic."
She laughed, but quickly sobered and replied, "there has been enough tragedy in Milton in recent months. We cannot waste our energy worrying over what might have been."
Conversation returned to his work and John found speaking to Margaret about mill matters an unexpected pleasure. Of course, he had other confidants on the matter. He spoke often with the other masters, but they were primarily concerned with profits and schemes, and the conversation always had an undercurrent of jealousy and competition. If Marlborough Mills failed their businesses would profit. His mother had long been his confidant and advisor in business matters, but she was always pragmatic and practical. She was primarily concerned with their own success and standing in Milton society. Margaret had a way of seeing to the heart of business matters. She was concerned with the welfare of all of the people involved. She wanted John to succeed. Not just for himself, but because his success meant the success of the spinners, weavers, piecers, accountants and clerks he employed. She wanted him to produce quality products because the welfare of his buyers and their clients as well depended on it.
He had never known anyone with as generous a heart as Margaret Hale. His greatest desire in life was to find his own place in her heart, not just as one of many but as the one, as she had found her place in his heart. He knew that he was unworthy of her love, that she was by far his superior in matters of the heart, but he must try all the same.
All too soon for his liking, the time for their visit came to an end. He parted with an apology that he would be unable to visit the next couple evenings and an earnest invitation to walk out with him on Sunday.