02 |
Upon entering the dining room at the Thorntons' home at Marlborough Mills, they almost collided with one of the under-maids. An awkward girl of sixteen, who had taken over some of the parlour duties after Jane had left—along with other servants once it had become clear that the Thorntons were to lose the house—, she had been in the process of opening the door from the inside when John forcefully pushed at it from outside. The tray in her hand, knocked askew, wobbled precariously and a fork fell to the floor. For a moment they all were transfixed. The maid, John and Margaret in the doorway, and Hannah Thornton, sitting alone at the table.
Margaret was the first to move; she stooped to retrieve the fork and returned it to the maid. The girl stammered an excuse and hurried away.
"You could have sent word, John," Hannah Thornton said evenly. No greeting. No acknowledging of her son's companion.
"I was supposed to be back by yesterday night, but the train broke down," he replied, just as level.
Margaret had the distinct impression that a lot more was being communicated behind these bland sentences. A communication she could only guess at, one that excluded her and was an early reminder of how symbiotic a relationship existed between mother and son. Seeing it deepened her sense of apprehension. It would be an uphill struggle, trying to get into Hannah Thornton's good graces, and she just hoped that John wouldn't eventually get caught between a rock and a hard place.
"Miss Hale and I are engaged to be married," John said. Another sentence that dropped into the silence of the room like a stone into a still pond. "I shall obtain a license, and a date will be fixed, probably within the month." His hand searched his bride's, and he gave her fingers a fond squeeze along with his smile.
"So soon?" Mrs Thornton's cold reply brought the lovers' eyes back to the woman by the table. "Why the hurry?"
Such open ill grace ruffled even John's composure. "Don't you want to wish us happiness on our betrothal, mother?" he asked, his voice brusque. "Or welcome your future daughter-in-law at her new home, for that matter?"
This rebuke—and in front of a witness—wouldn't sit well with Mrs Thornton, Margaret was sure of that. There would be some form of retribution for it, and with herself rather than John at the receiving end. But for the present Mrs Thornton rose and came towards her, extending a hand.
"Welcome, Miss Hale... You must excuse my astonishment. I didn't expect to see you again so soon after yesterday. None of your communications at the time spoke of the likelihood of such a development."
"Well, no... It was all rather sudden," Margaret replied. All things considered she felt it was better to be a little vague for the present.
"Did John come to see you in London yesterday?—And you must have made an early start this morning to be here in Milton at noon." Her sharp eyes took in her son's unshaven face, his rumpled shirt, and Margaret's dress which, although neat, was the same as the day before. "All-in-all this visit seems a little... overhasty."
"We chanced to meet halfway between London and Milton, mother," John interrupted. "It is a long story, however, and one that can wait a little longer to be told, perhaps? In the meantime Miss Hale would like to freshen up, I'm sure... By-the-by, mother; she will stay here in this house for the time being—"
"But..."
"Please, mother. Will you see to Miss Hale's needs while I change—" He rubbed his stubbly cheek, and winced. "—and shave. We'd greatly appreciate some lunch afterwards... and then we can talk."
Mrs Thornton begged Margaret to follow her up the stairs; she led her to a room so much adorned with knick-knack and frills as to declare it Fanny's former bedroom beyond a doubt. Mrs Thornton soon confirmed her assumptions.
"This is my daughter's room. We would have offered you a guestroom, but they are dismantled already in expectation of our imminent removal from this place... I assume this is not to be expected any longer?"
"No. Of course not—"
"There won't be enough hot water to draw a bath today, I'm afraid..."
"Oh, I don't need that! But I'd welcome a tub to wash in, if possible." Margaret watched Mrs Thornton bustle about the room, taking some towels and undergarments out of a chest of drawers and placing them on the bed; then she went to the wardrobe.
"My daughter left some of her dresses behind when she was last staying with us in May. If you like to change into something else you can choose from them. Fanny hasn't any need of them at present as she is due to have her first child in a couple of weeks."
"Oh... So this will possibly coincide with the wedding—"
"Yes," Mrs Thornton said curtly and went to the door. "Sarah will bring the tub. Tell her if you need a hand in getting dressed afterwards. Mind you, she's not up to anything fancy."
A few minutes later Sarah clattered in with tin tub and a large ewer of hot water. She put both items to the side, went to the wardrobe, and took out a rug which she spread on the floor and placed the tub on it. Then she upended the ewer into it. "Back in a moment, miss," she said.
A few minutes later saw her enter with another steaming ewer, a smaller pitcher, and a basket with soaps, brushes, and washcloth.
"Thank you, Sarah," Margaret said kindly. "Could you come back in twenty minutes and help me lace my stays? Nothing else will be required of you apart from that."
"O' course." The girl gave her a sloppy curtsey and left to see to her other—obviously numerous—duties.
Margaret slipped out of her jacket, and then shed her skirt, blouse, and petticoats. It was when she felt for the bow that secured her laces at the base of her spine, and wondered if it actually was a bow or rather a knot—which would be much more trouble to undo—that she remembered how John had laced her corset this morning...
"... it still needs to be a little tighter."
"Are you sure?" He sounded dubious. "It can go tighter, I suppose, but then you won't be able to breathe."
"Trust me, I will. It is quite loose as yet, and my dress wouldn't easily fit over it."
He undid parts of the lacing and then started again, pulling a little harder, until she told him that it was enough. As he tied the laces he said, "It is incredible to what lengths women go in the name of beauty and fashion. No man would stand for that kind of nonsense!"
"Much smaller waists than mine can be seen in the fashionable London circles. Besides, I know of quite a few men who wear corsets."
"You do? How can you possibly know such a thing?"
"Because they boast of it; and of their elegant figures. They say it is part and parcel of being a gentleman—"
"A gentleman, is it?"
Margaret noted that his hands had stilled and his voice had subtly changed. With a pang she remembered how she had berated him at his first ill-timed proposal. 'You are not a gentleman,' she had thrown in his face.
She slowly turned around. "John. I was so much younger—and so much more ignorant!—then. You are who you are... and you have become the person you are by your own achievements, by the work of your hands and your mind. What's the true worth of all those London gentlemen, born with silver spoons in their mouths, compared to yours?"
"Even though I have failed?"
"Because you failed! Because you struggled and doubted... But you were prepared to pick up the pieces and start all over again. And don't you ever think that I'm not aware how much it cost you!" The corners of his mouth twitched, and he drew a ragged breath as he lowered his head until his brow rested against hers. She cupped his cheek. "We're in this together, from now on."
She bolted the door before she removed her stockings and chemise, and then she squatted in the tub and briskly washed herself with soap and cloth. The chilliness of the unheated room forbade any tarrying... It reminded her of her former Crampton home, where comforts had also been basic, but sufficient. She contemplated washing her hair, but with no help to rinse it, and with no convenient fireplace to dry it in front of, she thought that she might better defer. She topped up the water in the tub from the contents of the second ewer, and then stared to rinse her body with the pitcher, careful as not to splash. Eventually she reached for the towels, a nice thick cotton weave—Marlborough Mills made, perhaps?—and dried herself off.
She was dressed in chemise and drawers, both supplied by Mrs Thornton, her hair already done, and was about to fasten her stockings, when a knock at the door announced the maid. The girl did a brisk job of lacing Margaret's corset, and then offered to help her with the rest. "It's no trouble, miss. I like t' see them fine things, yo' know," she said.
Under-petticoat was followed by crinoline was topped by underskirt. While the girl deftly fastened the strings, Margaret put on her blouse. She had decided against wearing any of Fanny's dresses; they were just too different from her own preferences in clothing and would have made her feel a stranger in her own skin. But with being about to face Mrs Thornton and her piercing questions, Margaret felt that she had better be as much herself as she possibly could. Finally came the striped skirt and, after putting on her shoes, the jacket. Sarah brushed off some fluff at the back, and declared her ready, "And looking very fine, miss".
Sarah stayed behind to see to the tub, while Margaret descended the stairs. She was sufficiently acquainted with the place from previous visits to find her way around on her own. The dining room would be the most likely place to find John and his mother, and this was indeed from where she heard their voices, drifting through the door which stood ajar.
She was about to enter when she heard John say, "But why Fanny's place? You know that they don't get along... Are you doing this to be contrary?" She stopped to listen.
"Think of the tittle-tattle her presence here in this house ahead of the wedding will cause! And a very hasty wedding, as to that."
"I really don't see you point, Mother," John said. "With you in residence it's just malicious gossip, best to be ignored—"
"John," Mrs Thornton sighed. "Fanny may go into labour any day now, and when she does I shall be with her... What if you found yourself suddenly alone in this house with Margaret? Would you still find it proper then? Besides, you will have to deal with new contracts and supplies, which means you'll be going to Liverpool and—possibly—Le Havre." She paused, obviously waiting for John's reaction—which didn't come, however. Thus she continued, "No, much better if she stays with Fanny. You can deal with mill business, I can set the house in order and hire new servants, Fanny will be diverted—now that she's out of society—by helping Margaret to organise the wedding. After all, she's having some experience in..."
"Do I have any say in that matter?" Margaret said, sailing into the room in a huff. All her life she had been a dependant, a poor relation and at anyone's beg and call. Matters had only changed very recently with Mr Bell's inheritance and with her coming of age. She was not prepared to let go of her newfound freedom to make her own decisions without putting up a fight.
"You are right, Margaret," John said at once. "We should not have started discussing matters without you present." He came over to where she stood by the door and took her hand. "Forgive me," he added quietly.
His honest regret quite stole her thunder. "Forgiven," she whispered back. Louder she said, "There seems to be some predicament over my staying here at Marlborough Mills?"
"Well... yes," John said. "My idea was—and we discussed it on our way to Milton—that you should stay here at Marlborough Mills and with my mother in residence. Unfortunately, old bachelor that I am, I didn't take into account that the situation might change at very short notice if my mother was needed at the Watsons'..."
"... therefore I suggested your being a guest at their house until the wedding," Mrs Thornton supplied. "It would be entirely proper and you would still be in Milton—if this is where you choose to remain for the present... Unless you'd rather return to London."
"No," Margaret said slowly. "I think I much rather stay in Milton. There will be mill business to conduct, and matters with the bank will have to be resolved... and since I own this place outright—" She saw Mrs Thornton flinch at the mention of this fact. "—it may be best for me to be near, in case my signature will be required in the time before the wedding. Afterwards, such complications will cease to exist, naturally." Looking straight at Mrs Thornton, she added pointedly, "Which is why there is more expediency than imprudence in this 'hasty' wedding."
She turned to John. "In the meantime there will be some legal matters to deal with, but I suppose Henry can come here just as well... Henry Lennox, my lawyer," she added for Mrs Thornton's benefit. If he still is my lawyer at this point.
"So, you will stay with the Watsons?" John asked, somewhat bemused. He had expected stronger opposition to this plan.
"I consider myself lucky that your sister presently is at liberty to advise me on a Milton society wedding, and moreover one at such short notice."
"A... what?" For a moment John doubted his hearing. "Wasn't it you who said that she didn't care about the pomp and circumstance?"
Margaret gave him a sweet smile. "If it was only between you and me, I'd like nothing better than wake up on a sunny morning, put on my favourite dress, and just walk to the church... But. I know enough of Milton society to understand that they will judge us by how we appear. And if appearances tended towards the hurried and 'on the sly', people might believe that there was some shameful hidden reason for this marriage." She went to him and took both of his hands. "I am proud to become your wife—and I shall admit it to the world!"
"Margaret, you never cease to amaze me," he said. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them.
Made uncomfortable by such an open display of affection—and coming from her son, moreover—Mrs Thornton pointedly cleared her throat and said, "Now that we are in the clear on this matter, how do you intend to proceed about the mill, John?"
And there was much to be done with regard to the mill, it turned out. Contracts were to be renewed, and new clients to be convinced to enter into business relations with a mill just coming out of heavy turbulences, a steady supply of raw cotton—preferably through Liverpool—to be re-established, and, of course, workers to be hired. And then there were the debts with the bank to be settled.
"It is Wednesday now," Margaret said. "I shall write to Mr Lennox today and ask him to come to Milton on Monday to discuss, and subsequently arrange for, the necessary financial transactions—and if you must travel, John, you can start doing so by Tuesday, I gather."
"Don't forget to mention the settlement," John reminded her.
"What settlement?" Margaret was confused; they had not discussed the matter before.
"There must be a reasonable settlement in place before I am to marry you, Margaret. Mr Bell saw to it that you are secure. You are a wealthy woman now, and nothing must ever happen to alter this—independent of how well, or how badly, the mill is going to perform in the future."
Briefly Margaret thought that—had they married only a year before—their relationship would have been so much more conventional. He would have been the wealthy manufacturer, and she the penniless bride. There would have been some inequality in class, but their difference in wealth would have quite made up for that. Now, only a year later, a bankrupt and currently out of business northern 'tradesman' set out to wed a young London heiress, and a society lady to boot. Tongues would be wagging, both in Milton and in London.
"Have you decided on a date yet, Miss Hale?" Mrs Thornton interrupted her train of thought.
"I've thought of Friday, two weeks from now—which leaves John some little time to set up the mill beforehand."
"Hardly enough time to arrange the wedding, though!" Mrs Thornton huffed. "I'd better start hiring servants immediately to get the house in order. But be prepared that some things may not be quite up to standards... and we may have to order some of the dishes for the wedding breakfast rather than prepare them ourselves."
Having had an inkling of the Milton preference of quantity over quality, and that cake delivered rather than self-made on such a grand occasion would likely raise the Thorntons in everyone's estimation, Margaret was not overly worried about this particular detail. And besides, they could always hire good serving staff for the day; it was a common enough thing to do in London.
Guests from London, more likely to stay in an hotel than at Marlborough Mills—if they were to come at all!—were briefly discussed, and then there was the matter of the wedding dress...
"It will have to be white, of course," Mrs Thornton stated. "Her Majesty the Queen started the fashion, and now we lesser mortals have to concur... never mind the extravaganza of having a dress made to measure just for the one day, and never to be worn again."
"I cannot wear white," Margaret said firmly.
"Why not?" Both John and Mrs Thornton gave her an odd look.
"Because I look like a spectre in pure white! It doesn't suit me at all."
"Ivory then. Or cream," Mrs Thornton said, sounding impatient. "It has to be a light shade in any case—whitish—and with no colour trim. I can recommend you to my dressmaker—unless you prefer Fanny's."
It took but a moment for Margaret to decide. "Yours... But everything else should be discussed on a more appropriate occasion. The bridegroom is not to know the details, after all." She beamed at John.
"And Fanny will want to provide you with her sartorial input, never forget," he teased her back; and not even Mrs Thornton's disapproving presence prevented them from laughing out.
"Well," Mrs Thornton briskly interrupted their merriment. "It appears we all have matters to see to; Miss Hale has her correspondence with her London relatives, I shall send notice to Fanny—I presume she'll want to ask us over to their house for dinner—and you, John, may want to go and see Williams. I had word only yesterday that he's not in anyone's employ yet."
"And while I'm at it I may as well go and see Higgins in Princeton, and tell him to put out word that Marlborough Mills is taking on workers again."
"Give him my regards, please," Margaret said, "And tell him that I shall come to visit shortly."
"I'll be back in time to set out for dinner with you." He gave Margaret a warm smile as he rose—alas no kissing in front of Mrs Thornton—and went to his mother where he stooped to place a quick kiss on her brow. Knowing just how much Mrs Thornton disliked public demonstrations of affection, Margaret was amused to see the mother react with just such a twist of her head as Margaret had come to recognise from the son.
When Fanny slowly rose from the sofa, Margaret had to pull herself together not to stare at her waist. Or lack thereof.
The young Mrs Watson was huge... and all the men present during the evening—her husband and her brother, to be precise—edged around her with the uneasy looks of people expecting an imminent emergency.
Forthcoming motherhood had changed Fanny, Margaret couldn't help but notice during the evening. The same girl known to incessantly complain about imagined ailments in the past, weathered the very real discomforts of advanced pregnancy with equanimity. Nor seemed her marriage as open to question as Margaret initially had assumed. They were obviously not madly in love. But Watson treated his young wife with an endearing indulgence, and while she clearly was running rings around him, she also appeared to be genuinely fond of him. Worse matches had been seen before.
Their company of five broke up again shortly after dinner, with both Mrs Thornton and John returning to Marlborough Mills after the latter had declined Watson's offer to come with him to the Masters Club.
Fanny's request of, "Mamma, a word in private please, before you leave," gave the newly betrothed a moment on their own in the hall. It felt like ages, and not merely like the morning of the same day, since they last held each other. Their kiss was tender and lingering, although—owing to their profound exhaustion at the end of two long days—rather more tiredly affectionate than passionate.
"I'm afraid your trials for today are not yet over," Margaret whispered.
"Yes. There will be some cross-examination—"
"What will you tell her?"
"As much as she has a right to know—The rest is between you and me." His lips returned to hers. "Any regrets as yet about having come home with me?" he eventually murmured.
"None. Never." She gave him a final soft kiss and then withdrew as steps approached them.
"Are we ready to go, John?" Mrs Thornton's voice preceded her arrival. At his reply in the affirmative she briskly said, "Good night, Miss Hale," and then she sailed past them, and out.
"I shall call in the morning," John said as he took his hat. "Good night, my love," he mouthed before the door closed behind him.
The next morning Margaret was woken by a maid entering her room with a small tea tray. The girl placed it on the bedside table before she opened the curtains. At Margaret's question about the time she said, "It's half-past seven, miss," and then went to stoke the fire in the small stove at the corner of the bedroom. While not nearly as ornate as a fireplace, it heated the room quickly and nicely.
"Your bath will be ready in ten minutes, miss," the maid said in leaving. "There's a bathing room at the far end of the corridor." The Watson household was obviously well provided both with staff and comforts.
Fifteen minutes later saw Margaret soaking in a proper bathtub. The maid had left after telling her that she would return shortly to help her wash her hair. Margaret lay back against the high backrest and let her thoughts float for what felt like the first time in several days.
How did she feel about her current situation—now, after a good night's rest? She was not upset about her speedy removal from Marlborough Mills; quite on the contrary, she saw the sense in that, even if it wasn't her own first choice. Nor was she apprehensive about the fact that she was away from John... They would have a lifetime to spend together—so what was another fortnight apart? Besides, they would see each other—often—during the day.
Then, how did she feel about their shared night at Brookford?
Unsettled—she realised. But not for the obvious reasons. She felt unsettled because she was having no regrets, or feelings of remorse, about that night—as any gentlewoman should! It was as she had told John at the time; she felt like she was his wife already...that their pledge—despite its peculiar setting in a railway carriage—was as solemn a vow as any given before a consecrated altar. In this matter her whole upbringing was at odds with her deepest feelings! But a mere two weeks yet and the two conflicting notions would be aligned again, once she and John were publicly seen to be joined in holy matrimony.
She looked down at her body... She had never given it any particular thought, not until the previous morning when, upon waking, it had felt like a wanton stranger. Edith's insinuations, always somewhat bewildering to her, suddenly had made a lot more sense. She used to consider the act as something a woman would have to put up with. But she hadn't expected—pleasure. And she remembered... remembered his gentleness, his restraint, in the face of his obvious need to claim; his desire to give rather than take.
She wondered if it was always like this between a man and a woman... but she suspected that this, perhaps, was not the case.
"Well, this has come as a surprise, I must admit," Fanny said. "All of Milton was expecting the announcement of your engagement last year after... well, you know... after the riot. For a few weeks Milton was abuzz with the rumour. But when it didn't happen at the time, everyone thought that this was it. Surely, none of us expected it now." She looked at her guest over the rim of her teacup. "However, it's a perfect stroke of good luck. For John, in particular. Not owning the mill has always made his situation so much more precarious, but by marrying you he will at last be on a sound footing, business-wise... Oh, don't get me wrong, Miss Hale! John greatly admires you. This has always been plain as day. Besides, he's principled to the core—"
"I would never doubt it," Margaret said noncommittally, wary of where this conversation was going. She wasn't prepared to discuss John, and certainly not with his younger sister.
"And since we are to be sisters soon, we should call each other by our first names, don't you think?" Fanny prattled on. Then, quite unexpectedly, she added, "I'm sorry that we got off on a bad footing initially, but I hope that this may be mended, now that we've got a chance to get better acquainted."
Margaret looked up in surprise; coming from Fanny this was quite a peace offer. "I should like this very much—Fanny. And I am happy that you are willing to help me with the wedding arrangements. I shall need your advice on Milton wedding customs, and on all the best shops and addresses."
"I so adore weddings!—and it will be such a diversion, now that I'm confined to the house."
"So, where to begin?"
They started by discussing bridesmaids and groomsmen...
"But I don't have any unmarried women friends," Margaret said, taken aback. "Not of my class, anyway—and I doubt that John has a great many bachelor friends, either... Somehow he doesn't strike me as the kind of person."
"No. What little time he spends in society, he generally spends at the Masters Club with his fellow mill masters, and since he's the youngest of them, the others tend to be married already."
... wedding favours...
"Not without bridesmaids and groomsmen... You'll have to decide on them first, Margaret. Because who else would see to their proper delivery?"
... the wedding breakfast and seating arrangements...
"The wedding breakfast should by rights take place at the home of the bride's parents... It could have taken place at your aunt's, if she had been willing to go to the trouble—and if she didn't live in London, of course!"
"Under the circumstances a wedding breakfast at Marlborough Mills should be acceptable, I gather," Margaret replied.
... and who would give the bride away at the wedding.
"Who's your male next-of-kin?" Fanny asked. "In the ordinary course of events it would have been your father, but, like me, you don't have one—"
"My next available relative would be my cousin-in-law, Captain Lennox, I suppose," Margaret said, carefully circumnavigating slippery ground. To no avail, alas.
"Available, you say? And who would be the unavailable one?" Fanny asked, curious.
"My elder brother who lives in Spain... But we are estranged." Although through none of our own fault.
"Now, that's a shame. A brother?—I never knew... But a dashing captain in uniform should be none too bad, either. Adds a bit of colour."
"I don't even know if my London relations are willing to attend; I only wrote to them yesterday, after all... You must be aware that this union will be frowned upon by some—"
Eventually they came to the end of their list. "It seems that quite a lot will have to be a little haphazard," Fanny sighed, "Owing to your rather unusual circumstances, and lack of unmarried friends and relatives... I suppose, my own husband can supervise matters at church prior to the wedding service if no other solution presents itself, and I can help you write the wedding cards. Mother will see to the wedding breakfast, of course—" Fanny paused, creasing her brow. "By-the-by, what will you do about your other friends?"
"Our worker friends, you mean?"
"Yes. Them."
"They will greatly prefer a celebration at the reopening of the mill—which could take place at the mill canteen—to a formal wedding breakfast... and since both the wedding and the reopening should follow in rapid succession, they won't feel slighted."
"But... this means... no honeymoon?" Fanny looked at her, agape.
"Not right now, at least... We may go on a belated one, once the mill is back in business and running smoothly—"
"Mills never run smoothly! There is always something, trust me... And then, by the time mill business is sorted out, you may be with child—Just look at me! Married before Christmas and a mother by the end of September—and then you can't travel."
"I believe, this is a risk we are prepared to take," Margaret said calmly, and that was the end of it.
A/N:
Looks like the first chapter has rendered you, dear readers, quite speechless! LOL. Well, at least there have been no indignant outcries—yet... and, telling by the number of favs and follows, quite a few of you seem keen on more. Thanks, guys! However, I always love to hear what you actually think about my stories...