John sat of the edge of his bed caressing the leather and turning over in his hands the boot of his beloved. He hasn't gone so far as to cradle in his arms as he slept, though he did consider it. However, he has been leaving it to sit on his bedside table – the last thing he sees before drifting off to sleep at night and the first thing he sees when he wakes in the morning. A prefiguring of having his mysterious lady as his wife.
He has already decided that he wants her to share a bed with him. None of this 'separate rooms' nonsense for him. However, he is a gentleman and would never force his wife to do anything she felt was against her maidenly sensibilities. The palpable electricity that sparked between the two of them when they first saw each other – and thank goodness it didn't set fire to the cotton waste – was enough to lead him to believe that her passion was kindled as well. He trusts that they will have but one mind and one way of thinking on this topic as well as many others.
John let out a long sigh, frustrated that he hadn't found her again yet. As he looked at the shoe in his hands, he wondered what more he could do to find her. The boot was certainly unique and well made. He wondered where it came from.
'Well, now, there's an idea!' thought he. If he could find where the boot came from, maybe then he could find his wife - for he already thought of her as such.
Re-inspired by this idea, he quickly dressed for the day and packed the shoe up in his Gladstone bag. Carrying it downstairs with him he joined his mother in the dining room for breakfast.
"Do you have a meeting today, John?" his mother asked when she noticed the bag in his hand, knowing perfectly well that he didn't.
Her question having taken him by surprise, he glanced down at the bag himself and stuttered, "Uh, y-yes." Regaining some confidence, he added, "I will be gone for some time this morning." He then sat down to read the paper and eat some breakfast.
"Will you be joining us for tea this afternoon?" his mother inquired, "Fanny will be entertaining Miss Latimer, Miss Slickson, and Miss Hamper."
John winced, "No, mother," he said firmly, "not this time."
"Pray, mother," John said, "Can you tell me who is the best souter in town?"
Nearly choking on her tea when he asked for the local shoemaker, his mother had to cough before she could answer. "You want John Tierney," she said, pounding her chest to clear her throat, "of Tierney's, on the corner of New and Frances Streets." Now that she had her voice under control she added hopefully, "If you need a new pair of boots John, I'd be glad to order them for you."
"No thank you, mother," he replied, to her dismay, "I'll handle it myself."
He quickly downed the last of his coffee, picked up his bag, and rose to leave. Giving his mother a quick peck on the cheek, he strode out of the room saying, "I will see you at dinner."
His mother heaved a worried sigh, mortified that the foot fetish lingered. She did not understand the boy.
….oOo….
Assessing her reflection in the looking glass, Margaret stood at the kitchen wash basin scrubbing the grimy black soot off her hands. There was a smudge of ash on her forehead as well, probably from wiping the sweat off her brow with the back of her sooty hand as she cleaned the grate of her mother's fireplace this morning. After doing her best to clean her face and hands, she removed her apron and hung it on the peg. Donning her shawl and bonnet, she told Dixon she was heading out to the market to purchase groceries for the next few days.
"Without eating any breakfast, Miss Margaret?" asked Dixon, incredulously.
"I don't need anything, dear Dixon," Margaret replied with a half-smile. "I'll grab a bite when I return," she added to assuage the concerned maid.
Margaret had taken to skipping a meal now and again to help save money.
She sighed as she stepped out under the smoggy sky of Milton. Oh, how she missed the beautiful sunny summer days in Helstone. As she walked toward town, she had a recollection of one of her last days in the beloved bucolic country town – walking in the green fields and picking flowers. She had laid down in the warm sun and fallen asleep, only to be wakened later by the familiar voice of Henry Lennox. Henry – she had not realized that she had given him any impression of partiality on her side. His unwelcome proposal took her totally by surprise. But not for the first time since arriving in Milton, as she walked in her wooden clogs and old worn dress with the rumblings of hunger in her belly, did she think that she might have been better off if she had accepted him.
She felt nothing for Henry, however, other than friendship. She certainly felt nothing like that which she experienced when she first caught sight of Mr. Thornton. No, Henry would never do, not now that she knew what it felt like to have a true connection with someone.
After completing her purchases at the market on New Street, she figured that she might have enough time for a visit with the Higgins' on Frances Street. Just as she was about to turn toward Princeton, however, she saw him.
There he stood, tall and regal in his black frock coat and top hat. She admired his manly jaw, aquiline nose, and piercing blue eyes, which were currently looking in the window of the cobbler's shop. As if pulled toward him by some imaginary tether, she found herself drawing nearer. But she hesitated before she reached him and in that instant he disappeared into the shop.
Margaret sighed heavily. Tierney's was one of the most expensive stores in town. He must be rich indeed to buy his shoes there. Certainly, there was no way a handsome wealthy mill master would be interested in her. Especially not now that she and her family were in reduced circumstances.
Hanging her head, she continued on her way down Frances Street to number nine, 'second turn to th' left after yo've past th' Goulden Dragon,' Nicholas had said.
Arriving at the correct door, Margaret knocked.
"I've come to visit Bessy," Margaret announced when Mary, Bessy's younger sister answered the door.
She sat for some time with the two girls and enjoyed some tea and pleasant conversation with them. When Nicholas returned home from his work in the mills, she dared to ask him if he knew Mr. Thornton.
"Aye!" replied he, "Thornton o' Marlborough Mill, as we call him."
"What sort of a master is he?" Margaret inquired, trying not to sound too eager for the information.
"Did yo' ever see a bulldog?" Nicholas attempted to explain the young mill master, "Set a bulldog on hind legs, and dress him up in coat and breeches, and yo'n just getten John Thornton."
"Nay," said Margaret, laughing, "Surely he is better looking than a bulldog, with its short broad nose, and snarling upper lip."
"No! not in look, I grant yo'," he conceded, "But let John Thornton get hold on a notion, and he'll stick to it like a bulldog; yo' might pull him away wi' a pitch-fork ere he'd leave go. He's worth fighting wi', is John Thornton. The other mill masters are slippery as eels - like alley cats,-as sleek, and cunning, and fierce. It'll never be an honest up and down fight wi' 'em, as it will be wi' Thornton. Thornton's as dour as a door-nail; an obstinate chap, every inch on him,-th' oud bulldog!"
Bessy then had to chime in with her opinion, as she had actually worked for the man before she had to quit on account of her consumption.
"He's a fair man and a good master. He pays the highest wages in Milton and he installed the wheel a few years back. That's why da sent me straight away to Thornton's as soon as we knew I had the consumption. The wheel blows away the strands that fly off in the sorting rooms. Helps keeps fluff off the workers' lungs."
Margaret left shortly thereafter to get back home and to her chores. While she ambled toward Crampton, she contemplated this revelation of the qualities of her handsome 'prince.' He was stubborn – not necessarily a bad thing - and determined, but honest, as well as kind and benevolent. This pleased Margaret very much. A broad smile spread across her face and she allowed herself to indulge in another of her fanciful day dreams.
….oOo….
The bell above the door rang enthusiastically as John Thornton stepped into Tierney's Cobbler Shop. The proprietor himself was behind the counter and greeted the wealthy mill master and honorable Milton magistrate with a welcoming smile.
"Mr. Thornton," he gushed, "What can I do for you?"
Placing his case on the counter, John pulled out the precious boot. "Can you tell me, Tierney," he said in his best magistrate's voice, hoping to give the cobbler the impression his enquiry was related to some official investigation, "where a pair of boots such as this might be purchased?"
The cobbler donned his spectacles and gingerly took the shoe to give it a serious examination.
"Ah, yes," said Tierney, "this is a new style. See the elastic gussets?" He indicated said gussets on the boots.
"Yes," replied the magistrate, "I had noticed them."
"I saw boots such as these on display at John Lobb, Bootmaker's in London," he said definitively, "I believe only he makes them. Quite expensive, I might add."
Leaning conspiratorially across the counter and raising his eyebrows, he asked the magistrate, "Part of an investigation you are working on?"
Glancing around the nearly empty shop, Thornton replied with a pointed look, "Yes, and I officially request that you keep this under your hat, if you please."
All he needed was for the Milton gossips to get a hold of the fact the John Thornton was asking around about women's shoes. His mother and sister were bad enough about it. He didn't want to become the subject of the local tittle tattle - any more than he already was.
John reverently placed the boot back into his portmanteau, thanked Tierney for his information, and left the shop.
John walked back to Marlborough Mills, turning this new information over in his mind. His shoulders, however, began to slump and his step began to drag as he came to the obvious realization that his mystery woman must have come from London and surely has since returned thither, which was why he had not seen her around town. Depression began to take hold of him. Woe to John Thornton - he will never find her now.
….oOo….
John Lobb trained as a bootmaker in London before moving to Australia to try his luck in the goldfields. He never found his fortune in gold but instead came up with the brainwave of making hollow heeled boots for prospectors to hide their gold. The idea caught on and John Lobb set himself up in business in Sydney in 1858. When the Great Exhibition came along in 1862 he sent a pair of his boots along and won a gold medal for their quality. Twelve months later he sent a pair of his riding boots to the Prince of Wales and was awarded a Royal Warrant. He returned to London and established a business " John Lobb, Bootmaker" which continues to trade as the world's most famous bespoke shoemaking establishment.
Again, my information on 19th century footwear came from an article titled "Nineteenth Century Boots" on the blog "History of Boots" on Blogspot.
Oh, and there I go quoting from P&P again.
