Having learned that Mr. Thornton was a kind and upstanding gentleman relieved some anxiety for Margaret. It made her uneasy to think that the only real qualities she had known of the man who occupied her thoughts day and night, were that he was handsome and rich. She was loath to believe herself superficial and mercenary.
Unfortunately, she couldn't help thinking that his wealth and stature in Milton society would preclude Mr. Thornton from even looking at her, let alone anything more. In her current reduced circumstances, she resigned herself to the most likely fate of becoming a spinster.
'Come poor little heart!' she would say to herself, 'be cheery and brave. We'll be a great deal to one another, if we are thrown off and left desolate.' So she decided to put on a happy face despite her depressed feelings.
Her father was almost startled by her merriment. She talked incessantly, and forced her natural humour to an unusual pitch; and if there was a tinge of bitterness in much of what she said, her father could not bear to check her, as he would have done at another time-for he was glad to see her shake off her cares.
However, for some days her spirits varied strangely; and her father was beginning to be anxious about her, when news arrived from one or two quarters that promised some change and variety for her. Mr. Hale received a letter from Mr. Bell, in which that gentleman volunteered a visit to them; and Mr. Hale imagined that the promised society of his old Oxford friend would give as agreeable a turn to Margaret's ideas as it did to his own.
Margaret tried to take an interest in what pleased her father; but she was too languid to care about any Mr. Bell, even though he were twenty times her godfather.
Margaret had not expected much pleasure to herself from Mr. Bell's visit-she had only looked forward to it on her father's account, but when her godfather came, she at once fell into the most natural position of friendship in the world. He said she had no merit in being what she was, a girl so entirely after his own heart; it was an hereditary power which she had, to walk in and take possession of his regard; while she, in reply, gave him much credit for being so fresh and young under his Fellow's cap and gown.
While Margaret still had her chores to do, she was glad Mr. Bell was there for her father. However, due to her embarrassment at having to fill the role of maid servant, she tried not to let her godfather see her performing such tasks. She would rise early to finish most of her chores before he arrived and would only work in the kitchen during his visits. She did make every effort to be present at least part of the time when he was with her parents but sometimes that was not possible. When it was possible, she was afraid she looked as worn down and tired as she felt.
However, she enjoyed these visits greatly. She found her godfather to be very charming and intelligent and he obviously cared very much for her father and their family.
….oOo….
John Thornton sat in his office chair, staring at the single forlorn boot in his hands. He closed his eyes as he caressed the soft leather and imagined the face of the beautiful woman who had appeared out of nowhere in his mill. Not only did he admire her outward appearance and fine figure, but the boldness which led her to come walking through his mill, was a refreshing trait in a woman. No woman of his acquaintance would do such a thing. Surely, they were put off by the noise and dirt and bustle of manufacturing facility. But this woman, young and attractive as she was, had no such fear.
However, John was becoming resigned and saddened that he should never meet with her again. He let out a long sigh.
There was a knock upon his door. John quickly stowed the shoe in one of his desk drawers and called out in his low booming voice, "Come in."
The door opened to reveal the grinning face of his landlord, Mr. Adam Bell.
John stood and came around the desk saying, "Ah, Mr. Bell, come in. How nice to see you." They shook hands.
"Good to see you too, Thornton," the elderly gentleman replied.
"Please, have a seat sir," invited John, indicating the chair in front of his desk, and returning to take his own seat, "What can I do for you?"
"Oh, nothing in particular," mused the Oxford scholar, "I just thought I would stop by to see how things were going. I am in town to visit my good friend Hale. I think I wrote you about him."
"Ah, yes," John remembered, "the former parson. You asked me to look out for a house for him." John's brow wrinkled, "I did have a place in Crampton lined up for him to see, but I never heard from the man. He is settled here then?"
"Yes, he did take that place in Crampton. That is, he and his wife and daughter," Mr. Bell informed him.
An inexplicable tingle ran up John's spine at this comment, but he shrugged it off.
"I wanted to ask you, Thornton," continued Bell, "if you were still lamenting your curtailed education?"
"Indeed, sir," John replied with enthusiasm, sitting up straighter in his chair, "I truly enjoyed studying the classics and would have loved to have gone to university."
"Well, Hale is taking private students for tutoring," explained he, "and I thought you might be interested. He is a classics scholar. We attended Oxford together, you know. His fees are quite reasonable, and his hours are flexible. What do you think?"
John leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and tapped his chin with a finger. Lessons in the classics might help take his mind off his lost love. "I am definitely interested," he replied, "I'd like to meet him."
"Wonderful!" cried Mr. Bell, "I am on my way out to Crampton now. Are you available tomorrow afternoon?"
Thornton looked over his calendar. "I could probably spare an hour or so after one tomorrow."
"I will see if Richard is available then and send you a note."
….oOo….
The next afternoon John made the two-mile journey to Crampton to meet his new private tutor, Mr. Richard Hale. He was met at the door by the maid who, with a look of haughty contempt, invited him in. While she hung his coat and hat, he could not help but look at the other items hanging there: the coats, hats and bonnets of the inhabitants of the house. He looked down at the row of shoes and noticed a solitary half boot, its mate conspicuously absent.
'Could it be?!' John asked himself, but he knew it must. He would know that shoe anywhere. He had memorized every stitch and scuff, every dip and curve.
His eyes stay glued on that lone boot as he unconsciously followed the maid to the study. As he crossed the threshold, he snapped his eyes forward, suddenly remembering the reason for his visit.
He had come here excited to begin anew the adventure that had been his education. However, his heart leapt now at the prospect of embarking on an altogether different adventure. It was unlikely that he would meet the owner of the boot today. But that was alright. Now that he knew where to find her, he would not let her slip through his fingers again.
"We have to make a choice, John," said Mr. Hale a little while later, "Now, it's difficult, I know."
The two gentlemen heard the distinct sound of the front door closing.
Turning toward the doorway, Mr. Hale said, "Margaret? Is that you? Oh, Margaret!"
Margaret approached the door and peeked in.
"Come in, Margaret. Come in," encouraged her father, "Meet my new friend and first proper pupil, Mr. Thornton." Turning toward the mill master, her father announced, "This is my daughter, Margaret."
When their eyes met, they both experienced that same visceral connection as before. John's expression turned to delight revealing a heart stopping smile and Margaret's mouth fell open in shock. They were both lost again in the moment.
John, having had some foreknowledge of her residence here, retained a little more presence of mind than Margaret, and told Mr. Hale, "I believe your daughter and I have already met."
Oblivious to what was transpiring before him, Mr. Hale pressed to return to the topic at hand, attempting to bring everyone into the conversation, "Ah. Now, Mr. Thornton can't decide between Aristotle and Plato. I- I suggest we start with Plato and then move on. What do you think?"
"I'm afraid Miss Hale and I met under less than pleasant circumstances," interrupted Mr. Thornton, "My overseer called out one of my hands for smoking in the sorting room and I had to deal with that situation. Regretfully, we never had the opportunity to become properly introduced." He extended his hand in the usual manner of Northern greetings.
Struck speechless by Mr. Thornton's deliciously deep rumbling voice and striking manly presence, Margaret looked on him in awe for another moment before noticing his outstretched hand. She instinctively reached for it, realizing too late that this sort of greeting was not considered proper for a lady in the South. As her palm slid across his, her eyes went wide and she sucked in a breath. The touch of his warm work-roughened hand and the tremor that ran up her arm were undeniably electric. She had never felt anything like it before.
Her years of training in proper etiquette finally kicked in and it dawned on her that she should probably say something.
Therefore, she intoned, with a smile and a slight curtsy, "I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Thornton."
Then wracking her brain for the words he had just spoken, so that she might find something appropriate with which to continue the conversation, she came to the following realization: "Oh, the man was yelling at one of the workers? I thought he was yelling at me! I'm sorry, I should not have been there." Her cheeks flushed with shame and she realized that he had not yet let go of her hand.
Taking a step closer, he turned her hand in his palm and placed his other hand on top, gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. He smiled down at her and said, "You do not need to apologize, Miss Hale. Your presence, while unexpected, was far from unwelcome. It is not every day that I am graced with such a vision of loveliness in my weaving shed. And a mere vision I surely thought you were, as you disappeared so quickly."
"I am very sorry to have run out with such haste, but I was startled," she confessed, a bit dazed by his soft, intimate touch.
"I apologize for the alarm you suffered. Fire is the greatest danger in my mill," he explained, "I have to be strict. The worker," he strove to use her own words so as not to offend her with his Northern slang, "was smoking. That cannot be allowed in a cotton mill. The slightest spark could set fire to the cotton and…" he left it for her to infer the rest.
"The slightest spark - ," she absentmindedly repeated with a breathless sigh. Ever since the moment their hands made contact, she had been feeling tiny sparks running all through her nerves. From the look on his face she knew he felt them too.
Mr. Hale cleared his throat and the two jumped apart. They had obviously forgotten he was in the room.
"I'm sorry," Thornton said, turning to his new tutor, a blush creeping up his face. Drawing out his pocket watch to check the time he sighed and added, "I should go. You'll join us for our dinner party next week? With your wife and daughter, of course." He looked imploringly at Margaret who was still staring at him with stars in her eyes.
"Oh, yes, of course. Erm... thank you," replied Mr. Hale, "although my wife's constitution may not allow it, Margaret and I will be there. Won't we Margaret? A- And we'll start with Plato next Tuesday."
As her father saw Mr. Thornton to the door, Margaret finally came to her senses - mostly.
'He was here! Standing in this room! He held my hand! He'll be back next Tuesday! I'll be going to his house for a dinner party!'
Her mind ran through her favorite fantasies until she found the one of her attending a dinner party with him. She had many dinner party experiences from all the years she had spent with Edith in London: beautiful dresses, with delicate slippers, sparkling jewels, coifed hair, exquisite place settings, delicious food and wonderful music. And like the proverbial needle screeching across the vinyl record (which of course didn't exist in this time period) Margaret's fantasy came to an abrupt end.
She had no dress, no slippers, no jewels. Her countenance fell and she felt deflated. She could not go to his dinner party.
As soon as her father reentered the room, she accosted him with, "Papa, how could you tell him we would be there? I cannot go to a dinner party! I have nothing I can wear!" Then she burst into tears and ran out of the room.
As she disappeared up the stairs, Mr. Bell entered the study, having overheard the entire exchange for he had arrived as Thornton was leaving.
"Well," said Richard to his old friend, "what am I to do?"
Mr. Bell smiled mischievously and clapped his old friend on the shoulder. "Leave it to me," he said with a wink.