Chapter Six

Nowhere I Would Rather Be


Despite it being only a few feet between where he stood on the pavement and the Hale's front door, it would not be an overstatement to say that John near enough sprinted that immeasurably short distance, taking strides rather than steps as he hurried towards the house and all the hope that its four consecrated walls promised. The fatigue in his legs had miraculously vanished, and instead of feeling emotionally bled, he was alive with an agitated exhilaration that made him as giddy as a schoolboy. When he reached the door, John knocked upon it eagerly, the thump of his fist sounding dubiously thuggish with its booming thud, advertising his whereabouts to the whole of Milton. Nevertheless, his vigour, albeit raucous, did not come from a place of aggression, but of uncontainable excitement. Standing there, John must have looked like a puppy as he bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, the new-found and pent-up energy that fizzed inside him proving difficult to restrain. He was in half a mind to take hold of the handle and push the door open of his own initiative, but John quickly took hold of himself instead, reminding himself that love, no matter how passionate it may be, was no excuse for bad manners.

However, John did not have to wait long, stewing hotly in his pot of fretful expectation, because only a few moments later, he heard the plod of footsteps on the other side. John could feel the blood rushing throughout him, directing itself to every nook and cranny of his substantial body, feeding his flexing muscles with the red fuel of vitality, shovelling it like coal into his veins. He was like a greyhound about to be set free from his pen at the races, and he was ready, ready to charge inside the very instant the gate was unlocked, and he was at last at liberty to chase after what he wanted.

Just like that, the door opened, and much to his surprise, it was not a surly Dixon who met him, threatening to turn her enemy away and clobber John with a rolling pin if he dared contest her, but Mr Hale himself. The master of the house wore a vague expression at first as he surveyed his caller, his faculties dimmed by the lateness of the hour and the darkness of the street on which John stood like a displaced statue. Still, his countenance soon transformed into one of heartfelt greeting as the realisation of who had arrived dawned on him.

'Ah, John, here you are!' Mr Hale acknowledged merrily, a tad taken aback, as Mr Hale, a man who could not boast the sharpest of memories, had almost forgotten that they were due a visitor at all this evening.

'Welcome, my good man, welcome!' he hailed as he stepped back and threw his arm out in the direction of the hallway, shepherding John inside from the harsh northern air.

John breathed a sigh of relief to have been invited in, even if the hard part was yet to come. He had half wondered whether Mr Hale might have overlooked the fact that tonight was their usual day for meeting, and what with it being Christmas and all, the pupil may very well have been sent away with his tail between his legs, wandering home like a lost soul, the very same eager puppy being denied his Yuletide treat, the chance to see his mistress.

'Good evening, Mr Hale,' John replied breathlessly as he marched over the threshold with a brisk step, overtaken by a queer superstition that if he did not cross that marked line swiftly enough, the door would slam closed in his face, and as if by some rotten curse, he would be unable to get in, rendering both the Hale home and the Hale daughter barred to him forever.

'Thank you for having me,' he added with delayed civility as he took off his coat and hat, laying them down on a nearby table, since the thought of handing them to Mr Hale to hang up somehow seemed inappropriate, even if he was not entirely sure why. As he commenced his inspection, the sight of a pair of out-of-place knitting needles courted his interest, and they made John look twice with a curious blink, speculating as to what on earth they were doing there, and even more intriguingly, why they were not employed with any knitting, a single strand of blue wool the only evidence remaining to suggest they had been busy at all.

Mr Hale waved his hand about affably. 'Nonsense!' said he. 'We are merely flattered that you could find the time to come and join us tonight. I know you have only just arrived back from your travels, and you must surely have a great deal to see to, and I am certain that you will be wanting to spend time with your family at Christmas.'

John smiled, a small, private smile. 'Believe me, sir, there is nowhere I would rather be,' he confessed, disregarding the pang he felt to think that she could have been his family by now, the very nearest and dearest of family members, if only she had said yes.

It was at this point that the caller took the convenient opportunity to look about him. Now that he was indoors, he had matters to attend to, and as a man who was not work-shy, John thought it best to get on with his urgent task directly. With single-minded tenacity, and eyes as sharp as flints, John restlessly scanned the lower floor, the study and the stairs, hoping to detect a movement, an evanescent shadow, a sign that they were not alone. However, much to his mounting frustration, nothing flitted across his elevated eyeline, nothing caught his penetrating scrutiny; not a maid, not a maiden, not a mouse.

Grumble.

Snorting impatiently, John transferred his attention to the poky passageway that led to the kitchen. He yearned for some tell-tale din to echo from that quarter, such as the beating of dough against a table, the shrill whistling of a kettle boiling on the stove, or sweetest of all, the sound of someone humming a comely tune. If he strained his lugs, then he could by chance heed the dainty pitter-patter of light feet, and the pacing of slipper shoes from some unspecified corner of the Crampton house, but their presence was both muffled and fleeting, leaving John's supposition unsubstantiated. John tried to distinguish even the feeblest of noises drifting down the corridor or the stairs, but no resonance came his way; not a shuffle, not a sniffle, not a sigh.

Growl.

He stood stock-still and let his surroundings flood his senses. Surely he must be able to uncover something. A sight, a touch, a sound, a taste, a smell…Come on! – anything would do! All he had were two knitting needles and a string of wool, and what meaning could they possibly hope to harvest? However, unfortunately, regrettably, his wits came back with a discouraging report, informing him that there was no ─

'Kind of you to say,' Mr Hale interjected, interrupting his visitor's anxious search, 'but will your mother and sister not be missing you tonight? I do feel terribly responsible for having taken you away from them, particularly when they have been without you for so long.'

John allowed himself a brusque laugh as he thrust his hands into his pockets, his fingers only just waking up from being numbed lifeless by the cold, and the sensation of their reawakening was causing his skin to sting and smart, a burning that was more raw than his masculine pride was ready to admit.

'I doubt they will mind my absence too much,' he said truthfully, his head tipping backwards at an unnatural angle so that he could inspect the floor above, since he was not so much occupied with those who lived at his own house, but rather, those who lived here, or that is, a specific someone. The thought of this irked him momentarily, and he frowned crossly, because if John had his way, that person would be living at his house, with him, permitting him to spontaneously see them whenever he liked, morning, noon or night. Nonetheless, as ill-fate would have it, that was not how things were, so he had no alternative other than to spend whatever precious-little leisure he had with them here, or that is, try to. John heaved a heavy sigh when no indication of their presence greeted his ears, and he soon turned his fickle focus back to his host.

'They are to dine with the Latimers this evening, and then join a party there for the masters and their wives. I hear they have a great deal of food and games planned, so that will almost certainly regale them both. I should think they will consider it a welcome change from my dull company,' John affixed, all too aware that his sister was overjoyed to have the chance to indulge in the elegance of a festive party, giving her a coveted opportunity to throw on her finest frock and both dance and gossip the night away, the nonattendance of her elder, lacklustre brother being the icing on top of her Christmas cake.

'Oh, dear! Now I really do feel guilty,' Mr Hale wavered, his cheerful features drooping, affecting his wrinkles to defect from being upward creases to downward ones. He reproached himself to think that in his loneliness, he had been selfish and coerced his friend in coming all this way just to keep him company. The Hales lived in unpretentious simplicity, and their humble celebration this evening could never hope to compare with a grand congregation of his peers, the kind of fashionable event a smart young man about town would surely be eager to attend.

'I fear you shall find us a modest gathering tonight, dear boy, just the three of us: myself, you and Margaret,' he confessed quietly, exhaling loudly through his nose by contrast, making a show of his sincere apology. 'I promise you, as welcome as you are, if you wished to leave, we would not be slighted in the least.' Mr Hale's oration faltered as he said this, for while he meant every word, he would be more sorry than he could say to see his esteemed friend depart.

Nonetheless, John merely shook his head with uncompromising resolve.

'I can assure you, Mr Hale, this is precisely what I want.'

It was true, he would much rather be here, and not just because of who he might see, but because John categorically detested parties. He abhorred the effort of getting trussed up and being forced to engage in mindless small-talk with a horde of inebriated men and infatuated women. Somebody would be constantly trying to steal him away, whether it be for a dance or a conversation about trade or the law, and so John found the circus that was socialising to be tiresome. He was a man, after all, not a performing ape, a pitiable creature who was forced to entertain others as they crowded round to demand that he satisfy their acquisitive fascination. John had anticipated that if he had gone tonight, then he would have been swarmed by ladies who tried to trap him under a stem of mistletoe, their fathers or husbands equally exasperating as they pressed him for every monotonous detail of his business dealings abroad. No, no, peace and quiet was what John longed for, and where better to find it than in the refuge that was the Hale's?

He sniffed sentimentally as he brooded on this, on how he had spent the past fifteen years searching wretchedly for a place to call home after he had lost his own. He had thought he would find it in the mill or in the courthouse, realms of stability and order. But what a fool he had been to look in such taciturn places that cared nothing for him in return. It was only now, by sheer accident, or perhaps sheer luck, that John had finally discovered his home. Not his literal home, of course, but his spiritual home, and he was not ashamed to admit that he was prepared to do all he could to stay.

Thinking on this, John added reassuringly, 'Being here, sir, with you, with both of you, it promises to be the perfect Christmas Eve.'

Then, bending his head down to examine his shoes, he softly whispered, 'almost,' since it was true, John could not be happier, or that is, he could, if only she would come to him. Better yet, John wished with all his might that she would run into his tender embrace, melting in his arms as they wrapped themselves tightly around her, just like he had dreamt many a lonely night, and there he could hold her, kiss her, tell her he loved her, and better still, better by far, hear her utter those sweet words of faithful affection in return.

While John was indulging in this fanciful fiction, Mr Hale was mulling over his own. He had not perceived John's private mutterings, his satisfaction at hearing that his favourite pupil was to stay after all had left him insensible to anything else, and with a tear of joy welling in his mawkish eye, he murmured, 'Well, as I say, we are honoured.'

Veering round, and looking towards the stairs, Mr Hale suddenly called out: 'Margaret!' and John felt his heart stir to hear that name mentioned, his three favourite syllables like a melody composed by his very own soul. It had been uttered so unexpectedly, and without any ceremony, that John felt thrown by it, as if its power had whipped a rug out from beneath his feet, knocking him off balance, and he held onto the table for support. Her name was so singular, so superior, that it ought to be proclaimed formally every time it was mouthed, like royalty being announced before they entered a room.

'Margaret, dearest, look who is here, it is Mr Thornton,' her father proclaimed.

John shuffled uneasily and dug his nails into the wood of the table, scratching out thin lines in the panelling like the scrapes of a wild animal, physical proof of the intensity of his hunger for the one he awaited restlessly. Stooping in embarrassment, John was overwhelmed by a curdled mood of discontent when he realised that the sound of his own name could never bring her as much joy as hers did him. John was so stark, so uninspired, so short, whereas Margaret, well, it encompassed everything that was good in this meaningless world. Still, his head soon shot up again when he heard the most unexpected sound imaginable, so astonishing that he deemed it high time he cleared out his ears. What came next, was a call from high above, up the stairs, and it was one full of warmth and cheer, both sentiments ringing with the celestial chorus of sincerity.

'Coming, Father, coming!'

Her voice was lyrical in its liveliness, and John's eyes stared in unconcealed awe as he saw Margaret appear before him like a vision, making him wonder whether he was in fact some madman who was driven so crazed by longing that his delirious mind was concocting things. She was halfway up the stairs, tilting over the banister so that they could see her. Margaret was smiling as she regarded them, a look of authentic happiness on her face. It was not surprising that John found himself fighting to breathe, and he seriously worried that if he could not swallow enough oxygen, he might keel over and collapse on the floor at her feet, and what a ridiculous spectacle that would make. His chest grew tight as his heart swelled at the thought of being close to her again after all these weeks. He could feel his whole body reacting, groaning into life, as if it had been asleep during the interlude of their disaffection. The hairs on his arms bristled. His fingers jerked. His throat convulsed. He must have looked wild, but he did not give a damn, not when he was about to see his darling girl again. John no longer cared what had transpired between them, all that mattered was being here and being near her, because despite any anger or jealousy that he might be wrestling with, none of that burdensome pessimism outweighed how much he had missed Margaret. Consequently, John was hardly aware of Mr Hale talking, the gentleman drivelling on about something or nothing, the master too absorbed with impatiently awaiting Margaret's arrival to concern himself with anything else. With an impatient quickening of his pulse, he watched as she descended the stairs, her every step as graceful as the gliding of an angel. Her admirer only frowned once, and this was when she vanished for a brief moment from his sight, hidden by a bend in the staircase that impeded his view. However, while he was inwardly cursing the blind spot for concealing his favourite person in all the world, John was momentarily distracted when he heard Mr Hale say something odd, very odd indeed, and it made him blink, whirl round, and glower at his tutor in blatant bewilderment.

'What did you say?' he checked, unsure of his own state of mind, his ears most definitely playing tricks on him, all those nights being out at sea and exposed to the blustery winds that brawled with their time-old battle between the shores of England and France having temporarily deafened him, not to forget having spent years living and working beside machines that rumbled like a boisterous beast with a bellyache.

'I was just saying that I am only sorry that you will be denied the company of Miss Latimer,' Mr Hale repeated, a little more stridently this time to ensure that he was heard.

'I understand that she is a fine young lady, and if you forgive my overfamiliarity, I am led to believe that it may not be long before I am to congratulate you,' he tallied with a skewwhiff wink, not that Mr Hale had ever quite grasped how to wink, not being a winking man himself.

John's face fell. 'Congratulate me?' he repeated, dumbstruck.

Mr Hale chortled. He knew his pupil was a reserved man, but really, there was no need for him to be so reticent amongst friends. 'Why, yes, on your engagement to Miss Latimer.'


Hello! I hope you've enjoyed the first half of the story. For those of you who read the original story when it was first posted on here, I hope you've enjoyed a chance to see the updated version. I was thinking of leaving it off here and just leaving the rest for the book that will be out soon, but I guess I could add a couple more of the chapters if anyone wanted to read them. Let me know.

Thanks again, and take care! x