John Thornton efficiently used his long legs to walk the distance to Crampton in record time. Anxious to hear the tale of Master Frederick Hale, he arrived for his lesson a quarter of an hour early. He was disappointed however when the door was opened by Dixon, the Hale's short and plump yet fierce housekeeper who always looked upon him with a derisive scowl. He was hoping to find Margaret there to greet him on the other side of the door and with a much more pleasant countenance than the one he was currently faced with. No such luck this time.
Dixon stepped aside to let him enter. She took his hat and coat and informed him that the Master was in his study. He told her he would show himself up and turned to the stairs, glancing around to see if he might catch a glimpse of Margaret. Alas, it did not seem as though she were there.
Upon entering the study, Mr. Hale greeted him enthusiastically, "Ah, John! You are early, sit down, sit down." He indicated a chair by the fire and the tutor came to sit opposite him.
"Good evening Mr. Hale," replied John.
"Yes, yes, how are you John?" asked the very animated Mr. Hale, "It has been quite a while since you were here."
"I am well," he answered, "Things at the mill are starting to calm down now and I find I have more time to give to my studies once again." A white lie but he certainly couldn't explain to Mr. Hale his real reason for having stayed away for so long.
John had feared his friend would forget the promised explanation and so he had to find a way of getting to the point without asking directly. So he said, "I see your cheery good mood is still firmly in place."
"Yes, Frederick's letter went a long way to that end," Mr. Hale replied.
So he did remember. John relaxed a little and affecting nonchalance, said, "That's right, you were going to tell me about this mysterious son of yours."
So Mr. Hale began to give the lad's history while John listened with rapt attention covered by feigned indifference.
….oOo….
Margaret walked briskly through the streets of Milton intent upon finishing her errands in time to be home when her father's favorite pupil arrived for his lesson.
She envisioned opening the door to see his tall handsome figure on the doorstep. She wanted to *ahem* accidentally brush his fingers with hers as she took his hat and coat. She relished the electric sensation that had been produced on the few occasions in the past when they had touched. Then, after observing the nicely tailored fit of his clothing as he ascended the stairs to her father's study, she would bury her nose in the fabric of his coat and breathe in his wonderful manly scent: a mixture of wood and leather with a hint of smoke and machine oil. A smell which never failed to make her toes curl.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, she checked her timepiece. Yes, she had just enough time to make it home and wash up before he arrived.
Unfortunately, like the previous caller, she too experienced disappointment when the front door of the Crampton house was opened. There, hanging on the hook just inside the door, were Mr. Thornton's coat and hat. She had missed his arrival. She couldn't even take the opportunity to nuzzle his coat as Dixon was there to assist her with the groceries and asked her to come help out in the kitchen.
Margaret let out a long sigh as she hung up her coat and bonnet. She glanced down the hall to see the retreating form of the housekeeper and mustered the courage to run a hand longingly along the woolen coat hanging next to hers.
After putting the groceries away in the pantry, Margaret was horrified to turn around and find Dixon covered in flour from her bread baking efforts. The housekeeper was unfit to deliver tea to the gentlemen so that lot must now fall to Margaret. She did not want to impose herself upon Mr. Thornton for any lengthy periods of time as she was convinced he did not wish it. However, the tea was ready and the gentlemen would be expecting it so go she must.
As she approached the study door she could hear the men talking and when she realized what the subject was she stopped dead in her tracks.
'Was father actually telling Mr. Thornton about Fred?' she asked herself. As she listened more she realized that he most certainly was.
Margaret gasped audibly and then, realizing her error, she held her breath. It did not seem as though the men heard her so she let it out slowly.
'Oh my!' thought she, 'Now Mr. Thornton knows the truth. He will understand who I was with and why I had to lie. But will he be hurt that I didn't tell him before?'
She looked down remembering the tea tray and hastened into the room before the tea could get cold.
….oOo….
John felt nothing less than elation as Mr. Hale finished the tale of his son but he had to try hard not to let it show on his face.
'It was her brother,' said Mr. Thornton to himself. 'I am glad. It is a comfort-a relief. I knew she could not be unmaidenly; and yet I yearned for conviction. Now I am glad! If only I could gain her forgiveness for my barbarous behavior toward her.'
No sooner had he finished this thought than the object of his musings walked gracefully into the room. Just like yesterday she nodded at him in acknowledgement and gave him the same small tentative smile but this time there was a sparkle in her eyes as well. It lifted his heart. The possibility of gaining Margaret's favor was now becoming less of an impossibility. He watched as she set the tray down and began serving the tea. As usual, he could not keep his eyes off of her as she went about this most domestic of tasks.
She did not wear the unruly bracelet this time but her movements were just as lithe and graceful as always. Although he did sense a touch of – what was it – nervousness? No, that must be his own nervousness he sensed. Margaret was the epitome of poise.
As he reached out to take his cup from her his eyes shot to hers. Her finger had grazed his, just like he had done to her the first time they had tea together. She instantly averted her eyes and her cheeks flushed. That must have been the most beguiling vision he had ever seen of her. Yet another one to sear into his brain.
She gave the gentlemen a slight curtsy and turned to leave the room mumbling something about helping Dixon in the kitchen.
Fighting the urge to bound after her, he reluctantly settled back into his chair and forced himself to take a sip of his tea. Even though it had been months since she last served him tea she still remembered how he liked it. She made it just as well as his mother did – nay, better – as it was made by the object of his affection.
As it seemed she would not be returning John did his best to school his thoughts on to the topic at hand and attempted to resume the discussion of Plato with his tutor. He made a valiant effort at fighting his distracted mind and did not embarrass himself too greatly in front of Mr. Hale.
….oOo….
Tentatively Margaret pushed the door open with her hip and walked into the room. She hoped the tea tray was not shaking too much in her nervous hands. Her fervent wish, that John, uh, Mr. Thornton, would somehow find out the truth about that night and her subsequent lie, had miraculously been granted. Would he understand? Would he be able to forgive her?
She glanced at him with a shy smile but with hope in her eyes.
She was conscious of his gaze upon her as she prepared the tea. As if his eyes sent out rays of sunlight, her skin tingled with warmth under his watch. It sent a frisson up her spine and her hands shook a little.
She served her father his tea and turned to make Mr. Thornton's. She knew so well exactly how he took his tea that she didn't even have to think about it. She could think about him instead. After her earlier disappointment at missing his arrival, she managed to pluck up enough courage to brush his finger with hers when she passed him his cup and saucer. As his eyes met hers she embarrassedly looked away and blushed. Her courage, however, not lasting long enough to hold his gaze.
Her job done and her nerves now getting the better of her, she quickly curtsied and left the room. The magnetic pull of him making her feet sluggish, she still managed to escape and ducked into her room to collect herself.
When it was almost time for Mr. Thornton to leave Margaret slipped quietly down to the entrance hall. She took his coat and hat into the kitchen to warm them by the fire for his walk home on this February evening. Upon hearing his deep voice taking leave of her father at the study door she quickly rushed the coat and hat back to the rack in the hall. She then hid herself in the dark shadows at the back of the hallway.
He descended the stairs alone. Margaret knew that he often saw himself out as he never wished to put her father out by such a task, especially so late in the evening. She saw him swivel his head around as if he were looking for something, or someone. Her perhaps? Her heart beat faster and she was afraid he might be able to hear it but she remained still. His countenance fell slightly when he didn't find what he was looking for. He took his coat from the rack and shrugged it on. He stopped mid shrug when he felt how warm it was. Pulling it on the rest of the way he looked around again this time with a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. He put on the warm hat and closed his eyes as if in ecstasy. The smile grew and he let out a small snort of a chuckle before he opened the door and left.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Margaret covered her mouth to suppress her own giggles, happy to see her small effort so well received. She wondered if Mr. Thornton would realize that she had done it or think it was Dixon. She walked up to the front door placing her hands upon it and leaning her forehead against it. She let out a long sigh of contentment as she rested there for a minute before turning to go up the stairs.
….oOo….
After pulling the door closed behind him, Mr. Thornton stood on the front stoop of the Hale's Crampton residence, basking in the warmth of his coat and hat. Had Margaret rendered him this kind service or was it Dixon under orders from the master of the house, for surely the housekeeper wouldn't do something nice for him of her own volition? He knew the answer but his treacherous heart refused to admit it.
He leaned his shoulder and head against the door. For a second he thought he heard some giggling. Then he heard the floorboards creek and the unmistakable sigh of Margaret as she passed the front door. He closed his eyes for a moment remembering her beautifully flushed face. He wasn't sure what to make of all of the events of this evening but his mind would certainly be pleasantly occupied contemplating them all. He picked himself up off the door and headed home.