All the world's a stage,and all the men and women merely players;They have their exits and their entrances,And one man in his time plays many parts.

~William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 2

Chapter Nineteen

The entire upstairs room of the men's club was decorated in fall colors. Of course, the color change here in Milton was far different from what she had experienced in the New Forrest, where Helstone was situated. There, this time of the year, perhaps a few weeks ago, was the prime time to view the variety of leaf colors: red, orange, and yellow.

The round tables, perhaps twenty of them, were covered in crisp white tablecloths. In the center of each, were yellow flowers in vases with white baby's breath. They reminded her of the lovely yellow roses which grew freely in the hedgerows of Helstone. Why was she so preoccupied by Helstone this evening? For light, candles lit each table, in addition to several huge candelabras hanging from the ceiling.

The tablescapes further enhanced the feel of Autumn. In all honesty, this Milton dinner party was comparing quite favorably to the London dinners she had attended. Leaves made from what looked like wool in reds and yellows and oranges were scattered all over each table randomly. The pristine white plates and shiny flatware with mother of pearl handles next to the beautiful crystal wine goblets, already filled with dark red wine, all contributed to create a very intimate feeling, despite the grand size of the room.

Margaret was quite impressed. "It is lovely."

He grinned. "I guarantee these parties are the only time when this room looks this well-kept."

"Men do not appreciate flowers and white table clothes?"

"It is not that we do not appreciate it," he answered. "Rather, it is irrelevant to our meetings how the place looks and smells."

That comment made her take a deep breath through her nose. There were no distinguishing smells, but perhaps many nights the room would carry the scent of cigars and liquor. She could imagine men loitering near the brick fireplace to cut the chill of the room. As the three walked further into the room, Margaret looked for any faces she might recognize.

Mrs. Donaldson was the first to walk up to them. She greeted Margaret with a kiss on each cheek and shook both John's and Mrs. Thornton's hands.

"Does it not look lovely?" she asked turning and sweeping her hand across the large room.

"It does," Margaret agreed, nodding. "It is very seasonally festive."

"You did a wonderful job, Mrs. Donaldson," Mrs. Thornton said. "The flowers turned out just as we had hoped."

Margaret turned toward Mrs. Thornton. "Do you help plan these parties, Mrs. Thornton?"

The older woman nodded. "There are four of us who do. In December, because John and I host the Mill Master's Dinner at our house, I do not have much to do with this dinner, but otherwise, I try to be involved."

"Mrs. Thornton you are being far too humble." Mrs. Donaldson rested her hand briefly on Mrs. Thornton's shoulder. "You often come up with the best ideas." She turned toward Margaret. "It is hard to develop new themes and ideas every year, but it seems to be enjoyed no matter what we do."

"Will you ladies excuse me?" John asked.

"Of course." Mrs. Donaldson smiled at him. She leaned forward and whispered, "Men do not often care for talk of décor."

John nodded at Margaret before he walked away. She found his behavior odd. In London, a courting or married couple would mingle together when they first entered a gathering. Only after greeting everyone might they part ways. This was the first formal party she had attended in Milton, so perhaps it was a northern custom, like women shaking hands.

"Is there something amiss?" Mrs. Thornton asked her.

She opened her mouth, thought better of her criticism, and then closed her mouth again with a shake of her head.

"I shall leave you two and greet the Slicksons!" Mrs. Donaldson scooted away, as smiley as ever.

"You must know you can confide in me," Mrs. Thornton said. "You seem troubled."

"Not precisely troubled. In London, Mr. Thornton would have made certain I met with everyone present before he might speak alone with his friends." Margaret shrugged. "I am being foolish."

Mrs. Thornton placed her arm through Margaret's and guided her further into the foray, away from the entrance. "My son has never courted a woman, but I think he has told you that already," she whispered. "I have taught him proper manners, but I seem to have missed this one in particular. You are correct, he should be introducing you to his friends, especially the people you have not become acquainted with thus far."

"It is fine," Margaret told her. "Please do not make an issue out of it."

"Are you certain? Perhaps you can suggest that his duty as your dinner partner extends a bit further." She chuckled, and Margaret had to look at her and ensure it was Mrs. Thornton laughing. "Just be certain you do not hang on his arm as Latimer always has." She laughed again. Twice in one day? She must be in a fine mood indeed. "Oh dear, I should not have said that. You and I can mingle. I would like to see the way Mrs. Donaldson placed the decorations throughout the room."

"How does she have the time to do all she does?" Margaret asked. She knew some of the projects the doctor's wife was involved with: her charity projects, her help as a midwife, and her role in the community. Margaret was starting to think there were even more activities she had not learned about yet.

"Her children are grown and have gone off to London. Dr. Donaldson has an exceptionally large practice, leaving her alone quite a bit. She has done so much for the poor of Princeton. I appreciate how she helps them, but I wonder if the baskets of food, do not make the poor dependent upon us, instead of forcing them to improve themselves so they may make it on their own."

Margaret pondered what Mrs. Thornton said. It was not the first time she had said something critical about the poor residents in Princeton. Now that Margaret knew some of the people who lived in the impoverished back-to-back houses, she felt pity for them, not condescension toward them.

Margaret had always known she was privileged, but until she saw the poverty in Princeton, she never realized the desperate straits a person could be. Bessie, with her deteriorating health, would pass away without proper care. Mrs. Penrod lost her husband, a good, hardworking man who never had the privilege to see his baby. She never could have imagined a mill being as dangerous as it seemed to be. At least Margaret and her father could help Mr. Penrod, give her a home for her and the baby, and a more importantly an income from a job.

Mrs. Thornton stopped them several times, where small groups of women were collected. Usually married women disengaged from their husbands after the initial greeting of the guests. Most of the women Mrs. Thornton introduced her to, she had already met, or at the very least she recognized their faces. A hush fell over the crowd and Margaret turned to see who or what was causing so much fuss.

"Oh my," Mrs. Thornton whispered. "What in the world is she wearing?"

All Margaret could do was stare.

Ann Latimer, grinning like a cat who caught a canary, entered on her father's arm dressed as a golden fairy. A fairy! Margaret swallowed back a laugh and bit the inside of her lip. Ann's dress was long-sleeved, shiny gold, reaching from shoulder to floor in multiple, heavy layers, making the skirt of the dress bell out much farther than usual. Her hair was screwed into some sort of point on the top of her head. It reminded Margaret of a unicorn horn. And wings. The girl had the cheek to wear a golden pair of wings on her back! As Ann moved, it was obvious, some sort of gold stain had been added to her face and any exposed skin sparkled in the candlelight. Was this supposed to be a costume party?

Clearly, Miss Latimer was intent on making some sort of statement. Margaret's dress was unique in its coloring and design, but modest and elegant. Margaret had wanted to be seen as alluring, and pleasing to John's eye, to make him proud to have escorted her. Miss Latimer, however, was dressed to shock and amaze people.

Margaret was not certain how to properly react. She covered her laugh with a strangled cough and simply turned her back on the young woman and pretended she had not seen her. The older women in the group where she and Mrs. Thornton had paused to visit closed their hanging jaws and slowly returned to the conversation they were having prior to Ann's stunning entrance. None of them dared to breach the topic of Ann Latimer, but Margaret did notice that their eyes glanced that way more than once.

"Would you get a look at that get-up?" Mr. Slickson snorted.

John followed Slickson's eyes and found what everyone was staring at. Ann Latimer was dressed rather odd. It was obvious she was seeking attention. Why else would any woman wear wings to a dinner party. Wings? This was not some sort of a masquerade party. What was she thinking? He blinked several times, and looked for Margaret, curious about her reaction.

Knowing her as well as he did now, he could see her stifling a laugh. Miss Latimer did look foolish, prancing as she was, nose in the air, entering as if the party were being held in her honor. He looked away from Miss Latimer when Margaret did, but instead of focusing back on the men he had been speaking with, his attention remained on his Margaret.

"I am certainly pleased your sister does not dress as outlandishly as that, Thornton." Slickson slapped him on the back. "Goodness, I would make my son choose another bride!"

John nodded, half listening, but mostly staring at the woman whom he hoped to make his wife. He excused himself, and as luck would have it, he ended up right in Miss Latimer's path. Margaret's face turned from pleased, to stormy in a matter of seconds. He met her gaze, shook his head at her, hoping she realized he was saying he was not under Miss Latimer's spell. She paused momentarily to greet Mr. Latimer. As he stepped away, Miss Latimer grabbed his arm, to stall him. Gently, he disengaged himself from her hold.

"Do you not like my dress this evening, Mr. Thornton?" She struck a pose as a model might. "Surely, you will choose me as the Autumn Queen."

He smiled coolly. "I hope you enjoy your evening, Miss Latimer."

"Please?" she begged, grabbing his arm again. "You know very well others follow whatever you do."

"Miss Latimer, I have my own Autumn Queen awaiting me." He nodded toward Margaret whose smile slowly widened. "I will say your gown is quite… original. I wish you well with the competition. Excuse me." He nodded to Mr. Latimer, briefly wondering where his wife was, and then stepped away to fetch Margaret.

He stopped next to her, on the opposite side of his mother. Boldly, he rested his hand on her lower back. Yes, it was a possessive gesture, and no he did not care if anyone objected. She smiled up at him and showed no offense to his forwardness.

"What did Ann say to you?" Her voice was low enough for only him to hear.

"Curious, aren't you?"

She gently jabbed her elbow into his side. "Tell me," she whispered.

He chuckled. "So violent," he teased. "She asked if I liked her dress and if I would vote for her as Autumn Queen."

"Ah. Thank you for telling me."

"Are you not curious if I will vote for her?" he asked.

She shrugged coyly. "It is your choice. I think she is dressed far fancier than anyone else present."

"You are my Autumn Queen," he whispered in her ear.

The flush that covered her cheek was enchanting. In his opinion, Margaret was the prettiest woman in the room, and no matter what Miss Latimer did to attempt to tempt him, he would never feel anything for her.

"Is there an Autumn King?" she asked with a smirk.

"There is." He nodded curtly.

"I think we should choose Fanny and her Mr. Slickson. But the choice is yours, of course."

"I like your idea," he answered, whispering near her ear. He watched her shiver, and goose bumps appear on the exposed flesh of her long neck.

He loved the reaction she always had to his touch. He was learning about women as he went, and fortunately, Margaret was as innocent as he was. They would learn and grow in love together. It was reassuring that her reaction to him was so positive. She responded to his touch much as he did to hers.

A bell chimed, forcing any talking and noise to cease. The room was completely silent and all attention turned to the front.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Robert Purdy, the host of the evening gained everyone's attention with his booming voice. "Welcome to our Autumn Dinner! We have moved couples to different tables this season as we always do. You may have to search for your name. Please do proceed to find your places and we will soon start."

"That is Mr. Robert Purdy. He manages this building, and always serves as host."

John took Margaret's hand and snaked it through the crook of his arm. He turned and offered his other arm to his mother, who had been standing close but not close enough to hear his conversation with Margaret over the other noise of the room.

"Shall we?" he asked, before leading them away.

"I hope we have good table companions," his mother said. She looked at Margaret. "Whomever you are seated with at this meal you will have for the whole season, Margaret."

They began at the table where they had sat the previous year, and slowly made their way around the room. Fanny and Slickson were seated already, and when he caught her eyes, he pointed their table, and she shook her head. They would not be seated together. Fanny would have more opportunities to act like her true self with Slickson if their mother was not there. Of course, he would not be so fortunate as he and Margaret would be with her.

Mr. Hamper waved them towards him, and he pointed to the chairs across from him and his wife. There was room for four couples at each table. Three of the spots had place cards labeled with each of their names. He sat his mother first, and then Margaret. He chose to sit between the two, so he could speak equally to each.

That was a worry he had. His mother was quite possessive of him, and even though she did like and approve of Margaret, he knew she would have a difficult time giving up his full attention. He sensed Margaret realized how close his relationship was with his mother, and when they were in each other's company she was already respectfully yielding to his mother in whatever she was doing or saying. Perhaps that was the relationship she had with her own mother, but he doubted it. Her mother was so fragile, while his reminded him of a lioness. She was behaving respectfully to her elder, someone Margaret knew John cared loved very much.

The Hampers were the other couple to join their table. He sighed, glad he would not have to deal with the Latimers for the whole of the dinner season. He glanced around, wondering where they did end up. Lucky for Latimer he was with the man and his wife who owned the bleach works. Both were friendly and quite easy to speak to. Two other seats were occupied by a cotton broker and his wife from Liverpool. Finally, one of the railroad executives was seated at the table with his wife and adult son. Perhaps he would become enchanted with Miss Latimer and she would finally leave John alone.

When he turned back to the table, Margaret was looking at him with a quirked brow.

"I wanted to see where the golden fairy was sitting. I worried all afternoon we would be forced to endure her company."

Margaret glanced surreptitiously behind his back.

"Who is she seated with? I wonder where Mrs. Latimer is this evening."

"She's seated with the son of a railroad executive." He met her eyes when she returned her attention to him. "His parents are also there, at the table, along with a couple who owns a bleach works here in Milton."

She nodded. "The railroader's son is someone whom I would think Mr. Latimer would approve."

He smiled. "I agree."

Just then his mother tapped his arm and took his attention away from Margaret. She wanted to talk about the Mill Master's Dinner, of all things. There was a full month before things needed to be finalized. But tonight, she wanted to speak about invitations. He rarely had much to do with the dinner, but when she said Fanny would likely be announcing her engagement at the dinner, there was more to take into consideration.

He glanced at Margaret thinking he might announce his own engagement. Without realizing it, while he was in discussion with his mother, Rupert Lewis had snuck into the seat next to Margaret and was speaking with her.

"I did not think you were coming," John heard her say.

"I wanted to see how well the two of you looked this evening. You worked so hard on your dress, I wanted to see how truly fabulous it is."

John did not like her smiling at Rupert. He knew Rupert's proclivities, so to be jealous was ridiculous, however, John wanted her attention all to himself. He fought a laugh. He had just criticized his mother for struggling to share his attention and yet he felt the same about Margaret.

"Good evening, Mr. Lewis." He nodded toward the dressmaker.

"Mr. Thornton! How fine you look this evening!" Lewis studied him closely.

"Thank you," he answered.

"I had seen Miss Hale's dress as it progressed, and now seeing her in the finished garment, I am very impressed."

"As am I," John agreed, looking at Margaret's dress. "But then, I am always impressed by Miss Hale."

Lewis laughed. He picked up his glass and saluted John. "Well said by a man enamored by a lovely woman of quality."

John lifted his own glass and tipped his head and goblet toward Lewis. He would not deny she was quickly becoming his everything. From the moment he woke, until the minute he went to sleep; she was never far from his thoughts. In the very middle of a work project, he would catch his mind wandering toward her, curious about what she was doing and how soon he could see her again.

Robert Purdy, the master of ceremonies clapped to get everyone's attention at the front of the room. Under the table, John reached for Margaret's hand, certain the tablecloth was hanging over long enough to cover his affectionate gesture. She turned when he touched her hand. Without hesitation, she placed her small hand in his, grinning, before their eyes were drawn back to the front of the room.

"I am very pleased to welcome all of the members of our club, along with their dinner partners." People clapped and Purdy took a low bow, the tails of his evening coat flapping behind him. "Our wait staff will soon begin to deliver the first course to your tables. Once they have completed that task, our entertainment will begin." He bowed, but just his head this time.

"I did not know there would be entertainment!"

He could hear the joy in Margaret's voice. "Always. However, we never know for certain what they will present. You likely know, we pay dues throughout the year to be a member. Those funds are used for activities like this."

"There is a club in London called White's," Margaret told him. "From what I have heard from Edith's husband, they have gambling and cock fights and other… activities… men enjoy."

"I have been there."

She frowned at him. "You have?"

He chuckled. "Why so surprised? There are men in London who are interested in investing in textiles. As the mills grow here and prosper, many men from outside of the area have found some financial gains by investing with us."

"I had no idea, Mr. Thornton." She reverted to his formal address. "I suppose I thought you alone financed the mill."

"I own the majority of it. Well, the Thornton family does. That includes mother and Fanny."

The waiters made it to their table, and set a large bowl of thick steaming fish and potato soup in front of each of the diners. For several minutes, no one said anything, enjoying the fresh bread that arrived with the soup.

After about ten minutes, some music began to play. One character, John thought it was a man dressed as a woman, pranced out on the make-do stage in front of them. Dressed lavishly, almost as gauche as Miss Latimer, the character wore a dress over trousers, a messy wig and heavy black and white facial coloring. He supposed it was a Harlequin and they would be entertained by a pantomime.

Holding a large, ornately decorated scroll, the character ostentatiously cleared his throat and began to tell the opening part of the story. The performance would be about a love triangle. The woman's father, a wealthy mill owner, had a beautiful daughter who was being courted by two different men. Of course, the one whom she loves is poor, but still a good man. Her other choice was quite wealthy but completely unappealing to her.

The character finished with a flourish, yelling "And whom shall she choose?"

Some people from the crowd yelled their guesses, but John remained quiet, observing Margaret's profile, wondering what she thought of the program. He knew pantomimes were popular in London, although they were usually geared toward the lower classes because they could often become raucous and obnoxious. The character bowed low, and after the clapping subsided, slowly crept off the 'stage' toward the kitchen.

"What do you think?" he asked her. "Is pantomime entertaining to you?"

She grinned. "No. However, I am quite pleased with my companion that not even a goat dancing on the tables could ruin my evening."

"Be careful with what you say, my girl," he warned. "A goat could very well be part of the program. The thing most interesting with this sort of entertainment is that although no matter if the story is always the same, or similar, the performers bring a new slant to it, and an air of unpredictability that adds to the excitement."

"You enjoy these tales, then?"

He nodded, trying to look as serious as he could. "I prefer it to the musical we attended several weeks ago."

She frowned. "Truly?"

He shook his head and allowed a grin to spread across his face. "No. While I do not consider myself a snob, I prefer entertainment with more substance to it. Whether it be a concert, play, as in a theater production, or even listening to fine music in someone's home with good people, I would rather spend my evenings that way. And, with you." He winked.

He was distracted by the waiters removing the empty bowls from the first course. Like clockwork, the next course was immediately placed in front of them. A nice juicy piece of beef, a smaller cut of mutton, with boiled potatoes and creamed corn was garnished with some sort of green thing. Parsley maybe? He never understood why cooks felt the need to make the food look pretty, when all he cared about was how well it tastes.

"They are certainly making certain we are well fed," Margaret quipped. "I fear I might become so full that this dress will not fit as intended."

"One meal will not affect your alluring figure."

She leaned close to his ear. "You are being quite flirtatious this evening, Mr. John Thornton."

"Is it working?" He took a sip of wine and wiped the corner of his mouth.

She giggled. "It depends what your intentions are."

"Nothing untoward, I assure you." He paused and became serious. "I am simply glad to be with you. You have already made this evening quite special for me."

"Pray tell, how have I managed that?"

"Just being beside me is sufficient." He tipped his head and returned his attention to his plate.

His mother tapped his arm, and commented on the tenderness of the beef, and offered him her mutton. Mutton and lamb were his mother's least favorite dishes, and while in abundance at the meat market, she rarely ordered it. For the Mill Master's dinner, they would eat pork, or ham perhaps. Ham and beef were something she often offered their guests.

As with the first course, once everyone had their plates for the second course, new, costumed characters rushed to the front of the room. The male character led the woman, who was actually a man, on a merry chase, trying to grab her skirts. He glanced at Margaret surprised by the slight grin on her face.

He wondered if her Aunt Shaw would approve of this sort of entertainment. He highly doubted it. His taciturn mother found it vulgar, but like Margaret, she would endure the program to please him. How fortunate it was that he knew Mr. Bell and had made the connection with the Hales. He ignored the pantomime, just as Margaret seemed to be doing and instead stared at her, thinking there could have been a chance they never would have crossed paths. She had no reason to ever visit Milton, and although he did go to London, the chance of meeting her, considering the company he maintained while in the capitol city would have likely prevented him from meeting her. He was never there long enough to truly socialize.

The sound of angry yells and thundering footfalls drew John's attention reluctantly from Margaret. An older male character, likely the female character's father stormed up the aisle between tables. When he reached the front of the room, he almost violently pulled the younger man away from his daughter, the younger man landing with a thud on his rump. The girl, as expected, began to plead and cry, but the father character would not accept her pleas. When the younger man stood again, the father character kicked him in his bottom and sent him scurrying away in fear.

The father gave the daughter a tongue lashing, reminding her that the other man was a good for nothing who would never amount to anything. She tried to argue, but the father would not be swayed. A violin began to play at the back of the room, and another character joined the cast. This man was prancing, like a pompous dandy up the aisle to the front. When he reached the front of the room, he took the daughter's hand and began to waltz to the rhythm of the violin. The father moved back, giving them room, nodding happily and rubbing his hands together as if in anticipation of the money the man would bring to his family.

When the dance ended, she pulled away. Lifting her hands as if to tell him to back away and stop, she shook her head, and then, skirts flying, she ran away, between tables toward the back of the room. The father was angry, chided the man that he needed to woo his daughter if he expected to win her heart. The man, not deterred, simply tightened his cravat, and smoothed down his hair. Unlike his girl who just ran by them, the second suitor walked in a dignified manner to the back of the room.

The action moved behind them, the wealthy man trying to entice the girl to dance with him some more. After all, her other suitor had disappeared, so he must not love her as much as she loved him. Hanging her head, she allowed him to lead her up to the front, and when the violin began to play, their dance resumed. She was miserable, wailing that her life was over.

Margaret's hand reached for his again. Wine goblets were refilled, by passing men dressed as jesters. Lord, would they have to endure the antics of jesters that tonight, too? He would not have minded a bard telling an old story, but this production was anything but enjoyable.

"At least the costumes are funny," she said. "I wonder if Miss Latimer expected to be called up to stage?"

He laughed, drawing his mother's attention.

"Margaret thinks the costumes are creative."

Perpetually frugal, his mother said, "Well, there is something to be said for a good use of old gowns."

He sipped the dark red wine before saying, "Fortunately, people need new clothing from time to time or I would be out of business."

He focused back on the stage just as the daughter actress slapped the face of her would-be suitor for blatantly and roughly grabbing her derriere. She ran off stage again, with him following closely behind. The father character followed, much slower, shaking his head in frustration.

John groaned inwardly and turned to look at Margaret's reaction. Her cheeks were red, blushing, no doubt, from the exchange they had witnessed on stage.

"I am sorry," he said leaning toward her. "I had no idea it would be quite this… uncouth."

She shrugged. "It is not your fault, Mr. Thornton. I may be inexperienced in such matters, but I am an adult and can deal with whatever they decide to add to their performance."

He looked skeptical.

"Truly. Would you like my mutton?" she asked, changing the subject. "I hate to waste food; I simply never developed the taste for it."

He smiled. "I already have inherited my mother's mutton." He pointed to the mutton with his fork. "She does not like it either. What does that look on your face mean?"

She blushed. "I was trying to think of a way to get this smuggled out of here so I can give it to my father or Mrs. Penrod. I pray she can cook better than I can. I fear my father will not survive long with my cooking." She laughed at herself, shaking her head.

"That is one thing I love about you, Margaret. You are humble despite all you have to offer the world."

Her blush deepened and she looked away.

John grinned, "I also love that I can make you blush."

"I am nothing special, John," she whispered. "Do no make me out to be more than I am."

"See, far too humble. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever known. You have a huge heart, you are willing to do what needs to be done without complaint or fuss." He paused, garnered all his courage and said, "Margaret, you surely understand what I feel for you."

Her eyes shot up to his face.

A waiter came to their table, interrupting the intimate moment. Empty and nearly empty plates were collected, following with servers carrying bottles to refill wine glasses. She covered the glass with her hand, but he accepted more.

"I do not drink much as a rule, but this wine tastes particularly good tonight."

She smiled at him. "As I am coming to know you, I realize you dislike feeling out of control of your environment. If you drank too much, it might impair your judgement and behavior."

How did she know him so well already?

Coffee was offered to those who wanted it, as small plates of sweets set on top of leaves constructed of paper were placed in front of them. He recognized two of the four choices right away; the berry and cream puffed pastries were always his favorite desert, and a miniature, round queen's cake, with cream and raspberry filling. The other two sweets he would have to try to know for certain.

"Mmmm." He turned to see Margaret savoring something served in the small glass bowl on the plate.

"Good?"

"Mmm Hmm. Nesselrode pudding."

"I don't know that one."

"It is a whipped cream with vanilla. This one has raisins, currants and nuts. I think they are chestnuts. Oh, it is so good. Try it." She pointed at him with her spoon before she dug back into the glass cup.

She watched him, making him a bit self-conscious. She was correct. It did taste like heaven. He loved whipped cream, and with the extras added in, it was wonderful.

"You are right. Delicious. Now try the berry pastries. It looks like mine might be blackberries. Is yours raspberry?"

She cut a piece and took a small whiff of it. "Yes. Raspberry. Do you prefer one over the other?"

"I love sweets and am not very particular."

She chuckled.

"What?"

"You are so fit, I cannot believe you have a sweet tooth."

"Yes ma'am." He took bites out of the other two items. The queen cakes were overstuffed with raspberry jam and cream. He was not certain what the final biscuits were, but they had the flavor of amaretto.

"Delicious," she proclaimed. She reached forward and put some cream and sugar into her coffee before taking a sip.

A violin began to play music akin to a wedding march. The characters of the pantomime had changed costumes again. The groom and minister characters were the first to arrive at the front of the room. Soon, the pretend bride, bawling with gusto, walked down the aisle on her father's arm. It was clear she did not wish to marry the wealthy man.

When all four characters were in place, the minister began the fake wedding ceremony. When it reached the point of the service where the minister asks if anyone might object, as expected, the rejected suitor, screamed from the back of the room that he objected to the union. John sighed. He had hoped the story might end up more original.

A sound, like breaking glass, reverberated through the room. He frowned, an odd, sinking feeling forming in his stomach. Seemingly oblivious to the noise, the characters continued with their script. Perhaps the noise was nothing, maybe just something dropped in the kitchen. He tried to concentrate on the story, but he could not shake the niggling feeling something was amiss.

More glass broke, but this time, he realized it was a window. Something flaming had flown through it, and landed close to the performers. They looked around, shocked by it, and seemingly frozen.

Someone poured water over the fire and it was quickly extinguished.

"What in the world?" Margaret placed her hand on his arm.

"Keep your eyes open, love," he told Margaret. "If I start to move, follow as quickly as you can. I do not what is happening, but…"

His words were cut off as three more flaming stones soared through the windows, breaking the glass, which flew through the air and hit one of the tables closest to the window. The flaming stones landed on the floor. His mind worked feverishly, thinking of the safest escape should the need arise. Mr. Purdy came to the front, picked up what looked like a huge rock. Suddenly, dozens of stones were hitting the walls and windows.

"Come along." He took Margaret's and his mother's hand and rushed them to the back of the room, where they could exit down the back stairs. There was no guarantee they would be safe there either, but at least they would not be trapped by fire on the third floor of the old building made of brick and wood.

Smoke began clouding the room. There were so many windows in the room, and the rocks were pelting at and breaking all of them.

"John!" His mother screamed. "What about Fanny?"

"Slickson will get her to safety," he yelled over all the other screams.

His mother tripped and fell. John pushed Margaret ahead.

"Keep going Margaret," he yelled. "The door is all the way back." He helped his mother stand up again.

"I can hardly breathe, John!"

"We are almost to the doorway, Mother." Coughing and eyes burning he pulled his mother as quickly as she could go.

He pushed opened the door fully, and allowed it to stay open for the people behind him. But where was Margaret?

"Margaret?" He screamed.

"I am on the stairs!" she called back.

Sputtering and coughing the three of them reached the main street. Fanny and Slickson bumped into them as they emerged from the building, followed by the Slicksons and Hampers.

Shaggy men were standing all around the building holding flaming sticks in their hands and screaming obscenities. He watched, transfixed as the fools. They watched as one man took his flaming torch and set the building on fire. Almost as one, the rest of the ruffians moved forward.

"Down with you wealthy bastards!" Men were screaming all sorts of foul words. "Watch us ruin you!"

As if mentally summoned, the Thornton carriage pulled up, blocking them from the rocks being thrown. John helped his mother into the carriage, making certain she was safe and unharmed. Fanny pushed passed him and climbed inside next to their mother. John moved back to take Margaret's hand.

"No!" she screamed. "Oh, John!"

She roughly pushed him forward, falling on top of him. He broke her fall, but she was knocked out and there was blood oozing from the side of her head.

"Slickson what happened?"

"A man… a rock hit her," Slickson said, shock registering on his face.

"Go get the bastard and sit on him if you have to, until I get back."

He heard the bells of the fire brigade. The police were close behind, jumping from their wagons, rounding up the fools.

"Thornton, I do not see him," Slickson said.

"Damn it! Margaret?" He cradled her in his arms as he sat on the ground, ignoring the blood staining his coat and all the chaos that surrounded him.

"Help me up, Slickson." Slickson took Margaret from John's arms. John stood, feeling a bit dizzy. He grabbed onto the side of the carriage.

"Are you well?" Slickson asked.

"I am. Just knocked the wind out of me. Here." He held out his arms for Margaret. "I will see the women home and return. Would you find the police chief and tell him I will be back within the hour."

Slickson nodded. "I'll get my parents into their carriage and find him."

"Thank you. Thank you for keeping Fanny safe, too." He climbed into the carriage, making certain not to hurt Margaret's head any worse that it had already been injured.

"John?" His mother asked, a worried tone in he voice. She coughed, and then Fanny started coughing.

"I do not know yet, mother. Margaret must have seen something and pushed me out of the way. She was hit in the head with a huge rock, likely aimed at me." He adjusted her close against him, He felt sick. How could this have happened? "Can you see to Margaret until I can get Donaldson to the mill house?"

"Yes, of course. She may have saved your life," his mother said.

That was too close to the truth for him. What had she seen?

"Fanny are you well?"

She nodded, still coughing. "I might throw up."

"Well, if you have to, do so," he said. "That was horrible."

"Is it the strikers?" his mother asked.

He shook his head. "I will not know until I return and get information from the police."

"Why must you return?" Fanny asked.

"I am Milton's Magistrate. I have to be there to see what damage has been done and who was involved in this attack."

He gently rubbed Margaret's back. Without thinking of his audience, he kissed her forehead.

"Is she breathing normally?" his mother asked.

John leaned forward to judge her heartbeat and breathing. "Yes. Her heart rate is very fast. I think it is hers, it could be my heart beating hard, though."

"You love her, don't you?" Fanny asked him.

John glanced at his mother before nodding curtly.

A/N Many of you have followed my work for a long time and I am so appreciative of your support. We are getting to our happy ending. I believe there will be 4 more chapters to this story. This is the first book in a series, with John and Margaret solving crimes around Milton. Somehow, he juggles work and she juggles their home. Anyway. The way I always write these is to post all the chapters (unedited) here and then have the final product edited, published on Amazon and then removed from this site. Again, thank you for your support

xxJulia