"If a man neglects education, he walks lame to the
end of his life."
~Plato
Chapter Two
"What in the world do you want with the classics, or literature study, my son? You are a worker; a businessman, a manufacturer of the finest cotton in all the world. You have no need for such lofty study as Greek and Latin."
John Thornton had just explained to his dear mother how he would be spending the rest of his evening, and two evenings a week going forward. Clearly, and expectedly, she was critical of his decision to better himself, to resume the education he was cheated of when his father killed himself nearly fifteen years earlier.
"It's a diversion, mother, nothing more. I do not drink, or gamble. I have no vices that prevent me from being successful in life." John rested his hand on his mother's shoulder, stilling her stitching. "Can I not have this one pleasure without your censure?"
"A defrocked clergyman turned private tutor!" she barked. "Why are you even involved with such a man? How can you be involved with such a man?"
John sighed. "He is not defrocked, Mother. It was his choice to dissent from some of the teachings of the church and his conscious could no longer allow him to preach tenets he no longer believed." He moved to the mirror near the doorway of the drawing room and straightened his cravat before turning back to face her. "Mr. Bell recommended him to me. Mr. Hale has settled into one of Mr. Bell's Crampton properties."
"Ah, Mr. Bell. Mr. Bell this, Mr. Bell that. What has he ever done for you, John? When you were young and studying at his school, when we needed the help, where was he then?" She tossed aside her needlework and stood stiffly in her black silk gown.
"You have no reason to hold a grudge, Mother. Bell had no reason to do anything to help us. He and father were virtual enemies, in constant discord over business and investments. You forget it was Mr. Bell who found me the job with the draper's shop and then later when Mr. Marlborough was nearing retirement, recommended me to him as an overseer. Had he not done those things we would not be in the position we are today, Mother."
They stared at one another, John prepared to further defend his actions, his mother likely coming up with even more objections.
"You will spend two nights a week with a Dissenter from the Church of England. What good will come of it?" Her voice was rough, with the true Darkshire accent. "What will people think?"
"Since when do you give a fig about what others think, Mother?" He chuckled. She liked to know what others were doing, but rarely concerned herself with their opinion.
"You have a position to maintain in Milton." Her voice was rising again. "These Hales will bring nothing but trouble." She pointed her finger at him. "You mark my words. They will bring trouble."
He chuckled. "Why Mother, you are prejudiced! The Hales are not Milton people, not Northerners. People from the South are not quite as good as us, eh?"
"Do not talk such foolishness." She snorted. "Prejudiced indeed!"
"What would you call it, then? Fear?"
"I fear no one, John Thornton." She marched closer to him. "I never have. Even when the bankers were banging down our door after your father's death, seeking their repayments, I had no fear."
He grinned, recalling in his mind just how formidable she was at that time. He had felt fear and such sadness at the loss of his father. She, in contrast, allowed her anger to guide her behavior, and he believed even held that anger today. With everyone but him, and sometimes Fanny, she appeared a bitter old widow. From her constant dress in black, to her sharp, curt answers, Mrs. Hannah Thornton was still seen as formidable, perhaps even more so now, as she had raised him to be a well-respected, powerful mill master and magistrate in Milton.
"If you have no fear or prejudice, perhaps you will keep an open mind when you meet the family," he suggested.
"Family? I had imagined he was a bachelor! He left his stable position with the church and came to Milton with no certainty of income and he has a family!"
John crossed his arms against his chest. He had expected some concern from his mother, simply because she had something to say about everything he did, but this was more than he could have envisioned.
"Mr. Hale has a living from his family's estate, and as I understand it, Mrs. Hale was once a debutante in London, the daughter of Sir John Beresford of Rutlandshire."
She shook her head and frowned. "That means nothing to me. Titles mean nothing in Milton." Her hand cut through the air. "If anything, it will make Mrs. Hale less comfortable here." She clucked her tongue. "She's probably some fine lady who has never dirtied her hands in her life."
"And yet you are not prejudiced?" He laughed again. "It surely sounds as if you have figured out her character before setting eyes upon her."
"I will meet her if you wish." Nose tipped way up in the air, she returned to her chair and picked up her stitching. "In fact, tell her I will call upon them tomorrow for tea."
He moved forward and kissed her head. "Thank you. Mother. She may have been raised quite different from you, may have lived a very different life, but I reckon she will need a friend here."
"I never said I would be her friend, John." The gravelly voice was back. "I cannot be a tender friend, but I will welcome her as I would any newcomer of her station to Milton."
"Very well," He shoved his arms into the sleeves of his heavier woolen coat. "I will alert the Hales to your visit tomorrow morning. I shall order the horses readied, as well. Crampton would be a bit of a walk for you."
"Nonsense, I shall simply hire a cab."
He snorted. "Last time you did that, Mother, you complained of a headache for three days straight."
"I did not." How indignant she sounded, as if she was impermeable to a simple headache.
"Our carriage will be readied for you when you are ready for it. Good evening, Mother." He walked through the doorway and into the hall, pausing when he heard her voice calling out to him.
"Will you be home for my readings tonight?"
He rolled his eyes and held onto his sigh. Returning to the doorway, he peeked around it, back into the room. "You know I always am, except on Wednesdays when I am with the other mill masters for our weekly meeting. So, yes, Mother, I will continue to enjoy your readings at ten o'clock sharp. Perhaps choose something uplifting from the Old Testament. Today has already been a mighty long day."
He retraced his steps and left her alone to stew in the drawing room. Despite her attitude about meeting new people, John had no reservations about the Hales. Mr. Richard Hale had visited the mill that very morning to set up their study appointments and John found him very pleasant. His mother was prejudice, no doubt about it. Either that or fearful of people she did not know. Over the course of the past few years her circle of friends had tightened to just the few women she visited during her sewing meetings twice weekly.
Even if Mr. Bell had not recommended Mr. Hale so highly, John would still have been impressed by the soft-spoken, gentleman he'd met that morning. He carried himself with grace and had a certain air of intelligence without any arrogance. He'd clearly been excited to meet John, already had ideas of what they might study together. John had chosen to begin with Homer as his Greek was weaker than his Latin. John could fumble through Ovid and Virgil in Latin, but Greek… well that was a weakness he wished to rectify.
He picked up his hat and gloves in the front hall and after the butler, Bently, opened the heavy door, John exited into the growing darkness of the gloomy evening. Usually, September was never quite this dreary. It seemed during this last week the sun had failed to shine at all. Of course, stuck in his mill nearly fourteen hours a day, the sun could be shining, bringing warmth to those outside and he would have no idea.
The walk to Crampton would do him good. Filled with an excess of energy, the walks to the suburb would alleviate some of the pent up energy, perhaps allow his mind to relax and separate from the mill business and allow him to concentrate on his new learning venture.
Excitement and anticipation zinged through him. When was the last time he had done something new, something unexpected? His life was run by a rigid schedule, beginning daily with the steam engine ignition and ending long after the final closing bell when the looms were put to bed. This commitment to Mr. Hale would pull his attention from the mill, which may or may not allow for extra hours on other days, but he needed this change, this alteration to his schedule. Life had become mundane and oh, so dull.
He had walked but five blocks when a constable waved him down. He stopped and waited for the uniformed man to jog across the street, dodging passing carriages, to meet up with him. Although he knew many of the lawmen of Milton, this particular man was not familiar to him. John was well known, recognized by most on the streets of Milton as both a successful mill master and a magistrate.
The man tipped his hat toward John. "Sergeant Snipes, Mr. Thornton, sir."
"How do you do?" John tipped his own hat to the man in greeting.
"I was heading to Marlborough Mills to see you, sir," Snipes told him. "There was an incident in Crampton I thought you might wish to know about."
John looked around to find a quiet, secluded place where others could not listen in. He treated his police business with as much secrecy as he could. "Let's step over here."
They walked to the edge of an alleyway, and John stopped right under a freshly lit gaslight.
"Well?" John asked.
"There was a murder, sir." Snipes' voice was quite low. "No one in the area was able to identify the man's body. It was found in the alley behind Fulbright Street, right where Mr. Bell's properties are situated."
"I see."
"I should not have bothered you had it been a simple murder, sir, but as you manage those houses, I thought it best that you knew of the situation."
"And I thank you for that, Sergeant. It seems rather peculiar. Crampton is the safest of the suburbs, is it not?"
"Yes indeed." Snipes nodded repeatedly. "If only I could afford it that is where I would settle my own family."
"I would welcome updates, Sergeant. For the sake of the man's family, I hope he can be identified."
"I have had his face sketched and it will appear in the newspaper day after tomorrow, sir."
"Very good, Snipes. Well done. Good evening." John tipped his hat and continued his trek toward Crampton.
Crampton was the suburb where middle managers lived. People such as his overseer Williams, and those moving up in society. It was near the back-to-back houses of Princeton where his hands lived, and thus robbery or burglary may have been a motive, but murder? In all his years managing the houses in Crampton, there had never been any violent crimes. Domestic disputes were not unheard of, nor squabbles between neighbors, but never a murder.
He would have to inform Mr. Bell. Although the elderly gentleman spent most of his time between Oxford and London, he still kept a finger in the business of Milton, at least where his investments were concerned. John's mother had been far too harsh when discussing Bell earlier. The man had no reason to do anything for their family after John's father's suicide. He helped John find work enough to support his mother and baby sister. John came to understand the value of a hard day's work, and learned young that he had to work hard to rise above the others unwilling to push themselves.
The early labor made him tough, and it was that work ethic which led him to where he was today, the mill master at Marlborough Mills, the most profitable textile factory in Milton. He knew he was arrogant, perhaps a bit conceited at times when meeting with the other mill masters. They were all so much older than he was, more experienced, more worldly and he believed the only way to impress them, or show his true capabilities was with a full dose of pride and superior behavior.
With Mr. Hale tonight John could hardly behave in such a way. In truth, John's nature was not arrogant, many days he still felt like the scared little boy working hard to put food on his mother's table so little Fanny could eat. Mr. Hale was John's superior in all things academic, and John hoped Mr. Hale could replace the years of learning John lost while fighting for the livelihood of his family.
Before he realized it, John approached Fulbright Street and turned. He had planned to call on Williams and his wife, but their home was dark as he passed. The Hales, he knew, lived just a few doors down. At Mr. Bell's request, John had been there just weeks before the Hale's arrival to ensure all was as it should be in the small, two story home.
After walking up the short set of stairs, he rapped on the door and removed his hat.
"That must be Mr. Thornton calling." Margaret's mother said quietly, in response to the jingle of the bell from the front door. They were upstairs stitching in her mother's bedroom, the largest of all the bedchambers.
Margaret glanced at the clock next to her mother's bed. It was precisely seven, the time agreed upon by her father and Mr. Thornton. Punctuality is the politeness of kings. He might be a tradesman, a manufacturer, but at least he understood the courtesy of being on time.
"Yes, Mama, I believe you are right." She gave her mother a small grin. "Papa has been very excited all day for him to arrive. I do not believe I have seen him quite so happy since Edith's wedding this past summer."
"At least he is happy," her mother snapped. "Are you quite certain you finished putting the room in proper order for their studies? Your father believes this Mr. Thornton will bring more pupils his way and everything must be just so."
"I did." Margaret nodded, and resumed her stitching.
She ignored her mother's barb about happiness. Margaret was not unhappy here, it was just so very different from London and Helstone. With the death in the alley, she worried a bit about their safety in the northern town, but other than that, and lack of friends, Margaret was content.
Sergeant Snipes had sent a man to add a sliding wooden plank to bar the front and back door. The same man was kind enough to test the latches on all the windows of the first floor. Margaret felt much safer after he had left, and her mother had not even seemed to notice the disruption of hammering.
"Your father was pleased?"
Margaret sighed. Why had her mother not simply checked for herself? Or even better why had she not joined them at the dinner table?
"Yes, Mama. Papa appeared quite content with the arrangements of the room. We brought just enough furniture from Helstone to make the room quite comfortable and likewise useful for study purposes."
It was odd that her mother had not taken over the decorating of this new home. Aunt Shaw would not have allowed Edith to choose furniture placement, or which decorations should be placed where. Margaret's mother was so low in spirits, had no incentive to leave her bedchamber, even for meals, it was no wonder she truly did not care how the rest of the house appeared.
She would, however, leave for tea with Mr. Thornton in one hour's time. Her father had given her mother no choice in the matter. Her father had wanted them to meet the man as soon as he arrived, and remain in the study while he gave Mr. Thornton his lesson. Margaret was willing, thinking her father needed the added confidence family provided, but her mother refused. Margaret quickly decided it might be best to sit with her mother until the appointed time and then make certain she came down with her. That might be the only way Mama would leave the bedchamber.
Margaret began to think her mother's behavior was an attempt to illicit pity or sympathy from them. Instead, it only frustrated Margaret's father, gave more work to Dixon who was forced to climb and descend the stairs two or three times more than usual each day, and required Margaret to run the household. How could they sympathize with her? They were all experiencing an enormous change. While always somewhat fragile, with a weak constitution, her mother was acting more poorly than usual.
Once Sergeant Snipes left, Margaret spent the next six straight hours putting the study together just as her father instructed. Furniture was moved and dusted and fluffed. Books were arranged in her father's specified order and both rugs and curtains were aired. The room was cozy, a bit tight, but suitable for the needs of her father and his pupils.
"What do you expect him to be like, Margaret?"
She glanced up at her mother and paused her stitching. "Mr. Thornton?"
"Yes, of course. Who else?"
"Mama, you need not be so short with me. My mind had drifted elsewhere."
"I'm sorry, my dear." She set aside her stitching and covered her face. "I so dislike the idea of strangers in my home."
"After this evening he will no longer be a stranger." How hard it was to constantly think with optimism. "Father says he must tutor in order to have sufficient funds to support the family, therefore, we must support this endeavor."
Her mother rubbed her face before moving her hands away and turning back to Margaret. "What merchant needs to know Greek and Latin?"
"John Thornton is likely the oldest pupil Papa will see. It is not the merchants he hopes to tutor, but their sons. The tradesmen hope their sons will surpass their own success in the world."
"Even so! Oh Margaret, what am I to do?" Her mother cried. "I have no wish to even leave this room, much less the house. How can I bear this? How can I live like this?"
"You must try, Mama." She reached out and squeezed her mother's trembling hand. "We will make friends, like Mrs. Williams who first greeted us as we arrived. We will meet people at church this Sunday, good women who you will like."
"And do you promise this?" her mother demanded. "How can you be certain? All I have seen are ragged, dirty people. Even the farmers in Helstone cleaned themselves."
Margaret chuckled. "Mother you have not been out of this house since we came, but to go to the market one day. We saw maids, of likely fine families, shopping for their employers. They were hardly bedraggled and poorly dressed."
"There were others, Margaret, I simply did not point them out to you."
It was pointless to argue with her mother. On that trip to the market, Margaret had seen no one such as her mother feared. Earlier this morning, however, on her travel to the constable, Margaret had seen a wide variety of people, some who would likely frighten and repel her delicate mother.
"We must try our best, Mama, for Papa's sake. This is difficult for him, too, but perhaps God has brought us here for a specific reason. We must become a part of Milton. We cannot hide ourselves away. Life will be so fuller if we meet people, become part of the life here."
"You speak as if you like Milton."
Margaret slowly shook her head. "This would never have been my first choice for removal, yet, here we are and we must make the best of it. The choice was made for us, Mother. I cannot say I like it here, but perhaps in time, once we make acquaintances and friends that will change."
"Why could your father not go to Oxford?" More tears fell from her mother's eyes. "Surely Mr. Bell could have found him a position there."
"He is a Dissenter from the Church, Mama," Margaret reminded her. "He would hardly be welcomed in Oxford. Here, in Milton, he is unknown. He will teach subjects he loves. He has always been happy in his books, studying. Perhaps he should have become an instructor at Oxford, not a minister of the Church, but he cannot change that now. We must look ahead, not behind."
"All I see is sadness ahead, my dear. Sadness, loneliness and isolation." Again her mother's hands covered her face.
"Mama, you must not speak like that." Margaret realized coddling her would just increase her mother's whining. "We have a home here, one that I have done my best to make warm and comfortable for our little family. Dixon is looking for a young woman to help several days a week, to ease her burdens, and if Mr. Thornton has a family, perhaps they will be so good as to introduce us to those who they associate with."
"Cotton spinners?"
"He is not a common laborer. I understand he owns the mill, Mama. According to the letter from Mr. Bell, Mr. Thornton is well respected here in Milton, perhaps not as grand as a London gentleman you always wished I would meet, or maybe even the young Mr. Gorman who builds carriages in Helstone, but here, in this industrial town, he is the best of the best."
Silence hung in the room as both returned to their handiwork. Her mother preferred to knit, while Margaret loved to stitch and sew. It was calming, the use of hands to create a small thing of beauty. Margaret could draw, not faces so clearly, but landscapes and nature. At Helstone she would spend hours in the woods of the New Forest sketching. How pleasant that had been, with the sun on her face, and the smell of flowers and trees which Margaret had yet to uncover here in Milton.
"I imagine this Mr. Thornton to be as old as your father. What do you think, Margaret?"
"I am sure I do not know." Margaret frowned. Her concentration of the day had been set on getting the house ready for Mr. Thornton and preventing her mother learning about the dead body in the alleyway. "It would be rather strange, though, a man of father's age wanting to suddenly resume his studies from so long ago?"
"He must be young, then." Her mother concluded.
"Not too young. It would surely take time to become a master of a mill, unless his family was in a good financial position. Perhaps his father started the mill and then he stepped in once his father retired?"
"I suppose we will learn more shortly, my dear. Your father has said very little about him to me, except that he is a tenant of Mr. Bell, who owns the buildings of Marlborough Mills which Mr. Thornton operates."
"Papa said he expects a visit from Mr. Bell next week to see that we have settled in."
"Perhaps he will introduce us to some of the people he associates with while here, whatever society there may be."
"I'm sure he will be pleased to do just that." Margaret intentionally made a bright smile for her mother. "You must be strong by the time he arrives. Strong enough to travel about Milton wherever he cares to take us."
"I do not know if I can be, but for you, I shall try."
It was a half-hearted smile which she gave Margaret, but it was better than tears. A rap at the door had them both turn that way, anticipating Dixon's announcement that the tea was ready. Had a full hour passed since Mr. Thornton's arrival? Margaret called her inside.
"Is it time already, Dixon?" Margaret asked.
"Not just yet, Miss, Dixon said. "I come up to see if your mother might need help getting dressed."
"Ah," was all Margaret could answer.
"What is he like, Dixon?" Her mother stood from her chair. "Margaret and I have been wondering what sort of man Mr. Thornton might be."
"Young, not passed forty for certain. Quite tall and formidable. Mannerly and respectable toward me. Mr. Hale met him with great enthusiasm."
"Well," her mother sighed, "at least one of us will."
"Mama! You must be cordial. In your life as a minister's wife, and before that as a debutante in London, you met so many different kinds of people, surely you can adjust to this man. Perhaps we will meet with him only this evening and Papa will never require it of us again?"
"Let us hope so."
"If you approach him with such a negative attitude, Papa will be disturbed. You must try." How ridiculous her mother was acting. Indeed she behaved as a spoiled child might.
"I shall. Do not expect me to say much to him, but I will be a pleasant as I can be."
Margaret held back a groan. Why must her mother be this way? Margaret was not excited to interact with this man, or any of the manufacturers of Milton, but to appease her father, to help him settle into this new world, she would do just about whatever was required.
Dixon helped each lady fix their hair and straighten their collars and sleeves. Margaret added just a bit of color to her cheeks, and suggested her mother do the same, but she refused. She would not primp for a cotton manufacturer.
"Mother, perhaps you should put off meeting Mr. Thornton until you have settled into Milton? I fear you may say something to offend the man and lose father one of his wealthiest pupils."
"Margaret! I shall do no such thing."
"Then you must put a smile upon your face and pretend to be happy that he is in our home. It is through his work with Papa that we will be able to hire a helper for Dixon."
"Yes, of course. I must remember that." Her mother shook her head. "This is all just so peculiar, so strange to me."
"To all of us." Margaret took her mother's hand. "Come we must meet the man, welcome him into our home and hope that he is a gentlemanly sort, someone who can introduce us to the better people in Milton society." Margaret turned to their maid. "How do we look Dixon?"
"Just as you should, Miss Margaret, just as you should."
As Margaret and her mother descended the stairs, men's voices could easily be heard seeping from the study. It was clear whose voice belonged to whom, and truth be told, Margaret rather liked the deep, baritone Darkshire accent of Mr. Thornton. How different it sounded from the smooth, cultured tones most men in London worked so long to develop.
The tea tray was waiting on the hallway table to be delivered to the men. Margaret picked it up and once Dixon opened the door for her, she entered the room, with no feelings of trepidation or awkwardness. She was disposed to treat Mr. Thornton with friendliness and most of all welcoming civility and courtesy. She knew, even if her mother did not yet accept it, association with Mr. Thornton would be their pathway to acceptance in Milton, and as Milton was where they had settled, Milton must be where they were accepted.
As the women entered, both men stood from the desk they shared as they studied together. She caught her breath as she met Mr. Thornton's eyes. They were the bluest she had ever seen, and together with his excessive height and broad-shoulders, he would turn any woman's eye. His face was not particularly remarkable, except for his eyes, and while she knew he was not quite a gentleman, there was nothing in his manner of greeting which would suggest otherwise.
Senses returned, Margaret greeted the visitor with a kind smile and set the tea tray across the room, where a sofa and two chairs had been set near the fire.
"I hope we have not entered too early, interrupting your studies," Margaret said.
"Not at all, Miss Hale," Mr. Thornton said. "It has been many years since I have had the opportunity to read Greek, and your father and I have both surmised a slow progression at first will be best."
Margaret sat on the sofa next to her mother and waited for her mother to pour the tea. When it was obvious she would not, Margaret took over the tray. Her mother refused to meet Mr. Thornton's gaze, and in turn, Mr. Thornton seemed a bit anxious around her.
"Would you care for sugar and milk, sir?" Margaret asked.
"More sugar than milk, if you please."
His voice was curt, but not with any intention of offense. She filled his cup just as he requested and handed it to him, their fingers briefly touching and she handed him cup and saucer. An odd warmth spread all the way up her arm, but she ignored it, and returned to the tray to prepare the tea just as her father liked. Her mother refused a cup, but Margaret appreciated the warm beverage on a chilly night.
"Mr. Thornton has warned me that weather changes here in November. It becomes rather foggy, and not just in the mornings, but it seems the fogs hang on through the whole of the day."
"Is that so?" Margaret asked. "We shall lose our view from the back of the house overlooking the plains and canal. Mr. Thornton," she turned her attention to her visitor, "there seems to be a constant scent of smoke in the air. We are far more accustomed to the fragrance of grass and trees."
"It is the result of the factories, Miss Hale. The mills spew smoke from their chimneys into the air."
"That does not seem very healthy to those who must breathe it, day in and out."
"It is that smoke that runs the economy of Britain. Without factories and mills such as mine, Britain would not be the economic force in the world which it is."
She had no answer to that, had no concept of business or the economy. She had learned things were much more expensive here than had been in Helstone. She had not gone shopping for gowns and fripperies here yet to know how prices might compare to London.
"It is good you have chosen Crampton," Mr. Thornton continued. "As it is on gravelly soil, it is seen as the healthiest suburb of Milton. It is also the safest of places. You are close to the center of things, yet distanced enough to not be over powered by the immediate consequences of the soot from the chimneys."
Margaret watched his face as he spoke with her father. His expression was resolute and powerful. Although not a gentleman, there was nothing common about him, either. He dressed as fine as any man in her London acquaintance, all in black, but for his crisp white shirt. Margaret imagined her godfather had been accurate in his explanation of the power Mr. Thornton yielded in Milton. She could feel his strength, his confidence. He was not someone she would ever wish to cross swords with.
As Mr. Thornton made his comment about the safety of Crampton, her gaze met her father's. They had not, nor would they tell her mother of the dead body in the yard. Had Mr. Thornton heard of the incident? Sergeant Snipes said Mr. Thornton was Milton's Magistrate, but did that mean that Mr. Thornton knew of all the broken laws that occurred Milton? Perhaps he learned of them only when someone stood trial?
"And, Mrs. Hale, have you settled in well?" Mr. Thornton asked softly, as if his usual brusque voice might scare her mother.
"I am trying, Mr. Thornton." Her mother's sigh was so deep the air exhaled could almost be felt by everyone in the room.
"I have asked my mother to call on you tomorrow if it pleases you?" Mr. Thornton said before taking a long sip from his cup.
Margaret saw panic immediately cross her mother's face. It was not a surprise to Margaret, as her mother had barely left her bedroom in the short time they'd been in Milton. Welcoming another stranger in their home, so soon, would naturally alarm her mother.
"How kind of you, Mr. Thornton." Margaret smiled. "We will be happy to receive her."
"She will bring my sister, Fanny, I expect. She is about your age, Miss Hale. Perhaps she can introduce you to some of her friends and help you get settled. While I have spent the whole of my life here in Milton, I can imagine leaving friends behind would be a very difficult thing."
Margaret nodded. "Indeed."
"Have you no other family? Mr. Thornton?" Her father asked. "Do you live with your mother and sister?"
"Yes." Mr. Thornton's narrow chin pointed up. "As the mill master, I live in a home attached to the works. My mother and sister share the home with me."
So, he was not married, and by Margaret's estimation was just above thirty, younger than what Dixon supposed. She wondered suddenly if women of his society were scarce in Milton or perhaps he was too particular in choosing a partner. Of course, he could be involved in a courtship with a woman, and quite properly never mention it.
"More tea, Mr. Thornton?" her father asked.
"No, I thank you." He stood, smiling at each of them in turn and placed his cup and saucer back on the tea tray. "I have had my hour of lessons, a lovely conversation and delightful meeting of Mrs. Hale and Miss Hale. I say this evening has been quite ideal, Mr. Hale and I shall anticipate more such pleasant evenings in the future."
"Good evening, Mrs. Hale." He held out his hand to her mother and she ignored it, as if her attention was off in another place. "Miss Hale." He extended his hand to her and she almost ignored it as her mother had, however she caught her father's abrupt nod and accepted Mr. Thornton's outstretched hand. "Good evening, Mr. Thornton," she answered.
A London man would never shake a woman's hand. Rarely would he even hold her hand, unless they were courting or married. Perhaps this was her first lesson about Milton tradesmen. Deals were often sealed with handshakes among men, perhaps they were also used as greetings and departures, despite the sex of the person.
"I will walk you out," her father told Mr. Thornton.
Once the front door had shut, her father returned to the study.
"Well?" Margaret asked him
Her father refreshed his teacup and took a sip. "I believe it went quite well. Maria, everyone shakes hands up here. He was not being familiar in doing so, it is just the way of the North."
"It seems I have much to learn, Richard." She stood. "I will return to my room now."
"I appreciate you visiting with him, Maria. I will walk you upstairs. Good night, Margaret, my dear. You did very well arranging this room."
"I am glad it suited you, Papa."
The question in Margaret's mind as she watched her mother and father leave the study was whether her mother would be willing to accept the changes coming their way, or fade away as Dixon had suggested to Margaret earlier. Somehow, Margaret had to get her mother out of the house, mingling among people she would approve of. Perhaps the visit from Mrs. Thornton the following day would be sufficient encouragement for her mother to venture outside.
Once they were gone, leaving her to sip another warm cup of tea, her mind wandered to the tall, imposing Mr. Thornton. Her father seemed impressed by the man, and he had always been a good judge of character. She wondered if her father treated him with such deference because he was his first pupil or if Mr. Thornton was worthy of such esteem. She also wondered if she would be required to share tea with him each visit or if their initial meeting today would be sufficient to satisfy her father.
A large yawn escaped her mouth and she stood. Turning around to survey all she had accomplished in that room, despite the dubious beginning of the day, made her feel a sense of satisfaction. The only room in the house left to unpack and situate was her own, and she would see to that the following morning, before the visit from Mrs. Thornton.
Margaret placed her tea cup back on its matching saucer on the tray, lifted it and carried it to the back of the house to the kitchen. She would help out Dixon as much as she could until they could hire a girl to help her. Money would be tight, but with Dixon's age, she needed help, and Margaret's mother would not consider Margaret providing the kitchen help.
With her bedroom just next to the kitchen, Dixon must have heard Margaret enter. She popped her head inside, already wearing her night clothes.
"I'll turn out the light as I go upstairs, Dixon. Mama and Papa have already retired for the evening."
"Bless you, Miss Margaret. Tonight I am quite spent."
"Tomorrow we are to expect Mrs. Thornton for a visit. I'll come down early and help you make some tarts and biscuits for the tea tray."
"So, he is married, then?"
"Mr. Thornton? Oh. No." Margaret chuckled. "Mr. Thornton's mother will be visiting. It seems she is the only Mrs. Thornton. I am hopeful she will help Mama find some reason to leave the house."
"Yes, Miss. It will do well for your dear mother's spirits to explore Milton. Not that I have found anything worthy of your mother's attention, but still…"
"Mr. Thornton did not mention the… incident… from this morning, and Papa and I both intend to keep it from Mama as long as we may."
"I think that is the best course of action, Miss Margaret."
Margaret nodded. "Good night, Dixon."
She left the maid in the kitchen, turned out lights as she went, as well as returning to the study to turn down the lamps. She climbed the stairs, overwhelmed by all that she had to accomplish the following day, while being ready to entertain Mrs. Thornton. She could do it all, God willing a good night sleep was awaiting her.
