"When I saw you, I fell in love and you smiled because you knew."
-Verdi, Falstaff
Chapter 7
The art of haggling was something Margaret Hale had learned at an early age from her dear Aunt Shaw. Today, it had come in handy in dealing with Rupert Lewis. As she left his impressive shop, a hidden gem in a city of dirt and soot, she was proud of herself. Indeed, she had purchased the thread she needed to complete her current stitching project, but she had also finagled a new dress for the upcoming Harvest Ball.
Margaret had thought of the idea the night before, after John Thornton had left their home. She really was not certain if he had invited her to walk out on Sunday to appease his mother or if he truly had an interest in knowing her better. Either way, she would attend the ball the following week and look beautiful. If Mr. Thornton was not interested, perhaps another man would be.
She stopped on the corner to watch for carriages passing. It was a beautiful day for November. The sun was shining and the wind was low. She tipped her head up to the warmth of the sun and smiled. Nothing could dull her pleasure as she walked on toward the church where she would be meeting Mrs. Donaldson and begin to make food baskets.
Rupert Lewis had been a tough man to bargain with. In truth, he was as firm as any of the men who ran the textile warehouses in London. Margaret was not about to be intimidated. Upon review of which dresses she remembered leaving behind in London, she knew she did not have an acceptable one for a Harvest Ball. Thus, even if her dear aunt were able to get the clothing to Milton in time, she would still not have an appropriate gown. Mr. Lewis was her only choice.
He had lovely fabrics, of all levels of quality and price. Margaret knew fabrics, loved sewing and sometimes just enjoyed running her hand over the textures of satin, taffeta, and even fine cotton. Mr. Lewis had something very close to exactly what she had envisioned for a dress. Although the ladies had suggested dark colors, like brown and oranges, Margaret knew she did not look her best in such colors. So, instead, she had hunted through the beautiful dark greens and blues.
She had found a beautiful dark emerald green taffeta with a thin, sheer green tinted tulle. She would take smaller scraps of navy and garnet to create florets on the shoulders and at the hem. During her time in London, she had created enough of her own gowns to know her measurements, the lengths of fabrics she would need, and roughly how much a gown should cost. Mr. Lewis' prices were quite a bit higher than in London which he explained by citing the lack of competition of dressmakers in Milton.
Her first request had been rather simple, and manageable, she thought. She had asked Mr. Lewis to create a line of credit for her, much as she had in London. She would pay for the dress weekly until the debt was satisfied. She had some coins to put down as a start and the rest would be paid in installments. As soon as she had begun the explanation, Mr. Lewis' head began to shake. He explained only people who had done business with him for a substantial amount of time were given such a privilege.
Margaret, being a bit bull- headed, did not like being told no, and had devised a secondary scheme in the event Mr. Lewis was unwilling to extend her credit. She told him, in rather firm tones, that he should give her the materials, allow her to create the gown in his shop so he could watch her skill, and then, when the dress was completed, he could study the dress and see just how talented she was. If he liked what she could do, which she knew he would, she would agree to work for him, in his shop, until the dress was paid in full.
She had held her breath, waiting for him to agree, which he finally did. He added two caveats, though. She would work a full four hours longer than necessary to pay for his inconvenience and if the dress was substandard, he would keep it so it could be fixed and sewn properly. She wanted to laugh at that idea. As meticulous and skilled as she was with a needle, the man would not find a single flaw in her work. Her only stipulation was that it would remain a secret between herself and him, and that she would work in back where no customers could see her.
Once they had shaken hands and agreed to the terms, she left the store, almost floating on air with her success. Now, as she moved toward the church, a good two miles from Mr. Lewis' shop, her focus changed to her next endeavor. One of the reasons she had left London was her intention to become part of life, not separated and hidden away from the reality that most faced day in and day out. London and her dear aunt had allowed her to be sheltered from the common people. Margaret did not want that any longer. She wanted to be part of it all.
She had felt such joy, such fulfillment, as she helped her father all summer disperse goods for those in need within his Helstone parish. In London, Aunt Shaw had shied away from the poor and those in need. Of course, she donated things and money, but she never personally interacted with anyone. Now, just as she had in Helstone, Margaret would meet the people in need. While she herself was in reduced circumstances, a significant come down from her life in London for certain, that did not mean she could not give aid to those even less fortunate than she was at present.
On her walk to the church, she did not meet anyone she knew. Indeed, she knew so few people in Milton, how could she? Perhaps the more she interacted in the town, the more she would come to know. It was also working hours at the mill, so the streets were quieter than often seen after the morning and evening bells. She did not feel lonely, though, especially since she was meeting Mrs. Donaldson whom she was coming to like very well.
Finally, the large steeple was visible not too far in the distance. She wanted to laugh at her weaknesses. Walking in this town was not an option, it was a necessity. Her feet were already paining her, bringing forth the realization she may have to change from fashionable footwear to more practical, comfortable shoes. How sad, that was, for she loved pretty shoes.
Mrs. Donaldson was walking up the stairs of the church just as Margaret reached the curb. She called out to her, and the older woman stopped and waved with a smile. She waited for Margaret to join her, and gave Margaret a hug once they met.
"I am so pleased you have come." Mrs. Donaldson continued up the stairs. "I never know for certain who will."
"I am glad to help you," Margaret said. "Did you walk here?"
"I did," Mrs. Donaldson nodded. "My husband had many calls today. One family is very ill with a stomach issue." She grimaced. "He also has two women close to delivery. He will come get me if he needs me, as I always help with births."
"You do?"
Mrs. Donaldson nodded with a smile. "I love helping new mamas with their babies. In Princeton, and other mill areas, I deliver most of the babies because my husband knows the families cannot afford his services." She leaned forward. "I do it for free because I love seeing babies." She chuckled. "I keep hoping my own children will soon provide grandchildren for me to spoil but so far they have not been very accommodating."
Mrs. Donaldson opened the heavy door of the church and led Margaret inside. A table was set up inside the door, laden with piles of food and baskets scattered all over the area.
"It seems we have enough to begin." Mrs. Donaldson removed her cloak and hung it on a hook, then reached for Margaret's coat and did the same. She rubbed her hands together and blew into them. "It certainly has gotten chilly out! My husband predicts we will see some snow tonight. He has an odd sense about such things."
"Winter is coming," Margaret said with a sigh. She was dreading the long, dark days knowing her mother would become even more despondent.
Mrs. Donaldson rested a hand on Margaret's back, drawing her from her worries, and smiled. "So, let us start, shall we?"
Margaret nodded with a smile.
"We start with an empty basket," Mrs. Donaldson said. She pointed to the pile next to the table. "I always make certain the basket is clean." She picked one up and brushed something out of it. "Then I take one of the large tea towels." She pointed to a pile of linens on a table behind them. "My maid launders and irons them weekly. Most families do return them, knowing we reuse them." She stopped for a moment, holding the linen. "These are good people, Margaret. They are very hard-working, wanting only the best for their families. They are proud, humble folk, and we must be certain to treat them as God would. We must overlook their dirty homes, their loud children, and piles of dishes. I have particular respect for the women who work all day, and still prepare meals for their family. I know I could not do it."
Margaret nodded. "I understand."
"When a woman has a baby in the back-to-back houses, I try to bring her some meals for a few days. I also have my maid come with me and we clean her home. So many women feel they must get up right away from bed and return to their housework." Mrs. Donaldson shook her head. "It is simply not healthy for her to do that."
Margaret nodded again. She had no experience with anyone giving birth, or even being with child. Aunt Shaw said there was pain involved, and logically, Margaret assumed it might last a day or so, so any help the new mother got would likely be appreciated.
"So, why do you not grab a basket and a linen and I will show you how we fill them."
Mrs. Donaldson talked her way through loading the basket, with two loaves of bread, sweets and fruit and some vegetables. There were fresh flowers, just on the edge of wilting, donated by the floral shop in town.
"We do not always know what to plan for. There will always be bread, as that is a staple. Sometimes we get meat, but usually the butcher will bring it Sunday morning and place it in baskets before services so its fresh." She smiled. "Go ahead and fill one more. I shall watch and make sure you do not forget anything!"
It was not a difficult job, certainly not a mind taxing task, but Mrs. Donaldson had a certain way she wanted the baskets done. She reminded her a bit like Aunt Shaw in terms of structure and organization, but her personality was so much kinder and more welcoming.
"That was very good, Margaret." Mrs. Donaldson smiled at her. "Perfect, in fact! Tomorrow we will complete the other baskets. More people will deliver food today or tomorrow. We start at three, sharp. I hope you can come again?"
"I plan to, yes," Margaret said. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. The pain in her feet was quite real, and she was quite sure blisters were already forming on her toes. A good soak in a foot bath and she would be ready for more exercise the following day.
"Wonderful." Mrs. Donaldson patted Margaret's shoulder. "You will make quite a difference in Milton, Margaret." She patted again. "A brilliant difference. Now, let us go and get these baskets to the families so we can enjoy the rest of our evening."
Margaret grimaced. More walking to Princeton! She had hope Mrs. Donaldson would have her carriage. She sighed. If nothing else, Margaret knew she would sleep well that night.
"Why are we going this way, John?" Fanny asked as the carriage rattled toward Crampton. "The Lyceum is in the opposite direction."
"We are going to pick up Miss Hale," he answered.
"Margaret?" Fanny asked. "Why are we fetching her?"
"I was able to come by an extra ticket for this evening," he explained. "I am hoping she will join us."
"But… but what about Ann?" Fanny sputtered.
He raised his brows. "What about Miss Latimer?"
"She is certain to be at the concert tonight," Fanny answered.
"And?" He knew very well what she was suggesting, yet he wanted her to voice it herself.
"John! How can you be so difficult?" she whined. "You know very well you and Ann are as good as engaged."
"I do?" His scowl darkened. "Who has suggested this?"
She jumped. He had not meant to bark at her, but the idea of gossips wagging their tongues about him infuriated him. He was a private man, never spoke of personal issues to anyone other than their mother.
"Why… everyone believes it to be true!" Fanny cried. "The two of you are so well suited. You like her, she likes you very much."
"I do not particularly like her, Fanny," he admitted, grimacing. "I have tolerated her only because she is your dear friend. I have never had any designs in forming a more personal or intimate relationship with her."
"Truly?" she cried. "Oh dear, all this time I believed you were falling in love with her!"
He snorted. When Slickson came with an extra ticket this afternoon, he knew immediately he wanted Margaret to accompany him. It was a two-fold reasoning, he had told himself. First, it would show both Fanny and Miss Latimer that he was not interested in Miss Latimer. After her unexpected arrival at his office with lunch on Wednesday, he had known he had to act quickly, and this would prove to be the perfect solution. The second reason was quite simple, he was beginning to think Margaret Hale might indeed be someone he could form an attachment to. And, even if Miss Hale decided he was not the type of man she was seeking, he hoped he could interest her long enough to shake Ann Latimer.
"Oh, she will be quite hurt, I fear." Fanny frowned. "She had high hopes for you, John."
"I did nothing to precipitate those hopes, Fanny." It was true. He had been very careful in his behavior toward her, showing no particular, personal interest. It was Fanny that always had her at the mill house. "I was careful to never insinuate any interest in her."
Fanny sighed. "I thought perhaps she was reading a bit too much into your smiles, but the more she mentioned it, the more I began to believe it, too." She sighed. "I did not wish to break her heart. So, it is to be Margaret, then?"
He shrugged. "I would like to know her better. That is all I can say at this moment." He rarely included Fanny in any of his personal thoughts.
Fanny nodded, a thoughtful look on her face. "She would do quite well for you. But John, truly, I am just not certain she will wish to stay in Milton. Why would she when she has the opportunity to be in London."
"Not all people wish to be in London, Fanny." He paused. He remembered her comments about the vicarage and surrounding area in Helstone "I think Miss Hale would actually prefer the countryside if given a choice."
It was her turn to snort. "There is no countryside near Milton, John. I wish you luck in keeping her satisfied in this noisy, dingy town, when she could be elsewhere."
He supposed he would cross that bridge when, and if, he came to it. Obviously, his life was here, in dingy Milton, as Fanny called it. That did not mean he could not visit London if Miss Hale wished it, or even Helstone on his way to the French port town of Le Harve he visited for business twice a year. His schedule was rigid, he admitted silently, looking out the window realizing they had turned down her street. He could make exceptions. He had a fine overseer and his mother was a willing helpmate.
John jumped from the carriage and replaced his hat on his head as soon as it stalled in front of the Hale's home. Regretfully, he had not sent word ahead of time about the concert, and hoped Miss Hale would simply agree and go with him. He chuckled with a shake of his head as he climbed the short set of stairs that led to the Hale's front door. How arrogant he was! He grinned. Somehow, he knew she would come.
Dixon, their maid was quick to answer the bell. She looked surprised, and a bit wary, but stepped quickly aside and allowed his entrance.
"Mr. Hale is in the drawing room, sir." She held out her hand for his hat and coat, but he shook his head.
"I have come to call on Miss Hale," John said.
"Oh." Dixon's face wrinkled. "She is in the kitchen. You can wait with Mr. Hale or here if you wish?"
"I will visit with Mr. Hale."
He followed Dixon the short path from the door to the drawing room, and then turned inside to see Mr. Hale engaged in a book, near the fire in a bright red smoking jacket.
"Good evening, Mr. Hale," John said.
Startled, Mr. Hale looked up. "Mr. Thornton! What a surprise." He stood. "Did we have a meeting that I forgot this evening?" He chuckled. "Surely not, as fine as you are dressed, you must have plans for an evening out."
"There is a concert at the Lyceum," John explained. "I was given an extra ticket and thought Miss Hale would like to accompany my sister and me."
Mr. Hale's face lit up. "Oh, I believe she would. Last I knew she was in the kitchen baking tarts for the charity baskets with Dixon. Shall I go find her?"
John shook his head. "Your maid has gone already."
"Here I am," Miss Hale called out from the doorway.
"Good evening," John tipped his hat and smiled. She looked flushed and surprised. "I must apologize for the short… well, no notice… but I found myself with an extra ticket for the concert at the Lyceum this evening and thought you might like to come with Fanny and me?"
"Oh!" She expelled a big rush of breath. "How kind of you to think of me, Mr. Thornton. Erm… yes, I would like to go along." She glanced down at her dress and then at him. "Ah… give me a few moments so I might change?"
He nodded. "As quick as you can be, please?" He followed her into the hallway, grinning as she scurried up the stairs. "Miss Hale?"
She turned, looking flustered.
He turned his expression serious. "Be certain to wear shoes. It has begun to snow and you will be rather chilly without them."
She looked down at her feet as if she just realized she was barefoot and looked at him, her face as red as a cherry. "I shall." It came out as a squeak.
He smiled then, and waited until she was at the top of the stairs and he called to her again.
When she turned, a huge frown on her face, he chuckled. "I am jesting with you. I do have a bit of a sense of humor despite rumors otherwise."
She shook her head and proceeded down the upstairs hallway. Dixon met her at what he thought was likely her bedroom door and it closed quickly. Lord, he was pleased. He knew she would come. He went back to visit with Mr. Hale while he waited.
"Margaret is generally fast getting ready. I never know how she does it, but sometimes she even beats me getting ready on Sundays for services." He grinned. "Would you would like to sit?"
He was getting warm, should have removed his overcoat when he had the chance. "No, thank you. I imagine I will be sitting quite some time at the concert." He grinned.
"Indeed. I must thank you for thinking of Margaret," Mr. Hale told him. "She will enjoy the music."
"I go only to escort Fanny," John admitted. "Some performances are worthwhile… others not as much." He shrugged. "I think she goes to socialize more than anything. I look forward to the day she weds and I no longer have to escort her."
"Has she a beau?" Mr. Hale asked.
John shook his head. "No. Not that she has introduced me to. She would tell my mother before me."
"That is the way with women," Mr. Hale agreed.
John thought to ask about Mrs. Hale, but believed that was still a sore topic with the family. In truth, John was surprised Mrs. Hale was not sitting with her husband in their drawing room. Would a wife not wish to spend evening hours with her husband? John knew Mr. Hale tutored most of the day, leaving only his evenings free for family time.
"Mr. Bell is in town," Mr. Hale said. "He will be dining with us tomorrow. You are welcome to join us."
John shook his head. "I would be pleased to, but Saturdays are very busy days at the mill. I must pass out the employee pay and attempt to prepare the books for the upcoming week. That is the only way I am able to take Sundays off. I do thank you for the offer."
"I am not certain how long Adam will stay this time," Mr. Hale said. "I suppose he will go to the Harvest ball and then return to Oxford."
"That is where you met?" John asked.
Mr. Hale nodded. "Indeed." He smiled. "He has been my dearest friend since I first arrived there. I had been raised in a very fine home, but was not nearly as wealthy as the other men studying there. I relied on my brains to find success."
"It sounds as though you and I faced a similar path. Oddly, it was Mr. Bell who served as mentor to both of us, hm?"
Mr. Hale chuckled and then nodded. "Two completely different paths, John, yet it appears we have turned out rather well."
"Mr. Bell is a good man. He has always been very fair." He laughed. "My mother finds him rather… flamboyant." John was being kind with that description. In truth his mother found the man's behavior chivalrous, but to the extreme.
"I do believe I hear her coming." Mr. Hale stood quickly and guided John toward the doorway. "I never grow tired of watching a beautiful woman walk down a staircase toward me. There is something exceptionally pleasing and almost magical knowing that woman has prepared herself just to be with you."
John frowned. Had he ever waited for a woman at the bottom of the staircase? His sister and mother, perhaps, but he had never experienced any exceptional pleasure in the deed. If anything, it irritated him that he was forced to wait for them to complete their preparations. He and Mr. Hale reached the bottom of the staircase just as Miss Hale was at the halfway point. She met his gaze with a grin and then John understood Mr. Hale's experience. Lord, she did look exceptional, and Mr. Hale having placed it in his mind, he realized she had dressed with care to be at his side.
"Shall I do, Mr. Thornton?" she asked quietly when she reached the last step and they were just about at eye level.
"Yes." His voice sounded strained. Oh yes, she would do quite well.
Dressed in a deep blue satin gown, fitted tight through the bodice with only a slight bell to the skirt, Miss Hale looked spectacular. She had redressed her hair and added some understated jewelry at her ears and neck. He knew she was a lovely woman, but this night, dressed so fine, she looked remarkable.
"Miss Margaret, your cloak!" Dixon rushed down the stairs carrying a muted green velvet cape, lined with fur.
Margaret turned from his gaze and looked at her maid to reach for it. John was faster, grabbing the soft garment and wrapping it around her shoulders. She stepped off the last stair and pulled on her gloves.
"I hope I did not take too long?" she asked him.
"Not at all," he said. His feet felt as if they were set in cement. He just wanted to stand there and stare at her.
She walked to her father and kissed his cheek. "Good night, Papa."
He held out his hand to John and wished them a fun evening.
She led them to the door and John quickly opened it, allowing her to proceed him. She pulled the hood of the cloak over her head as she stepped out the door. She giggled in pleasure and held out her hand, catching the large snowflakes that were floating silently from the sky.
It made him smile, seeing the pleasure of simple snowflakes light up her face. "You like snow?" His voice came out in a bare whisper.
She nodded. "It makes everything so perfect, so clean. Like people, no two snowflakes are exactly alike, or so I have been told." She looked up at him when they reached the bottom of the stairs and smiled. "Thank you for bringing me along this evening."
"It is my pleasure, Miss Hale."
He walked forward and opened the carriage door for her. He held out his hand to help her climb aboard. This would be their first carriage ride together, he realized. He followed her inside, and sat across from the two ladies. He could not remove his eyes from her, nor could he stop his racing heart.
Fanny quickly commented on the quality of the cloak Margaret wore, petting the coat. Margaret laughed, explaining it had been a Christmas gift the year before from her aunt.
"Can you speak Italian?" Fanny asked. "The concert tonight is sung in all Italian." She rolled her eyes.
"I can speak a little," Margaret admitted.
John was not surprised. He thought she was likely far more accomplished than any woman he had ever met. She was humble, though, never bragged about her abilities.
"I suppose we could simply make up words as they sing and make it mean anything we wish." She looked at him and laughed. Turning back to Fanny she commented, "My cousin Edith and I would do that sometimes, and it almost became more entertaining than had we known the actual words."
Fanny snorted. "I never thought to do that."
"Try tonight," Margaret suggested. "Watch the face of the singer and imagine what words you think he is singing. Make it as silly as you can. But do not laugh as he may become offended."
John listened silently, thinking how clever Margaret was.
"I have sat through many horrible performances, Fanny," Margaret said. "I learned early that if I could force myself to smile, no one would know just how disgusted I was."
"I shall take your advice, Margaret." Fanny nodded. "We will talk about it on the ride home and see who comes up with the better ideas." Fanny giggled
"You must not tell anyone else, though." Margaret patted Fanny's hand. "Let this be our secret." She turned and winked at John.
