"It is not for me to judge another man's life. I must judge, I must choose, I must spurn, purely for myself. For myself, alone."
Herman Hesse, Siddhartha
Chapter Twelve
Tuesday dawned sunny, a true oddity for Milton or truly anywhere in Britain during the gloomy month of November. It was designed to be a very busy day, and although Margaret was quite nervous about her stitching time at the house at Marlborough Mills, she was far more concerned about the interactions she might be forced to have with the illustrious mill master himself. Her embarrassment from their parting Sunday was still fresh and raw in her mind and heart. However, she was raised to act as a lady in all situations, and today would be no different.
As the hired carriage pulled under the metal archway of the mill, she closed her eyes and began to pray in hope of stilling her rapid heartbeat. It was just lunch and stitching. If Mr. Thornton even arrived for lunch, it would last no more than thirty minutes and then he would surely return to his office at the mill. Margaret could sit at the same table with him for that long. Why, she had endured the company of any number of odious men in London for far longer!
Once the carriage stopped, she took a deep breath and swallowed. The lunch bell of the mill had yet to ring, thus she was ahead of the assigned meeting time. Had she walked from the business district on New Street, she would have been late. Rupert Lewis had been talkative that morning, and she was hesitant to leave him, for fear of being rude. He had done a great service to her by inviting her to attend Harvest Ball as his guest, and the least she could do was listen to his business woes.
Suddenly, the carriage door was propped open, and she found herself face to face with John Thornton. As it always did when she looked at him, her heart did a funny flip, and her stomach lurched. She swallowed hard and took his hand when his shot forward to help her down.
"Good day to you, Mr. Thornton." Margaret was pleased her voice did not quiver a bit as she greeted him.
"Miss Hale." He inclined his head.
Once she was on the ground, he continued to hold her hand, and she made no move to remove it. The driver cleared his throat, and Margaret regained her senses and tried to pull away to find the coins to pay the man. Instead, still clutching her hand in his, Mr. Thornton reached in his own pocket and compensated the driver.
"You need not do that," she argued.
"Nonsense." He gave the driver the necessary coins and closed the carriage door before bringing her away from the carriage, allowing it to move away. "You are our guest, Margaret," he said quietly once they stood alone at the front of the mill house. "I ought to have sent our carriage for you."
"I had planned to walk." She looked up, shocked as his fingers entwined with hers. "But…" She swallowed, unable to go on. What was he doing?
"But?" he asked with a small grin.
Oh dear, those blue eyes! They had a hypnotic effect on her.
"I feared I would be late and I would not wish to offend your mother after this kind invitation," she finished.
"As it is, you are right on time." His smile widened as the mill's lunch bell rang. "Let us go inside before we get trampled."
Still holding her hand, he led her to the mill house door. It was immediately opened by Jane, their maid who bowed slightly to them. He finally let go of Margaret's hand and he guided her inside. She felt slightly dizzy and perhaps even giddy. He had held her hand!
"May I take your bag, Miss Hale?" Jane asked quietly.
"Ah, yes. Thank you. It is my sewing bag, so perhaps you could place it where the group will be meeting?" Margaret handed the maid the carpetbag and removed her hat and gloves as well.
"Yes, Miss." Jane nodded. "Mr. Thornton, your mother is in the drawing room."
"Thank you, Jane." He tipped his head and watched the maid scurry up the long staircase to the second level, the main level of the mill house.
Margaret started to follow her, but he took her hand to still her and shifted his gaze down to her. She decided his eyes were too intense, and looked down at their joined hands instead.
"Margaret." He cleared his throat. "I must apologize for my behavior on Sunday after our walk. It has weighed heavily upon my conscience since we parted that afternoon."
She did meet his eyes, then. She slowly shook her head. "Mr. Thornton, you have nothing to apologize for. I am certain you were surprised about Frederick and I can hardly blame you for your reaction."
He shook his head and sighed. "I was rude to you, and that, you see, is unforgivable. I treated you as if you had been the one to err." He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. "I cannot hold you accountable for the actions of others, nor should I judge you thusly. Please, will you forgive me?"
She swallowed. "Of course." It came out as a husky whisper.
He leaned his head forward and stopped inches away. "Thank you."
She nodded, his musky scent tickling her nose. A keen feeling of disappointment came over her as he pulled away and gestured for her to lead the way up the staircase. Her heart was pounding in her ears. What did his pretty apology mean? Would he ignore her brother's behavior? How could he?
As they neared the stairs, she grabbed her skirts and lifted them so as not to trip. She felt rather self-conscious climbing the stairs to his side. Was he studying her? What was he thinking? Her carefully laid plan to eat lunch and try to ignore him had just been tossed out the window.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Mrs. Thornton was waiting for them in the foyer. Her smile was genuine, welcoming, even. Margaret walked forward and took the hand the older woman offered her.
Margaret returned the smile, ignoring the way her heart was skipping beats as she stood next to the tall, handsome, John Thornton.
"Hello, Mrs. Thornton. I appreciate your invitation."
"My pleasure, Margaret." She smiled wider. "John, will you lead us in to the dining room?"
"Is Fanny not joining us today?" Margaret asked.
She followed behind the Thorntons into the dining room.
"Perhaps," Mrs. Thornton answered. Her mouth no longer held a smile. "She went out with Miss Latimer this morning and has not yet returned."
Margaret did not know what to say, so she remained silent. John seated his mother at the head of the table and one of the footmen saw to Margaret's chair, on Mrs. Thornton's right side. John sat across from her, and soon steaming plates were being settled in front of them.
"We must eat promptly as John returns to work immediately following," Mrs. Thornton said.
Margaret was glad she had arrived on time and wondered what sort of reception Fanny would receive when she finally did arrive. There was only one other place set at the table, likely for the youngest Thornton.
"And how are you today, Margaret?" Mrs. Thornton asked.
"Quite well. I was pleased to see the sun when I left home today. It has been rather dreary as of late." She glanced at Mr. Thornton before picking up her water glass and taking a sip.
"And John? Has the machinist been in to see to the repair of the loom?"
"Yes, he arrived just before Miss Hale did. I showed him what needed repair, and left him with Williams."
"I did not realize you hired out when repairs were needed," Margaret commented between bites of boiled potatoes.
"I usually do not," he answered. "I have a small storage room full of parts for all the machines, but it seems this repair was beyond my capabilities."
"We have switched just this year to the Lancashire power looms, Margaret," Mrs. Thornton said. "They move much faster and produce a much finer grade of cloth."
"Do all the mills have the same equipment? Do you all produce the same cloth?" she asked, legitimately interested.
"No." Mr. Thornton wiped the corners of his mouth with his pristine white linen napkin. "Marlborough Mill was the first in Milton to put the Lancashire into operation. I purchased one late last year and have been quite impressed. As profits have allowed, I have added more to the shed. They are not inexpensive, but the quality they produce cannot be beat."
"What do you do with the old looms? They are quite large are they not?" she asked.
He grinned. "Talking business at the dining table? Careful, Miss Hale, or you may be invited back."
Margaret looked quickly at Mrs. Thornton to gauge her reaction before she allowed a chuckle to escape her throat. "Forgive me, but I know so little about the mill business. Why, I have yet to even see inside one of the buildings. You could have anything hidden away in there."
Mrs. Thornton laughed. "Nothing to hide, my dear girl. Just raw cotton getting spun into the finest linens available in the world."
"I would be pleased to show you this afternoon, if you would like?" Mr. Thornton offered. "Earlier today mother suggested that I give you a tour of the mill and I would be very pleased to do so. Mother often helps on the floor to monitor the machines and the workers running them."
Margaret frowned. "I thought that was Mr. Williams' job? Is he not your overseer?"
"Aye, and a fine one at that. There are hundreds of workers in my employ, and it is difficult to be in multiple places at once. Mother helps a great deal with the women who work for me." He glanced to his mother with a warm smile. "I believe they may feel more comfortable going to her for help, especially if it involves their personal or family matters."
"You have never worked outside the home, have you, Margaret?" Mrs. Thornton asked.
She shook her head. "I have not. Summers, when I was home, I did help my father with his parish maters. I would take notes for him during his meetings, and also keep his appointment book. In London, with my aunt, she had her own secretary to handle such matters and she always found other activities to occupy my time."
"What sort of activities?" Mr. Thornton asked.
"Oh… Music, dance, art, literature, needlework to name just a few things. She wanted me proficient in as many things as possible." Margaret chuckled. "I am afraid I failed desperately at the music as I cannot carry a tune. I am capable on the piano, but I do not enjoy it as much as Fanny seems to."
"Which of those many activities are your favorite?" Mr. Thornton asked with a wide smile.
Was he teasing her? She had taken so many lessons in hopes of becoming what London Society might deem an accomplished woman. Margaret decided he was just as curious about her as she was about his mill.
"Surely you know, Mr. Thornton?" She was not an accomplished flirt but decided to try. When younger, she and her cousin Edith had practiced coy looks in the mirror for hours. She gave him one of those looks now. "Why needlework, of course. I was so pleased when Mrs. Donaldson included me in this group."
"You enjoy reading as well," Mr. Thornton reminded her.
She nodded. "I do, indeed. I find I cannot draw or paint very well, nor do I enjoy it nearly as much as needlework. As I shared with you, Mr. Thornton, I do enjoy listening to a good musical and while I liked balls, it was the dancing I truly enjoyed."
"You are skilled with the needle. I know you did not wish to show your project to everyone in our group." Mrs. Thornton said. "I thought it was in very poor taste for Mrs. Lattimer to demand you to show us what you were working on, but John and I would be very pleased to see your progress, if you will show just the two of us?"
Margaret smiled. "I would be pleased to. I am not certain why she was so adamant at the last meeting that I show her my project. The one I had with me last time was a stitching of a raven. I like Edgar Allen Poe," she explained, looking directly at Mr. Thornton. "Are you familiar with his work?"
He nodded curtly. "I am. I assume you are speaking of his poem, 'The Raven' as the work you are stitching?"
She smiled. "Yes. I am making a large raven on the right side of the fabric and then will stitch in the wording of the poem when I finish the bird."
"Ah," Mrs. Thornton said. Then she chuckled. "Now I understand why there was only black on your piece."
Margaret nodded with a smile. "Today I brought something different to work on. Something that might suit everyone's taste a bit better."
"Oh?" Mr. Thornton's eyebrows narrowed. "It is a shame you would stitch something to please anyone but yourself, or your parents where the piece might be displayed. Mother does beautiful needlework that we all enjoy, on pillows and napkins and handkerchiefs. The many pieces that grace our walls are equally appreciated, but I cannot see her doing something to suit anyone else's opinion but her own."
Margaret felt herself flush. "I am concerned by Mrs. Lattimer's opinion, I suppose. She is quite critical of everything I say, and I doubt she would understand my love of gothic literature."
"That is her loss, then," Mr. Thornton said sincerely. "Perhaps when I come for my lesson with your father tonight, you can show me the raven?"
"Yes. I would be pleased to," Margaret told him. Her heart warmed that he would be interested in anything she did.
"What did you bring to work on today?"
"A gift for my cousin Edith. She is expecting her first child in the spring and I would like to make a special gift for her, for the baby's nursery."
"What a lovely idea," Mrs. Thornton said. "She lives in London?"
Margaret nodded. "She and her husband, Captain Sholto Lennox live with her mother, my aunt, Anna Shaw. Edith and my aunt are very, very close and I believe my aunt would be very lonely if they lived away from her, in their own home."
"As I would be, should John move away," Mrs. Thornton said, a meaningful gaze shot her son's direction.
Margaret decided it would be best not to look at Mr. Thornton just then. She did wonder if Captain Lennox enjoyed living with Aunt Shaw, knew he and Edith spent a great deal of time in Aunt Shaw's company. Just how much privacy did they have? The house in Harley Street was large, but Margaret knew Aunt Shaw liked to keep Edith close at hand. Perhaps she would ask Edith the next time she was in her company.
"How does your mother fare?" Mrs. Thornton asked, breaking a long silence at the table.
"Not well," Margaret answered. "Her melancholy is growing worse. My father has decided it might be best for her to visit London for a time. She has always been happiest in the city."
"And you?" Mr. Thornton asked. "Is London what you prefer as well?"
She took a sip of water to give her extra time to formulate an answer. When she set the glass down, she met his gaze. "I like the entertainments in London. I enjoyed the quiet and beauty of Helstone, and here… I am not certain how to express how I feel here in Milton." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I feel in some way I am becoming the person I am supposed to become." She glanced at Mrs. Thornton to see her reaction before she continued, encouraged by the older lady's attention. "By helping Mrs. Donaldson with the church donations and visiting people in Princeton, I feel as if I am contributing in a positive way to the community. It is similar to what I did with my father in Helstone, but I am now doing it independently, by my own choice rather than by necessity."
Mrs. Thornton smiled. "I know Mrs. Donaldson appreciates your help."
"I enjoy my time sewing, as well. I am so humbled by how easily I was accepted by your friends, Mrs. Thornton."
"You are quite welcome. I wish we could persuade other young ladies to join us. I fear the art of embroidery will die out with your generation. So much has changed with new machinery. Surely in time there will be a machine to create the designs we now stitch by hand." Mrs. Thornton set her napkin next to her plate and sat back in her chair. "Will you be going with your mother to London?"
Margaret shook her head. "I believe only Mama and our maid will go. I pray it will be enough to improve her spirits."
"Then I shall pray the same. Surely it is difficult for you and your father to find peace when she is so despondent," Mrs. Thornton said.
Embarrassed because it must be obvious how upsetting her mother's condition was to her, she could not meet either of the Thornton's gazes. "Thank you. My father and I would appreciate your prayers."
When she did look up, she saw only a gentle, tender expression in Mr. Thornton's eyes. He smiled and suggested, "If you are finished eating, perhaps we could go for that tour now? I promise to have you back here by two sharp. That is the time your meeting is?"
"Yes, John," Mrs. Thornton answered for her. She stood. "I think now would be a fine time for a tour. The mill will be quiet for a bit yet."
Oh dear, was Mrs. Thornton coming with them? Margaret hoped not.
John stood. "Shall we, Miss Hale?"
Margaret nodded and after rising, pushed her chair back into the table, and followed Mrs. Thornton back into the hallway.
"We will be back soon, Mother."
"Do not allow her to get dirty, John." Mrs. Thornton laughed and turned toward Margaret. "If he offers to show you the inner workings of a machine, tell him no."
Margaret chuckled. "Very well." She smiled up at him. "I shall keep my hands clean. It would not do to soil the linen I am stitching on."
John led her down the front staircase and helped her shrug into her wool cloak. He added his gloves and hat and then after Jane opened the door for them, they exited into the early afternoon sunlight.
"I am glad you are interested in seeing the mill," he said as they began walking toward the three-story brick building that housed the millworks. "I am very proud of what I have built, Margaret. Perhaps I appear to have a bit too much pride, but truly my family has risen from nothing, to something quite remarkable."
He glanced down at her, studying her reaction. He had much ground to make up between them since his poor behavior on their walk. He hoped once she saw he was a successful businessman, she might warm to him again.
"I must admit I know very little about your business dealings, Mr. Thornton. I can tell fine quality fabrics as my Aunt Shaw taught me such things from an early age, but I cannot say I understand the cotton weaving process. I would like to, though, if you wish to teach me." She chuckled. "I cannot see myself working on a loom, or carding as my friend Bessie has done in the past, but I would like to know how an operation such as yours operates."
He grinned. "How much time do you have?"
She chuckled. "I suppose I could not learn it all in one day, but over time."
His heart swelled. If he understood her correctly, she was interested in spending more time with him. He smiled to himself, pleased that she was giving him a chance to redeem himself. He opened the main door of the mill and led her up two flights of narrow stairs and into a bright hallway with windows on one side and large drawings of the mill buildings hung on the opposite wall. He tried to imagine how she would look upon this area.
"This is the back way to get to my office. I thought we could start there as it provides a view of the floor where the looms operate," he told her.
He unlocked the door at the end of the hall, the word 'office' written in dark letters on the glass. He let her proceed him inside and followed, allowing the door to remain open. It was not a large area and he did not wish for her to feel trapped.
"This is where I spend much of my time. Fourteen or fifteen hours a day typically."
She frowned up at him. "Such long days."
He sighed. "Yes. So, you see why I value my evenings of study at your home and my Wednesday meetings with the other mill men at our club. I do take Sundays off, unless we are working on a deadline which must be met."
"Do the other mill masters spend that much time at work?"
He watched her glide to the windows overlooking the floor area. Her eyes had widened with a look of… awe, he thought. It must be an impressive sight to a woman who had never seen such a factory.
"I cannot say for certain. I suppose they do, except perhaps the men with families. A mill master called Robert Norton, who I do not believe you have met yet, at least not with me, makes it a point to be home for the noonday meal and dinner with his family. He has three small lads."
She nodded, acknowledging what he said. She pointed out the window. "These are the Lancashire Looms your mother spoke of?"
"Most are, yes. I still have a few older looms situated toward the very back of the shed, but as I can afford it, we switch to the newer Lancashire ones." He sat on the edge of his desk, ready to answer whatever questions she might have. "In a few minutes, when the bell rings and everyone returns to their stations… that is when you will see the magic happen."
She smiled, a curious look on her face. "Magic, hm?"
"Things become very loud as the machines work. Soon the steam engine will be reengaged by Williams and cotton fluff will begin floating on the air like snow in January."
"What is the difference between your old looms and the new ones, other than the superior cloth they produce?"
He chuckled. "Do you wish to start a mill and compete with me, Margaret Hale? I do believe you would make a formidable businesswoman."
She laughed.
He stood and moved to stand next to her, close enough to touch her and feel the warmth of her body. Instead of looking out the window, he instead looked at her.
"I think perhaps you would make a fine partner, instead of competition."
She laughed again. "I would not make much of a business partner, I fear. As you said at luncheon, you understand the mechanics of the machines, the process from beginning to end. I fear I only appreciate the end products as they suit the design of a dress or other piece of clothing."
"Perhaps I am not seeking a business partner," he whispered.
She looked into his eyes and he knew then she understood what he was asking. He slowly bent, intent on kissing her. Those sweet, plump, rosy lips had tempted him for weeks. When her chin tipped up and her eyes fluttered closed as he neared, he smiled, glad that she was accepting his interest.
Suddenly, the whistle blew, calling people back to work. As they stood in front of the windows, for everyone to see, he exhaled and moved away from her. He would not ruin her reputation.
She cleared her throat, likely as uncomfortable with the tension between the two of them as he was. She asked, "Where is the carding room?" Her voice was husky, soft.
"In a separate space, in a building just behind the looms." He turned back to the window. It would not do for her to see the longing that was surely evident on his face. "We can go back there once everyone is back to their duties."
"And where do you store the raw cotton?"
His mind was on her, not his business, but he answered her question anyway. "It arrives here in bales and there is another shed where we stack them. The mill grounds go on quite a distance behind this main building." He took her hand and looked down at her.
She looked up and met his gaze.
"On Sunday, Margaret, I had planned to ask you to attend the Harvest Ball with me. I was so caught off guard about your revelations about your brother, I neglected to do so. I know it is short notice, but perhaps, if you have dress to suit, you would consent to go with me?"
Her face fell. "I am sorry but I have already agreed to attend with another man."
"Who?" His voice was harsh, colored by surprise. What other man had she been spending time with?
"Mr. Rupert Lewis," she answered.
"The draper?"
"Yes." She nodded. "Although he has much more than clothing and fabrics in his shop."
"Oh yes." He nodded suddenly remembering some bills he had recently paid to the man. "Mother purchases her sewing supplies from his store."
"As have I," she said quietly. "He kindly asked me yesterday when he learned I would not be attending. I was under the impression the ball was for only the mill masters, but he said anyone who belongs to your club is welcome to attend."
Did Lewis belong to his club? John knew Rupert's father had, but John could not remember ever seeing Rupert at any of the gatherings. Perhaps he could not secure a companion.
"The club welcomes men of my station, including other men of business." He swallowed. Damn it! "Had I asked you Sunday, would you have agreed to attend with me?"
"I am not certain." She looked away from him, watching with apparent interest as his employees had resumed their stations and the looms again began to run. "We parted on such strained terms, I had thought you wanted nothing more to do with me."
"As I said, Margaret, I was caught off guard. I rarely think of myself as a magistrate. I am not often needed, as the constable and his men do a fine job keeping order in the city. As I am confident you were not involved in the mutiny nor participated in hiding him, I see no reason not to keep company with you." He took her hand in his. When she looked up, he said, "I would like very much to court you, Margaret. You are a very special woman, and coming to mean much to me, and to my mother, if that matters to you."
"It does matter to me. I very much enjoy being with you, John, and would like to know you better. I worry that if my brother should suddenly one day show up in Milton, you might set me aside. His presence might hurt your reputation and your business and I could not abide that."
"Do you anticipate such an occurrence?" he asked quietly.
She bit the corner of her lip. "I do not know. It would be incredibly foolish for him to come back to England with a bounty on his head." She closed her eyes and sighed; a deep sad sound that came from deep within her. "He will hang as a traitor should he ever be discovered." Her voice came out as the barest of whispers.
"I know. I know." He squeezed her hand, hoping to give comfort. "As long as he stays away from Milton, away from your family, all should be well. I have jurisdiction only in Milton, but should I encounter him while visiting say, your Aunt Shaw in London and he was there, I would be compelled to report him to the local authorities."
"Will you dance with me at the ball?" she asked quietly.
He smiled. "Yes. I will call upon you for two dances. You will open the ball with your companion and share the dinner set?"
She nodded. "That is how it is done in London."
"Then I shall hope for the second and last." He pulled her away from the window. "Let us continue the tour shall we?
