Ch. 2: The Ideal Society

Margaret spent most of the following week tending to her mother. Dixon refused to leave Mrs. Hale's bedside and her mother clung to her faithful servant for support, so much so that it fell to Margaret to do much of the housework that went neglected. She did her best not to complain and to see the menial work as providing stability for her parents. Still she struggled to bear it without resentment, knowing that her mother preferred the company of Dixon to that of her own daughter.

She pushed down the bile that sprung up. The loss of dear Bessy was still so near and now this. How long would she have left with her beloved mother – days, weeks, perhaps months, if they were fortunate?

Her mind was never far from Frederick. What if her letter did not arrive? Then again, what if it did, and he came to England? Mr. Thornton had assured her of his assistance, if it came to it, should Frederick manage to make it to Milton. She had not yet shared with her father that she had written to Frederick nor that she had disclosed Fredrick's existence to Mr. Thornton. She knew that she had to do so, and soon, but she delayed for fear of troubling her father at such a difficult time and also for the questions it would inevitably raise about why she independently sought Mr. Thornton's counsel. To be honest, she still wondered about it herself. Not that she regretted it, per se, for he had been reassuring, even solicitous. Still she knew she would have to examine her feelings for him, and that was something she was not yet ready to do.

The next time Mr. Thornton came to the house, he arrived a few minutes early and Mr. Hale was still with another pupil. Dixon let him in and did the bare minimum to make him comfortable in the sitting room before returning to her mistress. After the other pupil departed, Margaret came up from the kitchen, where she had been ironing. Mr. Thornton encountered her in the process of removing a large shabby apron from about her waist. A moment later, she noticed him standing there. He blinked, disoriented to see her attired in such a way, and his mind quickly discerned how she had spent her time. She recognized that he had and was embarrassed, but hoped it did not show.

"Mr. Thornton, I did not hear the door."

"Miss Hale, good evening. I didn't mean to startle you. I've come for my lesson."

"Yes, of course. I simply lost track of the time. My father will be waiting in his study."

She stepped aside to let him pass but he hesitated. "Perhaps you might join us in a little while?"

She had not expected his question and it warmed her. He wished for her company. She nodded. "I will bring up a tea tray."

He dipped his head before ascending the stairs.

—-

Mr. Thornton struggled to attend the conversation as he awaited Margaret's arrival. It did not escape Mr. Hale's notice that only after Margaret joined them was his pupil more engaged in the topic at hand.

"The notion that men ought to be consigned to their station in life, with no social mobility or autonomy undermines our Enlightenment principles," Mr. Thornton said. "Any man who values individual freedom cannot abide by it. It evokes the tyranny of the Dark Ages."

"And yet in his time Plato argued that arranging society in such a way, with individuals having a fixed role to play – a cog in a wheel, so to speak – is for the greater good. That we must remove desire, commercial interest, and ambition from the equation or else have chaos."

"In that case, sir, I suggest Plato may need to find more perfect creatures than human beings to populate his ideal society. You can no more separate a man from his ambition than you can his desire. Our common cause must be to harness ambition in the right way, not stifle it, for the progress of our empire and civilization."

"Good, good." Mr. Hale nodded at Mr. Thornton's passionate rebuttal. "And Margaret, what do you think?"

"I agree that Plato's utopia is a hopeless one. Yet in some ways perhaps it is not so very different to how we live today."

Mr. Thornton turned to her. "What do you mean by that, Miss Hale?"

"We are generally constrained from birth, are we not, by where we are born and into what class, and what sex we are?"

Mr. Thornton mulled that. "Aye, that is the truth. Ours is a pioneering generation, with technological advances and entrepreneurship facilitating social mobility on a wider scale than we have ever known before. Still it is a fact that most people remain fixed in their station."

"Should that comfort or disturb us?" Mr. Hale asked.

Mr. Thornton shrugged. "It is certainly a sobering reminder of how humble our existence is in the greater providential scheme. That 'man born of woman is of few days and full of trouble.'"

"Still," Margaret countered, "does not our faith give us hope for the future and keep us from despairing? As you say, Mr. Thornton, it is for us to do our part, however humbly assigned, to propel the world just a little ways forward in our turn."

Mr. Hale concurred. "'Faith is the substance of things hoped for, evidence of things not seen.' It is for us to complete our task as set forth by Providence and to resist growing weary. That is well considered, Margaret."

"Just so, Miss Hale."

—-

Unfortunately, Mr. Thornton had little time in the days that followed to think about civilization's progress or even any fledgling feelings he may have for Margaret. His flailing business required his urgent attention. He had buyers who bought but never paid. His workers refused to work. The mill was behind on orders. The Americans were flooding the market. The price of cotton was in freefall. All the while the debt to the bank was nigh to four hundred pounds and his capital was all tied up in new machinery. It was not an ideal society he was living in. It was the real world. He could no longer afford to wait as the stalemate between masters and men wore on.

Two days later, he sent for hands from Ireland.

—-

The following week, Margaret walked to Marlborough Mills to call on Mrs. Thornton to retrieve the water mattress Fanny had kindly offered for her mother's comfort. Streets that would normally have bustled with activity were eerily calm, as if something had sucked the air out of the city. By the time she turned onto Marlborough Street she had not seen another soul even though it was the middle of the week. Where was everyone? When she arrived at the mill, the gates were barred. She rang the bell and waited.

"Aye, t'is yo', miss," said Williams, the overlooker. "Yo'd bes' be gettin' inside, an' lock the door behin' yo'." He walked off sharpish without further preamble.

Margaret knocked at the front door to the mill house. She was shown into the drawing room where Mrs. Thornton, with Fanny alongside her, was instructing her staff.

It was a few moments before she noticed Margaret standing there. She nodded at Fanny, who promptly disappeared with the servants into another part of the house.

"Miss Hale?" Mrs. Thornton questioned, as if she had not expected her.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Thornton," Margaret replied. "I beg your pardon, but Fanny mentioned that you had a water mattress that I might borrow for my mother."

Mrs. Thornton did not reply. She appeared distracted, staring off into some middle distance, her eyes squinted in concentration at some unknown thing. Margaret bristled. "But perhaps now is not a good time and I should come back tomorrow."

"Hush," Mrs. Thornton said curtly. Margaret's chin jutted out in irritation when Mrs. Thornton finally turned to look at her, as if only just noticing her for the first time. "Do you hear that, Miss Hale?"

At first, Margaret heard nothing. She found Mrs. Thornton's manner to be most strange, almost paranoid. Then she heard it – a low groaning noise that rose with each moment as it drew nearer.

"Do you hear it, child?" Mrs. Thornton pressed.

"Y-yes," Margaret was flustered. "But there was no one in the street when I arrived. Is that not odd?"

Mrs. Thornton was making mental calculations and spoke in a low but firm voice. "John has brought in hands from Ireland. Word has gotten out. The whole of Milton will have heard of it by now. They will soon be here."

"Who will be here?"

Mrs. Thornton looked at her as if she had two heads. "The strikers, Miss Hale," she said matter-of-factly. Hundreds of them, I expect. And they'll be in a savage state. We must do what we can to make ourselves safe for the time being. I'm afraid the moment has passed for you to return safely home until the crisis is resolved."

Margaret looked aghast. Before she could react, there was a sharp knock at the door.

Mrs. Thornton went down to answer. "John!" she exclaimed as he stepped in. There was a frenetic energy about him as they spoke in hushed tones in the foyer. Mr. Thornton urged his mother to join the others sheltering in the rear of the house. She made ready to do so, but first alerted him to Margaret's presence in the drawing room.

He was startled and looked askance for a moment, unsettled. Then he nodded his mother off and headed quickly up the stairs. There she was, standing at the drawing room window. A sharp anxiety surged in him. How he wished she had not chosen this moment to visit.

"Miss Hale," he called out to her in a trembling voice, attempting to sound calm. She did not appear to hear him. He tried again. "Miss Hale, you had best follow my mother and sister to the back of the house."

But it was too late. His voice did not reach her. She stood transfixed at the window, looking on in alarm as the angry mob of workers breached the gates and flooded the mill yard.

—-

"Go down this instant if you are not a coward. Go down and face them like a man."

Her face had glowed with intensity as she upbraided him. He was bizarrely beguiled by her goading challenge to his masculinity. His blood fevered accordingly, and he was sufficiently roused to the perilous action that, in her naivety, she had encouraged.

Hours later, Mr. Thornton stood on the upper floor of the mill, where the Catholic priest he had fetched on his way back from the police station sought to assuage the Irish workers, who were badly shaken by the day's events. He approached the narrow window overlooking the mill yard, his own mind reeling. It had been chaos. His eyes fixed on the mill house door where he had leaned Margaret, limp as a doll, against its post, her face white as death except for a gash of bright red blood rushing from her temple. There she had taken the heavy blow from a stone hurled by one of the workers. It was a stone that was meant for him. A jumble of emotions swelled up as he thought of the danger she had been in and of the consequences that would result from this day's folly.

After ensuring the Irish had been appropriately looked after, Mr. Thornton walked home in a daze. His steps were heavy and tired. He felt as if he had aged several years in just one afternoon. His mother was waiting for him, her eyes blazing in concern and also censure. Hannah informed her son that Margaret was recovered and had gone home. A heavy tension fell over the room. They spoke very little, only what was necessary. Silence carried the conversation.

"And what about Miss Hale?" his mother said finally, watching him closely.

Mr. Thornton let out a deep, heavy sigh. Margaret. They had acted foolishly and exposed themselves to gossip which was now surely making the rounds throughout Milton. Society was unforgiving of a woman tarnished by scandal. His own reputation might suffer a blow and recover, but hers would not. It was his duty now to offer her his name, if she would have him, and he gravely doubted she would. For his part, he knew that he did care for her. He had missed her since their last meeting. It was not that the idea of marrying Margaret repelled him. But the circumstances were appalling.

If he was being honest, he also worried about their compatibility. Until very recently, they had never got on. She disapproved of his northern ways and of the way he made his living. The career he had painstakingly built from nothing she readily dismissed as an exercise in ruthless capitalism that trampled mercilessly on the poor. She held the industrialists of this town – and he was one of them – in low esteem. Even if he had begun to hope that her opinion of him personally had improved, he also knew that she hated the north. He could not blame her for it. Moving to Milton had meant a joyless departure from her beloved Helstone and she had faced a relentless barrage of hardship ever since. She made the best of it as she always seemed to do and he admired her spirit for it. But surely, she could never truly wish to share a life with him and it pained him to think of her being unhappy. Still, he owed it to her to offer.

"I will go to her tomorrow."

He retreated to his study and removed his cravat. He drafted a brief note to Margaret, reading it over several times before sealing it to send by messenger. Frustration boiled over and he swept his backhand angrily across the desk, heedlessly scattering everything in its path. He buried his head in his hands at the mess he had made of things.

—-

Margaret stood in her bedroom with Mr. Thornton's note in her hand. She frowned as she reread it. He had inquired after her health and requested an interview with her at 11 the following morning.

She was aware of what people were saying about them. About her. As she was recovering from her concussion, she overheard one of the servants spreading gossip, telling Fanny that she and others had witnessed Margaret clinging to the master, as if in some wanton clinch of passion borne out of personal regard. The implication was clear. Fanny lapped it up and the report spread like wildfire.

Her temper flared. She had only done what she thought was right, trying to shield Mr. Thornton from the violence of the mob after she had directed him to go out and face them. That man! Surely he bore responsibility for inciting the workers after bringing in the Irish. An interview, indeed! What a presumptuous view – if his note implied what she thought it did – that she should now share in the consequences resulting from his actions.

Of course she knew that was not quite right or entirely fair. She had done wrong. Her meddling had been impulsive and ill conceived. The result of her intervention was disastrous. She knew how society would judge her and what would now be expected of them both. Naturally she was concerned with how this incident would affect her family's reputation. Left unresolved, it would surely devastate her mother in her final days and hamper her father's position and income.

But could she possibly do it – marry Mr. Thornton, of all people? She did respect him and could admit her opinion of him had improved, but surely not so far as this. How she resented having her hand forced.

Yet there was an alternative. She could go to her Aunt Shaw in London. It was far enough from Milton and there she could quietly rehabilitate her reputation. In time perhaps she would find a suitable husband. 'Suitable,' she cringed. Her cousin Edith and Aunt Shaw had long hinted that they hoped she might marry Henry Lennox, Edith's brother-in-law. He was interested but she was not, and she had been required to check his discomfiting attentions toward her last year when he visited Helstone uninvited and unannounced. Henry Lennox inspired little feeling in her beyond friendship. He was a courteous but bland sort of man who had a tendency to treat her as a prize to be won. In that regard, London gentlemen tended to be birds of a feather.

Mr. Thornton, on the other hand, clearly had the power to unsettle her. He was an intense man. His gaze was so direct, as if it could penetrate to some unexamined layer of her. She felt a heightened awareness whenever she was in a room with him. He was no gentleman. If pressed, Margaret could admit that there were times when that attracted her to him. He had made his own way in the world through merit not connection. He possessed an intellectual curiosity without airs and was interested in the world, as she knew from his conversations with her father.

She thought back to their discussion about Frederick. He had been gentle, and it softened her towards him to know that she could place herself in his power at such a vulnerable moment and he would take care.

But oh, how his attitude towards the workers grated her. Margaret could not understand how a man who was so considerate and steadfast to her own family could at the same time be so callous towards others. She could not understand it and she could not get over it.

She flung herself onto her bed, groaning in frustration. They needed to clear the air. She did not know what she would say or how she would respond to what he had to say, but she was anxious to speak with him all the same.

She sent a terse return note stating that she was well and yes, he may come at 11.

—-

The next day, Margaret and Mr. Thornton stood looking at each other from opposite ends of the Hales' sitting room. Margaret adopted a queenly posture from her position near the door, hands clasped in front of her. In contrast, Mr. Thornton seemed disheveled and agitated, as if he had not slept. He asked after her health more than once before she finally decided to break the ice.

"It seems we have made an exhibition of ourselves, Mr. Thornton."

He did not smile but shifted uncomfortably. "Miss Hale, I'm afraid I was very ungrateful to you yesterday. I've come to… I — forgive me, I've never been in this position before. It is difficult to find the words."

It disarmed her to see him this way. She could not help but empathize, recognizing that his mind was in a similar state of upheaval to hers.

"I suppose you have come to propose some remedy to our predicament," she supplied.

"Aye, just so. You may very well have saved my life yesterday, Miss Hale, and now it pains me to think that you should suffer in society as a consequence. As you are aware, there are those who have interpreted your actions as reflecting a peculiar regard I'm sure you did not intend."

"No, I did not intend it. I only meant to keep you from harm, Mr. Thornton, as I was responsible for placing you in danger."

He knew it to be true but it deflated Mr. Thornton all the same to hear her say it. He pressed on.

"Be that as it may, the damage has been done. I bear as much responsibility for the situation as you, Miss Hale, and more beside. I've come here today to make amends, if you'll have me."

There, he said it. Her breath caught with the weight of his declaration. As far as marriage proposals went, she had never imagined that hers would play out in so unsentimental a context as this. That was not Mr. Thornton's fault, but she had always harbored a desire to marry for love. Although she was undoubtedly drawn to him and recently took to thinking of him more frequently, it was hardly love. Still, here he was, willing to do right by her and her family. His faithfulness meant something. This could not be easy for him, either.

Margaret thanked him for his proposal. She did not readily give an answer but they spoke at length about the worry they felt for their respective families and how their actions might affect them. Margaret and Mr. Thornton shared a strong sense of duty and had always prioritized their families' needs over their own. Setting aside any fledgling attraction they may have felt towards each other, they both recognized that pragmatism had its role to play and a swift engagement would safeguard their families' reputations in this whole affair.

Then there was the yet unspoken but contentious matter that had led them to this position in the first place. If they did not clear the air now it would hamper any future relationship they could hope to have.

"Mr. Thornton, before we can continue, I must speak my mind on an issue that continues to trouble me. I hope that you will hear me."

He sucked in a breath and waited. Of course he knew the topic she wished to discuss. It was the same one that dominated almost every conversation they'd ever had.

"Go on, then."

"Well, I struggle to comprehend, Mr. Thornton, how you can exhibit such a lack of sympathy for those who are less fortunate than you. Why, you seem perfectly indifferent towards your workers' concerns and they are the very people who keep your business in operation!"

Mr. Thornton flinched at that. He rued that this was how she viewed him. "Miss Hale, you misunderstand me. I don't possess a low opinion of the working class. For many years I was one amongst them. I know what it's like to struggle. Believe me, I respect any person who goes to work in good faith and makes an honest living. But I do not run a charitable institution and, as you have observed these many months, it is not in our nature to be softhearted in these parts, but rather to simply get on with it. We are practical folk. The mill gives hundreds of people employment. It is the predominant industry of this town, so there is precious little opportunity outside of it. The best thing I can do for my workers is to run the mill as efficiently and responsibly as I can. If I fail in my duty all the workers will cease to have an income."

"But you are so harsh in your manner towards them."

"Aye, I have a temper. My workers expect me to be harsh, but also to deal fairly. It is more than a matter of production. Our industry is still new and a mill is a dangerous place. One false move and a worker loses a limb. One errant cigarette and the whole mill is in flames in twenty minutes, a horrific death for hundreds. We do our best to keep the workers safe but mistakes do happen."

He went on. "That is also why we had the wheel put in, to keep as much cotton out of the air as possible and lower the rate of brown lung amongst the workers. It isn't perfect, but it helps. I do not take pleasure in sending my employees to an early grave. It is a ghastly burden. I am a great, rough fellow, Miss Hale. I suppose circumstances have made me so."

Margaret was silent. She had never heard him speak this way before and the bleak responsibilities he grappled with each day resonated powerfully within her. She could not imagine seeing such things and negotiating such life-and-death decisions that impacted so many. She thought of Bessy, who had finagled a position at Marlborough Mills to alleviate her condition. Mr. Thornton was the only master who had installed a wheel in his facility. She wondered at herself for overlooking that fact earlier in their acquaintance.

"I have misjudged you, Mr. Thornton. I am sorry. That is a grim burden to bear. How do you manage it?"

"In the same way the workers bear the risks they know they must take each day when they come to the mill. We bear what we must for our families' sake. In many ways, Miss Hale, I believe you do the same for your family."

She flushed at that, appreciative that he recognized her devotion to her family, but also embarrassed. It reminded her of the other day when he walked in on her finishing up housework. Like many northerners, Mr. Thornton preferred candor to ambiguity. It was admirable, but it took some getting used to.

"I must tell you, Mr. Thornton, that I will not stop my visits to Princeton."

It did not escape his notice that she had yet to answer his proposal and this was her first hint that she might actually accept him. He struggled to keep his voice even.

"Nor would I seek to stop you. I am not the tyrant you imagine, Miss Hale. I would only ask that you take care not to undermine my position in your association with folk in Princeton. Many of those you consider friends are my employees. Business and personal dealings must be kept separate."

"I understand that and I promise to respect it."

He puffed out a breath and shook his head. He hated the way this was all coming out.

"Miss Hale, I would regret it if we thought of this as some sort of business arrangement." He stepped closer. "I hope that if we do marry, despite the regrettable circumstances that instigated it, that we could do so with good intentions and try to be happy."

An insecurity still lingered. "And if the riot had not happened, would you have still wished to be happy with me?"

He searched her face and sighed. "The riot did happen. I do care for you, Miss Hale, and as more than just the daughter of my friend. Indeed I hope to be a friend to you."

Margaret raised an eyebrow at that. "Only a friend?"

It was Mr. Thornton's turn to colour. He dipped his head, flashing his rare bright smile at her tease. "A husband, then. But not an unkind one. If you'll allow me, I will do my best to make you happy, Miss Hale."

Their eyes locked for a long silent moment before Margaret blinked and closed the distance between them. Her hand briefly touched the cuff of his jacket. "Well, if we are to be married, then I suppose you had better call me Margaret."

Before he could respond, she stepped partially out of the room and called for Dixon, who was conveniently lingering nearby. "Dixon, could you let my father know that Mr. Thornton has come and wishes to speak with him?"

Dixon had, of course, heard the rumors spreading about Milton. Her eyes shifted uncomfortably between the two of them as she tried to apprehend how things stood. "Yes, Miss Margaret."

"Thank you, Dixon. I will send him up in a moment."

She turned back to him with a shy smile. Mr. Thornton scanned her face in quiet awe at how their lives were about to change forever. He raised his hand to gently brush aside the hair from her face and take in the scar forming at her temple. It would always be there. His fingertips ghosted over it and she shivered as he spoke softly enough for only her to hear. "Margaret."