'This bud of love by summer's ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet' – Romeo & Juliet
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"Oh! We have left Father so long. I will hurry on, Mr Thornton, just to reassure myself he is all right and not put himself into an argument with the vexatious Reverend. Take your time to look at the very last views of Helstone!"
Arriving back at the Vicarage gate, Margaret hurried through into the garden to find her father; she could see his chair in the shade of a tree but he did not wave or reply to her call and for a moment, she had the most dreadful thought of horror; which turned out to be a trick of her imagination, as when she flew near on anxious feet he opened his eyes and smiled at her, bright and chipper.
"Margaret, my dear! I was dreaming there for a moment."
"A nice dream, I hope?" she took his hand as he began to get to his feet. Her darling Papa! She loved him so much.
"I was dreaming of a dish of strawberries," he smiled. "Your mother was there... she was telling me to mind my shirt... as she was wont to do!" His eye turned distant for a moment; Margaret felt a tear spring up. She kept hold of his hand as they both looked around the garden; last time they had been in it his beloved wife, her mother, had been alive. What an emptiness had opened up in Papa's life; how nobly he had borne it!
"And there you are, John!" Richard Hale called. "Have you seen enough of Helstone?"
In contrast to her beloved, faded father, healthy dark-haired Mr Thornton looked full of male vigour as he came through the gate, striding quickly towards them.
"I am not sure I could ever see enough of it, Sir," he was replying, "but certainly we should go now."
It was a steep step up into the cart. "May I help you in, Miss Hale?" he was asking her, tentatively, obviously wondering if this was permissible, or might even be offensive.
She had no need of help, but turned to him with a sunny assenting smile, her face alight as she gave herself to him and he swung her easily up into the cart onto a wooden bench and then turned to give Mr Hale a hand.
The cart jolted and rumbled, the drover slackly holding the reins of his huge, ambling shire and singing all the while a song with many verses, which told of time spent waiting for them in the Helstone Inn with a bottomless cider jar. With all her senses, Margaret inhaled the last she would see or smell or breathe of Helstone for a very long time.
On the train, her father quickly fell asleep. She made sure he was comfortable and came back to take her place at the window. Her smiling eyes dwelt not on the view through the glass as the train swiftly carried them home, but on her companion.
"What are you thinking, Miss Hale?" Mr Thornton asked her quietly, seeing her look.
She took a deep breath. "Just that ... this has been such a lovely day. I thank you so much for bringing us. And you, Mr Thornton? What are you thinking?" she daringly asked.
He smiled, a wicked little smile. "Never ask a man what he's thinkin', Miss Hale... nine times out of ten the answer would surprise you." She gazed at him curiously; he hurried on:
"I'm glad you've 'ad pleasure in it. And – " he reached into his inside waistcoat pocket, and plucked out two yellow flowers. "I've a memento for you,"
Examining them, her eyes expressed her astonishment, her quiet, wondering joy – "Oh, Mr Thornton! You found the roses!"
"I had to look 'ard," he answered her, "but I thought there might be one or two buried deep that escaped the cull... and here we are."
He handed them to her. She took them and bent her head over them, smiling as she traced the delicate sunshine petals with a finger. Then she chose one of the pair and offered it to Thornton, until he opened his hand and let her place it in his palm.
"We will keep one each, Mr Thornton. So we will never forget this perfect day."
On the way home, rocked by the lullaby of the train and her own happy thoughts , Margaret's dreamy, smiling eyes grew heavier and heavier and she fell asleep . Now her body was soft and limp against his, gently tumbled closer to him every time the train rattled around a curve. How much he had wanted this! How easy it would be to slip an arm behind her so her head was pillowed on him... keeping her easily safe with the strength of his body against the push and pull of the swaying carriage.
Instead, heroically, he gently tucked her soft wrapper between her cheek and the train window so she would be comfortable and then moved away from her; she only stirred a little, then fell deeply asleep again. She would never know about this little act of honour, but it mattered as much as if she would know, so he performed it with only a little regret for what he had denied himself; although he was to think of it later that night and tell it to himself a different way.
For a while, the Master of Marlborough Mill was the only one awake, on guard over all; but then Richard Hale jolted up rather suddenly. He looked around, found Thornton nearby, and their precious Margaret asleep. He smiled. Thornton addressed him quietly,
"I've bin thinking about what you said on the way here. Sitting with your back to the engine. I suppose the theory rests on the contrary motion to the expected direction of travel and the visual information – " and the two men happily discussed this and other manly matters for some time.
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Short chapter today (but yesterday's was LONG) - I'd certainly like to know what Mr Thornton was thinking, and what story he told himself when he got back that night. I think I know :)