Chapter 6: The Happy Life
Epilogue
Shadow and light refracted off the gold band on Margaret's hand as the train made its way southward from Milton towards London. There they would break for a two-day visit with Aunt Shaw and cousin Edith at Harley Street, before journeying onward to Portsmouth for the crossing to Spain.
Margaret watched the landscape change from industrial to pastoral as the train passed through Birmingham into Northamptonshire. The bucolic valleys with vast fields of sheep shifted over her reflection in the window. She was a different woman than the last time she had made this journey south for the Great Exhibition in 1851. So much had changed since then. She turned away from the window to look at her husband sitting across from her, asleep. The lines at his eyes had deepened with care, and more grey hair peppered his temple.
The Thorntons struggled for months following the mill closure three years ago. They removed to nearby Oldham, which by then had become a global centre for cotton spinning. John quickly found work as a manager at a prominent mill there. They moved into a modest home of similar size to the Hales' Crampton home. There they employed two maidservants to manage the bulk of the cooking and cleaning. They arrived at seven o'clock in the morning and went home at seven each evening. John often rose early and laid the fires himself each morning before departing.
Margaret worked to make their home warm and cozy, arranging fresh flowers in the main rooms and placing comfortable throws across repurposed furniture. She and Hannah settled into a routine of regularly reviewing the household budget together. As the weeks passed Margaret began to show. Many afternoons she spent knitting a layette for the baby while she waited for John to return home from work. When he did the three of them would sup together on shepherd's pie or a stew of herring and seasonal vegetables. After dinner they would read and converse in the sitting room for a little while. Hannah was usually the first to retire and when they were alone, Margaret might sit on her husband's lap while he playfully pressed a hand to her rounding belly, feeling its progress and hoping to be rewarded with a little kick from within. Some days were harder than others, but they withstood every trial together and thanked God for it.
It was months before news reached Adam Bell about the closure of Marlborough Mills. Having received a poor diagnosis, Mr. Bell had opted to spend what remained of his life traveling through South America, roving off grid and difficult to reach by design. He had appointed a steward to handle business matters in his stead. By the time his agent could finally trace him down, the mill had been closed for four months. When Mr. Bell learned of the mill's failure he hastened to bequeath the property, amongst others, along with a generous annuity to his goddaughter, Margaret. He had left instructions in his will for her to receive this inheritance upon his death, but matters being what they were, he set about expediting the matter.
Soon thereafter, Mr. Bell's steward made the journey to Milton to pay a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Thornton. He explained that he had come on business on behalf of Mr. Bell. Margaret welcomed him into their small sitting room and called for John to join her. They sat in shock over the next quarter hour as the solicitor conveyed to them Mr. Bell's wishes. He began to produce paperwork from his bag before Margaret interrupted him.
"I am sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I do not quite follow. How can this be?"
"You are Mrs. Margaret Thornton, née Hale, recently of Milton, are you not?" he asked.
"Yes, that is correct."
"And Adam Bell is your godfather, is that not so?"
"Why, yes, he is, but I hardly even know him. He was a great friend of my father's but truly he and I spent very little time in company."
The solicitor shifted uncomfortably. "Be that as it may, Mr. Bell is minded to bequeath you a significant portion of his portfolio, as I have just laid out. This includes the large property on Marlborough Street, a few other nearby buildings, and a settlement of £15,000."
Margaret was flabbergasted. She shook her head. "I simply cannot believe it."
"It is his expressed wish, I can assure, ma'am." He produced a letter for Margaret, written in Mr. Bell's own hand, that confirmed the truth of it all.
She and John read it over and, when they had finished, sat in astonished silence.
The solicitor cleared his throat. "Now if you please, ma'am, there is some paperwork requiring your husband's signature in order to have these assets transferred."
Margaret looked at her husband expectantly. His face had gone pale – he looked almost ill.
There was no real question of them accepting the gift. Of course they would, as Mr. Bell had intended. But how to come to terms with such a sudden and unexpected change in their fortunes?
Margaret placed her hand lightly at the crook of John's arm. He looked down at her with a grave expression. His eyes met hers and found them full of trust. She gave him a gentle smile. He released a shaky breath and turned back to the solicitor with a single nod. His hand trembled as he held the pen and produced an unsteady signature on the necessary documents.
Margaret offered the solicitor tea, which he kindly declined as he hoped to make the next train back to London. His business concluded, he rose and shook hands with Mr. Thornton. He made a small bow to Margaret before wishing them well and bidding them both a good day.
John and Margaret stood at the window and watched him disappear down the street. Margaret turned to her husband but he continued looking out, staring hard in the same direction down the lane, long after the solicitor had already gone. It was as if he expected the events of the past hour to wind back – to see Bell's agent retrace his steps until he was once more in their sitting room, withdrawing all the paperwork given and recanting all the words spoken, until their lives reset to what it had been just an hour before. But it did not happen. The lane was empty except for a few neighbors going here and there.
John blinked several times and Margaret could see that he was overwhelmed, and rendered speechless by the magnitude of this news and all that it meant for them. Still, at the moment, there was a singular question that begged for an answer.
"Well what do you say, husband – shall we reopen our mill?"
He turned to her with intense, almost wild, eyes struggling to keep in some great emotion. His calloused hand clasped hers and gripped it tightly.
—-
Thornton gave adequate notice to his employer and paid a Sunday visit to Nicholas Higgins to share the reopening of Marlborough Mills and ask if he and others still wanted to return. Higgins was right glad to hear of it, as he had been scraping by on piecemeal work digging ditches the next town over. He took an omnibus every day which cost him a thruppence each week. Now, not only would he return to work at Thornton's mill, but he would be promoted to the position of an overlooker in the weaving shed.
The mill, along with its kitchen, reopened in mid-October. In addition, with the other properties bequeathed to Margaret, she arranged for a new school to be set up on an adjoining street to the mill, where workers might bring their children for the day. In time, the workers received a pay rise that brought them back to the level that had preceded the last two cuts. It was a start. The other manufacturers were incensed, even though the market had settled enough that the mills were all making a steadier, healthier profit than in years' past. In Thornton's view, it was only just to increase wages accordingly. He did not appeal to a sense of justice in his colleagues, but instead recognized in his influential position that the example he set at Marlborough Mills would bring the other manufacturers on board, albeit begrudgingly, as they would have little choice but to raise wages at their mills in order to remain competitive.
Naturally, with such powerful influence came responsibility. Through his association with fellow manufacturers and close working relationship with Higgins, John was uniquely positioned to strike a more judicious balance than had previously existed to prioritize the vital commercial interests of entrepreneurs while also promoting the common welfare of workers.
—
Not long after the move back to Marlborough house and the reopening of the mill, Margaret entered her confinement. This was just as well as she ended up going into labor a week earlier than expected. She and Hannah were sitting in the dining room reviewing household accounts for the month when Margaret felt a tightening discomfort that wrapped around her midsection and lower back. It did not abate but grew in both frequency and intensity until it became impossible to ignore.
"I think that perhaps we should postpone this task for another time," Margaret said uncomfortably but as calmly as she could to her mother-in-law.
"What is it, Margaret? Are you unwell?" Hannah asked but realization quickly dawned as she observed her discomfort. "I see. Jane will send for the midwife. I believe you will this day be delivered of your child. Now, let's get you upstairs. Here, grasp on to my arm."
Margaret leaned on Hannah as she struggled up the stairs. Liquid flowed down her legs as they reached the top of the landing. Once they made it to her old bedroom, Hannah helped her into a comfortable nightgown and settled her into bed.
Margaret fairly trembled at the fearful task to come, but Hannah squeezed her arm. "Do not be afraid. All will be well."
Margaret nodded and Hannah left her for a few minutes to instruct the staff and set about arranging all that needs must for the women's work ahead. Oh, how Margaret longed for her husband in this moment of uncertainty. But of course it was neither customary nor acceptable for men to be present in the delivery room. No, this part she would do alone. This was a woman's burden. It was now for mother and child to exert themselves, laboring in concert as the final act to these many months' gestation.
It humbled and terrified Margaret now that the moment was upon her, but it also gave her strength in purpose. She exhorted herself in a great, terrible agony, a crucible that purified and baptized her a mother.
It was over sooner rather than later. Few but furious were the hours that progressed until, sweaty, bloodied, and flushed, Margaret was presented with her spotless babe.
—
Thornton was on the noisy work floor conferencing with Higgins and a group of weavers when a runner approached to discreetly relay that his wife had been delivered of a son. Thornton's sharp eyes turned to the messenger as if to verify that he heard correctly over the clanging works. An instant later, he left hasty instructions with Higgins, who smirked knowingly and gave Thornton a congratulatory pat on the back as he hurried off.
Margaret looked up at the sound of the door opening to see her husband standing there. Their eyes met in unguarded amazement. When he stepped in, the servants bustling about the room quietly departed. Hannah also made to leave, stalling momentarily at her son's side to pat his cheek.
"You have a fine son, John." He looked down at his mother. Hearing those words pulled strongly at his insides. Hannah turned her eyes towards the bed. "Well done, Margaret. You were very brave today. I shall return in a little while to check on you." With that, she departed.
John removed his frock coat and cravat and made his way over to the bed. Margaret was wearing a simple white nightgown. Her skin was pale and clammy, strands of dark hair matted to her face and neck. As he got closer his gaze fell to the swaddled babe in her arms.
He sat next to her on the bed and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. She carefully handed their newborn over for him to hold. The child was so very tiny in his arms. He could do naught but stare in wonder as he beheld their son.
"What shall we call him?" Margaret asked.
John's throat bobbed with a heavy swallow. "Richard," he said quietly. "We shall call him Richard George Thornton. For our fathers."
Margaret blinked back the tears in her tired eyes. "I think it very fine," she replied in a shaky voice.
Shortly afterward, Margaret was moved from her old room back into the master suite with a bassinet placed near their bed. In the night, John changed the bloody linens beneath her himself to make her comfortable as she nursed their little one.
The new parents looked upon one another in the still hours as their baby suckled, enjoying the closeness, the quiet, and the privacy that canopied their shared joy. Providence had once more tilled the soil beneath their feet, deepening the roots with new life, shifting who they were to one another. They meant something new, something more than before.
—-
Margaret looked down at their son nestled safely at her husband's side on the train. Richard was nearly three now. He looked so much like his father. When she lifted her gaze again, her eyes met John's, now awake and looking back at her.
"We're almost to London," she said.
John offered a wry smile and looked out the window. If he was nervous he did not show it. Margaret's London relatives neither liked nor approved of him, both for who he was and the manner in which he and Margaret had married. Still, family was family and John knew how much Margaret looked forward to seeing her cousin Edith, despite her faults, as well as her nephew Sholto. He knew his own mother was no cakewalk for Margaret at times, either, so if enduring the insufferable Shaws once or twice a year was the penance he had to pay, then so be it. At any rate, they could hardly pass through southern England without visiting and not cause great offense.
The train approached London Euston station. The young family soon departed and John arranged for a porter to transport their belongings to a nearby coach that would convey them to Harley Street.
"Margaret, it is so wonderful to see you here!" Edith threw her arms around her cousin.
Aunt Shaw approached and echoed her daughter's sentiment. "My dear, how good to see you again." She glanced stiffly at John before adding, "And you, as well, Mr. Thornton."
"It's a pleasure to see you both again. Please, call me John." They had repeated his greeting many times, with him encouraging them to use his Christian name each time, but they never did, as though it would stain them to be on such familiar terms.
Aunt Shaw frowned. "Good heavens, where have Maxwell and Henry gone for so long? Have they returned yet?" she said to no one in particular. "It is nearly time for supper."
When she walked off, fussing about, John glanced discreetly at Margaret, rolling his eyes with at Lady Shaw's churlishness. Margaret colored in embarrassment but worked hard to suppress a laugh. Their snobbery was so caricaturesque that it made a mockery of itself. As a result, it was hard to hold on to any resentment, even if they felt it, and the Thorntons still managed to enjoy themselves. They especially loved watching little Sholto and Richard play together.
The following evening, Lady Shaw, Edith, Captain Lennox, Margaret, John, and Henry Lennox all dressed in their finest to see a performance of Verdi's Il Trovatore at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. John relished seeing Margaret so decadently attired as she was in a rich dark blue velvet gown. It flowed graciously off her shoulders with a delicate lace overlay across the décolletage. The bodice fitted alluringly to her figure before fanning out from the waist into a luxurious bell skirt. He also noticed the sidelong glance Henry Lennox cast Margaret's way. She had once told him of Henry's ill met proposal. Time clearly had not healed that wound.
On the way back to Harley Street, Aunt Shaw declared the opera exotic and questioned the need for quite so many gypsy characters. The gathering enjoyed a generous nightcap before retiring. John followed Margaret into her room and closed the door behind them. He made no pretense of availing himself of the second bedroom offered to them. He never did, though Aunt Shaw had the room prepared each time, all the same. Indeed his was a singular purpose tonight and it quite involved him and Margaret alone in the same room.
"Did you enjoy the opera?" Margaret asked her husband as she took her hair down. He stood behind her in front of the vanity, his hands fingering the delicate buttons at the back of her dress.
"I liked watching you enjoy it." He undid the top one, a knuckle grazing her spine.
She smiled. "Did you?"
"I did. You were lovely. Just as you always are."
She found his reflection in the mirror. Her eyes darkened under his burning gaze. The wine from earlier hummed through her and she was all sensation at the feel of his calloused fingertips brushing gently down her back with each button. Her breathing slowed and deepened in anticipation.
"Hurry," she said.
"I'm working on it. There's too many buttons on this bloody thing."
"I thought you fancied this dress on me."
"Aye, but now I fancy it off of you."
When he reached the final one he slid the dress off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
His fingers found the tucked away knot at the bottom of her corset, which he undid before loosening her stays and stepping in closer to her.
She turned around to face him in her shift and reached for his cravat, pulling at the complex knots, her cheeks flushed under his steady look. He hastily removed his coat from his tall frame and undid his waistcoat, casting both carelessly over the back of a nearby chair. She reached for the hem of his shirt, helping to push it over his head. Her hand settled at the nape of his neck and she roughly pulled him down towards her, standing on her toes until their mouths slid together in a fervour.
They broke apart just long enough for him to scoop her up in his arms and take her to bed.
—-
Later they lay in a sweaty heap, Margaret partly on top of him, their naked chests pressed together as their breathing settled. His hand rested on the small of her back.
"Did you visit Helstone often when you lived in London?"
"Not really, only for a few weeks in the summer. I think that was the point. Mama feared me growing too wild in the country and thought it essential that I spend as much time as possible in London to learn the ways of a proper lady."
John hummed. "You must have missed it."
"Oh, indeed, I sorely missed it. Helstone is a magical place – like a village in one of Tennyson's poems."
His hand slowed its absent caress at her back. He spoke hesitantly. "Do you not regret the loss of that sort of life? A bonny meadow, a clear sky. Peaceful, quiet. It would make an ideal home for raising children," he admitted.
She raised her head to meet his eyes watching her. "Milton is our home, John. It is my home with you. I am content."
"Do you mean that, Margaret?"
"I do. You have given me everything. I could not wish for more." She kissed him gently on the lips before adding, "Although I hope we will bring both our children to visit Helstone one day."
His brow knitted. "Both our children?"
"Aye," she smiled, "both our children." She slid her body fully on top of his, and whispered against his lips. "I am with child again."
His arms tightened around her and he let out a rush of breath at her revelation, burying his face in her neck. Once he had composed his emotions, he looked up again.
"Are you well? Are you certain you wish to continue on our journey?"
"Quite certain. I am perfectly well, husband, I assure you." She paused. "There is one thing on my mind, however."
"Well?"
"With Richard, I was frightened. I know what to expect now, I suppose, but" she hesitated, embarrassed, "well, I wanted you then. I know it is not proper, but I wished for you to be there.
John listened in silence, letting her words sink in. His brave, selfless wife. It was the first time she had ever spoken of this. He looked at her thoughtfully, his eyes scanning her face. At length, he spoke with great tenderness.
"When it is time, if you desire it, send for me and I will come."
—-
The Andalusian coast came into view at long last. They had departed from Portsmouth five days ago, traveling at ten knots to cover the 1,300 nautical miles separating Margaret from her brother.
Margaret stood at the ship's railing taking in the vast glistening waves. Her mother and father often talked about one day making the crossing to Spain to see Frederick. Of course, it was more of a dream than a plan then. Yet here she was, the ancient walls of Cadiz rising out of the sea in the distance. Soon she would be there, able to embrace the brother she thought she would never see again.
"We're nearly there." Her husband approached behind her. She turned to see him holding their son, who was asleep on his shoulder.
Four years ago, Margaret could not have imagined this day would be possible. And so much of it was because of him. She thought back to that stormy night in Milton when, in a curious act of faith, she boldly entrusted Mr. Thornton with her heart's deepest sorrow and vulnerability. He, in turn, had scorned the shame her family faced and instead embraced them all the more for it. Looking back on it now, she could not help but feel the hand of Providence in these events, in her inexplicable decision that evening. At the time, it had confounded even her own understanding yet all that had happened since then had led to this moment.
He came to stand alongside her. "Come rest now, Margaret. The ocean waits. It will be a while yet."
Margaret turned to study her husband as he looked out over the water. He was fierce and stubborn, but also thoughtful, tender and good. With him, everything seemed possible.
"Are you alright?"
She nodded and kissed their son's raven head. "Another moment more and I will come."
The ocean parted under the ship's bow. She tilted her face back into the full gaze of the sun and imagined her parents looking down at her now.
A profound joy settled within her. Theirs was a journey into the unknown, and while they had borne many trials, they had yet cohered. Even more, they had moved the world forward in their turn.