Chapter 9.

Banker and Client

I would like to thank a wonderful beta KylieKyotie for her patience and diligence that have made this part so much more readable.

The first thing he became aware of when he woke was a sensation of his face being caressed gently with soft fingers and lips. He lay as still as he could, afraid to breath, savoring this moment and the tender advances of his young wife. For him it was still too new and too strange, that she would be next to him, and that she loved him and wished to express her affections in this shy and gentle way. He felt younger himself, as if years of dutiful toil fell away from him in her presence. Yet, she was so very young! Her skin was smooth like a child's, her hands soft like silk. He felt that he was rough and uncouth in comparison. When she stroked the side of his face he could hear the rasp of morning stubble under her small fingertips. And yet she did not stop, it did not turn her away! He could feel her sigh of contentment as if it was coming from his own chest; their bodies were so closely pressed together. Without opening his eyes, he reached blindly and threaded his hand around her neck. His fingers tangled in her rich hair, as he pulled her face down for a kiss.

He missed. Though there was some compensation for his embarrassment. The giggles that reverberated through the length of their entwined bodies created such an inciting sensation that - upon some consideration - he decided that the nose was probably not a bad choice after all. Ah! He could put up with a lot in the day that started like that.

When they finally got downstairs it was a little later than his usual time, and the tea was already on the table. But their London guest was not yet up and it was decided that the formal breakfast would be postponed for her convenience. When Mrs. Shaw did descend to the dining room she looked more like a chicken than even the day before; she had lost neither her way of gentle fussing nor of self-satisfied benevolence toward Margaret. All in all, Thornton decided, there was no real harm in Mrs. Shaw. She was a true comfort for his young wife. At the same time, he was less certain that Mrs. Shaw's opinion of him had substantially improved. He distinctly caught her distressed clucking about Margaret marrying someone so much older than herself. From Margaret's mild reply he gathered that Mrs. Shaw attributed all her own personal unhappiness in a loveless marriage to the age difference between herself and late General. Naturally, she was not particularly enjoying the idea that such an excuse was challenged by Margaret who professed her own happiness with a man just as much older.

Saturday breakfast was still a somewhat awkward affair however, and a little rushed, as Mrs. Shaw was determined to leave for London on the early train. Staying another day she dismissed as impossible; her own daughter's delicate state and her desire to avoid Sunday travel were two weighty considerations. It was decided that Dixon would stay in Crampton for a few days to finish packing and then she would join her new mistress in London. Now that her conscience about leaving Margaret was somewhat put to rest, the old servant was anticipating her return to London with some impatience. Finally, she could leave the soot of Milton behind and return to the city where she served her beloved Maria for so many years.

Thornton called a cab for Mrs. Shaw soon after breakfast was finished. Dixon and Margaret decided to see her off before returning to Crampton to continue their sad work of sorting though Mr. and Mrs. Hale's modest possessions. Thornton watched the cab wheel away along the street for some minutes before turning to his own unpleasant task for the day: seeing Mr. Latimer of the bank. The loan extension could not be postponed, and getting this money was now more important than ever to keep the mill running.

He arrived at the bank just as it opened, and was quickly shown into Mr. Latimer's very familiar waiting room. However, he was obliged to wait there for a much longer time than he was accustomed. When he was finally invited into the office, he was met with a much more frigid look on the face of the old banker than he had ever seen before. It did not bode well.

With a sinking feeling in his chest, Thornton went through the usual civilities of the meeting and pressed forward his application for the loan extension. Mr. Latimer's face remained impassive as he listened. Thornton's justifications were just as strong as on previous occasions: he paid the interest on time, the next order was ready for the shipment on Monday and upon receipt of payment from the American bank, he would be in an excellent position to repay most of the debt. But Mr. Latimer only shook his head.

"My dear fellow, there will be no draft from America. The bank we were dealing with all this time has stopped payments, as they say over there, "folded". I have only received the letter this morning. I am sorry. There is nowhere for money to come from." He looked at Thornton with a mix of compassion and amusement.

It was a heavy blow. Thornton had worked hard to complete the American order and counted on that money to get through the next two months. All those efforts, all those meticulous calculations were wasted. Unless he could find money somewhere else, the mill would close in a matter of days. Mr. Latimer was very firm in his decision. He refused to extend his loan any longer. Of course, there were plenty of good reasons for him to do so, and Thornton would have been the first to admit it. However, he did not exclude the possibility that until now, the thought of a potential attachment between him and Ann Latimer may have made Mr. Latimer more lenient than he would have been otherwise. But with no such prospect possible anymore, Latimer insisted on payment in full by the next week. He knew better than anyone that there was no money left and that to cover the debt Thornton would have to give up his business and house almost immediately.

Though in general not a cruel man, Mr. Latimer was apparently so put out by the news of Thornton's wedding that he could not quite restrain himself from wishing Thornton all the best on his honeymoon with some vengeful glee, though he did seem a little ashamed afterwards.

Thornton left the banker's office without really seeing what was around him. He needed to think, and to act, and yet he knew already that there was nothing to be done. With the present difficulties he had no choice but to close the mill at the end of the week, after meeting the payroll, and hope that he still had enough left to close any remaining obligations.

He found himself, eventually, in front of the mill where habit had taken him for so many years. He thought bitterly that this habit will be of no use to him soon enough. This magnificent building, the best mill in the industry, was no longer his.

Thornton shook himself out of this contemplation; it was not the time for useless self-pity. There were many people whose need was greater and who depended on him and his timely actions. He gathered his wits to the best of his ability and walked inside.

Williams was waiting for him, of course. Poor chap! Thornton knew how fiercely loyal, this seemingly rough man, was to him and to the mills. Where would he go next week, when the doors of the mill closed? He shook himself. Yet again, it was not a time for sentiment. Thornton briskly asked his overseer to gather the mill's accountants to his office and submerged himself in the necessary calculations.

It took them several hours to complete the task, to discover every obligation and then to distribute every penny available to meet them. He always kept his books in proper order and planned ahead as far as uncertainties of business would permit. When he emerged from his office, long after the last of the accountants bowed and left, his face was a mask of grim determination. At least his honor would remain intact. No one would suffer but him.

No. Well, not if he could help it.

Unfortunately, it was not entirely true. He was not alone. His family depended on him even more than his workers did. His times of toil and service were not over: once again, his life did not belong to him, but was merely an offering to fulfill his duty. He had to do everything in his power so that the two women he loved would not suffer for his mistakes and misfortunes. It was a comfort to think that at least Fanny was settled now, and neither his mother nor Margaret would be as weak and helpless as his sister was, given the circumstances.

The bell sounded the end of the shift. Thornton lost track of time and did not realize it was so late. He stood in the cavernous spinning room, strangely isolated from the dense human flow around him. He waited until the last worker left before going home. The dread of telling Margaret and Mother about his failure weighed heavily on his heart. He wished to act, to do something, to make one last effort to win back at least some measure of security for his family, to offer some hope as a token compensation for the loss he was about to bring them.

He walked out of the mill, but instead of going directly home he turned and walked down the street, without any real goal in mind. The day was cloudy and dull, and a light drizzle of rain had beaten down the dust. The air was fresh and sweet, and Thornton was breathing it greedily, trying to release the dreadful pressure in his chest.

He heard his name called, and judging from impatience of the calling voice, he guessed that it was called more than once. He was too distracted to even hear people talking to him. With a great effort he mastered himself and turned to greet the caller.

It was Hamper, slightly out of breath from trying to keep up with Thornton's long strides. He was not the most brilliant of the manufacturers, but he had a reputation of being a fair man and no stranger to charitable causes. He did not waste much time on pointless civility, perhaps because he still had not caught his breath.

"Thornton, I just heard. Tell me it is not true. You are not closing, are you?" He said, slightly panting. Thornton could barely suppress a bitter smile. News traveled very fast indeed in this town.

"I am afraid I cannot keep the gates open after this week. It was a struggle for some time, as you well know"

"Yes, but I always thought that if anyone could see all this through, it would be you! Thornton, I do not know what to say. Look, I am opening a new mill east from town, I was thinking to let my boy try his hand in business, but he could use a man with your talents to guide him. Would you think about it?"

The eager face of the kind fellow melted what felt like a sharp shard of ice in Thornton's chest, a little, with some relief. It was a generous gesture, and he appreciated the notion. Not that he would readily grasp the offer, he knew Hamper's son well enough to know that he had no aptitude for the manufacturing business. If placed as the head of the mill he would very soon ruin it, with or without help. No, Thornton thought, he would much rather go work as an employee for someone who cares about the mill than as a business associate to Hamper's silly, extravagant son who had no interest in cotton production. There would be other options available. Brown would hire him as an overseer on the spot. His wages would not be enough to pay for the house, but if they moved to a cheaper place, he would still be able to provide his family with reasonable comfort.

These considerations did not negate the generosity of the offer though, and Thornton thanked Hamper warmly. This small interlude, nevertheless, did him good. He felt heartened by it. Certainly, his position had not improved in those moments, but at least it gave him a goal, an idea of what action he could take and a possible plan to look forward to while his fate unfolded. He shook himself from the reverie and turned his steps back home. Margaret had surely returned by now, and it was his duty to disclose the new development to his family as soon as possible.

It was already getting quite dark when he walked up to the front door of the house. He paused for a moment there, on the front steps, where Margaret had embraced him for the very first time all these months ago. No, he resolved not think of that. It was too painful. He firmly squashed all reminiscences, about walking to this fine building for the very first time as a proud new renter, about furnishing it so carefully for his mother, and finally bringing his new bride here - only to lose it all so soon, too soon. It was not the time to feel sorry for himself.

He found both Mrs. Thorntons in the dining room, sorting through some linen that Margaret apparently brought from Crampton. They turned joyfully to welcome him and then stopped, their expressions suddenly anxious, seeing his grim expression.

"John? Is something wrong?"

"Mother... Margaret." - the two women looked at him with so much trust and concern that he could not possibly withhold the truth from them even for a moment, so he took a deep breath and plunged in – "Mr. Latimer will not extend the loan. I must pay him off next week."

He saw his mother's face almost crumble at the news.

"Where will you find the money?" she asked anxiously.

"If I close the mill and sell the machines I can clear the debt."

"Close the mill?" The expression of horror was almost identical on the two dear faces in front of him.

"I must. At least, there is enough money to pay the workers what I owe them. I am sorry. We will not be able to keep this house. At least the last order will be delivered, so there will be a little money left over for us to start a new life."

"What will you do?" asked Margaret, as her face paled.

"I have not yet formed a definite plan. Hamper offered me a position just out of town at his new mill, but I would rather seek something here. Many in the industry know that I can be of use. Mother," he said, as he turned toward the older woman, "you know I will do my duty. Even if we lose the house, we will still manage reasonably well."

"I do not care about the house. Oh, John, my poor boy! After all your toils and suffering, just when you were finally happy!"

The older Mrs. Thornton looked like she was holding herself upright by sheer will, and was likely to crumble at any touch. Thornton did not expect what he saw next: Margaret swiftly moved to his mother's side and supported her by the elbow. Even more surprisingly, the older lady accepted the help without offence, and gratefully pressed the hand of her new daughter with obvious affection. Through this little interlude neither woman took her eyes from Thornton even for a moment, their concern and compassion almost palpable. Thornton desperately wanted to comfort them, but how was it possible?

"I am still happy, Mother. If you can endure loss of the position and the house, if you can still believe in me and support me, I will always count myself blessed. With you by my side I am prepared to start over again and again, and work as hard as necessary to provide for my family."

"I cannot bear you being anything other than a master..." Tears were beginning to well in her eyes, despite her rigid control over her countenance; but Margaret looked at him with eyes bright and dry.

"You promised to take my inheritance." She said almost harshly.

"Margaret, we will not live in want no matter what happens."

"You promised. It will cover your debts."

Mother looked from one to the other, astonished. She probably did not expect Margaret to have anything at all, much less that she would sacrifice the little independence she had for the sake of the mill. It was shocking.

"If you use it to pay off Latimer, we will not have to close the mill, and your mother will not need to leave the house, and the workers will not lose their livings." Margaret pressed on resolutely.

"Yes, but you have not yet received your inheritance. Without a will, it will take many weeks to finalize. Unless we can find the will before Monday and have an attorney represent your claims, there is no other choice but for me to close the mill gates."

"But we know that the money is coming."

"It will come too late. We will have to close the mill in any case and sell the machines and cotton to recover what I owe. After that, the small inheritance would be just that – only enough to provide for a rent that could not support a family in reasonable comfort."

"Yes, but there is still a chance that there is a will. I cannot believe that Father would fail to leave one."

"I believe that Mr. Hale would certainly prepare a will considering the troubles in your family. You have mentioned yourself that there was very little money settled on your mother which was then to become your portion after your parents passing. If you were told so, than a provision has been made, and it must be recorded somewhere. But as it stands now, we have no proof of the existence of such a document. Until it is discovered, your brother is the sole heir, as you well know, and he cannot claim it without coming to England and facing arrest. He might have to denounce his right in your favor in order for you to receive anything at all."

"I am sure the will exists. I will go tomorrow and start searching for it afresh."

"You are going there every day as it is; you will be exhausted by this search."

"There is still a lot of work to be done at Crampton, and we are bound to come across the will sooner or later."

"It is not likely that the will is in the house at all. I have sorted through the library already, and you went through your father's letters. I doubt very much there is a secret hiding place. It is not like your father. If we have not found it so far there is a chance that it is not there at all; our best hope is to find out who acted as Mr. Hale's attorney; he should have a copy of the will. Mr. Bell! Yes, we could write to him. But that would take too long; there is no hope of getting a reply before next week."

"What if I will go and see him myself?"

"Dearest, there is no certainty that Mr. Bell has the will or if knows where it could be. True, it would be faster to go to Oxford in person, but it cannot be done before Monday, and by then it will be too late even if Mr. Bell has it. No, Margaret. It would be foolish to count on such a miracle. Unless your father's attorney walks in right now, with a will already properly verified, we have no hope of keeping the mill and the house. Please, do not cause yourself unnecessary pain by nurturing such an empty hope."

The rest of the evening was borne in awkward, troubled companionship of three people too eager to ease the pain and suffering of others to be comfortable. The conversation flowed in short, desperate gasps. Both women distractedly attempted to start some work or another, only to let it down despondently as soon as they realized that the house that they were about to lose needed no new comforts or decorations. Arrival of the dinner hour brought a welcome occupation to everyone and enlivened the conversation a little. It was decided that hardly any good could be expected from continuing the search for the will on Sunday, since there would be little time left to go to Crampton after the church service. They would have to take the future as it came and resign themselves to whatever it would bring.

After dinner, a general gloom settled itself over the small family. Thornton found that he was unable to read or formulate a plan and after an hour or two realized that he wanted nothing more than to escape the dreadful anticipation in the warmth of Margaret's embrace.

They woke up before light, clinging to each other, the desperate passion shared in the night washed away by the expectation of pain and hopelessness of the coming day. Morning crept upon Milton almost unnoticed through the dense gloom of soggy grey clouds that threatened rain but so far only hung low and sullen. Sunday was always quieter in the industrial town. It only stopped its army of clanking, roaring, whistling machinery once a week, but this morning the silence was oppressive like a heavy blanket, and the rare sounds that pierced it were harsh and grating. The weather did nothing to lift the spirits in Marlborough Mills. Any attempt at conversation died away quickly, words being so inadequate to express what they felt. Instead, they resorted to occasional pressing a hand warmly, or a brief, wordless glance of support and encouragement.

Sunday breakfast passed silent and comfortless. Only when they got up from the table did the elder Mrs. Thornton exclaim, putting down her tea cup with a resounding clang, her voice dry and brittle:

"I cannot take it, John. It is unjust. You have endured so much trouble, you have worked so hard, and all for nothing! I do not care about the house, but you, my poor boy... And just after getting married! Where will you go? Where will you take this girl?"

Thornton closed his eyes lest he betrayed his feelings, and thus he did not see the expression on Margaret's face when she came to her mother-in-law's side. She expressed her grief for the sake of both mother and son, but assured the elder woman that there was no reason to worry about her. She spoke calmly and quietly.

"I have never lived in luxury and will suffer no personal loss from the change of circumstances. Please do not be uneasy on my behalf. From what I understand about wages of someone of with Mr. Thornton's experience and qualifications, I am certain to expect a life of comparable comfort from what I knew previously." Margaret said solemnly.

The clock on the mantel chimed the hour. It was time to go to the church, for the first time as a family that included a new member and, as an even more scandalous rumor must have been announced already to entire town, as a family that was about to lose its former affluence and social standing. Town tittle-tattle had very probably already connected these two events since most people expected that Mr. Latimer eyed Thornton as a prospective son in law. The Thorntons were about to face scorn and ridicule from those who only recently envied their success and influence.

Indeed, there were more people congregating in front of the church gates than usual. The arrival of the Thorntons was met with greetings more curious than civil; it felt almost like passing through enemy lines, and not a typical pious entry for the church service. The three of them moved unconsciously closer to each other, both women on either side, gripping Thornton's arm while walking proudly next to him, a family united. Together they could face the scornful regard of Milton's sneering society.

They walked through the crowd, three tall, black-clad figures, dignified in mourning despite the offensive rumors that flew around them. At least the parish was too consumed by savoring the moment to bother them with unwelcome questions. Little was required from the Thorntons aside from most superficial civility, and no one dared to trouble them with prolonged conversations. Elder Mrs. Thornton sat through the service with rigid attention, eyes firmly trained on the priest, but Margaret was too proud to let tactless staring from every side affect her. She listened to the priest with thoughtful concentration, although maybe a little unfocused, as if she was hearing another sermon, spoken with a voice that was now gone forever. Her eyes occasionally strayed around the church which she saw only once before, on the day of her wedding. The Thorntons did not stay for after-service socializing, and paid only the most unavoidable exchanges of bows, then retreated home as quickly as possible.

During the Sunday luncheon Margaret had a difficult time being resigned to the idea that all hope of finding the illusive will was gone. She suggested new ingenious places where the will might be hidden. Her mind was going over and over every nook and cranny in her memory, alternating between sudden hopeful inspiration and despair. She even considered revising yesterday's decision of staying in Marlborough Mills for the day and formed a plan to walk to Crampton in the afternoon. But John covered her hand with his gently and said:

"Margaret, let Martha search for it."

"But she does not know where anything is! And Dixon would be so cross with her"

"You do not know where the will is either."

"Margaret, John is right." The elder Mrs. Thornton offered, "Think! Do you really expect that those vultures are satisfied ogling us in the church? If I know them, they will be knocking on the door any minute now, to pour out their insincere sympathy and to bask in their superiority over the Thorntons. Believe me; I have lived in this town for many years. We will have to tolerate obnoxious visitors, and it's better sooner than later."

"Yes. I see. You are perfectly right, I cannot go. I will write to Martha and Dixon instead."

The unbending pride of the older Mrs. Thornton would not permit her to be at all lax in offering the expected hospitality of their house, no matter how grim the actual circumstances were. The silver and crystal were laid for tea, and the dining room was prepared in its usual Sunday finery. There were no formal invitations, of course. The visitors were an inevitable evil that had to be accepted with resignation. They would come eagerly to call on the new lady of the house that would so soon become the lady of a rented apartment somewhere in a more modest area of Milton. Some of them were even coming to gloat privately, perhaps. Yet appearances must be observed, and the three of them waited in the gleaming dining room like warriors anticipating a battle.

The visitors did indeed dribble in, one by one, looking falsely cheerful and furtive. Fanny was there of course, this time hanging on the arm of her pompous husband, and so was every other trader of Milton along with his wife. There were sneers and condensation, of course, but there were also some expressions of sincere sympathy, and even some tentative hints about a willingness to use Thornton's skills in their own cotton mills. The cotton business, though it failed Thornton, was picking up after the strike, and some manufacturers were swamped with new orders for the coming summer. They knew better than to let Thornton go to work for their competitors.

Thornton found himself in high demand among his visitors and hardly had any time to join his mother or his young wife. Tall as he was, he could see them over the heads of the men who surrounded him, and was sharply aware of the great beauty and dignity that was so natural in Margaret. Her social graces and London training were apparent as never before; she listened to the sometimes crude remarks of the ladies of Milton with regal composure. It affected people around her, and unconsciously they mustered up their best manners and best feelings, as if trying to prove themselves worthy of the company of a superior woman even if all they initially wanted was to triumph over her. Though the new Mrs. Thornton's debut as a new hostess in town was likely to be her last, she was as gracious and serene as a queen in the height of her glory. Thornton felt proud as well as humbled. The thought that this incredible woman, so obviously admired by every person in the room would love him so deeply was astonishing.

Admittedly, not everyone in the room was capable of understanding the true worth of Margaret's gentleness and courage. Some of the ladies came with feigned good intentions, ready to pity and listen to her complaints, only to be affronted when they found their kindness unwanted. Fanny approached Margaret with an air of effusive benevolence, a little haughty, perhaps, as she savored her position of a richer sister-in-law, only to be met with mild but stately tranquility of civil address that forbade any misplaced familiarity. Nevertheless, Fanny took her station by her new sister with every intention of basking in the reflected rays of the glorious scandal that was the talk of town.

The evening dragged on endlessly and wearingly, full of repeated congratulations, insincere assurances and obligatory consolations. It was well past eleven o'clock when the last visitor finally left. The little family remained in the suddenly empty room for a few minutes, too fatigued to exert themselves for the last of their nightly duties and obligations. The conversation bubbled haltingly; both women mostly discussed mundane household subjects and occasionally tried to involve Thornton, hoping to shake him from his gloom. However, he was quite content to sit and listen, watching their interaction curiously. His pain of losing the mill and social standing was numbed with exhaustion, but he was touched by their united efforts to support him and cheer him up, in spite of their own feelings of despair.

They stepped to his side, the two women most dear to him, who so recently were not very friendly to each other. Now they were united in their love for him and the need to help him. But there was more to it. He could see that they were gradually warming to each other and recognized the genuine excellence of character each of them possessed. Margaret, probably for the first time, had found a woman as strong as she was and who did not need to be comforted and cajoled at every turn. And Mother, too, was gingerly feeling her way toward her new daughter-in-law who was nothing at all like her own daughter. She found in Margaret a girl she respected and could talk to as an equal. Thornton knew that no matter where they three found themselves in the next few days, he could face whatever fate was about to throw his way, with these two extraordinary women by his side.