~Chapter 7~
John Thornton woke and to his delight found that the strange workings of the night before had not been a dream. Margaret, his wife, still slept beside him, her round face flushed with the warmth of sleep and her curls spilling loose over the pillow. John reached out and wrapped one around his finger for a moment. He rose regretfully and prepared for the day, slipping out of the room and down the stairs. Inhaling the eggs and toast that Edward brought him, John instructed the man to have Molly prepare a dinner basket for two and leave it on the table. Edward turned away from the master as soon as he could, pretending to smooth his salt and pepper mustache but in truth trying to disguise his expression. He hoped that his smile had not been apparent at Mr. Thornton's instructions.
All through the morning, John struggled with his work, not as a result of his stiff hands, which were actually much improved from the day before, but because he kept imagining that he spotted Margaret leaving the house. A thousand times he stood from his chair and then sat again in disappointment that his mind and heart had played such a cruel joke with his emotions. Was that she? John rose again and in his haste dropped the pen that he held. It rolled across the open account book, the ink leaving a track of dark teardrops across the entire exposed page which he had almost completed. "God damn it!" he exploded. Blotting the page, John realized that he would be good for nothing this morning, so eager was he for a continuation of the good relations between he and his wife, and thus determined to walk the floor below.
Margaret woke in the dark room and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. She turned carefully, afraid of jostling the bed, but found as she ever had that Mr. Thornton had risen before her. Stop being silly, she coached her aching heart, which longed to be greeted by another human being. After all, when had she ever woken to find another person in her bedchamber? Why did she expect to now? Suddenly, Margaret wondered how late she had slept in the unnaturally dark room. What if Julia or Samantha had come and found her own room empty? Imagine the rumors that would begin then! Not even stopping to consider that these were rumors typical of a newly married couple, Margaret hurried down the hall and into her own bedroom, posing as if selecting a gown when Julia entered the room only seconds later. Margaret wondered if her heartbeats, which pounded loud in her own ears, were audible to the maid. "Are you ready, mistress?" Julia asked. Margaret just nodded, still breathless from her run.
Margaret descended the stairs half an hour later in a sunny yellow, green, and red plaid dress that always made her smile. Her smile only grew wider when she entered the dining room and found the ready basket. It would be several hours before the "duty" of carrying the dinner to Mr. Thornton, but the thought of it brightened Margaret's day. She had barely seated herself at the table when Mrs. Thornton entered.
Hannah Thornton grimaced when upon waking she found that her toothache had returned. The gum around the offending tooth, one at the top front, appeared red and swollen and was painful to the touch. Hannah had complained once to her doctor and been told the solution would be removal of the tooth. Vainer than she cared to admit, Hannah would rather live with the pain than with the empty space in her mouth. It is not vanity, Hannah corrected herself internally as she stepped into the black dress that the maid held ready, it is strength. Still, the aching soured her mood as she dressed and sat to have her hair fixed. She moaned aloud. "Did I pull your hair?" Agnes asked in concern, pausing her brushing of the long, straight black hair in which a few strands of silver merely served to highlight the rich color of the rest.
"No," Hannah assured the girl and the brush strokes began again. She had suddenly realized that Fanny would call today in polite reciprocation of Hannah's call two days before. Hannah did not believe she could survive another day, especially one where she felt so poorly, discussing music and wallpaper. Margaret! Thank God for Margaret. She could entertain Fanny this day. So decided, Hannah exited her bedroom, descended the stairs, and entered the breakfast room.
"Good morning, Mrs. Thornton," Margaret cautiously offered, meeting her mother-in-law's eyes only with great strength of will, ashamed as she was of her conduct the night before.
"Good morning, Margaret," Hannah returned, thinking only how glad she was to have Margaret there to free her of her obligation with Fanny. She scanned the table for the softest item so as to save her tooth from further agony. It was with some distaste that she determined porridge would have to do. During the long years of their disgrace, porridge had been a staple in the Thornton household, a cheap food that filled the stomach and lasted several days after preparations. As a result of its constant place in their diet, Fanny loved the stuff and Hannah gagged at the mere thought of it. Grimacing, Hannah reached for the bowl and scooped a gluey pile of it into her plate. She ate haltingly.
Margaret sat in silence, unsure how to read her mother-in-law's expression of disgust. She must still harbor anger over the embarrassing display of the previous night. Despite all of her mother-in-law's wrongful accusations, in this Hannah Thornton had the right. Margaret knew what she must do. "Mrs. Thornton," she forced herself to say, "I am sorry for my behavior last night."
"It is forgotten," Hannah stated, distracted in her self-discipline of her reaction to the porridge. She did not even glance in Margaret's direction.
So she will hold it against me, Margaret fumed, reading more in her mother-in-law's actions than her words; Margaret now felt sorry that she had given Mrs. Thornton the satisfaction of hearing an apology cross her lips. At least she would be able to escape to the mill and her husband's company soon.
"Fanny will visit today," Hannah stated, setting her empty spoon onto her empty plate in victory. "I expect you to receive her call with me."
"When do you expect her?" Margaret asked, dreading the answer she felt would come.
"Most likely in time for dinner," Hannah replied, confirming Margaret's fears.
Margaret felt her heart sink heavily into her stomach. "Mr. Thornton forgot his dinner and I had thought to take it to him," she protested weakly.
"Then take it to him now," Hannah returned, annoyed at her daughter-in-law's attempt to escape from the duty that Hannah relied on her to complete. She left the room in a swirl of skirts and retreated to the front sitting room.
Margaret laid her head on her folded hands in defeat, her nose pressing into the mahogany table top. A slight cough sounded from the corner of the room. She lifted her face and spotted Edward carefully situated so as to appear unable to see Margaret's actions. Margaret blushed. She hurried out of the room, only stopping to pick up the basket, determined to at least deliver it to Mr. Thornton's hands with an explanation as to why she could not join him. Just as she gained the front door, the Watson's carriage arrived. She froze, uncertain how to proceed.
"Come into the sitting room, girl," Mrs. Thornton urged.
"But-," Margaret held up the basket.
"Give it to the maid!" Mrs. Thornton exclaimed, waving her hand impatiently. Julia stepped forward and retrieved the basket just as Fanny swept into the room, her dress, bonnet, and gloves rivaling one another for the richest color and most intricate pattern. Knowing her own dress to be similarly rich in color, Margaret still found herself fighting the urge to shade her eyes against the brilliant hues.
"Good morning, Fanny," Hannah Thornton greeted her daughter, smiling quickly and then turning away to hide her pain when the expression placed more pressure on her tender tooth. She would have to avoid talking as much as possible; luckily Fanny hardly made that a challenge, immediately launching into a description of how much larger, brighter, and better furnished her new house was for the benefit of Margaret, who had not yet the pleasure of viewing it.
John walked the rows looms and noticed immediately several unfamiliar faces. "Williams," he called, spotting his overseer, and then continued when he approached, "Are many of the workers ill?"
"Aye," William replied, removing his cap as he stood before Mr. Thornton. "It seems the fever spread from Boxer and Hastings to several of those who worked near them. I took the liberty of selecting replacements as you appeared preoccupied with the accounts."
I was preoccupied, John thought, but not with accounts. He nodded and moved on. As he turned, he spotted Julia halfway up the wooden staircase to his office and stared incredulously as she dropped his dinner basket by the closed office door. Had he judged wrongly? Did Margaret still harbor anger from their hot words? Yes, she had sought him out in the night but only after dreams and sorrow drove her there. He returned to his office, crushed by the little basket that waited there for him. Kicking it slightly to the side, John opened the door and seated himself again before his account book. He busied himself with rewriting the page his ink spill had ruined, but did not accomplish much by the day's end and so stayed late, convinced that he did so to finish his accounts and not to avoid his wife.
Margaret fidgeted with her skirt, her cuff, a loose curl of hair. All the while, she kept her false smile pasted firmly in place. Normally, Margaret would have enjoyed Fanny's bright and determined chatter, at least a break from the silence or critiques of Mrs. Thornton. Now, however, Margaret longed to throw herself to her knees and beg Fanny for a reprieve from the constant onslaught of information on the material contents of the Watson household.
"My Watson has fully handed over the reins of the household to me," Fanny stated proudly. "And he says to anyone who will listen, although I have told him it is too much, that I have done a fine job indeed of bringing it to its full potential."
Margaret made some noise of assent, wondering how it would feel to so easily speak her husband's name. My Thornton, she practiced. That did not seem right. My John. Perhaps someday she would feel confident enough to speak the words aloud.
"Have you not considered your own changes to the house, Miss Hale – Mrs. Thornton?" Fanny asked.
Both Margaret and Hannah started at the unfamiliar use of the title. "Call me Margaret, Mrs. Watson, please," Margaret stated, unsure how to answer the question and trying desperately to change the course of the conversation.
"Then you must call me Fanny."
"Thank you, Fanny," Margaret replied. "Do you know I do believe that this piano has sat unused since your marriage? It is such a shame for the lovely piece to be so wasted. Would you do us the honor of playing?" She sighed in relief as Fanny rose to do just that. Thus freed of keeping up with Fanny Watson's monologue, Margaret turned her attention to Mrs. Thornton, whose silence confounded her. Surely Mrs. Thornton was not so angry at Margaret that she would risk slighting her own daughter with her anger. Then again, Margaret did not pretend to know her mother-in-law so well.
Fanny left the Thornton's home just before supper and Margaret rushed to change, hoping to have a chance to speak to Mr. Thornton before the meal began. Instead, she greeted an empty dining room. "Mrs. Thornton is not hungry and has retired to her room," Edward informed her.
"And Mr. Thornton?" she asked, hopefully.
"I am unsure, mistress," he responded, "Would you like me to send a maid to inquire?"
"No, thank you," Margaret sighed. She ate alone and quickly, considering the service of Edward to be highly unnecessary with only she to wait upon. Then, Margaret settled in the front sitting room, not her normal spot but one from which she would be sure to see Mr. Thornton enter.
John Thornton bowed his head over the updated accounts. He no longer checked the columns for accuracy but instead waged an internal battle. Half of him longed to race across the mill yard, find Margaret, and demand of her an explanation for the confusion of her actions. Yet, the other half did not want to see the tender figure of the night before replaced with the proud anger that he had so hoped to move beyond. "Coward," he accused himself aloud, donning his coat and taking his hat in hand. He blew out the lamp, descended the stairs, and crossed the yard, his footsteps sounding heavily upon the newly dried dirt. Perhaps she did not wait up at all and he would enter a silent house. But after last night, in whose bed would she choose to slumber? John cautioned himself against such hope. He entered the front door so disciplined.
"Mr. Thornton," Margaret called. "Are you hungry? Your mother had Molly prepare you a plate from supper but I regret to inform you that it is surely cold by now." Where have you been? her heart wanted to add, I have been waiting for ever so long.
"That is fine," John responded, not even bothering this time to correct her use of his most formal name. "I have become accustomed to cold fare on nights like this." But I am not yet used to being snubbed by my own wife, he continued internally, Why did you not come?
Margaret shadowed John into the dining room and seated herself beside him as he ate. John could not think of anything to say and so did not offer anything.
"Your sister visited today," Margaret stated.
"Fanny?" John asked, as if he had any others.
Their conversation was halted by an insistent knocking at the front door.
"Who could that be at this hour?" John questioned, leaving his plate and heading for the door with Margaret just behind.
Margaret and John reached the hall in time to watch Edward swing open the heavy door. The silhouette of a man was highlighted by Edward's ready lamp.
"I've come to see Margaret Hale," the figure stated, his visage hidden by the darkness of the hour but his voice ever so familiar to Margaret.
"Frederick?" Margaret cried.
"Margaret!" He stepped past Edward and into the hall, holding his arms open to her. "I've come to take you home with me."