Chapter 16
Mary Higgins began working at Marlborough House the following week. Her tasks included fetching small things from the market, running errands, and assisting the cook.
All of this had been performed by the house staff before, and the maids had always managed, so one might have questioned Mr Thornton on why he would bear the costs for a somewhat unnecessary employee.
However, the bewilderment of the maids was of short duration, as it was quickly superseded by the joy of having to do less work, especially after they had been informed that this would not diminish their wages.
The one person who was truly astonished by this new development was Margaret Hale.
She first heard of it on one of her Sunday visits to Bessy, who told her about her father's talk with Mr Thornton and the subsequent offer of employment.
"But we have never had an additional kitchen maid. Bessy – do you think - ?" She broke off and looked over at her friend, who was busy, filling two cups of water for them and did not meet her eyes.
"Aye. It's what we all think. Father's been quite unsure 'bout it for days. Says it'd take his pride to accept charity. But we need th' money, Margaret."
The young woman looked up a bit uncertainly and carefully pushed a cup towards Margaret, before sitting down and clutching her own in both her hands.
Margaret was stunned into silence. She knew that Thornton had always disliked the Higgins', with Nicholas being with the union. Why would he do such a thing? Pay Mary for tasks that could easily be done by Jane and Clara?
She recalled the conversation she had had with him the other night, where he had asked about Nicholas and the Boucher children. He had no reason to do this.
None…except…could it be that he cared?
Cared for these children he did not know, the family of a man he despised? It was unlike him, and yet, there was no other sensible explanation.
It was a thought that preoccupied Margaret's thoughts for the rest of her visit, and later her feet carried her back to the mill house of their own accord, for her mind was still far away.
..ooOOoo..
With all of the Higgins family working now, the younger Boucher children were looked after by the neighbours while they were gone.
Only Tommy, the eldest, would often accompany Mary to the mill and would be waiting in the courtyard for her, reading a book.
He was a clever little chap who was teaching himself to read. With angelic patience, he would sit there for hours, practising his letters and words.
Unbeknownst to him or anyone else, he was occasionally observed by John Thornton, who would stand at his office window, just out of sight of the people down below in the yard, looking over at the child in silence, his eyes thoughtful.
Thus, everyone settled into their new routines, and as time went by, they scarcely remembered things ever having been any different.
The warm days of summer gradually turned into a slightly chillier autumn, and when the trees up on the hills around Milton and down by the river began colouring in bright shades of yellow and orange, Margaret realised that she had been in the north for almost eight months.
Some days it felt as if it had only been yesterday that she had come here, other times it seemed like she had been here for years.
She had learned the city well and was familiar with all of the streets and alleys near Marlborough Mills.
She knew some people at the market by name as well as many workers at the mill and she had managed to make her own friends and people she cared for.
Her fears of feeling alone and isolated had been mostly unfounded.
She had learned to appreciate the north for all its grittiness and the people here for their hard work and honest ways.
They had no fear of speaking their minds plainly and stating their truths, which was something one rarely ever found in the south.
..ooOOoo..
John Thornton sat behind the desk, at his office, brooding over some ledgers, when a knock made him look up.
"Enter."
The door opened and in stepped a middle-aged man whom John had not seen in a long time.
He was very tall, with distinct side whiskers, and wore an elegant dark grey suit, holding a top hat in one hand and a briefcase in the other.
"John!" he acknowledged the younger man with a nod.
"Latimer."
The mill master rose from his seat, offered the man the chair across from him and picked up two glasses and a flask of brandy to dutifully offer him a drink.
All the while, he could not quite bring himself to look the man fully in the face.
This unexpected visit was throwing him somewhat off guard, and he had to fight for a moment to keep his emotions in check.
His father-in-law rarely came to Milton these days. After Ann's death, the family had removed to London, due to Mrs Latimer's claims of not being able to bear this place any longer with her beloved daughter gone.
They had kept their properties in town, of course, and Latimer would come up north to do business occasionally, but their lives were very much separate.
"What brings you here?" John asked, pushing a full glass toward the other man. Latimer picked it up and sniffed the brandy for a moment.
"I've just been in town and thought I should drop in for a visit to inquire about my granddaughter's health."
John looked at him askance. Neither of the Latimers had ever shown true care for Emma or wished to see her.
They never wrote to her, not even for Christmas. He surmised that Mrs Latimer held a grudge against him, and maybe even Emma, for the fact that Ann would still be alive, had it not been for the pregnancy.
Mr Latimer himself seemed wholly detached from his granddaughter, and John was sure that he was merely inquiring after her out of politeness.
"Emma is doing well, I thank you."
It was enough for the other man, who nodded and took a sip of his drink.
"Very well. I've also come to discuss a business matter, John. You see, I know you are rather well off. Your business is thriving and people are pining to invest; and yet, there is always room for improvement."
John raised an eyebrow at that. Having spoken to Watson the other day, he had a suspicion about where this was going, and he did not have to wait long for an answer.
"There are more modern forms of making money these days than merely producing cotton, as I am sure you are aware of. Investments. I have come up here to discuss one such scheme with Watson, your brother-in-law, maybe you've heard about it. It seems like some other mill masters are very interested in it as well, and I did not want you to miss out on the opportunity."
John's countenance darkened significantly with every word that was spoken.
"Speculation," he eventually spat out with clear distaste in his voice. "Latimer, surely you should know better than to propose such a thing to me, of all people."
"Well," Latimer swirled his drink around in his glass, tilting his head to one side to look at John unashamedly.
"Those were different times, John. Your old man jumped into something he could not finish, working with people he could not trust. These schemes have grown much more secure."
"Have they now?" John put down his own glass with a distinct clank, and, unable to sit still any longer, rose from his chair and began pacing.
"I'll also thank you not to discuss my father in this manner."
"I apologise," Latimer quickly said, although he did not sound particularly apologetic. "But surely you must see the opportunity. I have the records with me; here."
He opened his briefcase, which he had placed beside his chair, pulled out a stack of papers, and placed it on John's desk.
"You may look into them in depth. I am certain you will find no fault with them. We are certain to profit."
"There is nothing certain about speculation," John ground out in annoyance.
"Nothing in life is ever certain," the older man countered, unimpressed. "Every venture comes with a certain amount of risk; and yet, if we never take risks, we shall miss out on some tremendous opportunities."
"I will not risk the livelihoods of hundreds of workers on such a tomfool scheme. I've no interest in this venture, Latimer. I think I have made myself clear enough."
Latimer leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands in front of his chest.
"Now, that is disappointing indeed. To think that the owner of one of the most prosperous mills in this town is too conservative to explore new paths – paths that will lead into the future. This is the modern form of doing these things. Everyone speculates, John. It is how businesses thrive today. Just think about your daughter. Your decisions will impact her too."
"I would ask you to leave Emma out of this!"
The tone in John's voice was dangerous now.
"You may call me conservative, but I've no need to risk a business that is going well. I shall do just fine without your little schemes. You may strike gold and get lucky, and I wish you the best for it, but I will not participate."
"Is that your last word?" Latimer seemed mildly disgruntled.
"Indeed, it is," John told him with the fortitude of a man who would stand by his decision and not fall back even an inch.
There was a long moment of silence, during which the two men sized each other up with rather hostile expressions.
Eventually, Latimer caught himself. He rose from his chair, put his papers back into the briefcase, and straightened himself up.
"Very well, Thornton. We shall see who comes out on top of this in the end. I do hope you will not regret this, for the sake of my granddaughter."
"Of course," John answered, holding the other's gaze. "I am sure Emma's well-being is very close to your heart. Pray, would you care to go over to the house and see her?"
Latimer cleared his throat, breaking John's gaze and fumbling with his briefcase.
"Much as I would love to, Thornton, I've a train to catch. I need to be back in London tonight, or my wife will not let me hear the end of it."
With this, he turned toward the door. John followed him out onto the landing, where the older man turned around to him.
"It has been a pleasure to do business with you, Thornton," he said loudly, with a strange smile that did not reach his eyes. He held out his hand, which John took out of courtesy.
"I am sure it will be a very successful venture. I shall inform you on the progress we make with it."
"I do not think that is necessary," Thornton replied coolly. "You do as you see fit."
Latimer nodded, and then turned around and stepped down into the yard, where his carriage was already waiting for him.
John did not even bother to wait until the other embarked on it before turning back toward his office and slamming the door firmly shut behind him.
At the bottom of the steps, Nicholas Higgins, who had sat on the wooden landing eating a piece of bread during his short break, lifted his head to look after the carriage as it rolled through the mill gates out onto Marlborough Street, only to disappear from his view a moment later.
He had caught some scraps of what the elegant fellow had said to the master, and as a man who had spent years of his life in weaving sheds where he had learned to lip-read over the noise of the machinery, he had managed to pick up on the meaning of the rest.
Something about doing business with Thornton and a successful venture.
Nicholas had seen this man before. If he was not mistaken, it was Thornton's own father-in-law who had been by the house a few times before the mistress's death. It was said that he was a banker.
Nicholas did not know much about business, never having been educated much in the matter.
But he did have a rough understanding of things, and he had heard rumours amongst the workers about the masters investing money into some uncertain scheme.
Could it be that Thornton was willing to play with their livelihoods for the chance of making a mint?
Nicholas felt anger rise within him. It would be typical for the masters, with their fancy houses and grand dinners, always thinking about their own profit.
If Thornton took part in this and won some money, he was sure to keep it for himself. The workers would certainly not see a penny of it.
And yet, if he gambled away his money, he would likely have enough on the side to grant himself a comfortable life, even if the payroll would not survive.
The workers would lose in any case.
Nicholas rose to his feet, wiped his hands on his trousers, and threw a furious glance up at the window of Thornton's office.
He had been willing to give the man the benefit of the doubt, especially after what he had done for Mary – for what reason, Nicholas still could not fathom.
But this right here was proof enough that one must never trust a master.
..ooOOoo..
NOTES:
Nothing like a good little stir to move things along a bit...? ﾟﾘﾉ
I want to take this opportunity to thank all of you wonderful people who have been reading this so faithfully and have left so many lovely comments. Every single one is very much appreciated. ❤️