Whilst John dashed about preparing the new factory and ordering men, beast and Nicholas about, Margaret too flitted away in due industry. The annual Master's dinner was almost upon them, and after sending out the invitations and ironing the tablecloths, she had Mary polish the silverware to a mirror shine.
The task of this great event normally taken up by the matriarch was now passed onto her, and Margaret was determined to equal, if not exceed her late mother-in-law's efforts with as much economy and grace as she dared. There had to be very careful planning. The Hamper's were to sit next to the Slickson's, the visiting Master from Leeds was to be seated with the Dickson's and Fanny plus her husband would be placed near John and Margaret at the head of the table. In this arrangement, the Hamper's would be saved the distaste of sitting next to a suspicious outsider, the Slickson's would get a reasonably honored place at the table, and Fanny could be close enough to Margaret that should something unsavory take place, she would be available to pounce or give whispered advice.
Not that she expected the former, but there had been tell that Mr. Slickson, once too into his cups, would become increasingly raucous and intolerable and to be seated next to someone like Dickson would only encourage the habit, as he fancied matching glasses with his closest companions. The trouble was, Dickson was more than a stone heavier, and had come from sturdy drinking stalk, whereas Slickson was smaller, thinner, and relatively unable to hold his liquor. All this considered, Margaret folded the cards and when the invitations took flight on the wings of the General Postal Service, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Next, planning for all to reply, she ordered three roasts, a side of lamb, two bags of onions and all the seasonal trimmings. The butcher grinned knowingly at her requests, and amiably explained the best cuts, quality and size for such an important event. Normally Dixon carried out such tasks, but with little Robert still requiring more or less constant care, she took it upon herself to become worldly and modern. She would have their new cook Anne prepare a pineapple upside down cake and sweet cream pies for desert, and finish it was a shipment of French wine, different per course.
There were the children to consider as well, and Margaret had arranged for Fanny's nurse to come and stay with them in the upstairs wing while the party proceeded below, providing her with dinner a small compensation for the extra charges. Of course the other families had made their own arrangements, and it suited Margaret perfectly that all the little ones would be silent and properly away when it came to such an important event. Owen may be called, and she had purchased a darling blue, yellow ribboned suit for the occasion, but if he was not she would return it the next day or give it to Fanny, who had helped her choose it.
All in all it was an expensive affair, but upon being presented with the budget of years past, Margaret has maneuvered her way rather expertly, and still had fifteen pounds for a new dress since her old ones fit strangely on her changed shape, her chest still swollen, spilling out like a harlequin dancer. John thought the alteration to be a mere quibble, and seemed to like the new her, but the embarrassment was not to be bourn. She chose a midnight purple gown at the drapers in the new style, and had it fitted so that it fell modestly and smooth over her chest and down to her still-small waist. She did not wish to appear flashy or impertinent, and so chose minimal jewelry save for her wedding ring, a gold necklace her mother gave her, and black diamond drop earrings inherited through the passing of Hannah Thornton. She originally shied from the idea of wearing the dead woman's things, especially since their history in her family, but, upon second glance, saw their sparkle and relented.
Well I'm becoming quite the little homemaker, Margaret thought as she considered all this. Since when was she, the aloof adult lady, the one to plan parties and fuss over clothes? She had never been keen on the social niceties, and still wasn't, but there was a certain ease in her new position and she thought it rather perfect that while John flourished, she too did her part to made a home for him and their children.
"Mum," Mary said, bumbling though the mist of her fond thoughts, "The butcher called. There's been an accident on the road and the roasts spoilt."
"Oh no!" Margaret cried, "Do we at least have the two we sent for last week?"
"Only one," Mary replied. "It was brought by a farmer this morning."
"Is there an alternative?" Margaret asked, fear spiking in her chest.
"The butcher says he can have one by Friday, but that isn't enough for so many."
"What do you suggest?"
"Chicken mum?" Margaret laughed in her face.
"Chicken? Oh heavens no! That will never do. Does anyone have pheasants or hams?"
"I can check," Mary bobbed a curtsey.
"See that you do." Margaret's mind was reeling. Ham would be acceptable, if barely, but pheasant would please. It would cost extra, however, and she only had five pounds left from her kitty and she was saving it for shoes and final alterations on her dress. If she paid for those, and the two pounds for her pheasant, she would be three pounds short, and she promised John she would not go over the budget. She needed the shoes, however, and set about raising the money from every source.
Knowing that John would think her frugality ridiculous, she was sure to keep her hunt away from him, going to the parlor and sitting room to turn up cushions and open cupboards. It was not that they were poor, or she would receive punishment for the roast accident, but she had promised John to keep within what he gave her, and it was a matter of principal to prove she could.
She kept her crusade to herself, and by the time she had collected the funds it was Thursday afternoon, just enough time to pick up her dress and purchase shoes.
Mary had managed two fine pheasants on the fee she was given, and brought them home to be plucked and stuffed. Margaret knew the girl loved the feathers, so agreed to let her keep them for a play she was volunteering for at the Commons. It was a story based on a witch-sprite and so the bright crimson feathers would made a lovely headdress. She had come a long way from her sister's death, Margaret thought, and the bumbling inept girl she was had turned into a youth with a rose petal complexion and fine form, much like Bessy would have had if she'd been well. She, Margaret, had promised to attend the premier, and John had helped fund the repairs on the theater, a place he secretly enjoyed.
Again, this put the Thornton family out of favor with the Masters, and Margaret had the secret agenda of a peace conference for the dinner, which is why it had to be perfect. She had to look perfect and conduct herself to the other ladies with as much grace and warmth as she could. With the perfect shoes, of course. They had not yet come to the notion of an Asian household, and so shoes were to be worn everywhere except the bedroom. Picking low black heels and purple shoe roses, she then moved on to the tailors. There she collected her dress, paid the apprentice, and left. John would not be home for another couple of hours, and she took to scrutinizing the house. Every speck of dust was purged, all surfaces polished, and decorations made. So involved was she, that when John put his hand on her shoulder she startled, and turned to him in disapproval.
"You know I don't like to be scared," she admonished, kissing him.
"I thought I couldn't scare you, love. I was sure you would have heard me coming like an elephant into the parlor, tired as I am."
"Oh," Margaret sighed, "well I suppose it's been a long day. Will you take any cognac tonight? I know how it calms your nerves."
"Yes, that sounds nice. Oh Maggie you have no idea."
"Tell me," Margaret said over her shoulder, pouring a generous amount into her husband's cup. John moved into his spot by the fire.
"Oh, its simple business, but land, it feels like negotiating the Magna Carta." Margaret handed him his drink, and she sat down opposite, commenting mildly,
"I see you've been reading the histories Father gave you."
"To keep my mind off of that wretched dinner," John sighed. "They expect us to invite wolves for dinner, and not to shoot. At least you women will have something to talk about."
"Us women will try," Margaret wrinkled her nose, "but sometimes I still feel like an outsider here. I can't help but fret over this whole affair."
"Aye, me too," John replied absently, sipping his cognac, "but we'll survive, me and my Maggie."
"I plan to do better than survive," Margaret smiled, heartened by her husband's softness, "I plan to make our dinner the envy of Milton!"
"There! That's a goal." Then, "are the children up?"
"Heavens no."
"Then come on, I want to show you something."
AN: Hello all, thank you for your reviews, followers favorites and patience! Here is the new chapter, (see, English Professor, I CAN write!)… but only when I have a spare moment, none of this essay nonsense! Hehe R&R as always!