MASTERS, MAGISTRATES, MUTINEERS & MEN
Chapter 9: The Pebble
I could never be enough for her. Maria wished for greater fortune, greater affection, more time, more devotion. I never came into her presence but to be reminded of what I lacked. Eventually, I gave up trying," Mr. Hale confessed. It was one of those moments where he was roused from lethargy and overflowed with remonstrations from the past. These moods came and went each day – great tides of sudden emotion and verbosity which just as suddenly lapsed into slumber again.
Mrs. Thornton sat alongside him, her knitting needles clicking together in front of her. She forced a response to Mr. Hale, but she did not think he even heard- or recognized who it was he spoke to. Such candid expressions ought not to be made in her presence and would be far more fitting for Mr. Bell's ears, but the old scholar had stepped out with Mr. Lennox and had not returned. In truth, Mrs. Thornton did not think such confessions were proper for Margaret's ears either and she was doubly glad the girl had agreed to walk to the cemetery.
"What cost my conscience has claimed!" Mr. Hale continued. "Is this my punishment? To lose first Maria and now Frederick? It is more than I can bear!" Then, Mr. Hale fell into a long quotation of something or other. It made no sense to Mrs. Thornton and so she assumed it was in some long-forgotten language, written by some long-dead poet. The tone was eloquent and spoken with passion. For a moment, she could see a hint of how he must have filled a Sunday pulpit, inspiring his congregants with his sermons. She hoped he had used more English words than Greek or Latin or whatever it was he was reciting now. She wondered if John would have understood it and her heart swelled with pride that he very well might. Not that it was a particularly useful skill, this spouting out ancient nonsense that only the highly educated and sedentary could understand, but she was gratified that her son was quite capable of such intellectual feats – if he chose to pursue them.
After some time, Mr. Hale finished his quotation and he turned to face her again. "I cannot leave Maria," he burst out, as if answering an argument that Mrs. Thornton had not made. It was an unusually firm statement from the usually passive man. She looked up from her knitting and was surprised to see he was waiting for an answer.
"Where else would you go?" She asked, determining that a question would be far more effective than any trite platitudes.
"Adam wishes us to go with him to Oxford," he answered. "However, I cannot leave Maria behind. I have wronged her enough. I must remain here until I join her."
"What of Margaret?" Mrs. Thornton asked, her concern far more with the living daughter than the dead wife.
"Margaret adapts well enough anywhere she is," Mr. Hale responded.
Mrs. Thornton frowned. The statement was true enough, she supposed, but there was an aspect to it that unsettled her. Wasn't it just the fate of a woman- a wife, a daughter, a sister, a mother- to adapt " well enough" to the decisions of their menfolk? She sighed; her attention fixed on untangling a bit of yarn. She wondered where Margaret would choose to be, if asked. No, Margaret would choose to remain alongside her father until he had no more use for her. Mrs. Thornton amended her thought to wonder where Margaret would choose to be if allowed to freely decide her fate - if she ever would experience such freedom.
It was late afternoon when Mr. Bell returned. Mr. Hale had long since extinguished his wellspring of words and returned to bed. Mrs. Thornton had eagerly welcomed the silence and set about organizing the maid and household affairs. She was pleased to find how well the accounts were already managed and to find that a diligent feminine overseer had managed to keep the household organized - even in the midst of illness and death. She doubted whether Mr. Hale would notice his daughter's efforts or recognized the skills displayed, but Mrs. Thornton was glad to know the girl had some sense to her and knew what she was about when it came to running a house.
Mrs. Thornton saw that tea was brought for Mr. Bell and he spoke flippantly of his errands about Milton. She could tell there were weighty undercurrents which he intentionally avoided speaking of, but which were foremost on his mind. She did not pry, but she wondered what else he knew that he did not wish to share. When the tea tray was taken away, Mrs. Thornton rose to retrieve her work, but she paused as the sight of something caught her attention from the window. She came closer and peered out into the charcoal grey of the November afternoon outside. A man and woman approached- each garbed in solemn black, shadowed by the clouds overhead and the grey cobblestone road they walked on. Yet, despite their somber dress, the pair walked arm-in-arm, their postures angled as closely together as propriety would allow. Their steps were far too slow, as if neither was in a hurry to reach their destination. The countenance of each proved far too pleased to belong to joint mourners and they spoke in eager, animated conversation.
Mr. Bell, noticing her attention, came to the window and looked out for himself. There, his gaze lingered, his attention rapt on the sight beyond. With a bemused expression, the old man looked over at Mrs. Thornton inquiringly, his raised eyebrows and merry eyes speaking his conclusions. Before he could speak his mind, the front door opened and closed and steps were heard in the hall. Miss Hale swept into the room, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright. In her hands, she clutched a brown paper-wrapped parcel. She remained with them only long enough to give a profusion of thanks to Mrs. Thornton for her thoughtful gift, inquire after her father, and express her satisfaction with her outing. Then, she disappeared up the stairs again to look in on her father.
Her companion did not come to the house. John Thornton remained on the street beyond, watching until the front door closed, and then he turned back the way he had come with such a smile on his face and a lightness in his step that Mrs. Thornton was hard-pressed not to groan out loud and chide him for such a display.
"I suppose that explains Margaret's reluctance to leave Milton," Mr. Bell observed, once Margaret was beyond stairs. Mrs. Thornton gave a huff but did not answer directly. Mr. Bell was not dissuaded. "Poor Mr. Lennox," he continued. "The family in London has been trying for some time to fix a match there, or so I've been told, but if the gleam in Margaret's eye and the spring in your son's step is to be believed, the poor barrister has been beat out by a Milton man."
"And why shouldn't he be? John is ten times the man that London boy is," she proclaimed, only recognizing Mr. Bell's triumph after she had spoken and realizing he was goading her.
"And you think Miss Hale will suit? She's a London lass herself. You've never been overfond of the ladies produced by our fine capital city."
Mrs. Thornton's initial reaction was to defend Miss Hale and proclaim she was not like those other London girls, but the very strength of her reaction made her pause and wonder at herself. It was not even a week ago that she would have argued against the match and proclaimed Miss Hale entirely unsuitable to her son. What had changed? What made her respond so differently to Mr. Bell's assertions today?
Mr. Bell spoke the truth. Mrs. Thornton had never liked Londoners. Southerners, in general, were a lot she could hardly understand. Their finely dressed men with soft hands gained more praise the less work they did and their women, made of silk and lace, could no more face hardship without swooning than recognize the merit of a true Milton man. Those Southerners could never understand their Northern ways and they turned up their noses at Northerners at the first note of their accent, the first recognition of their origin beyond the southern counties of England. For all they admired Northern monies and Northern products, they had very little patience for Northern ways or the people themselves. Mrs. Thornton would not suffer the disdain of such people and had no use for their fine ways and even finer ideas about themselves.
For those long years, Mrs. Thornton had watched those fine gentlemen and ladies – from both the North and South- despise her son and look down on him while he worked in the draper's shop. For all they required his services and admired the fine figure he cut as he assisted them with their heavy bolts of fabric, they could not respect him as a man. As John rose in prominence and position, so did the opinions of those around him. Those who would have once despised him began to take notice once he proved himself a man of means and influence. Mrs. Thornton's heart had swelled with pride as she saw her son receiving the respect and admiration which should have always been his. He earned his place by his own merit: the wisdom of his mind, the sweat of his brow, and the strength of his character. He was the same as he had ever been, only finally receiving the fruit of his labors, the recognition his excellence deserved. As much as she felt John deserved the praise directed his way, she also despised and doubted it in equal measures. If a lass would have despised him as a draper only to admire him as a master, then the woman was not to be trusted and she proved she did not know John's worth as a man. Hannah knew she was unfair – that she bordered dangerously close to hypocrisy for such a stance- but she could not help it. No woman of sense would have married a draper's assistant- no matter his character- for no man in such a position could have afforded a family. Yet, she hated how remnants of that time, that disgrace, had lodged themselves in her son's heart and made him carry a weight of insecurity he had never quite been able to cast off.
And the fortunes of Milton were ever-changing. Hannah knew only too well how quickly a man could topple from prominence; a house of cards tossed by a breath of wind. John knew this shifting, unsteady admiration and did not trust his reception by the women of Milton. He could not live by halves and to take a wife who admired his wealth over his person was a position he could not bear. He was too honest, too influenced by those years of ill fortune. No, his chosen wife could not love the master if she could not love the draper's assistant. John needed a wife who would stand by him through any change of fortune and respect him for the man he was and could be. Hannah knew all too well how family could disown you in hard times and how it was the worst of trials which revealed the truest of loyalties. She also knew the pain and betrayal of finding one's spouse would not face the worst of life together. She would rather spare her son a marriage made of glass and hold out for one of iron.
Thus, Hannah was more than content for John to delay marriage for as long as he needed. Sometimes, she had worried about him and wished for him to have the companionship and support a wife would give. Yet, he was able to throw himself single-mindedly into his work and his position and she must also approve of that. It was what enabled him to rise to the position he now held. Let the women of Milton admire him from afar! He would not belong to any of them unless they could prove themselves worthy of such a man!
Then came Margaret Hale.
The penniless daughter of a disgraced parson who had the audacity to carry herself as a queen and turn up her nose at all Milton. The Southern girl was no more impressed by the wealth of the masters than she was by the danger of a riot and yet it was this woman, of all women, who caught her son's eye.
It was absurd. It was the most foolish fancy her son had ever maintained. For all Mrs. Thornton could not understand wasting precious hours taking lessons from an old scholar, at least that pursuit was harmless enough. But to wish to wed a woman with no love of Milton, no admiration of what made a Milton man, and none of the grit and endurance of a Milton woman- why that was the utmost of foolishness and could only lead to John's unhappiness.
Hannah knew her son. Once he set his mind on something, his mind was set. However, she also knew enough of men to know the effect a pretty woman could have on their decision-making skills and she was surprised to find even her beloved John was not exempt from such danger. She supposed she should have considered herself fortunate that John had never been so afflicted before and that she had not seen him suffer more than one broken heart through his long years.
However, of all women in the world, why would John set his heart on this one? It left Hannah entirely baffled. Was it all an attempt to prove himself? Was the girl a symbol of a level of status John wished to obtain or was she merely the draw of novelty and exotic difference? She was a hothouse orchid and John had grown too used to hedgerow roses to recognize their merit. Did he even know the girl or was he drawn to the idea of her, the image she represented? Hannah had hoped it would all pass, that he would recognize the ash and smoke and lack of material for his affection move on to something, someone, of true substance.
Then the strike came.
Mrs. Thornton never knew what had happened that day only that her son left the protection of the house to single-handedly face down a mob crying for his blood. She had to assume that such foolishness must spring from the same root as his other great folly and had something to do with Miss Hale, though even then, Mrs. Thornton could not fathom how it was that the pair of them ended up facing down an angry crowd together. Whatever the logic (or lack thereof) which compelled them to leave the safety of the mill house, John and Miss Hale found themselves the targets of ire of all the dissatisfied, angry mill hands of Milton. All the repressed rage and building fury of every mill worker must then be directed at John – whether he was their master or not- and he must be the symbol of all that made them dissatisfied with their lots in life. The miserable creatures would hold no qualms in using him as a scapegoat for every wrong and slight they had ever received- whether real or imagined- and Mrs. Thornton shuddered to think how it all might have ended.
If not for Miss Hale.
Did that woman have even an inch of self-preservation? What compelled her to wander Milton on such a day? Why must she throw herself in the midst of the chaos rather than choosing to keep herself safe? Whatever it was, at the end of the day, the blows that were meant for John, she took upon herself.
No, Mrs. Thornton was forced to reconsider Miss Hale again after that day. A woman who faced down an angry mob and placed her delicate body between certain danger and John Thornton was a rare creature and made of sterner stuff than she had anticipated. And that was what John needed. Strikes and riots and stones would come. He required a wife who would stand alongside him in the fray, make the worst endurable, and love him enough to take a blow in his stead. Hannah knew of very few Milton lasses willing to face down a mob.
What compelled a woman to take the blow meant for a man? Was there a greater proof of love than such an act?
Mrs. Thornton might even learn to like her for it.
Until the next day changed everything again. Miss Hale refused him, emptied her act of any meaning other than general charity - as if she'd have done the same for Slickson or Hamper or the butcher's boy if in the same position- and she did not bother to shield John from the blow she gave herself, leaving his heart shattered in pieces.
The pebble remained where it had fallen after the day of the riot. It had crashed against the stairs, broke in half, and now lay behind a series of crates. She had never bothered to move it. Knowing about the pebble, would Miss Hale still have done what she did? Or would she have allowed the stone to strike John instead? Was it a grander thing to imagine Miss Hale protecting a man she despised than one she loved? Which spoke better of her character? Mrs. Thornton did not know and even the idea that someone would despise her son made her ire rankle. No, there were certain levels of honesty that not even Mrs. Thornton could manage and honesty about the faults and foibles of her son was impossible, despite her intimate knowledge of them.
Hannah did not understand. What was Miss Hale about? What did she want? The incident at Outwood Station made it all clear. Miss Hale had another lover – one she was willing to engage in all manner of morally dubious and improper activities with- and Hannah Thornton could wash her hands of the girl and praise the Almighty for sparing her son such a wife.
The past five days had forced Mrs. Thornton to change her position all over again and she wondered how many more times she must adjust her perception before she had the right of it. After five days spent with the Hales under the most intimate settings, Hannah was forced to view the Hales not as Southerners or competition for John's time and affection but as flawed human beings. Hannah was forced to admit she doubted whether Margaret herself knew what she was about. In some ways, Margaret was a proud, grown woman-all self-assurance and confidence. In other ways she was still very much a child- bound in idealistic ignorance and privileged security. She may seamlessly grace a dinner party in silk and lace but she stumbled her way through mill yards and back alleys, her mouth agape at the starving babes and dying women and desperate men she found strewn along its corners. She had never faced hunger nor lack. She had no conception for danger or human capacity for violence. She had not known the ill-turn a crowd could take during the riot and it was obvious she had not realized the extent of risk she placed her brother in. She was bold and courageous, but she required more life experience to tamper her and tether her courage to sense and the cold, hard ground of reality. There were hard decisions she had never been forced to make and so must be given leeway in her idealism.
However, Margaret Hale was not a fixed creature, set in her ways and knowledge of the world. For all her show of airs and bravado, she was still growing, still learning, still stumbling through life and, perhaps, just perhaps, she had not yet decided what she wanted or where she belonged. Yet, Hannah had to admire her ability to grow. She was not the same as when she had first come and her experiences in Milton had forced her to change. Margaret could adapt to changes of circumstance- however clumsy - and with time make the best of where she found herself. She would make friendships with people she considered worthwhile- regardless of class or status- and she would make herself thrive. Mrs. Thornton had been surprised when the only friends of Margaret who came to call were hands from the mill. Nicholas and Mary Higgins came by often, sometimes bringing a Boucher child, and managed to cheer Margaret up a bit. Mrs. Thornton could not approve, but she could hardly turn them away, especially seeing the delight Margaret took in such visits, but she wondered how lacking in company Margaret had been that these were the people she turned to for companionship.
She thought of the Hales- their strange decorations, their strange ways, their strange thoughts. They did not belong to Milton nor did they understand Milton ways. They could learn, of course, if they wished it, but before Margaret could understand a Milton man she must come to respect Milton itself. In the same way, John needed to understand Margaret's home and how things were done in the South before he could fully understand Margaret. Had John ever truly known Margaret? Not that such intimacy was necessary before marriage. Enough marriages began with each partner in ignorance of the other and they still muddled through and learned each other as they went along, but listening to the familiar discourse between Mr. Lennox and Miss Hale revealed a far deeper friendship and knowledge of the ways of each other than Margaret shared with John. Mr. Lennox knew the Margaret Hale of London. He was surprised in the shifts he had seen in this new version of Margaret- the version who called on orphans in the Princeton district and welcomed companionship from a mill worker and his daughter- but then, this version of Margaret even caused raised eyebrows in Milton. However, John knew less about the woman, despite all his protestations of love and desire to marry her. He had not known her family or the circumstances of the mutiny. He had been ignorant of the existence of Mr. Lennox and the designs of her family for a possible alliance between them. Her son, for all his great love and affection, had not even realized Margaret enjoyed watercolors or had a special fondness for yellow roses.
John never could love by halves and he was just as willing to throw himself into a passion for a woman he hardly knew and prove just as devoted to her as to one he knew intimately, but it could only benefit him to know the woman a bit more... and for her to know him. Because it became just as apparent in her conversations with Miss Hale how little Margaret actually knew of John. For him to obstinately continue in his determined affection, despite her rejection and choose to assist her and even protest his mother's ill remarks about her, spoke well of the depth of his affection. It was of sterner stuff than pure infatuation, tested and tried, and she must believe it had a more solid foundation than she originally assumed.
For, Margaret Hale was not simply a Southerner, a London lass, an outsider with fine manners and a soft tongue. Hannah thought of the rough mill hand- that union leader- standing outside six hours to speak to the master of Marlborough Mills- because Margaret had sent him. Then there was Frederick Hale- risking his neck to come to the sickbed of his dying mother- because Margaret had bid him to. There was John, facing down the mob and dismissing a case from an inquest and bothering to dress for dinner and carrying baskets of fruit like an errand boy- because of Margaret Hale. Then there was this Mr. Lennox. Hannah doubted he would have bothered to do so much if Margaret was simply a cousin-in-law. Perhaps it was Hannah's own jaded experience with family, but she doubted his interest in the fate of Frederick Hale was purely that of lines of kin. No, it was for Margaret that he did as much as he did, and it was for Margaret's sake that he remained in Milton this week, hoping to be of service to a woman he cared about. Even the grocer's boy, once faced with Margaret's denial of her presence at Outwood station, recanted rather than going against her word. No, Margaret Hale forced change, whether she wished it or not. She was a firebrand in cotton, without even knowing it. She dared the men around her to prove their mettle and showed what they were made of. With a toss of that haughty head and a flash of those expressive eyes, she called everyone around her to account and made them stand a little straighter, speak a little bolder, and act a little better than they otherwise would have done.
Hannah never expected to admire dishonesty but knowing Miss Hale lied to the police inspector made her admire the girl all the more. Because Hannah would have done the same without hesitation. A woman who held her head high in face of the scorn of all Milton, the gossip of the town, and endured Mrs. Thornton's own fierce upbraiding without once faltering or dropping her head or proving her own rightness to the detriment of another- that was a woman worth keeping. A woman who sacrificed her own reputation to save the life of her brother, who placed her own wellbeing at risk to protect her family- that was the manner of wife she would wish for her son.
And Miss Hale was good for John, for all she made him miserable. If she challenged him to grow and become a better man, than she would be an asset. She was not afraid to speak her mind against a room full of mill masters nor to John himself. Hannah Thornton could even rejoice in the earlier rejection of his suit. Margaret would not be swayed by material advantage, elevation in status, or even to salvage her own reputation. No, when Margaret Hale accepted a proposal, it would be because she chose the man- and that would be an acceptance worth having.
She felt the hope growing in her. Like frost on grass, it disintegrated at the slightest pressure, fragile and delicate. Affairs remained too uncertain, too much could change. However, Hannah Thornton clearly saw how Margaret's expression changed the moment her son walked into the room. No longer did she look down on him or treat him with cold civility. In the throes of grief, Margaret did not have the strength to maintain her usual stoicism. She was exhausted and even when she tried to force cheer into her manner for her father's sake, she could not maintain the charade for long. No, her emotions were written across her face like a signal flag for all to see.
Hannah Thornton did not understand it. How could the girl on one day reject her son and crush his heart, only to now stare after him with open admiration and obvious affection? She lit up like an oil lamp when he entered the room and she watched the door eagerly whenever he was away. Then, when they were together, the space between them and around them was saturated in such a tension that none (save Mr. Hale) could be oblivious to it. It was as if two magnets pulled inextricably towards each other, forcing all the rest of the inhabitants to silently make way, to allow the pair to be pulled together by their unconscious draw. It was enough to fill the room and make all other occupants feel the room already too full. It was enough to make Hannah hesitant to leave the room at all. No, she did not think Miss Hale would reject her son's advances – at least, not now.
Was it a true attachment on Miss Hale's side or the effect of her grief and loss impelling her to reach out for any source of affection she could grasp? It was too easy to turn to more pleasant emotions- such as attraction- in a time of grief than to wallow in the misery. Would she wake out of her infatuation, once the storm had passed, and crush her son's heart again?
Hannah hoped not. If she were honest with herself (which she tried her hardest not to be in this case) she had to admit her own hopes had been raised. She remained unsure of the desires and intents of the girl, and was hesitant to raise her son's hopes. All was in tumult and Miss Hale did not yet know who she wanted to become. Did she wish to become the Miss Hale of London or Helstone or Milton? She was still growing, still changing, and she had to decide for herself what she wanted. Miss Hale needed time- but, Hannah would still do all in her power to give them both the time they needed.
Turning back to face the smug, self-satisfied Mr. Bell, Mrs. Thornton gave him a haughty toss of her own head, her eyes daring him to argue. "Miss Hale is no London lass. Not anymore. She's from Milton now."
Mr. Bell gave a surprised bark of laughter before turning from the window to settle in a nearby chair. "A Milton lass? Truly? I admit I cannot see it and think her far more suited to life in Oxford. Tell me, you believe she should remain in Milton, then?" Mr. Bell asked- as if Mrs. Thornton had any authority in the matter.
"No, I do not," she answered honestly.
For the second time that day, Mr. Bell choked out a gasping, surprised laugh. "A funny matchmaker you are, Mrs. Thornton. Tell me, you wish to prove the old maxim of 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'? Or you have your own reservations about the match."
"There are circumstances you are unaware of and I think a bit of time and distance could do them both good."
"Tell me," Mr. Bell asked, leaning forward to urge her to comply.
With a resigned sigh, Mrs. Thornton took up the chair across from him. In as few words as she could manage, she informed him of the strike, the blow, the tittle-tattle of Milton, and the rejected proposal. Then, she moved on to speak of the incident at Outwood Station and its aftermath. When she had finished, Mr. Bell's initial reaction was such a raucous display of laughter that Mrs. Thornton found it quite inappropriate to the situation. She frowned and glared at him.
"Oh, what I would have given to be an observer for any of these dramatic displays! Shakespeare himself could not have set up a better set of misunderstandings and pathos! I see affairs are far more complicated than I assumed. And my friend Hale knows none of this?" Mr. Bell asked, wiping at his eyes with his handkerchief. Soon he settled himself enough to switch between mirth and sobriety- a line he far too often danced upon for Mrs. Thornton to respect him or take him seriously.
"I do not know what he has been told. I think the affairs of Outwood Station were kept quiet... and I suspect he knows little of Margaret's involvement with the riot. Mrs. Hale was ill then and I cannot see the girl speaking of such affairs and stirring up the concern of all about her."
"But a proposal- surely she would have mentioned that! However, since Richard never spoke of it to me and surely, a failed proposal between my favorite tenant and my goddaughter would be something to write about, so he must still be ignorant of all that has occurred under his nose. I cannot say that surprises me. You know, if it were not for the meddling and constant hints of Maria's sister, I do not know if Richard would have ever known of her interest or gotten to the point at last. Well, for all the twisted turns and miry paths this romance has taken thus far, I must say it looks far more promising now. If you tried to convince me of my goddaughter's indifference to the man, I am afraid I would have to call you either blind or a liar."
"I cannot say," she said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
"Oh, do not be obtuse. You have seen as much as I but have the benefit of far closer association with all involved. No, as matters stand, Mr. Thornton is wise enough a man not to give up at the first sign of difficulty and has managed to steal the heart of his lady love through his dogged determination."
"That is yet to be seen," Mrs. Thornton interjected.
" Oh, it's as plain as day- even to an old bachelor like myself. No, the question is a matter of timing... and you are right- wedding directly after the scandal of her brother is not ideal for anyone involved."
"There will be talk, Mr. Bell. There has already been talk. For all I know, the tale of her indiscretion at Outwood Station has already been attributed to John rather than some mystery lover. While Miss Hale may care very little for the tittle-tattle of Milton, Miss Hale will wish to wed of her own free will and decision and not to hush up a scandal. John visiting the Hales daily does not help quiet matters."
"I suppose walking arm-in-arm across Milton gazing at each other like lovestruck swans, entirely unaware of the world around them will not aid matters," Mr. Bell mused.
"If it were up to me, I would have her go away for a time, until she knows her own mind- and the choice is one that is fully hers- not compelled by circumstances."
"Ah! A woman after my own heart! I must commend you for your wisdom, sense, and brilliance."
Mrs. Thornton rolled her eyes. "It is no wonder you never married, sir, if all you wish is for someone to agree with you all the time."
"Can I be reprimanded if my ideas are the very pinnacle of sense and good judgement? No, in this point, we are agreed, and I do believe it would be best for the Hales to relocate for a time – even for only a month or two- and that Oxford would be the ideal refuge. Margaret will not protest if she knows it would be best for her father- which, selfish motivations aside- I believe to be the truth. Perhaps, it would not be amiss for you to share assurances of regular correspondence and visits between families- in the most proper forms of course- until her time of mourning is complete. Why, we have a very sweet guest wing that opens into a lovely little garden. You would find it quite charming and it would be the very place for wooing a young lady."
"Milton is just as good a place for such things," Mrs. Thornton retorted.
"Apparently, though I never would have believed it. Is it the regular tradition for men to court their ladies amongst the gravestones and quaint little paths of the cemetery and there make grand promises of their love lasting forever?"
Mrs. Thornton was spared from answering such a question by Margaret's return to the room and her settling alongside them both.
"What are you both speaking of?" She asked as she sat.
"Oh, Shakespeare and the grandeur of Oxford over Milton," Mr. Bell responded with a wink to Mrs. Thornton. Then he proceeded to inquire into her day in such a manner that she did not ask any further questions and he did not bring up the idea of relocation again.
When John Thornton returned home from the mill that night, he found his mother waiting up for him in the dining room. Her hands busily mended a torn apron and they did not cease their activity when he sat down across from her. She inquired into his day at the mill and called for tea. It was not until the tea things were cleared away that John turned to his mother.
"I came across Miss Hale by Milton Cemetery and the bookseller's today," he told her.
"Did you now?" She responded, all her attention remaining fixed on her work.
"You meddled," he accused.
"I did no such thing."
"You sent Miss Hale on a walk to the cemetery…," he began.
"Miss Hale required fresh air and exercise," she interjected, before he had finished.
He shook his head in fond exasperation. "And simultaneously you sent me a note directing me on a task a servant could have just as easily accomplished – one which placed me directly across from where you sent Miss Hale."
"You wished to be useful… and, I daresay, you proved yourself useful," she said, though she lost hold of her needle as she spoke and had to bend to find it on the floor by her feet.
John began to laugh and shake his head. "I thought I was barred from the task of offering consolation."
"On your own, within the walls of the house at Crampton, yes. Beneath the open skies of Milton and chaperoned by the many eyes of passersby on the streets, I can see no harm in it. You saw Miss Hale home, then?"
"I did."
"Then you proved yourself useful."
"As you intended." John leaned over to kiss his mother on the cheek. "Thank you, Mother," he said.
Finally looking up from her apron, she smiled and clasped her hand against his face in a rare display of affection. "You are welcome."