Margaret and Helen returned to the manse in time for afternoon tea. Jude joined them, visiting while her husband completed business in the city. Margaret was pleased to have her cousins to herself for the afternoon, and suspected that Helen was just as happy to be without Mathew. Margaret's heart panged for her dear cousin, sitting in quiet agony watching a man she formed attachment to happily marry her sister.
Mrs. Ness entered the drawing-room, carrying a tray of tea and scones. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long, dancing shadows on the comfortable furniture. Margaret, Jude, and Helen sat together, their conversation light and easy.
"Thank you, Mrs. Ness," Margaret said, taking a cup of tea. "It's so lovely to have a warm drink on a day like this. Springtime is beautiful, but biting."
Helen smiled, nodding. "Do you miss the weather in Alton?" Helen asked.
Margaret missed nearly everything in Alton. She knew, however that it did little good to dwell on it.
"I do. Sometimes I think of vacationing there, in some far flung future. Oh!" Margaret deftly changed the subject, "Do you recall our visit to Brighton together?"
Finishing their victuals, the cousins reminisced about the seaside trip of their youth. Jude recounted her favorite moments, while Helen spoke of the calming effect the ocean had on her. Margaret listened attentively, enjoying their lively conversation.
"Returning to the topic of the weather," Margaret said, "I've been thinking about buying a new bonnet for the season. The one I have seems very out of fashion."
Jude's eyes widened. "Oh, Maggie, that's a wonderful idea! I've been meaning to buy a new one too. I saw the most beautiful bonnet at the milliner's shop last week."
Helen nodded. "I've been thinking about making my own bonnet. I have some lovely lace that I could use."
Margaret raised an eyebrow. "You're so talented, Helen. I'm sure your bonnet will be beautiful. But I think I'll stick to buying one. I don't trust my sewing skills enough to make something as intricate as a bonnet."
Jude laughed. "I know just the place to buy one. There's a new milliner in town who has the most exquisite selection of hats. We should go shopping together."
Over dinner that evening Margaret asked her Aunt about the Band of Hope. Aunt Winnie wrinkled her nose and explained that the group started honestly enough.
"Years ago they began with temperance. The idea that people should drink less. Lately some have taken it farther, saying they shouldn't drink at all. And that has grown into thinking that the breweries and pubs should all be boarded up."
"I believe it began with Reverend Tunnicliff," Mathew put in. "Teetotalism has been around for some years, but Band of Hope is fairly young. You can't really blame them, there is a striking number of drunkards in Havert district."
"Well certainly they can't blame the makers of the drink," Margaret said, the position seemed obvious. "After all, there are far more sober people than there are drunkards. I believe that temperance is a sound idea. Abstinence is a virtue and I would support that too. But marching to defame the city's merchants and pubs? Calling for their removals from the city councils? That is extreme in the least!"
Mathew nodded in agreement.
"Quite so, but it is born of exposure to the worst hardships Miss Wilde. The Reverend began the group after watching a young man wither in his prime from spirits," Mathew pressed. He was kind in his position, but insisted that Margaret understand the source of the movement. "It is difficult for a person with a-" Mathew paused to choose his words. "-predisposition to overindulgence to live in a world where hard liquors, beers and wine are more common than water. Even those with the most stubborn resolve will find no place to hide from their vices."
Margaret thought on Mathew's points and after dinner Helen, Jude and Aunt Winnie retired to the drawing room for tea while Margaret and Mathew discussed the history of the Teetotal movement and the Band of Hope. Margaret found their position intriguing, and she did not lack compassion for those who drown in their own indulgences.
She thought of her father, suffering from an illness he could not control, unable to stave off the tide of change that surrounded them. How worse it would be if he were taken to drink, escaping each day in a bottle and throwing himself into the darkness. Yes, Margaret understood why some might want the temptation outlawed. But she believed that there were other, better ways. Temperance, not prohibition. Mathew continued his explanation of Ilchester temperance politics, as Margaret attempted to understand the vast differences between her current home, and the Alton of her childhood.
"It could be quite a trouble. You see, the cornerstone of Ilchester merchanting has become the distilleries and breweries. They employ hundreds of workers, and some even shelter and feed their men." Mathew's tone showed a measured practice in lecturing.
"Like the Thorntons." Jude put in helpfully.
"Yes, The Gerrhardt estate includes shelter and dining for the workers. And, the distilleries buy an amount of glass that is hardly fathomable. There's a reason so many glassworks choose our industrious city. Then coopers, and draftsmen - and of course the Hotels and Public Houses that buy the spirits produced."
Margaret understood the point Mathew was making, and it dawned in her face.
"So then, if the Band of Hope were to have their way - the suffering in Ilchester might be worse?" She asked, leaning over the dining table in incredulity.
"It is unfortunate to say, but I believe it would." Mathew finished, as Ness brought out the dessert plates and conversation shifted to more pleasant topics.
The following morning, Ness greeted Margaret at breakfast with the bi-weekly Ilchester Gazette. "I thought you might find this interesting, Miss Wilde," she said, placing the paper beside her plate. Margaret murmured her thanks, curious but wary. She unfolded the Gazette and immediately noticed an editorial by Reverend Daniel Shoemaker, the leader of Ilchester's Band of Hope.
As she read, her brow furrowed. The Reverend's words were impassioned, but they bristled with hyperbole and unsubstantiated claims. He called upon the people of Ilchester to "sign the pledge" of abstinence—a point Margaret had no quarrel with—but then went further, urging them to ostracize local merchants and distillers. Shoemaker accused the city government of being corrupted by the "filthy money" of brewers and claimed that Havert District's poverty and disease could be eradicated if only the people turned from their "sinful imbibery."
Margaret paused, the paper trembling slightly in her hands. The Reverend's rhetoric was fierce, his vision absolute. But the sweeping condemnation of brewers and merchants unsettled her. She thought of Mathew's calm explanations the night before—the interwoven industries of Ilchester, the countless livelihoods dependent on breweries and distilleries. The Reverend's argument seemed reductive, a crusade born from righteous fury but blind to the complexities of the city it aimed to reform.
Her gaze drifted to the window, where the sunlight filtered through lace curtains. She thought of her father, battling an illness he could not control. How much harder would their lives have been if he had turned to drink in despair? The Reverend's plea for abstinence was understandable in its intent, even admirable. Yet, could destruction be the answer? Was it just to ruin thousands of families to save a few?
Margaret sighed and folded the paper, but the Reverend's words lingered. Over breakfast with Helen and Aunt Winnie, she remained quiet, her thoughts circling the same point: someone needed to address the Band of Hope's extremism. She didn't relish the idea of drawing attention to herself, nor did she wish to appear unsympathetic. But could she sit idly by while such divisive rhetoric took hold of the city?
After breakfast, Margaret retreated to her room. She sat at her writing desk, staring at the blank sheet of paper before her. Her pen hovered above the surface, and she hesitated. What if her words caused offense? What if she misstepped, her understanding of Ilchester's politics too shallow to lend weight to her opinion? The thought made her stomach tighten.
But then she remembered Mathew's measured tone, his insistence that she consider both sides. She thought of the families who would suffer if the Reverend's vision came to pass. Temperance was noble, but prohibition carried a cost no one seemed willing to acknowledge. Slowly, her resolve hardened.
Margaret dipped her pen and began to write, the words spilling onto the page with an urgency she hadn't felt in months. She crafted her argument carefully, balancing compassion for the Band of Hope's cause with a critique of their methods.
"While I admire the Reverend's dedication to improving our city," she wrote, "I fear that his proposed measures would lead to greater suffering among Ilchester's working class. Prohibition is a blunt instrument, one that risks dismantling the livelihoods of countless families. Surely, there must be a way to encourage temperance without destroying the industries that sustain our community."
The act of writing felt cathartic, her thoughts crystallizing with each line. As she worked, Margaret realized this was more than an argument about drink—it was her attempt to make sense of the world she now inhabited, a city so different from the quiet countryside of her youth.
When she finally laid down her pen, the sheet before her was filled with her small, precise handwriting. She read it over, her heart pounding. Would it be enough? Would anyone listen? She had no answers, but for the first time in weeks, Margaret felt a flicker of purpose.
She folded the letter carefully, addressing it to the editor of the Gazette. If nothing else, her voice would be heard.