“It was quite the surprise for me as well, but a pleasant one, I assure you. Wright had sent for me to help him in negotiating this newest speculation he is considering, and I thought it a fine chance also to come see how he is treating my son. Now, let me look at you! Why, you have grown!”
“I think I shall catch you up yet, Father.” John stretched to his full height.
“I think you may have already done so. And how strong you are looking! The wrestling is building your arms, I daresay. How are things for you here, John? Have you been keeping up with your studies?”
“The master says I am head of my class,” he admitted with a bashful grin.
George Thornton, however, was not the practiced negotiator he was for nothing. “But?”
John tapped his pen, his eyes sliding reluctantly to the side. “I… I am afraid I am not faring quite so well with the other lessons Mr Wright has so generously offered,” was the diplomatic response.
Thornton crossed his arms and studied his boy with an amused twinkle. “You cannot tell your left foot from your right in the waltz.”
“Oh, I get on with the steps well enough. It is dancing with a… a… partner. I constantly tangle up!”
“It helps if you breathe while dancing,” his parent observed drily.
The boy’s face reddened. “You heard about that?”
“I? I am only just arrived. I could not possibly have heard about you nearly fainting and tripping the dance school mistress until she landed in a heap of petticoats. I certainly did not hear of you fleeing back to your room, not to be seen again until the following day. And what was this about a dinner party where you offended a guest by refusing a harmless dance with their daughter?”
“It was not a formal occasion.” John’s face heated visibly. “Miss Harris was no more inclined to be made a spectacle for her elders than I. Besides, Harold stood up with her in my stead… that time.”
“I sincerely hope you will respond better on another occasion.”
The lad slumped in mortification. “I do not understand why I must learn to waltz. What benefit will it be? I shall not be a fine gentleman, Father, but a working man!”
“Success in business is about building the right connections,” Thornton reminded his son. “Make the right friends, meet the right young ladies, and your ascent up the ladder is all but assured. I wish I had learned that at your age.”
“Father, I shall never marry an heiress, if that is your advice. I should not even wish it! It seems… dishonest. Reaping the result of another man’s labours by falsely charming his daughter—”
“Who said anything about doing it falsely? I only say to take care to polish your manners and look to your education now, whilst you can. Do not make my mistake, settling too early or too easily. I would not see you caught by a penniless girl.”
“Father, I—” but the boy was cut off when his father stabbed a finger at him.
“John! I will not bend on this point!” George Thornton’s typically genial face had begun to take on a darker hue, one which his son knew all too well. Thornton may have lacked his wife’s sterling force of will or her ironclad character, but he did possess a temper—and with it, a tendency towards drastic swings in humour.
Not wishing to trigger such an episode—particularly not here, in the home of his host and his father’s partner—John ceased his objections. “Yes, Father.” He chewed his lower lip, a doubtful eye cast on his parent. After a moment, he offered, “My horsemanship is improving.”
Thornton rapidly turned from his annoyance. “Excellent! Would that I could afford for you to continue that pursuit when you do return home, for it is a capital means of securing advantageous friendships. Many a promising enterprise has begun on the hunt field.”
John sighed, frowning unhappily. Aloud, he only answered, “Yes, Father.”
“John,” George shifted to an easier posture, his face softening in some little regret at his son’s sudden dejection. “It is not my intention to pressure you into a life you do not desire. I hope that is not what you have learnt to believe. There is a threshold above which we mere tradesmen cannot rise. The elite will have their distinctions, but the world is changing, my boy. To hold on to their precious status, they depend more and more on men like us. It is a wise businessman who cultivates strategic relationships where he may. Wright understands that. It is the reason he has found such success, and his motivation for providing his own sons with these same opportunities.”
John was sullen, staring at the floor.
“You disagree?”
John pressed his mouth into a thoughtful expression. “I have noticed that Mr Wright is capable of saying one thing and meaning another. I would not model myself after that pattern.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Well, the reasons he has given you for hosting me here, for one thing. He seemed at first to be genuinely welcoming, eager to do you a service as a friend. However, some things he has said made me wonder if he is not rather intending to obligate you to him, so that he might call on you to support him when you would rather not.”
George Thornton surveyed his son with growing shock. “That is rather a serious charge. I must applaud your thinking—that is the thinking of a man of business, and I am glad to see it in you. However, I have the very greatest faith in Wright. He and I studied together as well, you know. Remember what I said about these connections made in your youth, for they can and must serve you well.”
The boy’s shoulders drooped once again as his father dismissed his concerns. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled dutifully.
“Now, see here, John, some are born to privilege and a life of careless ease. They will look down on you if you allow it. You must earn your way, my boy, every tedious mile of it. I hope you are wise enough to make good use of your time and skills now while you do not yet need to labour for your bread. Who knows, John? Perhaps you may, indeed, marry that heiress someday.”
Margaret did eventually take John’s—or rather their—carriage to her old house. The experience of commanding her own driver was novel enough. It was more eerie still to make her way up the steps which had been her home for a year and a half, knowing that yesterday’s indifferent ceremony had changed everything for her.
In truth, she would much rather not be facing her dismantled house again so soon, but that cold grey door was simply less intimidating than the available company in her new home. She did not like shouldering this task on her own, but more daunting still was the request she would have had to make of the man who had unwillingly obligated himself to her. No, far better to let him to his work than to remind him of the weight of the duties he had assumed!
With a long breath, she put her hand to the knocker, fearful of what the opening door would reveal. The harmony of her old home was far greater to Margaret’s sentimental heart than the sum of fondly remembered trinkets and baubles. This had been her mother’s last home. Here was the last place where her touch could be felt, and now, it must all be broken up. Margaret’s eyes threatened that familiar hot, prickling sensation as Dixon opened the door to her.
“Oh, it’s you, Miss! I feared it’d be the landlord.”
Margaret smiled, not even bothering to correct Dixon’s old form of address. “No, and you shall not see the landlord, Dixon. Mr Thornton has the matter in hand.”
Dixon peered around Margaret’s shoulder to the waiting carriage. “Well, that’s fine enough, then!” She took Margaret’s cape and bonnet at the door, her fond gaze searching her young mistress for any symptoms of either contentment or distress.
Margaret was not insensible to Dixon’s scrutiny. “I am well, Dixon.”
Dixon harrumphed, a little embarrassed at being caught staring, and led the way to the upstairs sitting room. Margaret suppressed a quiet smile, but it vanished when she entered the room which had once been her mother’s domain.
Everything was in shambles. Dixon had been busy, and the room was nothing at all as Margaret would have
chosen to remember it. They had boxed her mother’s clothing long ago, but now even her little portrait frames and mementos were unceremoniously swept from sight. Though still cluttered, the chamber was already barren.
“Oh, Dixon!” she breathed hoarsely. “I do not think I can do this!”
Dixon heaved a weary sigh. It was likely as hard on her as it was on Margaret, but the old serving woman had not the luxury of an advantageous marriage to lift her from her grief. All was on her broad shoulders, but she would bear up, as she always did. “There, now, Miss. We’ll have this settled soon enough.”
Margaret sniffed, glancing about the room with sorrow. “Mr Thornton says we need not hurry.”
Dixon pouted and turned to wrap a little silver bell for packing. She made no reply, but her opinion was plain.
Margaret stiffened. “Dixon, I can see you still disapprove, but I will not have you thinking ill of Mr Thornton. He has been very good to us.”
“Oh, yes,” Dixon muttered bitterly. “I’d warrant he has. Caught himself a lady, he has, and now he must think himself quite the gentleman.”
“Dixon!” Margaret’s ire flashed. “I will not allow you to disrespect my husband. If you continue to speak so, I will dismiss you immediately!”
Dixon turned slowly, her expression all astonishment. She stared, as if trying to determine if Margaret were in earnest. “Beg your pardon, Miss.”
“I am a married woman, Dixon,” Margaret reminded her, a dangerous edge to her voice which she had never used with Dixon.
“Ma’am,” Dixon corrected herself. Her face quivered in confused agitation as she turned to her task again.
Margaret remained frozen to her place, her arms crossed over her breast as a shield against the cruelties of her new trials. She was terrified herself at this path and could have wished for Dixon’s encouragement just now. “Dixon, I hope you may come to understand my reasons….”
Dixon looked back up, her face growing red again. “I thought you were set on going to Corfu,” she grumbled accusingly. “I wouldn’t see you go to Cadiz and be converted, but why not go to your cousin? She’d have had you, to be sure!”
Margaret narrowed her eyes. “I preferred to remain here, Dixon. I do not need to justify myself to you. I had sufficient inducement to stay, and that is all.”
Chastised again, Dixon turned back to the tray of curios and trinkets. She said not another word for three full hours.
~
Hannah Thornton did not glance up from her needlework when her new daughter-in-law returned to the house. She did not look up when that same young woman entered the room and assumed the seat opposite her. Nor even did she lift her eyes from her work when she heard her name uttered in polite deference.
She was, however, required to speak. “Yes?” she replied briskly.
After a brief pause, the young lady spoke again. “I was hoping, madam, that I might ask to see more of the house and meet the staff? At your convenience, of course.”
Hannah at last dropped her needlework. Would it be rude to send Jane with the new wife as she surveyed her domain?
She sighed. Probably. Margaret’s tour of the house was the next official step to her own imminent discharge as mistress of John’s home. Her heart rankled with the indignity of it all.
“I suppose I may spare the time in an hour.” She resumed her needlework, casting only an occasional glance up at the girl.
Margaret’s face was pale. “I… I see. Thank you.” She was silent some moments and then spoke again. “Would it be possible for me to speak with the maid responsible for my room?”
Hannah paused. That seemed an innocuous enough request, but perhaps it was a veiled slight. This was a clever, manipulative young woman, after all. “Is it not to your liking?” she asked sharply. “I looked it over myself, and fresh linens were supplied only this morning. I should be surprised if you found anything amiss.”
“No!”
Margaret’s face had gone from sheet white to flaming scarlet at the mention of the linens—a sham of a thing if Hannah had ever seen it! The drips of blood on John’s sleeve told the rest of the tale; he was not welcomed by his wife, and he did not wish her to know of it. She gritted her teeth and returned to her sewing, wishing she could ignore or at least forget the entire conversation.
The young wife, however, was determined to speak. “I have no complaints at all, madam. I only wished to thank her, for every consideration had clearly been made for my comfort.”
Hannah’s lips set into a grim scowl. “There is no need to thank the house maids personally. They carry out their instructions, that is all.”
Margaret blinked. “I-in that case,” she managed a little roughly, “I must extend my gratitude to you, as well. Your efforts are… welcoming.”
Hannah dipped her head gravely in acknowledgment. The young lady’s countenance had washed quite pale once more, and she put two fingers to her forehead as though it pained her. Hannah gave infrequent glances in the bride’s direction. Eventually, Margaret mumbled some excuse and fled.
Hannah breathed out in sweet relief. To think she must now make way for that artful young woman, who only married John to secure a life of luxury! Where was that other man she had seemed to fancy, and why turn back to John, whose faith in her was so misplaced? Loyalty must be a thing foreign to Margaret—and now John, her fine, noble son, had shackled himself to that graceful little pretender for life!
Her cheek twitched as she viciously ripped out a stitch she did not like. Her needlework commanded a devotion this day which it rarely did, and the promised hour was long up before she thought to set it aside to perform her duties to the new mistress. She much preferred instead to remember back to the good, honourable old days, when her John’s fidelity had belonged to her alone.
Southport Beach
August 1837
“Mother, may I assist you?” The tall, lanky scamp jogged up the beach, offering her a gallant bow, then his arm.
Hannah Thornton lifted her head. “Why, yes, my young man! I fear my walking shoes are not suitable for the sand. Where is your father?”
He jerked his head to indicate a direction farther up the shore. “He is trying to help Fanny find shells on the firmer sand, near the water.”
“Near the water! He is not allowing her to get a wetting, John?”
“No, he is picking her up whenever the waves come close. Really, though, she seems so much stronger than before. She is getting on better, is she not?”
“You only saw her during holidays these past two years. This has been the way with her. She does well enough until she takes a chill, and then the cough lingers for a month.”
“But she is making steady improvement, is she not? She recovers a little more easily each time.”
“A precious little,” she agreed with a reluctant smirk. John always had a way of forcing her to optimism, regardless of her own notions. “I am grateful to have you returned from London, John. Two years was much too long to do without my son.”
He offered his most charming grin, which was quite a little too charming for his jealous mother’s taste. “Too long, indeed. How I missed you all!”
She leaned on his arm more as she laboured over a particularly soft part of the beach. “I should have thought you found amusements enough to divert you in London.”
“I learned a good deal, I will confess, but my best day in London was my last. London, with all its fine folk, was not for me, Mother. I was pleased to return home.”
She gave a fierce, satisfied nod. “I am glad to hear it. I feared you would be seduced by that city.”
“Like Father?”
She sighed and turned to her son, noting again how strange it was to look up to him. “He wants what he believes is best for us. I am afraid it may not lead down the glamorous road he imagines.”
The jaunty, fearless smile of youth appeared on his handsome face. “You needn’t worry, Mother. He told me only last week how his latest venture is su
re to pay out remarkably well. That is how we are affording this holiday, you know.”
“Did he happen to tell you where he obtained the funds to invest? He did not, did he?”
His cheer dissolved, the shadow of uncertainty dawning. She had never slighted her husband in John’s hearing, but this worry had been tormenting her to the point of anxiety.
“He did not. I assume he borrowed a portion—or all of it. But Mother, surely there is no cause for concern. Mr Wright’s speculations pay out nearly every time, do they not?”
“This one was a greater chance, and a much higher investment. Your father has leveraged himself too far this time. He is too prone to make light of such matters. Always dreaming, that man!”
“Mother,” he pulled her to a halt with a stubbornly cheerful smile. “I beg you would not worry. You know it is not fitting that we should doubt Father’s decisions. It does anger him so.”
Hannah gazed blankly at the sparkling waves. “He takes spells of melancholy, when you are not around, and he thinks I do not see. He locks himself in his study and drinks for hours, raging at any who would dare to disturb him, but the next day he appears as merry as ever. Oh, John, I hope you never become a bad one for drink!”
He laughed, as if trying to dismiss her concerns. “The few times I have sampled brandy, I fell almost instantly asleep. I could develop a tolerance for it, I suppose, but I cannot see why I should indulge such an expense when it will only dull my senses.”
“If only your father had half your present wisdom on the matter!”
“Come, Mother, all will be well, I am sure of it. Let us enjoy this fine day and not live in fear for the morrow.”
She set her teeth and eyed her son. “You are right, John,” she grumbled. “It does comfort me that you will be working soon, in case we should face some calamity.”
John’s chest swelled, and she could almost swear that his buttons would pop with pride. “I start with Mr Hamper as soon as we return! I am honoured that Father was able to find me this position. It is a good place, I think.”
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