Nowhere But North

by Nicole Clarkston

  John looked up again, catching fine grey twill and shining buttons. His eyes travelled the remaining distance to the man’s face, and his jaw tightened. “Wright. I thought we had no further business.”

  Wright tossed his hat upon the peg. “Good afternoon to you, too, Thornton. You might spare a moment before throwing me out again.”

  “The moment would be wasted. You can have nothing of interest to say.”

  “Well, one detail at least might interest you. I thought you would like to know I am now on the board at the bank. I was already invested heavily there, and I decided to deepen my relationship. The board agreed. I heard you stopped in yesterday?”

  John did not lift his head but glanced up through a raised eyebrow. “I did not know customer transactions were public knowledge.”

  “They are if one of our best customers goes away dissatisfied and possibly in search of another alternative. Members of the board hear about these things.”

  “And you came to be certain I received adequate service? You may inform your colleagues that I was shown to a comfortable office and was even offered a cup of tea. I believe that concludes our business for the day.”

  “Au contraire, old friend. We have no wish to see one of our best clients suffer economic hardship due to circumstances beyond his control. That damages the bank as well, for if such a pillar of our base fails and he cannot honour his debts, why that hurts everyone.”

  “I have no history of neglecting my debts.”

  “And no such accusation was meant, but if repayment is to take years, we would be wiser to find some compromise to keep up your cash flow during this season of lean times. All the better to ensure a promising future for us all, do you not agree?’

  John crossed his arms. “Do you mean the bank is willing to ease the terms of my current contract?”

  Wright began to pace the office, picking up random items to weigh in his palm, then replacing them to examine something else. “No. I have not the authority to change any existing contracts. I speak more of a personal loan, such as I offered before. Through the bank, I have access to funds of my own for the express purposes of investment, and I would like very much to see my old friend prosper. My relationship with the bank is such that I believe something could be worked out regarding your collateral. You put your looms and some of your other equipment up against your loan, but you have repaid a respectable portion of that debt. Therefore, the bank holds an interest in collateral that is worth far more than your remaining balance.”

  “And again—” John levelled a frown at the other man—“you would write the contract to place yourself in first position. Therefore, should anyone be in the position to call in my debts, you hold everything.”

  “Thornton! How did you get so far in business being such a pessimist? You know very well that I cannot lay claim to that which is justly held by the bank, but yes, I suppose I would hold a good portion of your assets. What does that matter? They are bound up anyway, even without my assistance. There is no expectation you would fail, is there?”

  “Many things are unforeseen in business. You may apply to your father for his experience if you are curious.”

  Wright shook his head in disgust. “Good lord, man, will you never let that go? You are like a dog after a bone that has long since decayed. I am not my father any more than you are yours. Helping you is good business sense, and that is the end of it. I would have thought a man such as yourself would understand that.”

  “I understand you have been trained since boyhood to exploit opportunities. I have no intention of making myself the next one. I believe our business is finished here.”

  Wright stepped back, lifting his hands in defeat. “As you wish, I suppose. I cannot force you into something for your own good. It is a pity, for I believed you had changed. Married? Perhaps a family man soon? One would have thought your interests would take a more practical direction.”

  John turned gravely to the window, his teeth set and refusing to answer.

  “I understand Mrs Thornton is a lovely woman,” goaded the other. “Mrs Wright was most taken with her and hoped to continue the acquaintance. I do hope that relations between our families need not always be strained, Thornton.”

  “That is up to you, Wright. I’ve no intention of accepting your offer, but know that I am watching your other dealings with interest.”

  Wright smiled. “I trust you shall find nothing to reprove. I will bid you a good day for now. Do send word if you decide to reconsider. I am in Milton for another fortnight before returning to London, and my dear Mildred speaks often of having you to dinner.”

  As Wright turned away and opened the door, John resumed his seat and his work before he had even left the room.

  Nineteen

  He was late.

  Margaret had dressed and come below by five o’clock, expecting at any moment that John would walk through the door. The train was scheduled to arrive at half-past four, and surely it would not take him long to find a cab to Harley Street. Five, then six o’clock came and went, with no sign of him.

  “Perhaps Mr Thornton took the seven o’clock train,” suggested Edith. “I do not know how you manage with a husband who must work all day. Why, I should go distracted! Is it not terribly lonely for you when he is away?”

  Margaret was seated on the sofa, her hands folded in perfect composure. “Of course, but he is never far away. It is not as if I cannot go out to see others, or even walk to the mill to see him if I wish.” She refused to meet Edith’s eyes when she gave this reassurance, for she dared not confess how very far such a rosy portrait was from the more recent reality.

  “Margaret! You do not go into that filthy mill? Why, it is no wonder your hems are stained! No gown would be safe in such a place.”

  Margaret blinked innocently to her cousin. “Why should I not? Nearly half the people working at the mill are women.”

  “Yes, but not ladies. Surely the true ladies of Milton avoid the mills? Oh, do not tell me the other tradesmen’s wives dare go. You do not associate with the workers, Margaret!”

  “I have some good friends among them.”

  Edith gasped, fanning herself as if she would faint, and caught Mrs Shaw’s gaze.

  The elder lady clucked, shaking her head. “I do not like to think of a young lady brought up as you were walking about the mill, Margaret. I cannot think it would even be safe for you! Surely your reputation—”

  “Aunt, I married a cotton manufacturer. I am, therefore, safely secured of my reputation, and Mr Thornton could hardly object. How could anyone think the less of me for walking among my husband’s operations and speaking with those in his employ?”

  Edith sighed. “Pray do not tell our friends here in London of your wild ways. I am sure they would not understand, and many would even think you had lost your head! Please, you must act your usual self at dinner tomorrow night. And you simply must wear that gown we decided upon, for you did look so ravishing in it.”

  “Edith, I thought we had agreed that you were not planning a large dinner for tomorrow. Mr Thornton will be here, and I would prefer—”

  “Oh, do not be silly, Margaret! So many of our friends want to meet your new husband! They are all curious about him, and Mr Crenshaw, one of Henry’s friends and a very influential person, they say, has a great interest in industry. I know he will want to ask Mr Thornton a number of questions.”

  Margaret suppressed a low groan. “It is a little too much to join a dinner of twenty-four. It hardly seems fitting.”

  “Twenty-four!” Edith scoffed. “I did trim down the guest list after you complained so. We shall only have eighteen.”

  “I do not feel proper at all about attending such a large party when I am still in half-mourning.”

  Mrs Shaw graced her niece with an affectionate smile. “You are a good girl, Margaret, to continue honouring your father and my poor dear sister so, but no one expects a newly married woman to hide away from society for an entire ye
ar for the death of a parent. Six months suffices for the blackest mourning, which not everyone even does, and you have completed that. We shall not have dancing, so you need not be left out of the enjoyment of the evening.”

  “I wish we could have dancing,” lamented Edith, “but of course for you, Margaret, we will forego it.” She patted her cousin’s hand. “I know you have never liked dancing anyway, and I suppose your Mr Thornton does not dance at all.”

  Margaret did not answer, but she narrowed her eyes for an instant. She did not know if John danced! Mrs Wright had claimed that he did, long ago. She had never seen him do so in their acquaintance, but most gentleman did… although she had to remind herself that he was not a gentleman by birth and his formative years had been rather different from her own. How had he even learned? Needled by the realisation that another woman knew a detail about her husband that she did not, Margaret lapsed into another unhappy silence.

  By half-past six, the family had decided they were weary of waiting for Mr Thornton’s arrival and adjourned to take their evening tea. Margaret was listening every moment for someone to announce him, but the tea service was cleared away without ever seeing John Thornton.

  “Captain,” Margaret asked once they had settled again in the drawing-room, “what were the other arrival times for the Milton trains tonight?”

  Captain Lennox glanced up from his paper. “Seven and ten. But sometimes the ten o’clock runs late. Last of the evening, you understand.”

  Margaret nodded silently, then her eyes found the clock on the mantel. It was already well after eight, and still John had not arrived. She began to fret, but then stilled herself. John rarely returned from the mill in the evenings until late, and he still had a train to catch. It was likely that he would have taken the last train, but the note he had sent with Dixon had said he intended to take the earlier one. She could only assume that some unexpected circumstance had arisen to keep him from returning to her when he had planned.

  She amused herself with a book for the greater part of the evening. Ten-thirty. Eleven. Edith grew weary of her needlework and implored her to join her at the instrument. Exhausted, she nevertheless agreed rather than to retire, for she was determined that when her husband did arrive, she would be the first to greet him.

  By midnight, she was truly beginning to worry. Was he not coming, after all? Had he sent a letter that had not arrived yet, telling her of some change in his plans? Her fatigue and aching for him conspired to invent irrational fears in her heart. Had there been some accident? Had John, the healthiest man she knew, at last worked himself to exhaustion and contracted the fever? Or had he found better amusements than visiting a wife he thought dull and fragile, among relatives who disdained him?

  Sick with dread, she did not realise that her fingers were white on the music she turned for Edith. It was not until she accidentally tore one sheet and dropped the rest on the floor that Captain Lennox cleared his throat, causing all eyes to raise from the scattered pages. “Well, I am done in for the evening. Shall not we go above, my dear?”

  “Oh, yes, let us retire, Margaret,” Edith pleaded. “Surely, he will be here in the morning, you will see! Mamma has already gone to bed, and I fear I shall be of no use tomorrow preparing for the dinner party if I do not rest.”

  Outnumbered by the forces arrayed against her, Margaret gathered the piano music and surrendered. “I suppose he will,” she mumbled half-heartedly.

  ~

  The house was dark when John finally arrived. Someone had posted a manservant to watch for him, but even he seemed surprised to find the awaited guest arriving after one in the morning.

  “Sir,” the manservant spoke in a hushed tone as he took John’s hat, “Mrs Thornton and the rest of the family retired well over an hour ago. Did you wish me to wake anyone?”

  John’s spirits sank. He would have given anything to gather Margaret in his arms just then, to seek her company after his travels and to allow her sweet voice to soothe his ragged heart. “No,” he sighed. “I presume I am for the same room as before.”

  “Those were my instructions. Do you need me to show you the way?”

  “No, thank you.” He allowed the manservant to help him out of his coat and dragged himself wearily up the staircase, pausing at the second floor. He could see Margaret’s door from where he stood.

  How many times had he joined her in bed when she was already asleep? And she always turned to snuggle next to him, waking only enough to kiss him before slipping back into her dreams. How delicious it would be to cradle her to him after this long week, to sense her beside him as he slept, to listen to her soft breathing when he woke!

  He lingered for another moment, allowing himself to drink in the temptation of going to his wife. But those memories, they were from the Time Before… those fleeting days of heady paradise, before life with its griefs and cares had stripped the joy from his love’s eyes. Before she had begun to regret…. His hand dropped to the balustrade again, and he climbed the next flight of stairs.

  ~

  “Mr Thornton, it is a pleasure to see you again, sir.”

  John was caught off guard, his sleep-starved eyes not even looking ahead as he came down the stairs the next morning. He glanced up, felt the creases etch into his own forehead, and hesitated for just a moment before answering. “Mr Lennox. I had not expected to see you here.”

  “Yes, my brother and his wife wished to walk to the park again this morning, so I came to escort the family. It is my great pleasure that they often invite me on their outings.”

  “Do they? You are a fortunate man, indeed.”

  “If you are looking for Mrs Thornton, I do not believe she is come down yet.”

  John swept Lennox with a quizzical look. “You also were waiting for her?”

  “Well—” Lennox smiled self-deprecatingly—“I purposely arrived early to place myself at the family’s disposal. I am never quite certain when the ladies will be prepared to go, so I always ask when I enter the house.”

  “You are a very enterprising fellow. I do not know any ladies who take their constitutional before eight in the morning.”

  Lennox laughed. “You have caught me! It is true, although I have known Mrs Thornton to be ready before nine. I came a little early to break my fast at my brother’s house, for my own housekeeper desires a day off, and as a bachelor, my household is not deeply staffed. You know how it is, Thornton, we must give way now and again to those in our employ?”

  “Indeed.”

  Behind him he heard a faint intake of breath, and both men turned to see Margaret standing at the top of the stairs. Her eyes bore a strange sheen, but she was smiling faintly. John postured himself to welcome her, his hand extended. Her fingers slipped into his, but when she raised her eyes, she was not looking at him.

  “Good morning,” she spoke softly, as much to Lennox as to himself. He tightened his fingers around hers, in his best approximation of a warm greeting.

  “Good morning, Mrs Thornton.” Lennox was smiling broadly. “You are looking well today. Will you please excuse me?” He inclined his head to John once more, then wandered towards the breakfast room where other voices could already be heard. Only then did Margaret look him in the face.

  “I am sorry I was late, love. I had to catch the last train, and there was a stoppage at Leicester. I thought I would never arrive!”

  “We were all worried for you.”

  “Well, it is no matter now, for I am here. I hope you passed the week pleasantly? Surely your cousin was happy to have you here.”

  Margaret seemed to hesitate. “She was very happy.” She pressed her lips together and drew in a small breath. “Yes, it was a good week. But I missed you.”

  She looked up to him again with those clear, sincere eyes, and every instinct he possessed cried out for him to carry her up to his room for a proper reunion. But no… she had not been receptive of that kind of intimacy of late, nor would he be wise to embarrass her in her family’s
home. It was better this way. He gave her a gentle smile and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her fingers, then led her towards the breakfast room.

  “John—” she stayed him—“how is everyone in Milton? Are they improving?”

  Oh, how he hated to answer this question! “Not as quickly as we might wish, but yes, matters are somewhat better. There are still new illnesses each day, but not so many. Margaret… the youngest Boucher child is faring rather poorly.”

  “Johnny, the littlest? He was his poor mother’s pride and joy! Oh, it cannot be.”

  “I am afraid so. Higgins says it is a serious case, but they are doing all that can be done. I asked Donaldson to look in on them and take them a basket of fresh apples. There is so little any can do.”

  “I could go to him! I wish to bring them some comfort. John, you must let me, as soon as we return home, for I know it would encourage him.”

  “We will speak of this later,” he interrupted, but there was a defiant spark in her eye that promised that she would not yield happily. He tried to will away any discord with a warm smile and a touch to her cheek. “Come, I have not yet greeted the rest of your family.”

  She nodded, fighting back the argument simmering in her bearing and looking now at the floor.

  “Has….” He hesitated. “Has Lennox been here often?”

  “Nearly every day. He often takes meals here.”

  “Indeed. He seems to be rather close to his brother.” He stopped, trying to catch her eye, but she would not look up.

  “John… I may as well tell you that Edith has planned a dinner party for this evening. She wished for everyone to meet you. I asked her not to, but she insisted.”

  “It is her house, and we are guests. Why do you seem so troubled? Did you think I would be displeased?”

  “No—” she lifted her shoulders uncomfortably—“it is just… they are not the sort of people you are used to, that is all.”