Nowhere But North

by Nicole Clarkston

  “Go, then,” he hissed at the men. “Make your repairs so this does not happen again, or I will sack every last one of you!”

  Hannah arched a brow and waited for him to thread towards her. She set her jaw grimly, and without a word, turned and led the way to his office. Once inside, she waited until he had closed the door and then demanded in an icy voice, “John David Thornton, what has got into you?”

  “Me? What of you, waltzing through the mill, Mother? It is not a lady’s place.”

  “As if I have never been inside the mill that fed and clothed me all those years! As if I did not know its workings nearly as well as you do!”

  “It has never been yours to manage, and even less so now, when you belong to another. The mill is no place for a lady.”

  “You mean, rather, that a conference with your lessers is not a place for a woman to contradict you! That is what really troubled you, is it not?”

  “If I must be brutally honest, yes. What business can you have in searching me out and glaring at me as if you were scolding a mere boy, and that before my hands!”

  “John, what is troubling you? You have been a recluse and a monster of late, and that is not the son I know.”

  “Is it not? Have I not always been a beast at work and a cur at home?”

  She rolled her eyes. “John Thornton, you are speaking nonsense. Tell me you have not quarrelled with Margaret.”

  He clipped out a short, bitter laugh. “What makes you suggest that? I am her humble servant, as always.”

  “And your hackles raised the instant a woman dared to stand up to you! What have you done, my boy?”

  “Nothing I should not have done long ago. I was a fool, but I am not a doormat.”

  “So, she has thrown off your care and protection, or was it you yourself who withdrew? Is that why she remains in London?”

  He turned away. “It is not your affair. Go on back to your home and leave me to my own business.”

  “You are my business. Tell me, what was the substance of this ridiculous little spat?”

  “Do not—” he whirled back—“do not attempt to make light of it! We were mismatched from the beginning. You were right to doubt my wisdom in that matter. Would that I had listened then! But the damage is done, and now she regrets that she ever heard my name. Would that Hale had kept his sorry place in Helstone and I never had the misfortune to look on her!”

  “Don’t be such a fool,” she snapped, in a tone she might once have reserved for Fanny. “That girl answered for a part of you, and you for her. I had never even believed such a thing possible outside the realm of some ridiculous poets.”

  “And that is where it should remain. You were right to marry sensibly, without confusing the matter with feeling. All such folly has brought me was the stripping back of whatever defences I might have possessed.”

  “And she thrust her sword into your heart with relish, did she not? I always thought she would do so one day.”

  He turned his head to peer at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”

  “The pitiless jade!” she sneered. “I knew how it would be. Once returned to the bosom of her fashionable relations, she would renounce any feeling for you and persuade herself that she had been badly used, pressured into a marriage that was beneath her!”

  His brow furrowed, but he did not speak.

  “Aye, I suppose she demanded a generous allowance to replace all the gowns that are filled with the stench of coal smoke. She will be gracing the finest houses of London, no doubt, distancing herself as far as she might from trade in general, and you most particularly.”

  “Mother—” he shook his head—“she is not a social climber. I pray, do not spin matters to look worse than they are.”

  “As if I could! She played her hand well, the heartless baggage. She would know that you will fund her lifestyle handsomely, and she may live as she pleases without the stigma of spinsterhood.”

  “Mother! This is not your affair!”

  Hannah tilted her head. “It is only a pity she waited to display her true colours. I wonder that she bore your attentions so long! I might not have felt compelled to marry and leave the house myself, but I suppose it is just as well that I did. It will make matters easier on you when the mill fails.”

  He was staring, his mouth agape. “When? It is a surety now, and you do not even have faith enough in me to doubt the demise of all I have laboured for?”

  She shrugged, a calculated gesture foreign to her usual mannerisms. “Did I not witness you only moments ago tearing your work apart with your own hands? Let it burn to the ground, and then you may be free to move on. Perhaps you might sail for America if you cannot make a go of it here.”

  He had narrowed his eyes. “Mother, if you think I am behaving wrongly, tell me plainly to my face rather than abusing me with your ridiculous fancies until I lose my temper.”

  “From what I understand, you have been losing your temper all week, so I should not be surprised to see you do so now. What are you going to do, John?”

  “What can I do? No amount of hard work on my part will restore the mill to profitability. It is beyond what one man can do.”

  “I ask what you are doing regarding your wife.”

  He raked his fingers through his hair and began to pace. “What would you have me do? I cannot force the woman to respect me, nor to wish to return to my home.”

  “So, you have given up already? I had thought better of you than that, John.”

  “You just finished telling me she was only acting true to her character!”

  She snorted. “And you allowed me to persuade you? You are worse off than I imagined. Where is my son who never backed down from adversity? Where is the man who was made new when he found love with that woman?”

  “What good has that brought me? It was all a lie, a futile effort. I have wasted myself in trying to hold on to something that should never have been mine.”

  “You would so easily surrender, then? You do not try to mend whatever is broken, so that she who once cherished you so well might forsake this London foolishness and return to you? Or was the fault yours alone, and you are too stubborn to apologise? Serve you right if she stays there.”

  He was shaking his head, his shoulders bent away from her, but she was not deceived by the tightly controlled voice when he did speak. “I would not persist in tormenting her. If she wishes to remain there, if she is so ashamed of me, there is nothing more I can do. I have made fool enough of myself.”

  She emitted a disgusted sigh. “There is no more brittle thing on earth than a man’s witless pride. Very well, then, sit in your empty house and watch your business fail alone, with none to share your burden. I am no doubt wanted at home, so I shall leave you to your own self-pity.”

  He spun round in genuine surprise as she made determinedly for the door. “You would go, too? Have you no sympathy for your own son that you would hear his troubles and then leave without so much as a kind word?”

  She pursed her lips as she gazed back at him. “My son is a man grown, and has been for many years. He does not need his mother to pat his head. What he has got himself into, he must find his way through. But he is welcome to stop by for tea, if he can behave civilly.”

  Then, deaf and blind to his sputtering and his offended astonishment, she swept from his office and walked home.

  ~

  “Have you seen the paper today, Margaret?”

  She did not respond at first… could not respond. It seemed all her movements of late were burdened by leaden weights, her vision clouded by a film. It rendered all she did sluggish and painful, and so she blinked her aching eyes and deliberately turned towards the source of the question, her head tilted almost as if she did not understand.

  “Margaret, did you not hear me? I thought you would recognise this name.” Henry Lennox spared a confused glance at Edith over their morning repast, then addressed her again. “Do you not know a Mr Watson from Milton?”

&nb
sp; She blinked again. “Watson? My… Fanny’s husband?”

  “Yes, I thought you had some connection to him. It seems he has done rather well for himself. Look here.”

  Margaret accepted the paper, but her eyes refused to focus on it. She stared at it for several uncomfortable seconds, not comprehending the printed page, until Henry’s finger pointed to the place he desired for her to read.

  “It says he has been exceeding fortunate, he and his partner Wright. I remember meeting Wright once or twice; a shrewd fellow, and a wizard in the financial world. Of course, this business at hand is hardly complete, but if all goes as they expect, both Wright and Watson will be poised as some of the leading rail tycoons in the country. So long as they continue to have the funds to finish the work, that is.”

  Margaret tried to read the page, but the words blurred. She touched her fingers to her forehead and closed her eyes as the pounding behind them intensified.

  “Oh, dear Margaret, have you got the head-ache again?” Edith set aside her saucer and Margaret could hear her summoning a maid to bring something for her comfort.

  “No,” she objected lamely, “it is nothing, Edith.” She swallowed and forced herself to look on the page again. The words swam, but eventually took shape from the haze, and she could make out at least a dozen of them.

  “Ten thousand pounds!” She squinted, shook her head faintly to be certain she had read properly, and looked again.

  “Oh, at least, and that only the final stages. It costs a great deal to fund such a project. I should say they have invested many times that already. Certainly, it is not only Watson and Wright supplying the funds, for they will have found several smaller investors as well, but you know, it is always the men of vision who reap the greatest rewards. They will be paid back handsomely for their trouble.”

  Edith was leaning close enough to read over Margaret’s shoulder. “Was Mr Thornton invested in that, Margaret? It would be a lucky thing for him if he were.”

  Her throat filled suddenly, and she had some trouble in forcing herself to speak. “No,” was her hoarse reply, and she thrust the paper roughly back towards Henry.

  “No!” Henry’s brow wrinkled in condescension. “Why ever not? It seems a sure means to security if he could do without the capital for a short time. Perhaps that was the reason.”

  A sob trembled in her breast, but she caught her breath and found an answer. “He does not believe in chance speculation, nor does he trust Mr Wright.”

  Henry glanced again to Edith, almost a pitying resignation writ over his face. “I should not like to grieve you by calling your husband a fool, but… well, Margaret, you see how little chance there is of failure. And Wright! Why, his family is well-regarded for their genius at matters financial. Were I a man of business—” he smiled and spoke the word as an amused slight—“I would have thought it the opportunity of a lifetime. I wonder what Mr Thornton could have been thinking to refuse the offer.”

  Margaret felt her cheeks burning. Indeed, what could John have been thinking? Blinded by pride and the past? For she could not argue that Henry seemed to be correct, but… she closed her eyes and struggled for an even voice.

  She remembered that day… all those days… when Watson had worked upon John. How it was then; how she had been crippled by the depths of grief and pain, and John had scarcely left her side but to face difficulties with the mill and public derision for his refusal to cooperate with Wright. And she had found no blame in him then.

  How time and perspective could alter! For if John possessed a fault, it was an arrogant satisfaction in how he had overcome his past. The deeply personal man he had once revealed to her was calloused by a brittle shell of scorn for any who would presume to disrespect him, and a fierce, almost maniacal jealousy towards any outsider who would claim a share in his success. Had Wright truly wounded him so badly as he had come to believe? Or had John been rather too ready to assign his father’s folly to another?

  “Margaret? Darling, you look positively ill. Do try a little more tea, surely it will soothe your nerves,” Edith persuaded.

  Her eyes were stinging, that dreaded precursor to shameful tears. Margaret forced herself to steady her breath, to turn her thoughts, and to make a calm reply. “Yes, thank you, Edith,” she mumbled dutifully. She tasted the bitter amber, realising that she had forgotten to sweeten it. Well, she would not today. Better gall and vinegar than honey for one of her dark spirits!

  “I say, Margaret! I had almost forgotten to ask if you had any word of Cousin Frederick. When did you last write?”

  “I wrote to tell him I was visiting you and had seen your son. I expect he received the letter last week.”

  “Do tell him how I miss him when he replies!”

  Margaret’s voice was unsteady. “I do not expect he will write to me at this address….”

  “Oh, then you must write to him again, and tell him you had decided to stay on a month or two. When you do write, I should like to include a note of my own. I cannot wait to tell him all about Corfu, and my darling Sholto.”

  “He has been to Corfu, Edith.”

  “But he has not seen my boy, nor even the captain. I think I shall begin this very hour, for I know it would please him to hear all my news. What do you think, Henry, for you met my cousin? Is he not an amiable gentleman?”

  “Indeed. I think any brother of Margaret’s could not help but be… agreeable.” This he said with a curious inflexion, and Margaret looked up in time to catch a lingering glance, a strange heated interest.

  She coloured and looked down at her hands. “I miss him so.”

  Henry nodded in sympathy. “I should think you would! A pity he had to become wrapped up in that foolishness.”

  Her gaze snapped up once more. “Frederick was only defending his crew. He had no choice!”

  “Oh! I did not intend to slight the man. I only meant to say… well, circumstances could have been improved with a bit of discretion, a little care for the future. He might not have been lost to you.”

  Margaret’s neck stiffened. “You are suggesting that he should have lied?”

  Henry and Edith exchanged glances again. “There are things he could have done, surely,” Edith soothed.

  “Nothing that would not have betrayed his comrades. You think perhaps if he had given himself up, offered the names and where to find each of his fellows, that the Navy would have been lenient?”

  “We did not intend to distress you, Margaret,” Henry protested. “Of course, that would have been out of the question. Here, let us turn to more pleasant topics, for I would not see you troubled by any useless talk.”

  “Yes, indeed!” Edith seconded. “Forgive me, darling, that was silly of us to mention. Do you know, Margaret, there is to be a symphony concert on the sixteenth of next month, and I asked the captain to secure tickets for everyone. I know how much you love listening to the music. You are staying that long, are you not?”

  “I…” she wetted her lips and that helpless, choking feeling threatened to smother her once more. “I do not know,” she whispered miserably.

  “Oh, surely Mr Thornton may do without you for that long. He has his business to run, after all, and there can be nothing of pleasure in that dirty, smoky town at this time of the year. You must stay, Margaret.”

  The throbbing had returned, piercing her temples and squeezing her chest until she thought her heart might burst. “I… oh, please excuse me, Edith!” she stuttered. She lurched from her chair, toppling it over with her thick skirts, and did not even slow to set it upright. Edith’s and Henry’s voices blended in affronted concern, but she heeded them not, nor did she acknowledge any other she passed as she fled up the stairs.

  “See here, Miss Margaret!” Dixon ejaculated as Margaret pushed into her room.

  “Please leave me, Dixon!” she begged, and then stumbled headlong into her bed. She wrapped her arms up over her head and allowed the tears to flow, shaking the frame and gasping. She pressed her face
heavily into the mattress. What mattered breath? Perhaps she would be in less pain if she smothered herself there!

  “What for are you cast down like this? I can see your drawers plain as day, Miss. Have a care for your skirts,” Dixon chided, and then reached to tug Margaret’s hoops herself, preserving something of her mistress’ modesty.

  “I do not care, Dixon! Please, just leave me in peace for a while!”

  “It’s that brute Lennox, isn’t it?” Dixon accused. “Has he touched you?”

  “Please, Dixon, just go!”

  “Nay, Miss, for what am I to do? It’s you I’m concerned for. Mr Thornton told me, ‘Watch over Margaret, see that none distresses her,’ he said, and that’s what I’m to do.”

  At John’s beloved name, the sobs shook her until she could make no reply, her own throat betraying her until she could not breathe. She refused to turn over, hating her own weakness and mortality, and the first lances of dazzled light scorched her blackened vision as her body struggled for air.

  “Miss,” scolded Dixon, “you will faint like that, and then you will have the head-ache again.” She bodily heaved Margaret’s inert form until she lay on her side, still trying to cover her face and weeping.

  “Now, what is this? You have been like this all week. I think it is time you went back to Milton, for you were never like this there!”

  Margaret tried to curl herself into a protective ball, away from Dixon’s prying fingers and eyes, but her stays were laced too tightly to permit much movement. “I cannot go back, Dixon. Please do not ask me more! Just go, leave me for an hour!”

  Dixon made a disdainful clicking sound with her tongue. Margaret could fairly hear and feel each roll of Dixon’s eyes, each daggered glance towards the door and the relations who lay beyond it. “I’ll write to someone, I will, Miss Margaret,” she threatened. “I’ll write to the dragon herself, and she’ll set you right.”