I do apologise for the length of this letter, but I do not anticipate traveling to Milton for at least a fortnight and I knew you would eagerly wish to know the truth of the matter. By this time next week, I shall in earnest have more money than I know what to do with. Wright will scrape by with just enough that he will be able to claim a profit—though not a handsome one. I expect it may be some while before he attempts anything of the kind again, or has enough credibility to sustain it, but then, it matters not to me.
I send you my fondest greetings, my dear—and you as well, Thornton, for I expect you have read the entire letter over Margaret’s shoulder.
Yours & etc
A Bell
John’s eyes were fairly starting and sightless by the time he finished reading. He passed the letter back, and his fingers were cold where they brushed Margaret’s hand. “I cannot believe it,” he muttered under his breath.
“John? John! You are not well!” Margaret clutched his sleeve, trying to catch his attention, but he still looked blindly about the room, shaking his head. After a moment he froze, a strange smile growing, and then he startled Margaret with wild, awe-struck laughter.
“Do not accuse me of seeking revenge, love,” he gasped after a moment, “but I never thought to hear anything so satisfying come of all that business! Fancy that doddering, mischievous Mr Bell besting one of London’s craftiest financiers at his own game! And not just besting—forcing him to become a dependent! Why, he could have ruined Wright if he had desired, for he could have let the whole thing fail. As he says, it would have mattered little to him if it had, but our Mr Bell is nothing if not fond of his games.”
“But who is this person he speaks of as a partner, who helped him because of his connection to us?” Margaret was re-reading the bottom portion of the letter, and John leaned over for another look.
“It sounds like a phrase exactly tailored to pique our interest,” he snorted. “Whoever the fellow is, I am certain that Bell will find some dramatic way of telling us when he is quite ready.”
“Do you really think it possible that Mr Wright will be forced to a more conservative approach in business now? Mr Bell says his reputation has suffered because of all this.”
John was still shaking his head in wonder. “Perhaps. It would be a much-needed caution to others, and for that, I am content. It was not my hands that humbled him, so I might not suffer pride or the indignity of personal retribution. I am glad for that.”
“Yet your reputation and the work you left behind at the mill made it possible. Mr Bell was quite clear about that. But I am pleased that your hands are clean, John.”
“Indeed. And now let that sorry chapter rest, for Wright is none of my concern.” He pressed her hand and seemed aware of his surroundings once more. “Shall I walk you home, Margaret?”
She tucked the letter into her reticule. “I would never turn down your company, but I can manage, if you still have work. Stay, John, I am no stranger to Milton’s streets and therefore quite safe.”
“I ought to insist on walking with you, but I know better. I will see you tonight, love.” He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling in that way of his that always sent a shiver through her. She returned his look with an impertinent one of her own and left him to his work.
~
Many hours later saw them nestled quietly on their favourite settee before the fire in their own room. Fanny and Dixon had long retired, and at last they had leisure to again marvel over the day’s revelations. Their inclinations, however, were so very far from curiosity over the affairs of others that Mr Bell’s name only crossed their lips once, and Wright’s not at all.
John had drawn Margaret’s hand over his knee and was gently kneading her palm. She seemed to find his ministrations soothing, for her head draped over his shoulder, her countenance was suffused with a mellow warmth, and her fingers spread invitingly. She sighed, rolled her neck to better meet his gaze, and graced him with one of her more eloquent, doting smiles.
“Have you considered,” he asked at length, “that we are likely to hear more from Bell very soon?”
Her brow quirked. “I have.”
His thumb pressed and traced the deep groove stretching the width of her hand, and he blinked for a moment. “You believe as I; that he will make us some offer—a loan or some such—that would be nearly impossible to refuse, or at least imprudent given our present circumstances.”
“I cannot think why else he would have taken such pains to give us the earliest intelligence of his affairs unless those were his intentions.”
He swallowed. “Margaret… I am not inclined to accept. At least, I would not do so without much deliberation.” He raised his eyes again to hers. “I would be sorry to displease you, but—”
“Displease me?” She lifted her head from his shoulder. “John, what do you believe my wishes are?”
“I…” he bit his upper lip and scowled thoughtfully. “I believed you wished me to regain what I had lost.”
“And what, precisely, have you lost, John? Honour? Wealth? Position?”
His fingers stilled along the ridges of her hand and he tilted his head, leaning forward to look at her better. “Perhaps I ought to mourn those things, but I do not. I am sorry to have lost what I felt was the progress of my own labours.”
“But they were not lost, John. Your labours served their purpose in the time they were given. People had work. You made a product that others then traded and used. You were a large part of the force of this city, bringing many together to create something that was necessary and tangible, and to repay them with a livelihood. Your efforts made that possible, John.”
His mouth tightened to the side. “The former Miss Hale, who once disdained all such enterprises! You are not the same woman I met two years ago, love.”
“I should hope not! She was a naïve and foolish girl, that Miss Hale, though she did nurture one or two admirable notions. I hope they have found proper expression in the somewhat wiser Mrs Thornton.”
“It is that wise woman’s advice and opinion I now seek. Would you account me a thoughtless wretch if everything were offered to us—a painless and extravagant solution to our present difficulties—and I refused?”
“I suppose—” she answered slowly, her fingers curling to cup his own in a feathery caress—“that it would depend upon your reasons for refusal. You would prefer to rely upon your own dignity and hard work rather than permitting another to do you a service that will likely give him as much pleasure as he would think to give you?”
He leaned back, smiling a little. “You suspect me of too much pride?”
She pursed her lips. “I believe pride, the twisted, blackened sort of pride, could ensnare with either choice. You could just as easily be accused of it if you leapt at the chance, simply to shake from yourself any taint of disgrace. What is a month or two of a closed mill in ten years? No one will speak of a failure quickly recovered, but they will remember a generation of your oversight and management.”
“And in which circumstance do you feel I am in greater danger of this mortal sin?”
Her smile returned, a teasing sparkle to her eyes dancing in the firelight. “The first, certainly. John—” she tipped towards him, placing her free hand upon his cheek and drawing close—“let it not be about you and your preferences. Let it instead be a decision made after considering where you can do the most good.”
He caught her hand, turned his face into her palm and kissed it. “Do you know when I first knew I loved you, Margaret, beyond reason or hope?”
She laughed softly but shook her head.
“It must have begun long before, but I knew myself lost on the day of the riot. You told me, in rather blunt and forceful language if I recall, that I was being an arrogant blockhead and failing in my duties to others. Excessive hubris, I believe that was the root of the accusation.”
“Was I any less guilty of that same vice? What a fool I was! But I thought the moment of decision for you woul
d have been when the rock struck me.”
“No, love. That was the moment the world as I knew it ceased turning, and I knew I could not live without you, you glorious, wilful creature. I am in earnest when I beg you now—speak to me from your heart. All that I ever aspired to be, it was all a waste until I saw myself in your eyes. I must answer to my own conscience in the path before me, but before I take some fateful step, show me the path as you see it so that I may hope to hold fast to that vision.”
Her thumb traced his cheekbone, her eyes misting with feeling. He waited, threading the fingers of his other hand through hers. She wetted her lips, and a glistening pool formed at the corner of one eye.
“John, I am no longer a girl that I should fear hardship. I have seen it destroy, and I have seen it inspire. The chaff might be burned away, but the gold remains to flourish, pure and vibrant and unhindered. Who is to say why sorrows and difficulties come? But I am my father’s child, in that I believe with all my heart that we are being shaped for a purpose.”
“Do you know, my mother said something very like that to me once—long ago, when my faith was weak.”
“And what else did she say?”
“That we cannot always know what that purpose is, but that such times are sent by a wise, loving hand.”
She drew a deep breath and her smile returned, her glittering eyes now alight with fervour. “John, do you not see? Every trial has, in truth, been a gift that strengthened us. All that we have seen and endured, every tear and each moment of pain—we would not have chosen them, but we would have been weaker without them.”
“I cannot deny you that. So, are we to remain stubbornly rooted in difficulties, believing them to be sent to profit us, or are we to consider opportunities?”
“Are they not also gifts? But I would not wish away what has been sent to us for good and holy purposes simply to pursue what appears to be an easy path, freely granted. If it be a test of our faithfulness, let us not fail. But if it be right and proper, just in every way, then let us not hesitate.”
John ceased toying with her hand and wound his arm around her. He leaned close, tipping her back against the seat. “And how are we to know which path we should choose?”
Her fingers tangled in his hair, sending a shiver down the back of his neck as her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “As I said before, it will be the one where you can do the most good. Perhaps it has not yet been revealed. Until then, John, simply be the man I know you are, for you are already a gift to me.”
A tightness squeezed his chest, and his held breath came as a choking laugh. “Good heavens woman, I love you!”
Her response was not in words. She tenderly kissed his brow, then drew him to her, pillowing his head on her shoulder and tightening her arms possessively about him. Her heartbeat, full and even and strong, pulsed against his cheek until he felt his own breath and heart steadying to keep time with hers. They remained thus, intimately twined and stirring not at all, for a long, hallowed silence, until the fire cooled and his fingers began to tingle.
He sighed reluctantly and raised his head from her soft embrace. “Have I ever told you—” he nuzzled a kiss to the flesh just below her ear—“how much fonder I am of this room than my old one at the Marlborough house?”
She sighed luxuriantly and leaned against his arm. “Because you at last have a fire in the grate?”
“I am certainly warmer, but that is not the reason. What a capital idea you had about saving space.”
“Ah, yes.” She captured his chin with her forefinger and drew little circles round it, tormenting him with that teasing, bewitching smile she employed so well. “I have become quite clever at matters domestic, have I not?”
She blinked then, as if recalling something. “Oh! How silly of me. It seems that I am not infallible, after all, for another letter came for you today that I had quite forgotten. It was addressed in a bold, dark hand, and I presumed it for something of consequence. I had intended to show it to you hours ago, but I am afraid Mr Bell’s letter distracted me.”
“And other matters are presently diverting me,” he whispered against her throat, winding both arms about her waist until her body arched willingly into his embrace and she allowed him to lift her from the settee. “I have had enough of letters and business for one day.”
Her eyes had acquired that delirious, glassy look, and her breath hitched as he carried her towards the bed. The words were almost lost on a sigh as she relented, “Tomorrow, then.”
~
“Margaret?” Fanny Watson’s voice wavered uncertainly into the kitchen where Margaret and Dixon had been engaged in some menial task. “Were you expecting callers?”
It was late in the day, and in fact John would return at almost any moment. The evening meal was prepared, Patience was crying out in a manner not at all befitting her name, and it was the last moment any would have expected to receive company. Nevertheless, the knock sounded at the door again.
Margaret tilted her head in curiosity. Dixon was more busily occupied than herself, so she whisked away the apron she had worn, touched her hair self-consciously, and gestured to Fanny that she would wait until the fractious child had been removed to another room before she opened the door.
On the step, she encountered a pleasant-looking couple she had never seen before. The gentleman was possessed of a singular appearance—broad of shoulder, deep of girth, and boasting the sort of countenance which could be best likened to a bearded lion, with its capacity to intimidate or reassure in equal measures. Beside him stood a lady perhaps ten years Margaret’s senior, with gentle features and glowing smile. Her hair was the same shade of nut-brown as Bessie Higgins’ had been, and her manner, it could be seen at once, was genial and unassuming.
Margaret could not help but to smile at this strange couple, although it seemed they held entirely the advantage of her. “Good evening,” she greeted them cautiously, “may I assist you?”
“Mrs Thornton!” boomed the gentleman. “A pleasure, and no mistake.” He cast a quick look of appraisal up and down Margaret’s person, then, as an aside to his wife, commented, “The lad did not mention that he had wed Andromeda herself!”
Margaret’s eyes widened, her brow furrowing in some confusion, when the lady laughed and bestowed a scolding look upon her husband. “Pray, pay the captain no mind, Mrs Thornton. He intends it as the purest compliment, I assure you. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“I—I am honoured,” she stammered, “but may I know whom I have the pleasure of meeting?”
The captain’s bushy eyebrows pinched together. “Why, did Thornton not tell you to expect our call? I imagine he must have wished to surprise you, madam. I had written—he should have had my letter by now! My apologies, madam. Captain Fortin, at your service, and this lovely creature is Mrs Fortin.”
“A pleasure, sir, madam—a letter… oh!” Margaret blushed and instantly stepped aside to invite them in. “I am afraid I am partly to blame. Mr Thornton had not an opportunity to read the post last evening, and this morning he was in haste when he rose. He did receive a letter, but it still lies on the desk, unopened. You have just arrived in Milton?” She spoke this as she gestured hurriedly to Dixon to bring something for their guests, then led them to the family’s small sitting room.
“Aye, from London. I knew the lad would wish the first intelligence, so we came as soon as could be.”
Margaret felt her face crinkling in a furtherance of her confusion, but rather than interrogate her guests, she determined to play the role of a proper hostess. Though they claimed London as their home, the choreographed manners and style she had been taught in her aunt’s drawing-room did not seem to suit with this couple. Neither did the rather more austere demeanour employed by the elder Mrs Thornton, whose place it had been for so many years to host John’s guests. Margaret found herself, instead, falling back to the simple ways of the country parson’s family home, and within a very few minutes, had settled herself and her gue
sts with light conversation and humble refreshments.
“You must be at a great loss, Mrs Thornton,” Mrs Fortin confessed after a few moments. “I can see that our names are not familiar to you.”
Margaret set aside her cup, sensing that the mystery was about to be revealed to her. “Indeed, I must own that I am. However, it does not follow that the acquaintance must be unpleasant or unwelcome. I am delighted to meet any old friends of Mr Thornton’s.”
“You are a credit to him, my dear,” the lady smiled. “The captain is only lately acquainted with Mr Thornton, but I first met him when my father brought him on as his partner at Marlborough Mills.”
“Ah! The Mr Kramer he has mentioned. He told me of you… I believe your name was Brockett, if I recall correctly. Forgive me, I had not known that the acquaintance had been renewed, nor that you had married, madam.”
The couple exchanged amused looks, then the captain suggested, “Perhaps we ought not say more, my dear. I expect the lad wished to surprise her, if there were good news to be had, or to spare her disappointment if it were otherwise.”
“Disappointment?” she repeated.
At that moment, the door to the house opened, and John himself entered. He turned to shed his coat and hat in the small, partial passage afforded by the cramped house, and stopped when his eye caught the presence of guests in his home. Margaret watched his expression eagerly, hoping it might yield clues to whatever unknown enterprise the captain alluded to. He started, paled, then his eyes widened and sought hers before he addressed the captain.
“Sir! I did not know to expect you. It is a pleasure… and Mrs Fortin, we are honoured. I presume you have already been acquainted with Mrs Thornton?”
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