Nowhere But North

by Nicole Clarkston

  He hesitated, a refusal on his lips, for by the time he returned to the mill, he would have lost well over two hours of his time this day. He could ill afford to lose another. He glanced to the young lady—Margaret—to see if by any flicker of receptiveness, she would second her father’s invitation. Under no circumstances could he have refused!

  It was as well that she did not, but he almost decided in that instant that he despised her for not doing so. It was only the barest level of civility, but she could not extend him even so much. He set his teeth and turned back to Mr Hale. “I am afraid I cannot, sir, but I thank you. I shall call on you once you have settled. I wish you a good day, sir.”

  He claimed his hat at the little table. Miss Hale gazed once more out of the window, scarcely giving notice of his leave-taking, and certainly not offering to accept his hand as her father did. He shook his head to himself as he marched down from the hotel steps.

  One day—one day!—he might pledge his life and honour to a woman such as that, gladly laying all at the feet of such a noble, poised, and commanding figure. She held no fear of him and would never draw back from speaking freely what so many others simpered behind gloved hands. How refreshing such beauty and boldness would be in his life—if only she did not suffer such abominable pride!

  30 June 1856

  John pushed back from the scaffolding where he had been surveying the empty looms. All would be pulsing and alive again in a few days’ time, and a swell of pride surged in his breast. He would be an ungracious wretch to think any of it his own doing—no, it was all the sweet touch of Margaret in his life that had brought him every worldly blessing. By her, he could account all he might ever achieve and all those who might profit by his efforts.

  None might have imagined it from such an inauspicious beginning, that he would be looking over all his life and crediting a haughty, impertinent Southern lass with all his present happiness! How provoked and bewildered he had been on that first day he had met her—that baffling, majestic, inscrutable slip of a woman who made him her own with a single glance.

  He had not been fully honest, and he realised it now. It was not the day of the riots, nor the dinner party at his house, nor the many delicious evenings he had visited the Hales over tea when he had lost his head and heart to her. It was that very first moment, when she had so blithely assumed command, and he had surrendered his defences without even a shot fired. A private smile stole over his face as he tapped his fingers on the railing. Her prisoner he was, and a most contented one at that. Now, to ensure that her faith in him had been well placed.

  “Yo’ wanted to see me, sir?”

  John turned. “Higgins. I did not expect you to come so soon.”

  “Well, sir, Hamper’s cut hours this week. He says wi’ Marlborough Mills running again soon, he wan’s to drive up th’ price o’ his cotton before yo’ get back into production. Some o’ th’ others are doin’ th’ same.”

  “He is a damned fool.”

  “Tha’s what I told him today, sir, right before he fired me.”

  John burst into a hearty laugh. “All the better for me, I shall hope! Will you come back to Marlborough Mills?”

  “I was hopin’ yo’ would ask, Master.”

  “Let us not have that. Just call me Thornton, Higgins.”

  The other’s brow clouded. “Sir?”

  He stepped back and leaned against the railing. “I don’t need a line chief, I need an overseer. Williams has a good place and has no wish to come back, but even if he did, I would not have him. He left when you remained. I can think of no better commendation. Will you accept the post?”

  Higgins flushed with flattered warmth. “A man would be a ri’ fool to refuse. I’m not so arrogant as that, sir.”

  “I once was, almost. I scorned it as charity, though it was not then, and it is not now. I can use an honest man, and I know of none better.”

  “Thank yo’, sir. When will yo’… we… be running again?”

  “I have purchased some small lots of raw cotton from other mills. Most were accommodating enough to sell me a little, and it should all be delivered by tomorrow. The Liverpool shipment begins arriving next week as usual. I already have two small orders—I think those buyers overlooked the closure notice before they sent their letters, but now we shall have the pleasure of filling them. I assume many of the hands will wish to come back?”

  “Give th’ word, sir, and I’ll have three hundred a’ th’ gate tomorrow morning.”

  “The word is given, Higgins.”

  Higgins nodded and made as if to go but turned back. “Sir, it’s too soon to ask, but will th’ kitchen open again? The men’ll want to know.”

  “As soon as we can have the food delivered, but do not expect it to be in operation long.”

  Higgins blinked. “I see, sir.”

  “No, I do not think you do. Mrs Thornton has informed me that the building is wholly unsuitable and insists that it be torn down in favour of something more modern. Perhaps we might apply to Miss Higgins for her opinion on how the new kitchen ought to be built?”

  Twinkling eyes met this request. “I’ll ask, sir.”

  “Moreover, the lady insists that we build a school room here on the mill property, so the children needn’t walk so far for their studies. She has already procured the name of a teacher and has informed me of her own intentions to assist where she may, so I must see it done lest I displease Mrs Thornton.”

  Higgins’ whiskered cheeks rounded, and he stifled a hearty laugh. “Yo’ can tell Mrs Thornton if I e’er get a dog, I wan’ hoo to train it.”

  John crossed his arms. “I am certain there is some insult to my character there, but I would rather not be made to understand it.”

  Higgins chortled and turned down the steps without another word.

  “Here, did you not wish to discuss your new pay?”

  Higgins lifted a good-natured hand as he continued his descent. “Can’t be worse than what I were gettin’ a’ Hamper’s.”

  “Thirty-five percent.”

  Higgins faltered. He turned back, aghast. “What, sir?”

  “Twenty-five, if you persist in challenging me.”

  “But….”

  “I find I have too many ambitions, Higgins. Many of them, I confess, were inspired by that vexing woman who has taken over my home. This past month has given rise to all manner of bothersome notions, and I have half a lifetime yet to pursue them. I shall remain here for some while, but I would like to think there are other possibilities. A portion of your share will be invested in the mill, so that you may begin purchasing interest as I did, and my own resources might be used elsewhere.”

  Higgins’ jaw had fallen open, his complexion ashen. “Yo’re serious, sir? Yo’ve na’ been down with th’ fever?”

  “I am in perfect health. Are we agreed?”

  Three unsteady breaths shook the man, and he nodded slowly.

  “Excellent. If you will excuse me, Higgins, I must return to the house. Margaret is settling our belongings once more, and I am sure she will wish to hear the good news.”

  ~

  “I am still surprised he was persuaded to it.” Hannah cast a speculative eye about the drawing-room which had long been so familiar to her. It was still almost empty, save for two crates just brought in to be unpacked once more.

  “Persuaded?” Margaret flashed a mischievous look her way. “No one persuades John to do anything that was not already his wish.”

  “Save for you. Legacy or no, he certainly must have made some objection to the whole affair. He is too proud to do otherwise.”

  “Oh, he did!” Margaret bent to examine the contents of one of the crates, and then directed a man to take it upstairs. She straightened, her cheeks flushed brightly and one hand resting on her hip. “He protested that he wanted no charity, that he was content to work on his own merits as he had always done, but he soon realised that it was a matter beyond himself. He can do more here, and I believe he ha
s already decided on many new objects.”

  Hannah repressed one of her old snorts. “Vanity and nonsense. I don’t hold with some of his new notions, but it will avail me nothing to speak against them.”

  “I would doubt it. He has been up half the last three nights, writing out all the proposals he wishes to explore. Why, even Fanny has roused at the idea of coming back. Did you know that she plans to spend some of her hours teaching at the new mill school? I do not even think she intends to wait until her period of mourning is complete. She announced it to us last evening and outright dared us to try to stop her. I think it will be just the thing to mend her spirits.”

  “So long as your school has no place for a music teacher, she might serve well,” Hannah retorted drily. “And what of you? You have not worn black since you returned from London.”

  Margaret drew out a few curios and trinkets that looked like they might have belonged to her mother and carefully arranged them on the mantel. “Nor do I intend to. I have mourned long enough, and I think Mr Bell would not be offended if I chose to honour his memory in a different way. Oh!” she beckoned to two more men who entered the house with fresh burdens. “Upstairs with the crates, but I will take that painting.”

  She took a rolled and bound parcel from one of the men and returned to Hannah, a peculiar glow about her countenance. She drew close and seemed to hesitate.

  “What are you about, girl? Have you purchased some ghastly new art? Well, it is your house, who am I to disapprove?”

  “Ghastly it may be, but I did not purchase it, and it is not destined for this house.” Margaret’s figure tensed, then as if releasing a great coil, she spread the painting open. “Is it very dreadful?”

  Hannah put a hand to her mouth. Captured in the soft shades of the watercolours was the image of her beloved son. Every feature was rendered faithfully—the wisps of hair over his brow, the set of his mouth, his father’s nose and her own eyes. His head bowed in tender affection for the child in his arms and his expression radiated the peace and contentment she had only recently begun to witness in him.

  Her hand shook as she extended it to touch, then drew back. “Where… how? What is this?”

  Margaret cast one more loving look at the portrait, then held it out to her. “I have never managed its like before. I could not, do you see, unless I knew and loved my subject so well. I want you to have it, for you first gave him to me.”

  “I… I do not know what to say.” Hannah tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “Why, it is… to think of anyone painting John in such a manner! He has always been accounted fierce—anyone else would have placed him as a tyrant in his mill, arms crossed and glowering at something. In this, you have portrayed the son I know.”

  “I am glad you approve. I did hope you would.”

  “How could I do otherwise?” Hannah sniffed roughly, blinking back a bit of sentiment, and bestowed a motherly kiss on the young woman’s cheek. “And have you spoken to him yet?”

  “He has not seen the painting. I did not even tell him I was trying to capture him as well as Patience, for I wanted to show it to you first.”

  “That—” Hannah shook her finger in the general direction of Margaret’s middle—“is not what I meant, sly one. Does he know the rest?”

  Margaret paled and touched a hand to her stomach. “What I wonder is how you knew! I only became certain myself a fortnight ago.”

  “And you thought to avoid having him fret and worry the better part of a year? You may as well spare yourself the effort, for if I can see it so plainly, he will not lag far behind. You have taken to eating little again, and your cheeks look perfectly ruddy. You may expect to be seeing the doctor at your door as soon as John feels the faintest glimmer of suspicion.”

  Margaret blushed, then laughed shyly. “I did not think it even possible. I thought I could not… surely, the same cannot happen a second time, can it?”

  “The doctor has already spoken to me of it, for I was anxious as well. He says your chances are no worse now than they were before, so let us take comfort in that. I presume you are feeling well?”

  Margaret offered a braver smile, and a satisfied gleam of her eye in answer. She straightened, however, when footsteps sounded in the passage.

  “Margaret, where did you—Mother! I did not know you were here.” John strode into the room, his frame alive and sparking with that same driving sort of energy which had long ago defined it. He came to greet her with an eager smile but froze when his eyes fell upon the portrait of himself.

  “Margaret!” John stared, almost trembling, his expression softened in awe. “It is remarkable! You… you did this?” He raised wondering eyes to his wife, then turned to Hannah for some sympathy in his admiration.

  “It seems your wife is a fine one for surprises.”

  John frowned, then his questioning gaze went back to Margaret… and the hand she still rested over her stomach. His brows arched.

  Hannah straightened her shoulders and raised her head, surveying the son who had been her life and the daughter who had stolen her affections. “I think… you do not need me at present.”

  Twenty-Six

  Christmas 1856

  “Love, you act as if we are expecting royalty! Sit, before I must restrain you myself.”

  Margaret nudged her father’s portrait into its proper place and patted down a cushion that had belonged to her mother. She turned to look round the drawing-room once more, almost satisfied… but not quite. Something was… there. She retrieved a dusting cloth from a side drawer to polish the glass flower cloche Hannah had given her, tucked her sewing basket farther out of sight, then stood back, her head tilted to appraise her work.

  “Margaret! Are you ignoring me, or incapable of settling?” John caught her hand and tried to drag her to the sofa. “I am told this constant flutter over the house is normal in your present state, but you must cease! I will call for Dixon if you force me to.”

  She relented, but slowly. “I am so eager to see Frederick! Oh, what can be keeping that train? I do hope Dolores has not found the journey too cold. What do you suppose she will think of England? We ought to have met them at the station—”

  “Frederick is well aware of why I would not permit you to meet them at the station. You needn’t fret, for Higgins will see them safely here. I might have gone myself, had I thought I could trust you to stay off your feet while I was away.”

  “John, I will not break!”

  “Empty promises. I shall believe you in a month’s time, not before. Humour me, will you love? You have already made the hairs of my chin turn grey.”

  She turned and affectionately touched that chin—disappointingly smooth now, as they were expecting company and he had dressed for the occasion—and waited for his smile to return. “I think it lends you an air of distinction, Mr Thornton. How mature and wise you look!”

  “And how dashedly exasperated! I would capture you by the waist and imprison you on my own lap if I thought I could get my arms around you.”

  “And this is the speech of a gentleman!”

  “I never claimed to be such, madam.” He swept her a playful bow. “And I meant it as no insult. I have never seen a more bewitching creature in my life than you, in all your maternal glory. You cannot know the pride it gives me to look upon you! But if your brother should walk in that door and see you engaged as one of the house maids at a time when you cannot even wear a proper corset, I fear his first impression of me may be less than favourable. And Higgins! I would never hear the end of it.”

  “Nicholas would understand my plight very well, and it will hardly be Frederick’s first impression of you. But there, you have submitted a cause with which I cannot argue.” She surrendered at last and attempted to ease herself into the sofa, but nearly fell instead.

  John caught her halfway, chuckling. “Do you know, I think I am finally the more graceful of the two of us.” He placed a pillow behind her back and helped her to shift to a more comfort
able position, but scarcely had she sighed in acknowledged relief when Sarah came into the room.

  “Ma’am, th’ carriage is just pulled up. Sha’ I show them in?”

  “No!” Margaret bounded to her feet again—though not without some assistance from her laughing husband. “I shall come. Thank you, Sarah.” She tried to straighten her skirts, but she could not see them well enough to decide whether her efforts had availed anything. Her palms ached, and a wild shiver passed through her as they moved to the passage together.

  “Love, you are trembling. Take my arm, and you may squeeze it all you like if it calms you.”

  She rewarded his solicitude with a nervous smile and accepted his offer as the door opened. She felt him flinch—perhaps she had been more troubled than she cared to confess. Nicholas opened the carriage door for someone, tipped his hat to her, and then she saw him no more, for Frederick was coming up the steps.

  “Margaret!”

  She ran to him and he swept her into his arms. “Frederick!” Tears—joyous, beautiful tears flooded her eyes until she could scarcely make out his face, and she cradled it between her hands. “Oh, Fred, you are finally here!”

  He was laughing and weeping in equal measures, and he pulled back, drawing her hands into his. “I am here, dearest, and look at you! I never saw you looking lovelier. Mi vida!” He gestured to the petite lady at his side. “I have so longed for you to know one another! Margaret, this is my Dolores.”

  Margaret was too overcome for a sedate greeting, and it seemed that Dolores was similarly affected. They embraced, long and warmly, and her new sister seemed to be trembling as much as she was. The young woman offered some words in broken English, too muted and emotive for Margaret to understand fully, but the meaning was clear enough.