by Elaine Owen
"I am well aware of your capabilities. You never need my assistance." A heavyset woman standing in line in front of Margaret stepped back abruptly just then, jostling Margaret, and Thornton courteously reached out his arm to shield her. He waited until the woman had stepped back into her place before speaking again. "But I did not wish to argue with your father. He seemed excessively fatigued. The sooner you can get through your business here, the sooner you can return to his side."
"Thank you. I am grateful for your thoughtfulness."
Margaret looked away again and tried not to think about the man standing directly behind her. She hoped the line would move faster than she had reason to believe at this moment. She could smell Thornton's cologne, rich and warm, and feel his looming presence at her back, nearly close enough to touch. She did not want to think about the way she had thrown her arms around him to protect him from the striking workers on the day of the riot, or the way he had carried her into the house in his arms, shielding her from the wrath of the crowd. Such intimate gestures between two people who hardly knew each other! But she would not allow her mind to dwell on those things.
The silence lasted for a minute or two until Thornton spoke again. This time his voice was gentle and deep.
"I never had a chance to properly express my condolences on the death of your mother."
"Mr. Thornton! That was months ago!" The line moved a slow half step forward and she moved with it before she turned to face him. "You and your mother were both very kind to us at that time. My father and I appreciated the card you sent, as well as your presence at the services."
So she had noticed him at the church that bleak day! Thornton felt a surge of relief. Hannah had stayed home, in accordance with the custom that generally kept women away from funerals, but Thornton had been present for every minute of the services. And Margaret said that they had appreciated his presence!
"I should have done more," he countered, watching her face. "With all that your father's friendship means to me, I should have supported your family more during the funeral and afterwards."
"You did everything you could," Margaret insisted. "You came to the funeral, and I know you would have come to the house if . . . if . . . circumstances had been different," she finished rather uncomfortably. Here they were, back in difficult territory again. "I am sorry that I had to turn you away when you tried to call. Please allow me to repeat what I said previously, that although you are always welcome in our home, there were reasons why we could not admit you to the house during my mother's last few days."
Finally, they were going to talk about that awful day when Margaret had turned him away from the house. He had longed to ask her about it and now here she was, unable to escape his questioning.
" 'Things are not as they seem,' " Thornton said, quoting what Margaret had told him at the time. "I have given those words a great deal of thought, but I am no closer to understanding them now than I was then."
Margaret looked away uneasily, unwilling to meet Thornton's eyes. Thornton continued. "You said I was most welcome, but you still turned me away."
"We were not at home to any callers. Mother was terribly ill."
"But there was a visitor in your home that day," Thornton said gravely. "Please do not try to deny it. I saw his umbrella in the entryway, and his laughter rang out into the street, down from the second-floor window. Did you think I could not hear it?"
"I am not a simpleton, Mr. Thornton." Margaret's eyes blazed up into his, and he was startled at the way her sudden passion made her whole face become more alive. Her nostrils flared and pink swept into her cheeks, reminding him that no other woman he knew could match her fierce spirit. "I knew you saw the umbrella and that you heard the laughter coming from – that other person, but I was being truthful. We could not admit you at the time!"
Thornton's lips twisted as he looked down at her. "You were being truthful – at the time."
He expected her temper to flare even more at these words, but to his surprise she looked down again. She drew a long breath while Thornton watched, wondering what she was thinking.
Margaret flinched inwardly at his reminder of her deception. When the police had started their inquiry into Leonards' death, she had been forced to dissemble about her presence at the Outwood station that night. There was no way she could admit to being on the train platform without mentioning her brother's name and raising more questions. As a result Thornton had discovered her deception, though not the reason for it, and her character now suffered in his eyes.
Perhaps she should be grateful to her father for throwing her into Thornton's company in this way. This was her opportunity to set things right and to thank him for protecting her. She could not tell Thornton why she had done as she had, of course, but she might be able to give him enough information to make him think a little better of her.
There was a short pause as the queue in front of the counter moved forward again, taking Margaret and Thornton with it. It was only after they had moved a half foot or so that Margaret dared to face him again. This time her voice was low and humble. "Mr. Thornton, I am grateful for the way you protected my reputation during the inquest. I know what you must believe of me. However, I wish you would not jump to conclusions. I must ask you not to judge on appearances."
Thornton frowned, but Margaret continued speaking. "I am guilty of deceit but nothing more. I have done nothing I am ashamed of, and nothing I would not do again."
Thornton's anger rose. "I thought you had better character than that," he said fiercely. "I would never have expected to hear a lie from you, of all people!"
His voice had risen along with his intensity, and his words carried farther than he intended. The heavyset woman who had nearly knocked Margaret down earlier turned around to look askance between her and Thornton. When neither Margaret nor Thornton answered her unspoken questions, she shook her head doubtfully and turned to face the front once more.
Thornton waited until she faced completely forward before speaking again, keeping his voice more controlled this time. "I do not understand how you can admit to behavior that endangered your reputation and yet insist that you did no wrong."
"If you knew the circumstances I do not believe you would condemn me." Margaret lifted her chin stubbornly.
"I wish I knew the circumstances. I wish you could bring yourself to confide them to me."
"I cannot do that without betraying another person's secret!"
"Does this other person's secret mean that much to you? Is another man worth the sacrifice of your character?"
Margaret lifted her beautiful, reproachful eyes to his, but she said nothing. Instead she turned away from him, letting the proud set of her shoulders answer for her. Thornton knew he had struck a nerve. He decided to push further, stepping fractionally closer to her. "Was the man on the platform the same person who was at your house the day I tried to call?"
Margaret raised her face again at those words, and this time there was unmistakable alarm in her wide eyes and parted lips. Thornton knew his guess was correct. "Never mind," he added, with just a hint of bitterness. "I know you will not tell me."
The line moved just then, and Margaret was relieved to turn her back on Mr. Thornton as she took a step forward. Their conversation was becoming too intense, too personal. She heard him step behind her and sensed his presence very near, close enough to touch. "Margaret," she heard, in a voice just barely above a whisper. It was so soft that she wondered if he had truly murmured her name or if the sound had come from her own active imagination. She could almost feel his breath on her ear. "Margaret, dearest Margaret. I may be uncouth and hard, but I would never have led you into any falsehood for my sake."
Margaret stifled a gasp. She would have given a great deal at that moment to look behind her and see if Thornton had actually spoken. Perhaps his passion for her had not died. Perhaps it lay just underneath the surface, a dormant seed, waiting for some unknown touch of nature to bring it forth once again.
Or perhaps it was all in her mind. Her heart fluttered involuntarily to think that, in spite of everything, this stern man might still hold her dear.
Nothing further was said between them until they reached the front of the line. The heavyset matron in front of Margaret stepped up to the counter, leaving a little space between her and Margaret, and Margaret finally turned to partially face Thornton.
"Mr. Thornton, despite the disagreements between us I would ask you a favor. Since Mother's death my father has been quite cast down. He avoids company and has few visitors. Sometimes he goes almost an entire day speaking only to me. You are nearly the only friend he has in Milton. Would it be too much to ask you to consider calling on him as you used to?"
Thornton considered her words, looking down thoughtfully at her upturned face. "I might consider it, if my work schedule permits."
"It would mean a great deal if, for my father’s sake, you could agree to forget what has passed between us. If you wish I could even arrange to be out of the house when you call."
Thornton shook his head. "That will not be necessary, Miss Hale. I would never impose myself on you if my presence would make you uncomfortable."
"My feelings are not important in this situation, Mr. Thornton. The only thing that matters is lifting my father's spirits."
Thornton's heart warmed at her words. Her selfless attitude was one of the things that he admired so much in this woman. "Your feelings matter to me, Miss Hale, as do those of your father. If you are absolutely certain that my presence would not be a burden to you, I will come to lessons once again."
Margaret smiled gratefully. She had not expected such an easy capitulation.
"Perhaps," Thornton added carefully, "perhaps you might also see fit to join us in our discussions of Greek philosophy from time to time."
Margaret's smile grew wider as her starry eyes gazed up at him, and Thornton nearly forgot to breathe. "I would like that – very much."
"Then you can expect to see me this evening, Miss Hale, if you will be home." He bowed slightly.
Margaret gave a nod of assent and faced forward again, leaving Thornton nearly overcome. He could scarcely believe what had just passed between them. Had Margaret really invited him to come to Crampton? Had he just agreed? Who would he be calling on – Margaret's father or on Margaret herself? It might very well be both! He had no idea how to explain the situation even to himself, and he could not imagine what his mother would say when she found out. But he had now given his word, and he would honor it. He would call on the Hale family in their home this very evening! He only wished that it was already nighttime.
The heavyset woman finished her business at the counter and the clerk called Margaret forward. Margaret asked if there were any letters for the Hale family and Thornton noted that she received a thick missive addressed to her and her father in a feminine hand. No doubt it was one of their relatives, perhaps from an overseas location, judging by the exotic postage in one corner. Margaret’s face was alight with pleasure as she tucked it into the pocket of her heavy shawl.
Then Thornton saw her remove a letter from her reticule and place it on the counter in front of the clerk. "I would like to post this letter, please. What will the cost be?"
The clerk eyed the address, squinting to make it out. "How far is it going, miss?"
"It is going to Spain."
The clerk picked up the envelope in his hand, peering at it from under thick brows. "Can't hardly read the direction."
"I am sending it to Cadiz," said Margaret patiently. "What postage must be paid?"
"Have to weigh it first." The clerk indicated the scale next to him but did not place the letter on it. He squinted at the writing even more. "We don't get many letters headed for that country through here. What be the name on it?"
"What does it matter?" Margaret answered, now a trifle annoyed. "All I need to know is the postage due."
"If I can't make the name out, then how do you expect them Spaniards to?" Thornton thought the man was making a feeble joke, but Margaret suddenly looked worried instead of amused.
"Please just tell me the amount I must pay," she said, with a quick glance in Thornton's direction. He frowned as a quick suspicion rose in his mind. Margaret looked away from Thornton again and leaned over the counter to say something to the clerk in a hushed voice.
"Begging your pardon, miss," the clerk answered more respectfully. "'I meant no disrespect. Let me see how much this weighs."
Margaret did not glance back again as she counted out the amount the clerk named. Without looking at Thornton she turned away from the counter and swept out the door, her skirts trailing grandly behind her. Thornton stared darkly after her, his lip curling in disdain. He knew without being told that Margaret was still protecting the man from the train platform, her lover, the gentleman from Cadiz.
CHAPTER FOUR
Margaret found her father where she had left him, sitting on the bench outside the post office, his collar loosened against the warmth of the midday. He was breathing heavily, a trait she had noticed more and more in recent months. "I am sorry to take so long, Father. There were a number of others in line ahead of us."
"Was there a letter from Frederick?"
"No, but there is a letter from someone else you know, which may be of some consolation. Cousin Edith wrote."
"Ah!" Mr. Hale paused to cough, clearing his throat. "Imagine young Edith, married and with a child, writing to you all the way from Corfu!"
"And Aunt Shaw might have included a line too, I imagine. You know she is visiting Edith and the captain right now."
"I doubt that your aunt will have much to say to me. She never thought I was good enough for your mother, you know. She may have been right."
This was one of those moments of despondency that Margaret had mentioned to Thornton. It grieved her to hear her father speak of himself this way. She knew that her mother had loved her father deeply, enough to turn her back on a life of luxury in order to become his wife, while Aunt Shaw had accepted a life of security instead of affection. Aunt Shaw had always envied her sister for her choice. But her father blamed himself for his wife's untimely death, and Margaret could not persuade him that more than the dirty Milton air may have contributed to her sad end. It was best to try to distract him.
"Here, Father, let me read Edith's letter to you, unless you would rather read it at home."
"I think I will enjoy it more here, in the fresh air. Where is Thornton?" Her father peered behind her. "Did he come out with you?"
"He was directly behind me in line. I expect he will be out shortly." Margaret decided not to mention Thornton's promise to call on her father that night. She did not want to raise his hopes, considering how Thornton had looked daggers at her while she posted her letter to Frederick. Most likely he assumed Margaret was writing to her lover, since she had not had the sense to behave calmly when the clerk called attention to Frederick's assumed name on the envelope. Why did she always have to overreact when Thornton was nearby? Vexed at her own lack of judgment, she broke the seal on her cousin's letter and began to read.
My very dear Margaret,
How strange it is to write to you from this place, so exotic and so far away from everything I hold dear! I think in some ways I may never get used to this island, where the warm air is so unlike England and the sea is so close by. I can hear seagulls calling at our window almost every morning and the smell of salt never leaves the air.
Mama arrived here almost a month ago and she cannot stop talking about how very modern Corfu is. She expected to find us living among barbarians and heathens, in the most primitive conditions imaginable. Instead everywhere we take her there is some new road being built or some new public work under construction. The talk is all of progress and modernization. We are every bit as civilized in Corfu as we would be in London. As for barbarians and heathens, I had to remind Mama that the earliest Christians were Greeks, and we see their ruins and hear their beautiful language spoken
all around us every day.
I have news which will no doubt come as a surprise to you. A fortnight ago the captain asked to extend the length of his posting here, and just yesterday we received word that his request was granted. As a result, my dear Margaret, we will not be returning to England as we had planned. Instead we will all be staying here in Corfu! Even Mama, who says that the climate is doing wonders for her ailments. She is already making arrangements through Henry to let the house in town until we can return. The captain says we are not likely to see England again in less than three years.
Does this news upset you, my dear cousin and almost sister? I hope not. Three years is a tolerable amount of time but as you know, time has a way of passing quickly. I believe that we shall see each other again, and when that happens we shall be amazed at all we have to tell each other.
Besides, we will not have to be separated at all, not if you and Uncle would consent to join us here as well!
Dearest Margaret, would it be possible to speak to my uncle and see if he would agree to bring you to visit us on this tiny Greek island? I wish you would. I cannot think of any reason now for you to stay in that dirty manufacturing town, where I am sure the air is not as clean as what we enjoy here. Our quarters are small but we could find accommodations for you easily enough. And if you decide to stay in Corfu, you and I could be as close as we ever were when we were little girls. I would dearly love for Sholto to come to know his Aunt Margaret quite as well as his Uncle Henry.
Mama will rise shortly and then we will be off for a tour of an old fortress left here by the Venetians many years ago. I will be looking at the ruins, but I will be thinking of the day when you are here to view them with
Your own dear cousin,
Edith
"Imagine that, Papa!" Margaret exclaimed when she was done. "They are staying in Corfu! I never thought Edith and the captain would go to Corfu and not come back!"