by Elaine Owen
And it was her husband who managed all of this, his will the driving force behind it all. Without his effort none of it would have come to be. Margaret frowned as she remembered the look of fierce pride on his face when he asked her what she thought of the mill now, and of how she had answered him. Like her answer to Dixon, her response to Thornton had been harsher than she intended.
These thoughts preoccupied her all afternoon as she steadily relieved the basket of its burden. The day was well spent, and Margaret’s fingers were sore with needle pricks, when the housemaid Jane came into the parlor. She curtsied and presented Margaret with two letters. Margaret set down the needle and thread in her hands to accept them.
She realized at once who had sent them; the handwriting on the envelopes, the foreign postage, and especially the general air of having traveled a great distance, proclaimed that they were from her brother.
Margaret had written twice to Frederick recently. The first time she had written was the day after their father’s death. The second letter, written a week later, had announced her marriage. She had hoped for a response to either letter before now, but the delay was not unexpected. Many circumstances might delay a letter arriving from a foreign port.
The older letter must be read first, and Margaret broke the seal with a sense of dread, wondering how her brother had reacted to the news of their father’s passing.
My dear Margaret,
I received your sad news about our beloved father in the morning post. I immediately cried out loud and nearly fell. Delores had to help me to our bedroom, where I lay for several hours. I am overcome with grief. How can it be that I will never look on my father’s face again? The tears well in my eyes; I can scarcely view what I write. I hope that you will be able to read this letter.
How tragic that you have had to bear this burden alone! Would I had been with you! If circumstances had been different I would have stayed in Milton longer, but you know how impossible that was.
Thank you for telling me that my dear father was thinking of me at the last, and that the thought of us being together again was enough to cheer some of his final moments here on earth. I take some small comfort in that fact.
Dear sister, as soon as our father’s affairs are settled you must come and live with us in Spain. Do not worry about the finer details of the house or its furnishings. Sell what you can, dispose of what you must, and then you and Dixon must make your way to us in Cadiz. Delores and I have a fine house here in town, not overly large but with more than enough room for you. I will be your brother, Delores will be your sister, and please God we will be a family again. In time you will come to love Spain as much as I do. I think Mama and Papa would be pleased to know that this tragedy will be the means of uniting us once again. Delores is preparing a room for you even now. Come to us at once. I am
Your loving brother,
Frederick
Reading about Frederick’s sorrow and hearing the pain in his words was like a fresh wound on Margaret’s own heart. She closed her eyes and put her hand to her mouth, feeling again the grief of her father’s passing. Then she took several deep breaths and steadied herself. Resolutely she opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and reached for the second letter.
My dear sister,
I am in receipt of your letter contemplating your sudden marriage. Though I have read it several times I can still scarcely believe it. My sweet Margaret, what made you take such a drastic step? I thought I understood from my visit to Milton that you did not even like this Mr. Thornton.
My sister, you grieve me. I am sorely wounded by your taking such precipitous action without giving me the chance to be your protector. You ought to have come and lived with us. We would have taken care of you for the rest of your life. Instead you have put an insurmountable barrier between us. I cannot come to England and I doubt that this Thornton fellow will allow you to visit Spain. I wish that you had given me the chance to provide for you. As my father’s son and your brother your care ought to be my responsibility.
But these words are useless. The deed must be done by now. Delores and I offer you our congratulations and hope that your marriage will be as happy and prosperous as ours has been.
Your intimacy with your new husband will, I suppose, make it necessary for you to tell him of my existence at some point, if you have not already done so. Only you can judge if my secret is safe with him. But I beg you to be wary, be discreet. If Thornton were to say one word in the wrong ear the results could be disastrous. There are many Englishmen in Cadiz, and in this seaside town the marks of a sailor on my hands are obvious. The people here look at me oddly when I say I am a tradesman who was raised as a minister’s son. I do not believe any of them know the truth, but there are some who would not hesitate to surrender me for a profit.
My dear sister, I think it unlikely we will ever see each other again. I will not say farewell, as the English do, but in the manner of the Spanish: Que Dios te bendiga. May God bless you now and always. I am
Your loving brother,
Frederick
Margaret covered her face with her hands after the final paragraph, taking deep, shuddering breaths. If her brother’s first letter had opened up an old wound, his second letter was a knife that cut fresh.
Other readers might not have comprehended Frederick’s frame of mind from what he wrote but Margaret, used to her brother’s determined cheerfulness, could read between the lines. His choice of words, his half-hearted blessing, and especially the tone of his final farewell, all conveyed a sense of wounded outrage. Frederick was angered and hurt by the choice she had made, and he wanted her to know it.
Doubtless Frederick’s tone was at least partly due to his shock and dismay with his sudden bereavement; he would never have spoken to Margaret in such a way if he were not in the fresh throes of grief. She tried to comfort herself with that idea. By the time he wrote again, he would be starting to recover his spirits. He would probably repent of his rebuking words, and his next letter would contain an apology. But in the meantime she felt as though she had lost a brother as well as a father.
The sound of a carriage outside drew her attention to the time, and she realized that Hannah and Fanny must have returned from their calls. She was shaking all over and in no condition meet either of them. Hastily she rang for Dixon and gave quick instructions for dinner. Then she asked Dixon to make her apologies to the two women and went to her room. She would not be able to see any members of the Thornton family tonight.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Thornton came home that night he went into the parlor to wait for dinner to be announced, following his usual custom. At the door of the room Hannah saw his eyes come to rest immediately on the chair where Margaret most often sat. He frowned when he saw that it was empty. Hannah nodded once at him over her knitting needles and he returned the gesture. “Good evening, Mother.”
“Good evening, John.” Thornton sat in his preferred place next to the window, took up the day’s newspaper, and began to read. Hannah wondered how long it would take for him to ask the question she knew was on his mind. She kept silent and waited.
“How was your day, Mother?”
“It was well. Your sister and I made several calls and confirmed more people who are coming to her wedding. Fanny decided to accept a dinner invitation from one of her friends and I came back here.” She paused, pulling up a stitch she had dropped. “How was yours?”
“Busy.” Thornton turned a page impatiently, not looking up. “Where is Margaret?”
Hannah smiled to herself. It had taken just under a minute. “Upstairs, I believe.”
Thornton frowned and turned another page but kept his eyes on the paper. He did not ask any more questions until he and Hannah were seated at the dining room table. There was still no sign of Margaret.
“Isn’t Margaret joining us?” he asked Hannah, after the servants had put the food on the table and left the room.
“That dragon of a maid of hers said
that Margaret has a headache and will remain above stairs tonight.”
Thornton’s forehead creased. “Is she unwell? Should we call a doctor?”
“I offered but she said it was unnecessary. Probably she is just fatigued.”
“Perhaps we should send for Donaldson anyway.”
“Nonsense. Dixon will let us know if there is anything to worry about.”
Thornton scowled as Hannah passed him the first dish, and she knew he was not satisfied with her answer.
After dinner Thornton could not seem to settle down to any task. He turned the pages of the paper over and over until Hannah wearied of hearing them rustle, then polished his boots in front of the fire with ferocious energy for endless minutes. When the boots could not possibly survive any more such treatment he set them aside and paced restlessly across the room.
After he had crossed the floor for the third time Hannah could bear it no longer. “Sit down, John, before you wear a path in the floor. Margaret is not coming down tonight. All your pacing will not change that fact.”
“I need to speak with her.”
His mother looked at him tiredly. “You will see her tomorrow. Can you not wait until then?”
“You don’t understand, Mother. I may have undone all the progress I have made with her today.”
“What progress?” Hannah put down her knitting needles to give her son her full attention. Thornton came to sit next to her, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It was a posture he took only when something deeply troubled him.
“I was so hopeful this morning. You heard what she said about me at breakfast. She has never said a word in my defense before!”
“She certainly made her opinion known, as she always tends to do.”
“And then she brought me lunch at the mill today. I know you asked her to do it, but she could have sent a servant instead.”
Hannah continued listening attentively, her hands still in her lap.
“I persuaded her to stay and eat with me, and I thought we were getting on well. But then I took her on a tour of the mill. She was offended by the conditions she saw, and now I am afraid we are right back where we started.” Thornton ran one hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration Hannah had not observed in him before.
Hannah sighed. She had been afraid of something like this happening. “I cannot see that you did anything wrong,” she answered. “Your work is your work, and she was well aware of it before she married you.”
“But it has put a barrier between us again, and now she despises me.”
“I do not believe that.”
He turned to look at her. “What makes you say that, Mother?”
“John, your wife does not despise you. She does not understand you, perhaps, and she is certainly not reconciled to what you do for a living. But she does not despise you. I have spent enough time with her over the past weeks to know her well enough for that. She would never have married you, even a marriage such as this, if she did not at least respect you.”
“Then why is she not coming downstairs when she knows I wanted to speak with her again?”
“Most likely it is as she said – she is excessively fatigued,” Hannah answered, hoping she was speaking the truth. “Or perhaps she is troubled by something else altogether. It may not be anything to do with you. You must not be discouraged by losing her company for one single evening.”
Thornton exhaled deeply. “This is torture, Mother. Being so close to her, seeing her every day, and yet having no understanding between us . . . I fear it will drive me mad.” He let his face sink into his hands, covering his eyes.
Hannah was sorely tempted to chide Thornton. Had she not warned him that he might find himself in this very position? But he was so dejected that her harsher words died on her lips. Instead she placed a soothing hand on his shoulder and spoke words that surprised even herself. “Be patient. Your wife will come to love you soon. I have no doubt of it.”
“You sound as though you want her to come to care for me.”
“My opinion does not matter. If Margaret holds the key to your happiness, then that is what I want for you.”
Thornton dropped his hands and looked at his mother again, his eyes dark and searching. “Have you changed your opinion of Margaret since we married? Have you come to care for her yourself?”
Hannah cocked her head to the side, considering. “I hate to admit it, but I actually have.”
“How, exactly? What has made your change your mind?”
“Many things.” She paused to order her thoughts. “Margaret speaks her mind when she needs to, but she would rather die than willingly hurt another person. There is a great deal to admire in that.”
Thornton listened, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire.
“She has your strength of will along with a drive to succeed at whatever she does. In that way the two of you are more alike than I had ever thought. But she is also a peacemaker.”
“In what way?”
“Your sister and I were driven to distraction the other day. We were arranging where to seat everyone at the wedding breakfast and you know how stubborn Fanny can be. We nearly came to blows about where some of Watson’s friends should go. Margaret stepped in and solved in half a minute what had taken us half the morning at least. What’s more, she did it so cleverly that Fanny thought it was her own idea.” She gave a dry laugh at the memory.
“What was her solution?”
“She suggested to Fanny that Watson’s important friends might be offended if they were not seated by the windows, where they could see and be seen by everyone. Fanny immediately decided that was an honor nobody would pass up, and the problem was solved.”
Thornton gave a slight smile, the first smile she had seen on him since he came home that evening.
“She still has a great deal to learn, but I think she may have been the right choice for you after all. As long as you can win her affection.” Hannah paused. “Whatever happened with that young man of hers in Spain?”
“She broke things off with him before we married, of course.”
“Are you sure?”
“I saw the letter she wrote to him myself.”
“Did you ever find out his name?”
“Frederick something or other. I try not to think about him. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. I just hope whatever claim he had on her heart is truly over.”
“I do not worry about that.” Thornton shook his head emphatically. “Margaret is an honorable woman. Whatever was between them is at an end.”
Hannah wondered, but she did not wish to inquire further along this vein. Margaret was honorable, but she was also human, and the passions of the heart did not always follow human convention. But Margaret was John’s wife now, and such things were hardly to be spoken of. For John’s sake she devoutly hoped that there had been no contact between Margaret and the gentleman in Spain since the wedding. She moved the conversation back to safer ground.
“I think you ought to tell Margaret how you feel about her, John.”
Thornton shook his head. “I cannot.”
“Why not? Don’t you think she deserves to know?”
“I did that once before, Mother, at your insistence, and it ended in disaster.”
“That was different. You were not married then.”
“And we are not married now, not truly. I will not risk speaking to her too soon and pushing her away,” Thornton insisted.
Hannah had to concede the point; her romantic advice had not served her son well in the past. She shook her head regretfully. “It is your choice, but I think you are making a mistake. Now, if you will excuse me, I have been dealing with wedding matters all day and I am fatigued. I am going to bed.”
“Good night, Mother.”
Hannah rose to leave, but in the doorway she turned and gave her son one final piece of advice. “It is difficult for any woman to refuse a man who consistently demonstrates his love
and devotion. If you cannot tell Margaret what is in your heart, try to show it to her instead.”
Thornton nodded slowly. “I will.”
Hannah’s footfalls diminished as she climbed the staircase, but Thornton stayed awake for many long minutes as he gazed thoughtfully into the flames, watching as they slowly diminished. The fire’s embers were burning low by the time he extinguished the lamp and went upstairs.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When Margaret arose the next morning she saw that her face, in the little looking glass in her room, still clearly showed the effects of her uneasy night. She had managed to dry her tears and then she fell asleep reading one of the books Thornton had lent her. Nevertheless her eyes were red and her face still slightly swollen. To avoid any uncomfortable questions she ate early, before the rest of the family was fairly awake. When the others came downstairs she sent word through Dixon that she and Jane were blacking the stove and that she would not be able to come to the table. She hoped Thornton would not question the flimsy excuse.
For the rest of the morning she kept to herself. Twice when Hannah had to come into the room for some matter or other Margaret caught the edge of an inquisitive look directed her way, but she kept her face averted and Hannah left without asking any questions. She was not particularly worried about Hannah. The older woman was curious, nothing more, and she was too distracted by the imminent wedding, now just two days away, to worry much about Margaret. It was Thornton whom Margaret truly feared. If he caught one glimpse of her face now he would know something was amiss. Fortunately he had gone to the mill immediately after breakfast.
It was nearly noon before Margaret looked at herself again and decided it was safe to see the other members of the family. Hannah and Fanny were nearly swallowed in a pile of hats, spencers, shoes, and other items when Margaret entered the parlor. Fabrics and notions of all types covered nearly every surface of the room. “I am going out to run errands,” she announced to the distracted women. “Is there anything I can get for you?”