by Nancy Klein
Only one incident clouded their pleasant journey. As he searched for his glasses, Mr. Hale found the letter he had written to Mr. Thornton in his breast pocket; he had forgotten to give it to Nicholas. He fretted that Mr. Thornton would be offended if he came to call and did not find them home, but Meg soothed his anxieties, assuring him that Nicholas would explain their absence, and that he could mail the letter to Mr. Thornton upon their arrival in Oxford.
When they reached Oxford, they were delighted to see signs of spring. The flowering trees were budding, and Meg rejoiced to feel a hint of softness in the clean, fresh air. No smoke or fog marred the skies, and small clouds mottled the blue heavens.
Mr. Bell met them at the station, and was delighted to see that Meg had accompanied her father. “Meg, you’ve come,” he called out, a look of delight on his face as he embraced his old friend. “And you’ve brought Dixon,” he said cordially, nodding to the servant standing behind Meg. “We are but a short carriage ride from my home—I can offer you tea before settling you into your rooms. I regret that my own house is too small to accommodate all of you comfortably, so I arranged for an entire suite of rooms for you.” Chattering on, he led them into the commodious carriage, and gave the direction to the driver. They drove into Oxford along the lovely streets of the town. There was much to see and exclaim over, and Meg, who had never been outside of London save for Milton her entire life, was enchanted by the stately college buildings and the green open spaces.
Mr. Bell regaled them with his plans for their stay—he and Mr. Hale must attend several evening activities in conjunction with their reunion, but that left their small party ample time to dine with friends, attend musical performances and plays, and walk about the surrounding countryside. Meg settled against the plush carriage cushions with a contented sigh. The prospect of dinners and nights at the theater was a welcome diversion.
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As the Hales arrived in Oxford, Mr. Thornton made his way along the cluttered streets of Crampton. Stepping sprightly up the stairs of the Hale’s residence, he knocked loudly and stepped back, awaiting entry. Several moments passed and he rapped again, but no one answered the door. Frowning, he wondered why the servant did not respond. As he reluctantly turned to go, he caught sight of Higgins’ daughter approaching the house.
“Miss Higgins,” he called out peremptorily, and she gazed at him with curious eyes. “Where are the Hales?”
She dropped a quick curtsey and said rather breathlessly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton, but Mr. Hale and Miss Meg have gone to Oxford.”
His heart plummeted at the news. “How long will they be gone?”
Mary thought for a moment. “No return date was set, sir, but Meg did mention a fortnight.”
A fortnight, he thought dully. He had thrown caution to the wind to come to her today, to ask once again for her hand in marriage. Since she had rebuffed his proposal, he had sensed a softening in her regard toward him. After Fanny’s wedding, he was certain that she could not be indifferent to him. Business obligations had made it impossible for him to come until today; as a result, it would be several long weeks before he saw Meg and had the chance to tell her he loved her. He was bitterly disappointed.
He realized that Mary was watching him and struggled to regain his composure. “You say they have gone to Oxford? Are they visiting Mr. Bell?”
Mary nodded. “Yes sir, Mr. Hale was to attend a reunion of Oxford men, and that Mr. Bell had invited Meg to come with her father.” She smiled brightly. “She was very excited about visiting the colleges. Father asked her all sorts of questions about where she would go and what she would do.”
Mr. Thornton’s mouth twisted. She had found the time to tell Higgins she was leaving, and probably Doctor Donaldson as well, but had not spared a thought for him. So much for her deep regard, he thought with profound bitterness. He bowed stiffly to Mary, wished her good day, and departed. Mary watched him leave and thought she had never seen a man look so angry or disappointed.
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The days in Oxford sped by in a pleasant whirl of activity. Meg spent many hours exploring on her own, taking long walks while her father and Mr. Bell met old acquaintances or discussed books and politics. When time allowed, they attended several musical productions, and spent a memorable evening at the symphony. Mr. Bell had managed to procure a box, and Mr. Hale listened to the beautiful music with the greatest attention. Meg snuck peeks at his relaxed and happy countenance throughout the performance. The symphony played a variety of pieces; it was during the performance of a sonata that she noticed tears on her father’s cheeks, and reached over to clasp his hand. He turned his gaze to her and smiled sadly, and she knew he was thinking of his wife.
On other evenings, Mr. Bell treated them to a performance by a string quartet, and took them to hear a tenor sing. These presentations were thrilling to Meg, who had never found the opportunity while living in London to see plays or go to concert halls. Mr. Bell delighted in her enthusiasm, and promised to procure tickets for a play before their visit ended.
Meg was happy to see her father in better health and spirits. He tired easily, but with his mind turned to pleasanter prospects, he lost some of the grayness that had descended on him in Milton. He would walk some afternoons, but more times than not he sat in the garden, reading some new-found delight from Mr. Bell’s extensive library. This enabled Mr. Bell to escort Meg through the town streets or along the nearby country lanes to take the air. One particular afternoon, after they walked in a companionable silence, Mr. Bell suggested that they rest upon a bench outside a church. As it was warm and he appeared fatigued, Meg agreed with alacrity. They sat watching a bird gather twigs and fly into a nearby tree to build a nest, when Mr. Bell asked her what her plans were for the future.
She looked at him blankly. “We will return to Milton. Father has no intention of settling elsewhere, since Milton is Mother’s final resting place. He has his pupils and books, and I have my work at the clinic to keep me occupied.”
Mr. Bell shook his head. “That is no life for a clever woman such as you. Do you have no dreams for yourself?”
Meg smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. I should like to study to be a doctor.”
Mr. Bell was shocked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
She laughed. “You asked me if I had any dreams, not if they were realistic.”
He nodded, acknowledging her point. “What is to stop you, besides the conventions of our time?”
“Are they not enough?”
“I suppose they would be difficult, but not insurmountable.” He sat frowning at his hands. “Besides what society might say, what keeps you from becoming a doctor?”
“Money and proximity to a teaching hospital, for a start,” Meg replied evenly. “And the conventions of this time are quite formidable—do you believe Milton is ready for a woman doctor? I doubt it—despite the changes society has undergone it is still a man’s world. I don’t know if I want to tilt at this particular windmill.” She smiled sadly at him. “It is only a dream, Mr. Bell. I could not leave my father to study in London, and I would not ask him to come to London with me. As I said, he is determined to remain in Milton.”
No, she thought sadly, the only way I can become a doctor is to return to my own time. She saw that Mr. Bell was watching her with some concern, and she patted his hand consolingly. “Do not worry about me. I am content for the time being at the clinic.” She watched the bird swoop down once more to pull some moss from a tuft under an oak tree.
“Have you no thought of a husband or family?”
“No, I do not,” she responded briskly, standing up from the bench. “I have no desire to marry. Shall we continue our walk? Father will wonder where we have gone.” She smoothed her skirts, and offered her hand to help him up.
Mr. Bell said nothing, but studied her thoughtfully. He had suspected for quite some time that she cared for Mr. Thornton; the night of the Thornton’s dinner pa
rty, he had watched her interactions with their host and had seen the way her eyes followed him and a smile lit her face when he spoke to her. As for Thornton, he was transparent in his interest; the man practically wore his heart upon his sleeve, and his eyes followed her constantly. Mr. Bell thought wryly that whereas the Master of Marlborough Mills used to be consumed only by commerce and trade, never taking note of women, he now seemed quite smitten by one particular woman. He had expected to their romance would blossom, and was surprised to hear her speak of having no desire to marry. However, her brusque tone warned him off the subject, and he kept his thoughts to himself. Perhaps her interest in medicine was stronger than her interest in Thornton. “Very well, my dear,” he said as he took her hand and rose from the bench. “Let us go see what your Father is about.” He offered her his arm and they retraced their steps back to his lodgings.
On the following morning, when Meg and Dixon set off to explore the shops in town, Mr. Bell and his friend settled themselves in the library to read. After a companionable silence, Mr. Bell said of a sudden, “You know, Hale, that daughter of yours has found her way into my heart. What would you say if I were to tell you I plan to settle part of my fortune upon her on my death?”
Mr. Hale gazed at him affectionately. “I would say you are a good and generous friend,” he responded promptly. His smile faded. “However, Adam, that reminds me of something. With Maria’s death, I have been concerned about Meg’s future. Frederick is out of the country and in no position to care for her, and her aunt and cousin are world travelers who are seldom at home. If something should happen to me, would you watch over her? Be a friend to her and help her out should she require assistance?”
Mr. Bell reached over and grasped his friend’s arm. “Of course—I already think of her as a daughter.”
Mr. Hale’s smile broadened. “Thank you. You have no idea how that puts my mind to rest.” He stretched in his comfortable chair, and gave a sigh of contentment. “Since I have come to visit you in Oxford, I have the strangest feeling that I have come home—isn’t that odd?”
“Not at all—I have been thinking for some time that you and your daughter should resettle here. What would you think of that?”
Mr. Hale gave a noncommittal shrug. “We shall see.” He picked up his book once more.
To celebrate the Hales’ last night in Oxford, Mr. Bell managed to procure a box to see Romeo and Juliet. Meg dressed carefully that night; she had a new gown that Dixon had made for her, and was determined to show Dixon how pleased she was with her efforts. Dixon had found the material on their arrival in Oxford, and with her diminished duties, had time on her hands to sew. Meg thanked her profusely for the gown, which was a lovely piece of work in a warm shade of amber with yellow threads shot through the cloth. It made her skin glow, and set the color of her hair off to perfection, in Dixon’s fond estimation. Meg was glad to have something grand to wear, and used a bit of her pocket money to purchase slippers and gloves. She felt guilty spending money on finery, but Dixon told her not to be a goose. “You spend little enough on yourself. It is time you had a bit of fun.” As a surprise, Dixon had brought along Mrs. Hale’s diamond necklace. Meg protested, but Dixon retorted, “It should be worn, so that you remember your mama and what a beautiful woman she was.”
As she dressed for the evening, Meg wondered yet again where Margaret Hale was. You should be here, wearing this necklace and accompanying your father to the theater, Meg thought in despair. Where are you? Do you know that your mother has died?
Mr. Bell admired Meg’s appearance that night and paid her such extravagant compliments that her melancholy faded away. Mr. Hale touched the necklace and gave her a sad smile. “Your mother would be very proud of you this evening, Meg.”
When they entered the theater, Meg craned her neck about to take in the crowds of people surging about. The women were dressed in beautiful gowns and jewels, and the men in dashing evening dress. There was a festive feeling in the air; the excitement of seeing a live performance lifted Meg’s spirits and made her glad to be part of the throng. As Mr. Bell placed a gentle hand on the small of her back to guide her toward the stairs and their box, Meg stopped abruptly. She espied a tall, familiar form in a top hat across the room. The man had his back to her, but she knew it was Mr. Thornton. Her heart beat a tattoo—what was he doing in Oxford? A second glance showed her he was not alone—Mr. Laurence stood beside him, and Miss Laurence held his arm. Meg left Mr. Bell and moved like a sleepwalker across the room, drawn by the power of his presence.
As if he felt the power of her eyes—as if he felt her presence and knew she was there—he turned and met her gaze. His eyes widened with surprise and pleasure, and without a word, he turned and left his companions to meet her halfway across the room. “Miss Hale.” His voice was husky with admiration. He thought she had never looked so beautiful—she stole his breath away in her shimmering gown, the diamonds winking at her neck. The gown and jewels were lovely, but she was lovelier.
“Good evening, Mr. Thornton.” Meg held out her hand and he clasped it in his firm one. Once again, she experienced a thrill at his touch. She could feel her pulse fluttering in her throat, and lowered her eyes from his heated gaze. She thought he was the most handsome man she had ever met. “What brings you to Oxford?” she asked quietly.
He looked as if he could not speak; in truth, being so close to her again drove all rational thought from his mind. “I-I have some business in Oxford. I hope to find a new investor in the mill.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Is Marlborough Mills in financial trouble?”
“Nothing we cannot survive.” He had come to Oxford on Mr. Laurence’s urging to approach several potential investors—he was in need of an infusion of capital. Marlborough Mills had not regained its losses after the strike, and Mr. Laurence was hopeful that one of his colleagues might be persuaded to invest in the mill. Miss Laurence had expressed a wish to attend the theater, and Mr. Thornton and her father acquiesced.
Before Mr. Thornton could ask her how she enjoyed her stay in Oxford, Mr. Bell and Mr. Hale joined Meg, and Mr. Laurence and his daughter stepped beside Mr. Thornton. Polite greetings were exchanged, and Miss Laurence suggested that they take their seats as the performance was about to begin. A look of deep regret crossed Mr. Thornton’s face, but he expressed his hope that Mr. Bell and his guests would enjoy the play.
Meg was surprised to note that Mr. Laurence’s party occupied the box across the theater from their own. She was relieved when the lights were dimmed and the play began; in the dark theatre, she could study Mr. Thornton to her heart’s content, without fear of observance by him or the alert young woman seated beside him. She saw Miss Laurence place a proprietary hand on Mr. Thornton’s arm, and noted with dissatisfaction that he allowed it to remain there. She told herself he was merely being polite, but felt a pang of jealousy, a feeling so new to her that she was astonished. She had left Milton to remove herself from Mr. Thornton’s proximity, to give her time away from his mesmerizing presence. However, her time away from him had not lessened his power over her—if anything, it had strengthened it so that when she met him this evening she had been nearly overcome with joy. The sound of his voice had filled her with a giddy gladness, as if she had drunk champagne.
Shaking her head at her folly, Meg turned her attention to the stage and quickly became absorbed in the play. She enjoyed the stirring swordplay and the lover’s vows of undying love during the balcony scene. In the first act, while Romeo declared, “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this; my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss,” Meg felt Mr. Thornton’s gaze from across the theater. She turned her head and met his waiting eyes. As Juliet delivered her lines, “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this; for saints have hands that pilgrim’s hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss,” she lifted her hand to her lips and sa
w his eyes widen with recognition at her intent. His gaze was so heated that she felt it scorched her. She saw him lift his own hand and place it over his heart, and she trembled under the power of his fixed stare. She longed to leave the box and go to him, and had to struggle with all of her will to remain seated, so strong was the impulse.
During intermission, Mr. Thornton and his party visited Mr. Bell’s box, but Miss Laurence was determined to stay by Mr. Thornton’s side, much as he tried to elude her so he might speak to Meg privately. Mr. Bell, watching this with some amusement, took pity on Mr. Thornton and Meg, and pulled Miss Laurence aside to ask her about their mutual acquaintances in Milton.
Before he could speak, Meg asked Mr. Thornton how long he planned to stay in Oxford. He replied with regret, “I must return to Milton tomorrow, following my business meetings. Will you return soon, Miss Hale?” When she told him that they would depart for Milton on the morrow as well, his face lit with joy. “I have missed my studies and my visits to your home,” he asserted, his face infused with boyish enthusiasm.
Before he left their box, he took her hand in both of his and held it for several moments before lifting it swiftly to his lips. Meg felt her heart soar in anticipation of their next meeting, but moments later, her spirits plunged. While taking her seat and studying the program, she overheard Mr. Laurence tell Mr. Bell, “It is too bad that our potential investors do not have ready capital at this time to invest in Marlborough Mills.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I don’t mind telling you that I am worried. My daughter has her heart set on marrying Thornton—I feel like I must do something to advance the mill. Of course, Thornton has not offered for her yet, but Amy seems to think that once he has this monetary issue settled, he will not be behind in seeking her hand. Mrs. Thornton told Amy that nothing would please her more than an alliance between our two families, and we all know how close Thornton is to his mother.”