by Nancy Klein
As they entered the parlor of the Thornton’s home, Meg felt sick with apprehension. This might be the last time she would ever see this room again—or Mr. Thornton. Mrs. Thornton stepped forward, her usually harsh countenance softened in sympathy for Meg’s recent loss. “Miss Hale,” she said in a solemn tone, “I am sorry for your father’s death. He was a good man.”
“Thank you,” Meg whispered. She was afraid to speak for fear of succumbing to her grief. “I have come to say good-bye. I will be returning to London with my aunt this afternoon.”
“You are leaving?”
Mr. Thornton entered the room, and stood watching her with a stern air that belied the grief he felt at her words. He looked pale and tired, Meg thought, as though he bore the weight of heavy troubles upon his shoulders. She walked toward him, holding out a book. “I have brought you Father’s Plato,” she explained, a sad smile upon her face. “I thought you might like to have it as a keepsake.”
The ghost of a smile crossed his features. “Thank you—I shall treasure it.” He lifted his eyes from the Plato and speared her with his gaze. “And so you are going, and never coming back.” His forehead crinkled in consternation. She looks like a wraith, he worried, as if she might crumple to the ground at any moment. Remembering the reason for her visit, he thought with surging grief, I may never see her again.
Meg fought back her tears—she would not cry! “I wish you well, Mr. Thornton.” They exchanged an extended glance, each silently beseeching the other, as her aunt explained to Mrs. Thornton that she must get Margaret to London immediately. Seeing the expression on her son’s face, Mrs. Thornton agreed. Aunt Shaw took her niece’s arm and led her out into the courtyard where the carriage awaited.
Once seated in the carriage, Meg felt as if she were being watched. She turned abruptly in her seat and peered out the small back window to see Mr. Thornton standing on the landing where she had struggled with him the day of the riot. She stared, watching the snowflakes swirl about him as he stood with neither hat nor coat to protect him against the elements. She lifted a hand and pressed it against the pane of glass, as if she would stretch across the courtyard to touch his hand, palm to palm in holy palmer’s kiss.
His eyes widened and he lifted his hand, fingers spread as if he would match his hand to hers across the courtyard. She continued to look back at him until the carriage turned the corner and she could see him no longer. I don’t want to go, she thought, a wild rebelliousness surging through her. How can I leave, loving him as I do? I’m not even certain the time is right. If I go to London, how will I ever get back through the mirror to my own time? She felt like weeping, and had turned her gaze toward the carriage window to hide her tears when she spotted Clothilde standing along the street. The woman looked at her resolutely, smiled, and shook her head, as if to say, don’t go.
“Stop,” Meg cried, “stop the carriage at once!” Her aunt made a sound of protest as Meg thrust the door open and leapt from the vehicle before it had stopped. The driver pulled hard on the horses’ mouths, as Meg rushed toward the spot where Clothilde stood. She was gone. Meg looked about, but saw no sign of her. She is trying to tell me something. She does not want me to leave Milton!
“Meg!” She heard the cry behind her and spun about to see Nicholas and Mary rushing along the street to reach her. Meg held out a hand to each of them as they reached her breathless and panting. “Meg, we thought you had left,” Nicholas said in hurt indignation. “We left the children with a neighbor and were on our way to the train station to catch you. How could you go, and not say a word to a friend?” Meg saw that tears stained Mary’s white cheeks. She gathered the girl into a tender embrace, and felt something harden within her, a resolve she had not felt in the days since her father’s death. She had felt this resolve begin to grow when she had looked back at Mr. Thornton; seeing Clothilde had confirmed it. This is my life, she thought angrily, and I am going to live it as I so desire.
“I am not leaving, Nicholas,” Meg said resolutely. “I have changed my mind—I am not going.” Ignoring his shocked expression, Meg turned to the carriage and said to her aunt, “I cannot go to London, Aunt Shaw. I am staying in Milton.”
Chapter 19. Tweedledee and Tweedledum
Aunt Shaw looked stunned and exasperated at her niece’s pronouncement. “What nonsense is this, Margaret? Get in the carriage—we must be off.”
Meg shook her head vehemently. “I am not going, Aunt. I am staying in Milton. I will accompany you to the train station, if you like, but I am not getting on that train.” She turned to Nicholas and Mary and smiled. “I shall be by later tonight.” She reentered the carriage and it set off down the street, leaving Nicholas and Mary to stare at each other in bewilderment.
“Do you think she’ll convince her aunt?” Mary asked wonderingly.
Nicholas snorted. “Of course I do! My money is on our Meg, but I wouldn’t want to be in that carriage with those two women!”
As Nicholas sagaciously prophesized, the atmosphere in the carriage was not pleasant, and the discussion grew quite heated. Aunt Shaw was outraged at the idea of Meg remaining in Milton. “You cannot stay in Milton alone!” she exclaimed angrily. “Whatever are you thinking?”
“I will not be alone. I have Dixon.”
“A single woman cannot set up house by herself! You will be an outcast from society!”
“What society, Aunt Shaw? I have no desire to be part of society.” Meg’s cool, amused tone nettled her aunt and she threw up her hands in dismay.
“What will you do with yourself?”
“I will go on as I did before, working at the clinic and helping the poor,” Meg replied promptly.
“Walking all about Milton at all hours of the day and night, with no one to watch over you,” her aunt fretted, obviously beside herself with worry. “I hardly recognize you, Margaret. You have grown to be quite independent and…and… revolutionary.”
Once again, Meg felt the burden of living in this time rather than her own. Oh, for the sanctioned freedom to come and go as she pleased and answer to no one. The war had changed many things for women, and it was perhaps time these things changed in Milton now. “I am sorry that I am a grave disappointment to you, but I cannot go to London. I belong in Milton, and would be miserable elsewhere.”
Her aunt stared at her, a puzzled look upon her face. “I do not understand you, Margaret. You were heartbroken to leave Helstone—I remember the letters you wrote Edith before your departure. What has happened to change all of that?”
Meg took one of her aunt’s hands between her own. “I fell in love with the people in Milton, aunt. Oh, not the manufacturers and the wealthy,” she hastened to explain. Except for one, her mutinous heart whispered. “The working folk are in such need of medical care, shelter, food, education, employment—the list of needs is endless. I want to stay here and help them.” For the time remaining to me, she amended silently. “Please believe me when I say my life here is full and happy.”
Her aunt studied her before slumping back against her seat in defeat. “Very well, Margaret, I wash my hands of you.”
The carriage pulled up to the train station, and her aunt turned and pinned her with a severe look. “I suppose it is time for us to part. Should you ever need me, you know where I am. You are welcome to make your home with me. I loved your mother very much, and I love you. I will always be there for you.” She smiled fleetingly. “You have a small inheritance that falls to you now that your mother is gone. Our father, Sir John Beresford, settled an amount on both of his daughters upon his death. It was this fund that provided the money for Maria’s gowns and your clothing, as well as other things. I daresay your father forgot about this money, but Henry Lennox has managed this fund for your mother, and is willing to continue to manage it for you. I will instruct Henry to send the funds to you each quarter. It is not much, but it will enable you to live comfortably in Crampton, if that is what you desire.”
Meg’s smile was like t
he sun breaking through clouds. “Thank you aunt, it is exactly what I desire. Thank you for all of your kindness to me.” She reached across the seat and gave her aunt an affectionate kiss.
“Margaret, please,” her aunt said fretfully, pulling away and straightening her bonnet. But the glint in her eye told Meg that she was pleased.
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“Lord, Meg, if you could have seen her face!” Nicholas laughed uproariously. “You standing on the side of the street declaring you was going nowhere!” He slapped his leg, clearly delighted that she had won her struggle and would remain in Milton. Meg sat in the small house in Princeton, feeding porridge to the youngest Boucher. His colic was gone, and he was a happy, sassy baby once more.
Meg had the grace to look sheepish. “I felt so sorry for her. I had to rush about the station and separate my trunks and luggage from hers, and find a porter to arrange transport of my belongings back to Crampton. Poor Aunt Shaw, I would not blame her if she did wash her hands of me!” She shifted the baby over her shoulder and gently patted its back. “If you think my aunt was surprised, you should have seen poor Dixon when I strolled into the house later that afternoon!”
Nicholas laughed again. “Well, I am glad beyond measure that you have stayed in Milton. I can’t imagine how we would get on without you.”
Meg felt the easy tears spring to her eyes. This town and its inhabitants had become such a part of her life in such small ways that she could not imagine leaving, although leave she must. She had been pondering the appearance of Clothilde, and had come to believe that the fortune teller had appeared not only to stop her from leaving town, but to indicate that it was time for her to go back to her own time. Mr. and Mrs. Hale were dead, and the riot was long over. She felt sick with longing for Mr. Thornton, but remembered the conversation she had overheard—Mr. Thornton was destined for Amy Laurence.
No good to keep thinking about it, and not much use in prolonging my stay in Milton, she thought desolately. She must plan her departure. There were numerous small ends to tie up, but if she began now, she would be prepared in a fortnight to pass through the mirror to modern-day Milton and back to the life she had left behind. Perhaps then I will discover what happened to Margaret Hale, she thought as she handed the baby back to Mary and wished her friends good-night.
********&********
Mr. Thornton had yet another meeting with Mr. Laurence to discuss financing for the mill. He dressed with care and set off early to leave ample time for his prompt arrival; he did not want to do anything to discourage Mr. Laurence from extending his loan. Business at Marlborough Mills had not flourished before the strike, but had been adequate. The strike had set him back several weeks and he could not seem to recover. The price of finished cotton was depressed, while the cost of raw materials continued to climb. Without an infusion of cash, he did not know how he could continue to pay his workers.
He thought of Watson’s speculation. Fanny continued to urge him to invest, saying that he would earn back his investment ten times over. Mr. Thornton snorted derisively; what did Fanny know of investments? She parroted back what she heard Watson say to others. Fanny had no memory of the terrible, lean years between their father’s death and his own advancement; she was a child, and a spoiled one at that. She fancied herself delicate and sickly, and acted accordingly. His mother, for some unfathomable reason, had tolerated this play-acting on Fanny’s part until it had become ingrained in her behavior. It was too late to do anything about Fanny, but not too late to save Marlborough Mills.
As it frequently did of late, his mind strayed to thoughts of Miss Hale. If she loved and married him, how much sweeter his fight would be to save the mill. With her by his side, he could accomplish anything; his heart lightened and his step quickened at the thought. With her love and support, he would do whatever was necessary to make the mill a success. Long hours and hard work would be nothing if he knew that at the end of each day, she would be awaiting him. He remembered his dream of her smiling and leaping up to greet him. He recalled the feel of her arms about him and her lips beneath his. Such love made life worth living. Without her, there is nothing but my work, he thought glumly. He thought of her in London; it seemed impossible that she had gone and might never return. He felt as if his youth and hope had departed with her, leaving him nothing but the mill.
Mr. Laurence had agreed to meet him at his gentleman’s club; the last thing Mr. Thornton wanted to do was play a game of billiards or smoke cigars while so much hung in the balance, but he tamped down his impatience and agreed to meet for lunch. The meeting did not go well. Mr. Laurence reported that he had exhausted all avenues of investment, except one. If Mr. Thornton would only consider investing in Mr. Watson’s speculation, the money that resulted could more than make up for the losses suffered during the strike. Mr. Thornton had abruptly refused, and Mr. Laurence had shrugged, saying that, in that case, Thornton had better pray for money to fall from the skies. He felt so weary and alone; there was no one to whom he could confide his troubles. Miss Hale, he thought desolately, I miss you so much. I wish with all my heart you would come back to Milton—and to me.
He left the club deep in thought and retraced his path to the mill. As he entered the gates, he heard someone call his name and saw that Nicholas Higgins stood in the doorway of the lunchroom. “Master, will you eat with us today? It’s stew.”
Mr. Thornton shook his head, looking over at a wagon laden with goods and calculating the profit that would result. “I’ve already eaten, Higgins, but thank you.”
Nicholas heaved a gusty sigh. “My Mary is under the weather today, so our Meg agreed to cook in her place.” He glanced at Mr. Thornton, but there was a bright glint in his eye that belied his innocent tone.
Mr. Thornton’s head snapped around from his contemplation of the mill yard. “Miss Hale is here? I thought she had gone to London.”
“It seems she changed her mind.” He smiled as Mr. Thornton pushed past him into the lunchroom where Meg stood behind the stove, a large apron tied about her waist. Mr. Thornton watched as she ladled stew into bowls and placed them before two hands. The men smiled and thanked her and she smiled in return. As she moved back to the stove, she spotted Mr. Thornton and a brilliant smile crossed her face. Mr. Thornton felt his heart pound—she was happy to see him! Just as quickly, however, he watched the smile disappear, as if she recalled something that distressed her.
As he moved forward, she offered him her hand. “Hello, Mr. Thornton. Would you like something to eat?” She searched his face, thinking that he looked tired and discouraged. She longed to comfort him, but had made up her mind that it would be best for both of them if she maintained a polite distance.
“No, thank you, I have eaten,” he replied in a distracted voice. “I thought you had gone to London with your aunt.” His eyes searched her beloved face.
“I changed my mind,” she replied tersely. “I have decided to remain in Milton—for the time being.”
“Just for the time being?” He willed her to meet his gaze. Please, look at me, he thought with rising desperation. When she had turned around and met his gaze in the mill courtyard as her carriage left for the train station, he could have sworn their hearts were in perfect harmony—and that she loved him as he did her—but why would she not look up at him now?
“Yes, until I decide what to do next.” She steadfastly refused to meet his gaze, but instead fussed with the strings of her apron. When several more hands entered, she moved to the stove to serve them. Meg took her time serving luncheon to the new arrivals and fussed about the stove, hoping Mr. Thornton would leave. It hurt to be in his proximity, knowing that she must leave him soon. When Nicholas had asked if she could help out in the lunchroom that day, her heart sank at the thought that she might have to face Mr. Thornton. The less she saw of him before she left, the easier it would be for him—and for her.
She heard him come up behind her, as if to speak, and she applied herself with vigor to clean
ing the stovetop. After a moment, she heard him sigh and depart the lunchroom, and she closed her eyes to ward off the grief that threatened to swamp her. She knew that she did what she must, but it cut like a blade.
When luncheon was over, Nicholas thanked her for her assistance. As she tied the ribbons of her bonnet, he asked, “Did you say anything to upset Mr. Thornton?”
She looked at him guardedly. “No, why do you ask?”
Nicholas’ expression was gloomy. “Judging from the dark look on his face, I suppose he did not have good news from his banker.”
“Why, what is the problem.” Meg dropped her hands, dismayed by Nicholas’ expression.
He lowered his voice. “I understand from some of the other hands that Thornton is having financial difficulties. Word on the floor is that he is struggling to cover our wages.”
“Is it serious?”
Nicholas shrugged. “There has been some talk of shutting the mill.”
Meg felt sick with apprehension. “I had no idea! Is there nothing Mr. Laurence can do to help Mr. Thornton?”
He shook his head. “I‘m guessing he came from seeing Laurence now, and he looked mighty grim.”
Meg thought quickly. “I wonder if the other mill owners might be willing to help.’
“Them bunch of sharks? They’d sooner see him go under.”
“What about Doctor Donaldson or—or Mr. Bell? I could ask them if they might be willing to provide a loan to Mr. Thornton. Mr. Bell, after all, owns Marlborough Mills. It would be in his best interest to keep the mill running rather than shuttered.”
“If I were you, Meg, I’d see what I could do to convince both of ‘em. Now, I best get back to work.” Tipping his cap, he set off for the mill.