by Nancy Klein
Mr. Thornton spread his hands before him in entreaty. “I have business that I cannot ignore. I must go—what would you have me do?”
Doctor Donaldson glanced at him thoughtfully. “Take her with you.”
Mr. Thornton was taken aback. “Is it safe for a woman in her condition to travel?”
“It is safer than leaving her at home to fret and worry,” the doctor replied. “She is in fine health, and if she does not overexert herself, all should be well. A change of scene is what she needs—she could visit that aunt and cousin of hers while she is there, and see some of the sights. Perhaps do a bit of shopping, or go out to tea—whatever it is that women do.” He stood. “I know you love her dearly, and want to keep her safe. But she cannot continue in this way—she will make herself ill.”
Mr. Thornton shook the doctor’s hand and thanked him. After his visitor departed, he resumed his seat behind the large desk and spent some time deep in thought. At last, he rose with resolution and walked to his book keeper’s office. When he concluded his meeting with that gentleman, he set off for home.
Meg was seated in the parlor with his mother, helping her mend table linen, an interminable task that occupied his mother for hours on end. He stood silently in the doorway, watching his wife push the needle in and out of the fabric. She made two stitches, stopped, and gazed at the fabric for several moments before making another stitch.
Observing her carefully, he saw the downward cast of her mouth, the drooping posture, and the listless air which told him that, try as she might, she was unhappy. He cursed himself—how had he not noticed? Had he been too absorbed in his business to see how she felt? Was he really so blind that he put the mill before her needs?
He moved sharply at the thought, and Mrs. Thornton glanced up in surprise. “John,” she said sharply, “what is it? Is anything the matter?”
At the sound of his name, Meg raised her head from her work and smiled at him. She looked tired, he thought with a pang, but still beautiful in spite of the pale violet circles under her eyes. “I would like a moment alone with my wife, Mother. Will you excuse us?”
Mrs. Thornton searched his face for a moment, then quietly gathered her things and left the room. John closed the door behind her, and walked over to kneel before Meg, who watched him in puzzlement. He set her needlework aside and gathered both of her hands in his. “You are unhappy.” It was a statement, not a question.
She replied swiftly, “I am fine, John.” She smiled at him in a determined manner. “ I love our life together and I love being with you. What more could I want?”
She will not admit the truth to me, he thought grimly, and opened his mouth to press her further when he was struck with a sudden idea. Perhaps it was time to take a different tack. Assuming a stern countenance, he replied, “Well, I am not fine—in fact, I am unhappy.”
Startled, Meg stared at him in alarm. “Why are you unhappy?”
He gazed at her in a thoughtful manner. “The woman I married was full of life; she was active and energetic, deeply interested in many things. Look at her now—she sits in the parlor for hours on end—”
Meg began to protest, but he cut her off. “I may be busy with the mill, my love, but I do have eyes in my head. This moping of yours will not do.” He stood before her. “I have asked myself what is to be done about this situation, and I believe I have come up with the perfect solution. I must put you to work!” He nearly lost his composure when he saw the hopeful look come into her eyes, like a candle lit in a dark room, but he struggled to maintain his ruse. He paced about the room for several moments, as if deep in thought, before returning to her side. He knelt once more before her and said, “My bookkeeper, Mr. Saunders, is overworked. With the improvements and subsequent expansion of the mill, our record keeping has grown at a rapid pace, and he is having a great deal of trouble maintaining the books and handling my correspondence. Is this something that you think you might like to do—would you be willing to help out at the mill?”
She gazed at him with parted lips for a moment before bursting into tears. “Oh, John, I do love you,” she sobbed as she fell forward into his arms.
He gathered her to him. “My darling, why did you not tell me you were unhappy?”
“I am ashamed—I have so much, and to feel this way is so small and petty,” she said in a thin wisp of a voice, burying her face in his neck. “I have you and the baby, and that should be enough happiness for anyone.”
“But it isn’t, nor should it be. I want my industrious, energetic wife back. So, will you come to work at the mill?” He was rewarded by her dazzling smile, and felt a queer tug at his heart that it took so little to make her happy.
“Oh, John,” she breathed out, kindling with excitement. “I would be delighted to help you and Mr. Saunders. She paused and peeped at him beneath her lashes. “But you are a wicked man, to tease me so. I thought you were seriously displeased with me.”
He smiled tenderly at her. “I was displeased that you concealed your true feelings from me. Don't you know that my very life depends on your happiness? I would move heaven and earth to give you everything you want. If something is important to you, it is doubly important to me!"
She caressed his cheek with one hand. “I promise to do my best for you at the mill. I kept books for my Aunt Lily at the boarding house. I am certain that I can learn your way of accounting, and can be of assistance to Mr. Saunders.”
“If you are willing, I will take you over to the mill now so that you might meet with Mr. Saunders and discuss your new duties. He will set your hours for you. But you must promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” she replied promptly.
He was deadly serious, all levity gone. “You must not overexert yourself. If you are tired, you must come back to the house and rest.”
“I promise,” she said, and kissed him.
His eyes glinted with amusement, but he assumed a stern mien. “Now, mind that you keep to your hours. What hours we have, we keep sharp.”
She dimpled up at him. “Shall I leave my brain at home?”
He laughed outright. “No, bring it with you. I cannot imagine you without it, or that sharp tongue of yours.”
********&********
Meg was as good as her word—she was a quick study when it came to learning the books, and did such a capable job that Mr. Thornton soon wondered how he had ever gotten along without her. Mr. Saunders was suspicious of having a woman work with him, let alone the master’s wife, but Meg was quiet and submissive in her dealings with the older clerk, and always approached him first with any questions or concerns she had about discrepancies she found.
Her sharp eye discovered quite a number of small errors early on, which she stoutly attributed to that fact that Mr. Saunders was overworked, to that gentleman’s relief. Her eloquent letters and the creative terms she suggested to suppliers and customers helped hasten delivery of materials and payments, and reduce the amount of time between goods rendered and payments received. Before long, Mr. Saunders was praising her capabilities to the master, and Mr. Thornton was marveling at how well his wife handled all those with whom she came into contact. For his part, Mr. Thornton kept a watchful eye upon her, finding many small excuses to visit Mr. Saunders’ office. He thought ruefully that the one drawback to having her at the mill was that he was much too distracted, wanting to be with her and watch over her all of the time.
When the time came for Mr. Thornton to depart for London, it seemed natural to bring Meg with him. His mother was concerned, but he reassured her that the trip was sanctioned by Doctor Donaldson. In truth, he could not stand the thought of a week away from her, and secretly rejoiced that she would join him.
Their week in London acted as a bracing tonic for Meg. Mr. Thornton arranged a suite of rooms for them at an exclusive and elegant hotel, and entertained several of his investors at dinner there. He was delighted to find that Meg enjoyed entertaining these men, and kept up a stream of lively conversation
during their meals. He was surprised and touched by how much she knew of the mill’s operation—it was obvious to him that she had listened carefully to his conversations over breakfast and dinner with his mother about the workings of the mill, as well as the chatter she heard in Mr. Saunders’ office, and that she was up to date on the economic and industrial trends of the time. His investors were captivated by her beauty, but ultimately impressed by her knowledge; although they might doubt whether they would want their spouses’ advice or input on their employment, it was obvious that Mr. Thornton took great pride in his wife’s accomplishments. To her credit, she was respectful of her place and never disgraced her husband by speaking out of turn. The investors found her charming, and thought she was a definite asset to Mr. Thornton; little did they suspect that she was his entire world.
Meg spent several afternoons at Harley Street, where Mr. Thornton joined her when his business was concluded. Edith was overjoyed to see her cousin after their long absence, and insisted on showing Meg to the nursery as soon as she arrived. Meg loved Sholto and was one of the few people to whom he warmed immediately. She loved to cuddle him and tell him stories, or play with him on the floor of the nursery.
She was pleased to see her husband take pains to get to know Aunt Shaw, Edith, and Captain Lennox. She knew that Edith and her aunt were wary of how she had married, given the hesitant letters of congratulations they had sent her. But several hours in Mr. Thornton’s company relieved their fears and showed both that he was a gentleman and a man of sense. He got along well with Captain Lennox, and made strides to befriend Henry Lennox when he came to visit one evening. Henry was glad to see Meg once more, and after several moments of awkward conversation, acknowledged her affection for Mr. Thornton. It was plain to see that they were deeply in love and Henry good-naturedly wished them well, to Meg’s great relief.
Mr. Thornton experienced a secret, tender joy watching his wife play with Sholto, and he often joined in the games she devised. When he watched her hug the young boy to her, he felt an overwhelming love for her, and yearned for the time they would have their own child. Her eyes would often meet his over the child’s head, and each felt a profound gratitude for the other and the baby they would soon hold.
Upon their return from London, the months passed in a pleasant haze for Meg. She enjoyed her work at the mill, especially the times she spent with her husband. Her heart would soar when he came into the bookkeeping office unannounced, and she delighted in coming upon him unawares at the mill—to see his stern face soften with love for her gave her a secret thrill. The workers enjoyed seeing the hard master become the besotted husband, and thought more highly of him for the obvious love he felt for his wife.
On days when her energy flagged, Mr. Thornton made arrangements to have the books and correspondence delivered to the house, where she could work on them in the privacy of her room between naps and rest times. Some days, he would bring the books over to her in the hopes of joining her briefly for one of her naps, so that he could hold her close to him.
One morning near the end of her condition, Meg sat in the parlor at the small desk, writing a letter to Edith. The cousins had resumed their correspondence, and Meg was constantly amused by Edith’s observations of London society. Meg was so large that she spent only an hour or two at the mill. She fretted that Mr. Saunders would be overworked without her, and thought that when she completed this letter, she might go over to the office for an hour to ask her husband questions about a particular letter.
She shifted in her chair—it was uncomfortable to sit, walk, stand, or lie down. She completed the letter and addressed it, meaning to take it to her husband to frank for her. As she stood, a sharp pain ripped through her; it was so strong that her legs would not hold her and she felt herself doubling over. She tried to cry out, but no sound came from her mouth. She felt a great wetness between her legs and realized that her labor had begun. “Oh, no,” Meg cried out, “it is too soon.”
She struggled to stand and by herculean effort reached the settee, breathless from the effort. She had been having increasingly sharper pains since that morning, but had fooled herself into believing she had eaten something that disagreed with her. And me a nurse, she thought angrily. What a fool I am!
“Mrs. Meg, what is it?” Having heard her mistress cry out, Dixon came to investigate. Her voice was sharp with fear at Meg’s pale face, and Meg heard her heavy tread advance quickly across the floor.
“The baby—the baby is coming. Oh!” Meg gasped as another pain tore through her.
Dixon ran to the door and cried for Jane, then raced back to Meg’s side. Wrapping her strong arms about her mistress’ waist, she was able to support her to a reclining position on the settee, propping her head up on a bolster. Jane’s frightened face appeared in the doorway. “Did you want me?”
“Yes,” Dixon retorted, “Go to the mill and fetch the master—tell him I need him immediately. And then go fetch Doctor Donaldson.” While Jane stood there, immobile and uncertain, Dixon hissed, “Hurry, you silly girl,” her face contorted in such rage that Jane ran from the room in a panic to do her bidding.
Dixon sat on the floor next to her mistress, and slipped Meg’s hand into her own, chafing it gently. She spoke to Meg in a calm, low tone, but was far from feeling calm herself. Her mistress was pale, and the pains seemed much too sharp for this early in labor. Moments later, Mr. Thornton burst into the room, looking nearly wild in his concern. Dixon silently cursed that stupid Jane, who had probably screamed out like a fishwife that mistress was ill.
“What is wrong,” he panted. “Dixon, what has happened?”
Meg had been lying with her eyes closed and her lips pressed firmly together, but at the sound of his voice her eyes opened and a faint smile quirked her lips. “Nothing is wrong. The baby has decided to come a bit sooner than expected, that is all.”
John’s eyes flew to Dixon’s for confirmation. She nodded grimly. “Her pains have started, sir. I have sent Jane to fetch the doctor, so he should be here directly. Meanwhile, perhaps you might carry the missus up to her bedroom so that we could get her settled more comfortably in her bed?”
He gathered Meg into his arms as gently as he could, and hastened up the stairs to her room. Dixon hurried along in Mr. Thornton’s wake, and, thrusting him out of the room with her usual officiousness, helped Meg change into a nightgown and settle into bed before allowing him entrance into the room. Before Meg lay down, Dixon covered the sheets with extra bedding that she had set aside for this occasion, thanking heavens that she had thought to plan ahead.
Dixon spoke to her mistress in a low, calm voice. “I have sent Jane for Doctor Donaldson, and he will be here shortly. He will know what to do.” She caressed Meg’s cheek with one work-worn hand. “Do not fret, I will be here with you and help you through this. Didn’t I help to deliver both you and Master Fred? Now, let me get down to the kitchen and prepare what the doctor will need.” As she turned to go, Meg caught at her hand.
“My dear Dixon, what would I do without you?’
Dixon pinched her cheeks to bring some color to her face before opening the door to usher in Mr. Thornton. He pushed past the servant, not sparing her a word or look. All of his concern was centered on his wife.
He sat on the edge of the bed and grasped her hand. “Are you in pain?”
She smiled. “The contractions are strong, but not so close together that I fear the baby will come soon. Dixon has everything well in hand, and Doctor Donaldson should be here soon.” She frowned. “You have business to conduct—you should not be away from the mill.”
He laughed—his wife was going into labor, and here she was calming his fears and worrying about the mill. “The mill can wait,” he retorted. “You cannot. My place is here with you. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”
She allowed him to place pillows behind her to ease the persistent, burning ache in her lower back. When this was done, he sat next to her on the edge of the bed an
d took her hand in his own, stroking and kissing it every few moments. Before too much time passed, Dixon returned with Doctor Donaldson. He, too, thrust Mr. Thornton from the room so that he could examine Meg. Within moments, he opened the door and Dixon hurried from the room toward the kitchen.
Doctor Donaldson spoke grimly. “The baby is coming—it is early, true, but it is large and should be fully formed, if perhaps a bit underweight. Miss Dixon will help me with the delivery, and I have asked that she send for Mary Higgins. She has been assisting me in the Princeton district, and it would be good to have another pair of hands at the ready. I would ask for you to kiss your wife and wish her well, and leave us to do our work.”
John nodded, and returned to his wife’s room to kneel by the bed. She was worried, but at the sight of her husband’s white, pinched face, thrust her concerns away. “It is a bit early,” she said as calmly as she could, “but the doctor reassures me that all appears well, and the baby should be fully formed at this stage—he might just be a bit small.”
Mr. Thornton chuffed out a laugh. “He—you are so certain it is a boy?”
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know it for a fact—don’t ask me how, I just do.”
“I knew you were strong willed, my love, but I never knew just how strong willed.”
When Mary arrived, Meg was grateful for her company. The pains were closer now, and Doctor Donaldson suggested that it was time for Mr. Thornton to retire to the parlor—he would call for him when the time was propitious. Mr. Thornton bit back a protest, realizing that the doctor was right—he would be of no use in the delivery room. He retired with ill grace to the parlor to sit with his mother, drink tea, and speak in desultory terms of the mill, the orders, and the cotton trade.
Several hours had passed when Dixon burst into the parlor, her face shining with joy. “The baby has come!” she exclaimed as Mr. Thornton and his mother started up. “It is a boy—a fine, healthy lad.”