Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  Absorbed in her reverie and the stillness of the unfortunate mill, Margaret was jolted by a familiar but distant voice, more disapproving than she could remember. She turned in the direction of the voice to find Mrs. Thornton glaring at her, chin held high and eyes narrowed. Mrs. Thornton approached her, spitting out bitter words accusing her of coming to revel and mock John in his misfortune. Unfazed, Margaret answered in a manner calm and conciliatory, admitting she had been wrong about John. But in a hushed voice, she also lamented the fate of the mill with such tremulous sincerity that it mollified Mrs. Thornton. Deeply worried and helpless, Mrs. Thornton confessed that she had not seen John since the night before and that nobody knew where he was except that he was nowhere in Milton. It was the first time Margaret saw a vulnerable side to this strong steely matriarch and she reached out to her in sympathy. But Mrs. Thornton turned away shaking her head, too proud or too angry to receive assurances from someone she blamed no less bitterly as she did the rest of the world for her son's unhappiness.

  Margaret, acutely conscious of an aching disappointment at not seeing John Thornton, walked back to the hotel lobby. There, she told Henry, her voice steady and seemingly unconcerned, that Mr. Thornton was nowhere to be found. They had to return to London, having accomplished nothing. He merely nodded, silent and annoyed. They took the train back to London immediately after and did not talk much. He concentrated on the journal he was reading and she stared absentmindedly at the swiftly-changing landscape to mask her dejection. The silence between them was precisely what she needed to reclaim that state of resignation she thought she had already achieved these last few months.

  When the southbound London train stopped for a few minutes to wait for and allow a train to Milton to pass, Margaret decided to get off. She wanted to snatch a few moments of respite from Henry who had assumed an extraordinary interest in a Milton newspaper to disguise his irritation that he had lost precious time on the trip. She had just descended from her train when the northbound train pulled in, clanging, squealing, and hissing smoke. She watched it slow down without much interest until a familiar face in one compartment made her heart leap and her eyes brighten.

  John Thornton was lost in thought, deaf to the clattering and rattling of metal and heedless of the purposeful rushing of bodies on the platform. His compartment came to a halt directly across from where Margaret stood, mesmerized, unable to take her eyes off him. The sight of him awakened her spirits, now soaring out of the void it had been in since she boarded the train back to London a mere two hours before. She surrendered to her sentiments, to secret wishes that she now admitted she had had since leaving Milton a year ago. With that admission, she felt as if she had taken wings, broken free of self-imposed shackles created and sustained by many months of hopeless misapprehensions. The likelihood that Mr. Thornton might no longer love her did not occur to her, at that instant. When it finally did moments later, the excitement of seeing him again and her full acceptance of her own desires prevailed, suppressing the inevitable dejection that could come from coldly facing reality. She approached his train, her cheeks flushed and her heart racing, insensible of the bustle around her. She did not want to take her eyes off him, willing him to raise his so he could see her standing on the platform.

  Still deep in thought and unaware of her presence, John reached for the door. But he stopped, perhaps finally drawn by her intent gaze to raise his head slowly, deliberately. He was met with glistening eyes, a wistful half-smile on slightly parted lips and a face that was radiant with joy. For a moment or two, John stared at her without moving a muscle, a mixture of disbelief and hope in his eyes. Then, he broke slowly into a smile and stepped off the train unhurriedly, his eyes fixed on hers as he approached her, in what seemed like measured steps. Margaret could not hide from him how she felt then even if she wanted to. Her face was burning, her breathing coming almost in gasps from the pleasant agitation that threatened to burst out of her bosom as he came nearer. He did not take his eyes off her and the tender smile lingered in his eyes and on his lips as he stood before her. She wondered if he was relishing the truth she wore nakedly on her countenance.

  Margaret alternated breathlessly between looking straight at John and casting her eyes downward. She muttered that she was in Milton that morning and he responded with the wonderful, surprising confession that he had just been to Helstone. She was trembling inside when he pulled out of the left pocket of his vest a yellow rose that she recognized so well. She could not look at him when he handed it to her like an offering, bearer of the deep feelings he wore in his eyes and his smile as he gazed at her. She glanced up at him but dropped her lids to veil her luminous eyes. He still loved her, she thought with incredulity.

  She was confused, uncertain about what to do next. She found herself explaining the business proposition that had been her avowed purpose for going to Milton that morning. But she doubted that he heard much of what she said. He gazed at her lovingly—with amused fascination, she thought—while she flustered, blushed and rushed, through the plan she had rehearsed in her mind. When, finally, his lips touched hers for the first time, it was as if a delicate wisp of down, warmed by his breath, alighted on her lips. She was amazed that this man, who could be fierce in his anger and cutting with his words when provoked, had such a gentle side to him. He kissed her again, a little more intently, and she had instinctively lifted her face up, parted her lips and returned each kiss, oblivious that they were on the platform of a very busy train station.

  The announcement of the departure of the London train intruded into the world in which they were momentarily alone together. She sprung to her feet. Surprised, he followed her figure with his eyes as she hurried away from him and towards Henry Lennox. His spirits sank for a couple of very long minutes. But she had formed her resolve by then and moved purposefully towards the London train to retrieve her valise.

  ****************

  John scanned the passing landscape, growing grayer from smoke spewing out of factories farther into the city. Stone buildings were also gradually clustering closer and he knew they were less than half an hour away from the Milton terminal. He smiled to himself. He was nearly home and, amazingly, Margaret was with him. Was it only the day before that he had talked to Nicholas Higgins who told him about a brother of Margaret's, who visited in secret when Mrs. Hale was dying? Astute, sympathetic Higgins had seen through him and, in seeming innocence, let him know the very fact he needed to lift his spirits and lighten the burden of losing the mill.

  In the stillness of his room that night, he mulled over a suspicion, obscure until then, that before Margaret left Milton, her regard for him had grown. Earlier in their acquaintance, she had never shrunk from his direct gaze, returning it casually and frankly when they talked; and unflinchingly, even defiantly, when she disagreed with him. But he began to see in her an uncharacteristic shyness when they were face-to-face, a habit of averting her eyes or lowering her head. He had attributed it to the shame she had felt from his having caught her at an indiscretion in a public place. He did not allow himself any further curiosity about it, his pride stung by rejection and his heart tormented by jealousy of a handsome, well-bred young gentleman who, he now knew, was the brother who came in secret. Freed of that jealousy, he began to wonder if Margaret's downcast eyes signified a new self-consciousness about her feelings for him. Regardless of how others, including him, might perceive her conduct, Margaret would never avert her eyes in shame if she knew that she had done nothing wrong. Incredulous but hopeful; he passed a restless evening tossing in bed and pacing his room. In the morning before anyone in the house was up, he quietly left and boarded a train south to Helstone. He was not certain exactly why, merely that he felt compelled to do so.

  He reached Helstone by mid-morning. The place was, as he had expected—tranquil, luxuriantly green and bathed in the sort of mellow sunlight that would have been swallowed in the dense, dingy atmosphere of Milton. He found the parish where Mr. Hale had preached an
d a large cottage nearby where the family must have lived. Walking along a particularly well-trodden path near the parish, he passed a hedgerow of fragrant yellow roses, unseen in the bleakness of Milton where it would have struggled to survive. The sight of the roses made him pause and he picked a newly opened blossom. The fragrance it gave off was not entirely new to him and was reminiscent of some pleasing citrus. As he stared at it, he imagined seeing Margaret, as he had done so many times before: Margaret—nurtured in the same unspoiled, lush and placid setting—intrepid yet vulnerable, indomitable yet sensitive. He frowned in annoyance at himself: How could he have allowed hurt pride and jealousy to preclude that Margaret had a defensible reason to be with a young man at the train station late at night? It perturbed him that his resentment could forever deprive him of happiness with the one woman he ever loved. But he was not one who gave up easily. He only hoped he was not too late.

  John resolved to visit Margaret in London on the pretext of discussing the fate of Marlborough Mills. It was true enough that he needed to talk to her about the mill but his real purpose was to ascertain if his suspicions were correct. This time, he would approach her with more care, listen more attentively, show her in many little ways how much he loved her and that he regretted the arrogant manner in which he proposed to her the first time. He knew she had not married and, he hoped, she had not formed an engagement with Henry Lennox who, it had been plain to see, was in love with her. This thought made him uneasy and impatient to go as soon as he could to London. But first, he needed to go home to reassure his mother and tell her he was ready to face the challenge of starting all over again.

  On the train halfway back to Milton, what had merely been hope turned to utter happiness, what John had wished for became reality. Margaret's love was already his. He marveled at the audacity of her quick decision to turn around and return to Milton with him. He knew that such an act could only have been prompted by deeply felt sentiments and that any other woman, less true to her feelings and more concerned about malicious gossip ruining her reputation, would not have dared to undertake it. Once Margaret knew what she wanted or what was right, she acted upon it. She had done the same when she stood between him and a rioting crowd.

  **************

  John recollected how Margaret raised her arms protectively around his shoulders in front of that rioting crowd, and thought, "She must have cared for me even then!"

  His eyes earnest and shining, he said. "Margaret, my love, you must know that I never stopped loving you regardless of what I might have said to the contrary, not even after that night at the train station when I saw you with that dashing young man with his refined bearing and handsome face. I thought: Here's someone from her world, just the man she would love. I was devastated with jealousy."

  She stared at John, flabbergasted. "Jealous of Frederick?"

  She thought all along that she had lost his esteem mainly from his having caught her at a lie when she denied being out, alone and surreptitiously, with a man who was a stranger—an act that, in itself, was considered improper. Mrs. Thornton, unaware the stranger was her brother, had told her so in no uncertain terms and Margaret had been offended at her insinuation of impropriety. It never occurred to her to attribute jealousy to John, particularly after her rejection.

  Before she could say anything more, he asked, "Is that your brother's name, Frederick?"

  Her eyes widened in surprise. "You knew about Frederick! But how and for how long? Did Mr. Bell tell you?"

  "No, but he tried. It was Nicholas Higgins I must thank, just recently, really. When he told me, I felt relieved of this great burden of losing you, losing the mill. And I dared to hope again."

  Margaret touched his cheeks tenderly, her eyes brimming with both renewed wonder at the way events had unfolded and gratitude for his having continued to love her despite all that had passed. She felt humbled by his constancy, his deep love and, in a tremulous voice, she made her own confession. "Don't you know that I have loved you for some time now?"

  "Since before you left Milton?" He asked, with some consternation, regretting once again the months of separation that they could have been spared.

  "Yes, I think so. I know so. But at the time, I was convinced you thought badly of me because I lied to the police to hide a secret indiscreet meeting with a strange man."

  "No, not because you lied. It hurt that you could love another man but not me, and you loved him enough to protect him and lie for him."

  "Frederick was in danger of being executed if he was caught and we could not let anyone, especially an agent of the law, know that he was in England."

  "If I was not so jealous, I would have realized that there was a reason you did not tell the truth."

  "I was sorely tempted to tell you but I thought Fred was still in the country."

  "Did you not think I would keep your brother's presence a secret if you had confided in me?"

  "I was in great fear for my brother's life and I already felt so indebted to you that I could not let you compromise your position any further on my account."

  For an instant, her eyes fluttered at an uneasy recollection and she turned towards the window at the hypnotic blur of green trees speeding by. After a few moments, she spoke again, her eyes on the yellow rose on her lap, her attempt to sound casual betrayed by the slight quiver in her voice. "I knew by then how wrong I was about you, just when you declared I was merely a foolish passion that was over, that you were looking to the future." She paused, took in a long breath, and added in a more collected manner. "With someone else, I assumed."

  Margaret kept her eyes glued on the rose as he explained, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Perhaps, I did mean to forget you. Fanny contrived situations to bring Miss Latimer and me together, with my mother's blessings, no doubt. Miss Latimer seemed quite interested so I did turn my attention towards her. But, alone in my room at night or even in my office at the mill, it was always your face I saw. Miss Latimer is very pretty and very much the lady. She would make any other man happy."

  He placed a hand under her chin and gently turned her face up but she kept her eyes hidden behind half-closed lids. "But, me? I was haunted by this vibrant young woman with the skin of ivory and large expressive blue eyes"—he peered closer into her eyes—"or are they green? I have never seen a pair that can turn fiery with anger but also serene and radiant with love. I am afraid I found every other young lady very dull."

  She met his gaze then but the intensity of his flustered her and she had to lower hers. Her cheeks burned and her heart raced once again.

  She was still struggling to master her fluttering heart when he continued, his ardent voice just above a whisper. "When I first saw you on the train platform this afternoon, you looked at me with eyes glowing with promise and such a bewitching half-smile on your lips"—he bent over and kissed her—"that I could hardly control myself from taking you in my arms and whisking you away with me right there and then."

  Struggling for control of her own emotions was impossible for her then and with eyes half-closed, she swayed against him and buried her face on his shoulder.

  John murmured, his breath warm against her cheek, "When you left Milton, it became clearer to me that it was only your good opinion I really cared about and yours the only face I wanted to gaze into were I to wake up with someone in the morning."

  Her cheeks blushed deeply. She suppressed a sob, threw her arms around his neck and snuggled her face against it, amazed by how agreeable it felt and she thought, "This is where I belong. I could stay like this a long time.

  John laid his cheek on her hair and clasped her close. "If I had known then what I know now, do you think I would have let you go to London?"

  Reluctant as Margaret was to leave that exquisite niche she just discovered in the hollow of his neck, she raised her head and gazed into his eyes for a long moment. Then, she said frankly but regrettably, "I would have gratefully accepted your proposal had you renewed it then and things had been diffe
rent. But the truth is I was incapable of any feeling but grief when I left Milton."

  The anguish Margaret suffered all those months past came flooding back, taking her by surprise. She thought that she had been mostly in control of it and had tucked it away where she could regard it with proper detachment. But face-to-face with John, the weariness and sorrow she felt was nearly as vivid as it had been when she bade him farewell nearly a year ago.

  "I saw such suffering as I had never seen in my sheltered life in the south, lost so many people I cared about in a rather short period. I was drained, apathetic, my reserves of energy and compassion depleted. I needed time to mourn, to put into perspective all that I had been through, to recover my strength." The quiver in her voice grew as she spoke and she sucked her breath in a few times to hold back tears.

  He held her closer, "Oh my love, I am so sorry that you had to endure such sorrow when you first came to Milton. But I would have patiently waited for as long as you needed to arrive at this moment."

  She laid her face on his shoulder and clung to him once again, trying to suppress another sob, but he felt a few tears dampen his neck. After a few minutes, she whispered tremulously, "Maybe, your mother is right that I do not deserve you but my heart is yours fully and for as long as I live."