Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  **************

  Margaret could now make her room a little more her own by filling it with her personal possessions—the books she treasured, some linens her mother had embroidered and a few other treasured family heirlooms. Dixon helped her arrange them in the room in a manner as similar as was possible to what they had been accustomed in Helstone. They piled often-read books on the writing desk, adorned the mantelpiece with a couple of antique chests and candelabras, draped her mother's linens on the back of chairs, and placed vases for flowers on tables. With these familiar items from her past and curtains now permanently drawn to the sides so that light streamed in through much of the day, the room felt less forbidding and asserted the presence of a vibrant occupant who lived day-to-day with things that she needed or that amused her. These small changes made the strangeness of her new home a little more bearable and, in her room at least, Margaret could do as she pleased in more familiar comfort.

  Dixon was grateful that she had to get busy doing alterations to the dress which she had seen the young Miss Beresford wear the first time when she married the handsome and educated but penniless Mr. Hale. Mrs. Lennox's instructions had been very specific and because Dixon needed to lay the dress out on a large surface like a bed and occasionally check how well it fitted, Margaret decided it was best for Dixon to work on the dress in her bedroom. There, she could also help with some of the sewing. Working in Margaret's bedroom allowed Dixon to adjust slowly to this new household which she found stranger than Margaret did. She had made the choice to stay in Milton and she must find some ways to lessen her uneasiness in the Thornton house.

  Mrs. Thornton was as different as fire and water from the kind and refined Mrs. Hale who spoke gently and often left many decisions about housekeeping to her. Dixon learned on her first couple of days that the formidable Mrs. Thornton held full control of her household and the servants were all careful not to incur her displeasure. They allowed, however, that she was always fair, never took anyone to task unless they were really amiss in their duties, and was known to have been generous when one of them was in serious need. She ran a tight and tidy household that tolerated neither a speck of dust nor tardy dinners. Dixon, used to a gentle and permissive mistress and still afflicted with the snobbishness of one who thought of herself a lady's maid, doubted her capacity to fit well into a household that she thought was run without grace, natural ease, or unstudied refinement. So, this period in which she only needed to cater to Miss Margaret was also a time she could use to observe the workings of the household and find some way of becoming a part of it with the least pain and aggravation.

  Dixon knew enough to realize that she could not be Miss Margaret's personal maid the way she had been with Mrs. Hale in Helstone where she devoted her services to Mrs. Hale and rarely did any of the other house work. Margaret, independent and capable, hardly ever needed the attendance of a maid. Dixon could not, however, imagine Margaret being the mistress of this big house and assume its management in the same cold, efficient manner. In Dixon's mind, her young mistress, who she knew better than anybody else in the Thornton household, was as unlike the massive grey surroundings as one could be and would reject the formality and regimentation its current mistress imposed. "Well," Dixon thought, "it is Mrs. Margaret I serve and I would do it the best way I know how!"

  **************

  John began to spend a little more time planning and working on reopening the mill. He resumed going to the club where he and his colleagues in the cotton manufacturing business met to socialize and hold meetings, discuss business, and resolve their common problems. At the first such meeting he attended since Marlborough Mills closed down, he announced he was getting married on the Sunday after the coming one.

  "I know this marriage is news to you and this invitation is rather sudden and informal and not the usual way these things are done but we do not have the luxury for formalities. So please forgive me and tell me at the meeting next week if you can come. This invitation is for all of you and your wives, of course."

  The news was naturally a surprise to his colleagues but not for too long. Many of them had guessed that the elusive Mr. Thornton might finally marry to recoup his financial losses and someone asked, "Is it the Latimer girl?" All his colleagues knew he had escorted Miss Latimer a few times and her inheritance is rumored to be rather sizable. She was thus the perfect answer out of his financial predicament. That she was also very pretty and the product of a finishing school might have been too tempting even for Mr. Thornton to resist. Most of them had not heard the more recent gossip about him escorting a relatively unknown young woman who was not from Milton and who was, in fact, staying in his house.

  Before John could reply, Hamper volunteered, "I think it must be that parson's daughter, that handsome young woman from the south, Miss Hale."

  Several exclamations of disbelief greeted this declaration. Most of them remembered Miss Hale as the young woman who, at the Thornton's last dinner party, spoke with self-assurance about her sympathies for workers. They had thought her beautiful with the natural grace of a lady but the frank manner with which she asserted her radical views turned them off. Her charms were forgotten and, to them she, became just someone poor who was too independent-minded for her own good. Everyone, therefore, thought that if Hamper was right, then John Thornton had to be out of his mind, marrying imprudently for a more uncertain future.

  Although John was annoyed that Hamper preempted his response, he continued as if he had not been interrupted, "I know you're all quite curious who I have been lucky enough to persuade to be my wife. You have all met her—Margaret Hale."

  Hamper smiled triumphantly and was the first to approach John to congratulate him. The others stared at him, then at each other but quickly recovered from the surprise and followed Hamper in expressing their congratulations, most of which John knew were insincere. They were dubious about his choice and were convinced that, finally, John Thornton had made a serious mistake and proved that a paragon of a businessman could sometimes be stupid.

  John could not control the urge to continue the provocation of his colleagues and asked to be excused, "I am sorry but I must leave now. Margaret is at home with my mother and I promised to accompany her on her daily walk."

  He could hear the buzz of sneering comments and speculations that issued from his parting communication as he was walking out of the room. He could almost hear the gossip that would ensue when these men went home to tell their wives about foolish John Thornton. It did not matter to him. In fact, he was realizing that he had begun to look at many things in a different way ever since Mr. Hale introduced his daughter Margaret. It had been a contentious first meeting—with flashing eyes, she challenged the way he treated his workers. She consternated him with her charge and thought her then ignorant of the danger in cotton mills. Still, her conviction had caused him to think.

  At home, John found his mother, embroidering with Jane in the drawing room.

  "Where is Margaret, Mother?"

  "How should I know? I have not seen much of her since that servant of hers arrived. She seems to be spending a lot of time with Dixon in her room." Mrs. Thornton could hardly hide her annoyance.

  John replied evenly, "They were unpacking this morning. They must still be arranging Margaret's belongings." He hurried out of the room.

  In the bedroom, Dixon and Margaret were quietly working on the wedding dress; Dixon was adjusting the hem and Margaret sewing one on the lace that was to be her bridal veil. Dixon made a motion to get up when she heard the knock on the door but Margaret stopped her.

  "It's all right, Dixon, continue your sewing. It's John. We're going out for a walk." Margaret rose to open the door but John had already opened it and entered.

  John immediately noticed the changes that Margaret had made in the room. His eyes quickly took in books lying everywhere, a couple of them open, vases filled with roses that he had instructed Williams to bring every other morning, and various vessels that bri
ghtened darker corners of the room. Woolen throws draped on the heavy armchairs by the fire made them more casual and inviting. With those small touches, he thought Margaret breathed life into what was, before, a cold large space and arranged it to her tastes, geared to both gracious living and reflective pursuits just as the Hales had done in Crampton.

  Dixon, sat on a chair by the bed, working on a white gown that John assumed was Margaret's bridal gown. She abruptly stood up when he came in, "Good afternoon, master."

  "Good afternoon, Dixon. Please continue what you are doing. I hope you won't mind that I am taking your helper away for a little while." He turned towards Margaret who was carefully folding the lace she was working on.

  She smiled brightly at him as she approached. "I am ready." She picked up a shawl hanging on the back of an armchair and draped it on her shoulders.

  John was standing by the writing table as he waited for her and, unable to resist his curiosity, he briefly opened a small chest on top of the table. He was not surprised that his quick perusal told him it was full of notes in other languages as well as English written in a feminine hand.

  Margaret, who had reached his side as he was closing the lid on the chest, passed her fingers over the chest with obvious nostalgic affection. "It belonged to my mother, a family heirloom that was one of the few things saved from the pawn shop when her parents lost what little fortune they had. The piece is of Chinese origin, more than 200 years old and the design is a cloisonné."

  "It is beautiful!" John remarked, glancing at Margaret, astonished at how like a caress her touch was on that chest and he could not help running his fingers over it as well. She clearly treasured it. If that chest had belonged to his mother, it would be displayed inside one of her glass domes, never used.

  "It had always belonged to the youngest daughter in the family and was used as a jewelry box, if you had jewelry, of course. Mama kept the letters from her courtship in it."

  He pulled her close and planted a quick kiss on her lips. He led her out of the room, closed the door behind him noiselessly and said, "They did not look like love letters to me."

  "No. Except for one, my father burned those before he left for Oxford and that letter was buried with him. I'm afraid the chest now contains something mundane in comparison, notes on my reading or passages translated into French or Italian."

  **************

  It was nearly evening when they returned. In the drawing room, they found Mrs. Thornton still busy embroidering linens. Jane was there, too, helping her.

  Margaret picked up one that was finished. "What exquisite work. My hands have never been steady enough for such beautiful flourish."

  She regarded Mrs. Thornton curiously and thought that she would never have suspected this stern woman, whose somber tastes in adorning her home were in keeping with her image, to have chosen such delicate and intricate motifs and do such fine embroidery.

  She put it down for a glimpse at what Mrs. Thornton was working on but shifted her attention abruptly to the pile on Jane's lap. She saw then that the maid had been very carefully cutting out the letter "H" from the initials "H.T." on each napkin and Mrs. Thornton had been replacing it with "M."

  Margaret was appalled and she protested with a vehemence that surprised the other three. "Oh, no! Please. You do not need to change the initials on these linens. It's a shame to destroy the beautiful work you have already done. I do not need to have my initials on them."

  Mrs. Thornton replied, annoyed. "Of course, you do, as mistress of the house. Perhaps, you would rather replace them with new ones. These are perfectly fine, made of the best material you can find."

  "No! What I meant was there is no need for new linens nor for changing these to my initials." Margaret's voice faltered.

  Mrs. Thornton continued a little more kindly, "Well we have started and some as, you can see, are already finished."

  "Yes, of course, but perhaps you can leave the others alone as they are."

  "I never do anything halfway, Miss Hale." Mrs. Thornton retorted superciliously.

  "No, of course not. Still, you have been mistress of this household for a long time and I believe your monogrammed linens would be like a wonderful legacy to us." Margaret tried once more, although she was certain she could not convince Mrs. Thornton.

  "As you wish," Mrs. Thornton replied coldly. She put down the piece she had been working on and rose as majestically as she could. "Anyway, I am tired and would like to rest before dinner." Turning to Jane, she motioned for the work to be taken away and left the room.

  Margaret, dismayed, turned to John who had been silent and had considered it best not to interfere. He knew there would be more such confrontations in the future. She said a little mournfully, "I am afraid I did not handle that well."

  John took both her hands in his. "You held your own. She is not used to that."

  "I could not quite tell her that I do not define my status as your wife with monogrammed linens. I think it would have caused offense that was not intended."

  He pressed one hand and then the other to his lips. "It might have. Anyway, it will naturally take time to get used to each other and compromises are probably inevitable."

  Margaret looked straight into his eyes. "I know that. But I do believe that she is irreplaceable as mistress of this house. I could never run it as she does."

  "No, perhaps not. In any case, I believe my mother is aware that, as my wife, your decisions in this household will take precedence over anyone else's including hers. For her, that idea will take getting used to."

  "But I don't want her to feel she has been displaced."

  John, feeling her distress, gathered her in his arms. "Sadly, that may be unavoidable. I wish I could tell you what you could do, but right now, I am as much at a loss as you are."

  In her room that night, Margaret sat staring at the fire, her apprehensions renewed regarding whether and how she could thaw Mrs. Thornton's frosty behavior towards her. Mrs. Thornton could barely disguise her indifference and, more often than not in her interactions with Margaret, she assumed a formal politeness usually accorded to strangers. Margaret could not but chafe at this chilliness and realized, painfully, that in marrying John, she was exchanging a day-to-day life of habitual ease and the implicit regard of relatives in London for one of cold civility in the home of the man with whom she sought to make her permanent home. But she had made her choice and she told herself that she had no regrets. After all, on that day in church, the vows to love and honor would be between her and John, not his mother. Still, it depressed her to think that Mrs. Thornton who was going to be her mother, by marriage, would only tolerate her at best.

  Margaret did not doubt that her life with John would be full enough to compensate for the discomfort of living with his mother. And yet, she could not quell her apprehensions. She closed her eyes tight to hold back tears and bit her upper lip until it hurt. She had considered herself at peace and reconciled with the passing of so many close to her but there were times, during the last few days, when the sadness, the emotional turmoil of all those losses haunted her again; and this evening, full of trepidation about her future life in Milton, Margaret felt acutely alone and lost in the wide dark space of the bedroom. She longed for what she could not have: the understanding immediate presence of her father, or the loving reassurance of her mother or even the cool rationality of Mr. Bell. Once more, the grief from her lost loved ones blindsided her. Margaret pursed her lips to keep from crying, sighed many times and indulged in some self-pity at having no one to turn to.

  The first time she ever felt as acutely alone was when her father left her in the care of her aunt in London where she was to keep Edith company and be taught along with her all the arts, the skills, and the dainty comportment of ladies. Barely nine years old and feeling abandoned, she had cried herself to sleep. But it did not take long for her to find some solace in the affectionate nature of her aunt, so like her mother in many ways, and in the sympathy and patience
of the wise governess who let her cry but stayed close by until she fell asleep. Edith did what she could as well, offering toys, bonbons and frequent hugs. There was no one now older and more mature to give her counsel or support her, no friend close by to help her take her mind away from her worries. The only older adult she could possibly turn to was Dixon.

  With just the two of them left together, Dixon had grown as solicitous and protective of her as she had been of Mrs. Hale. Loyal, reliable Dixon, who had known her longer than anyone else and who could be trusted to keep the deepest secrets, shifted her full allegiance to her. When she acquired considerable wealth, Margaret had thought that, Dixon would become more snobbish of those she thought below her station but she surprised Margaret. Dixon's demeanor in the Thornton household had shown some deference towards the other servants. Margaret could not readily account for it because Dixon's pretensions as a lady's maid became more evident when they lost her father's modest but steady income. Could Dixon have gained wisdom from the pain and suffering of all the loss that they had both gone through within such a short period? Or, perhaps, Dixon was merely in the process of finding her place in this new setting.

  Only a week away from being the mistress of her own household and aware that her mother had relied heavily on Dixon, Margaret wondered how much she, herself, could open up to someone society considered below her station but who she had come to regard with affection. Despite her position as a maid, Dixon and Mrs. Hale had a friendship that Margaret knew was close and trusting, that allowed for confidences, including some that her mother could not share with her father. Would there be matters she could not tell John but could confide in Dixon?