by EJourney
Occupied as he had been with the mill before he met Margaret, John had never thought about what it meant to be married. He knew that there would be children to inherit his legacy, that his wife, not his mother, would run his household. Beyond that, he had no extraordinary expectations and, consequently, he never seriously contemplated marrying, much less, choosing a wife. Finding a woman to marry had not been, on the face of it, a problem because of all the many young women who would have welcomed a proposal from him. But not one of the women of his acquaintance could lure him into matrimony. He believed it was because the vision he had of marriage had not been appealing enough to tempt him to abandon the comfort and familiarity of his life with his mother and sister. Then, he met Margaret and she upset the equilibrium and complacency he had achieved.
He had been aware of a palpable stirring in his chest on that day they were introduced in her father's study. Her uncommon beauty attracted him first. It was not that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever met but hers was a different kind of beauty, one that compelled people to look longer or take at least a second glance or even a third one to ascertain what they found arresting in her face. He first noticed her large blue eyes, more limpid than he had ever seen, defined by thick lashes and well-arched eyebrows. What was more intriguing, however, was how expressive they were and how piercing her gaze was when she directed it at him that he could not tear his eyes off her and, yet, she also had a doe-eyed look about her that made him want to protect her. Her mouth was a little too wide, the lower lip a little too plump for classic beauty and too easily thrust into defiance. Yet, on that first meeting, he imagined kissing those lips and tingled at the thought of it.
Eventually, despite their vexing early encounters, his heart could not resist the depth and complexity promised in those lively eyes and intrepid mouth. By the time he was ready to propose, he had convinced himself that life with Margaret would be far from dull, perhaps, even occasionally unpredictable. Were he fortunate enough to persuade her to marry him, their union would not be the conventional sort he had seen among his business colleagues, the sort that had not attracted him enough to consider it.
He had been very worried about her during the return journey from Spain and remembering her mother's illness, he hoped that Margaret had not inherited the same constitution. No longer willing to conceive of life without her, he shuddered once again at the thought that he might have lost her to someone else. He tried to vanish those troubling thoughts with joyous recollections of their honeymoon in Paris and the trip to Spain. They were both enthralled with Paris and looked forward to returning there for a reunion with Frederick and Dolores. He liked Frederick very much, certainly because he had many of his sister's wonderful qualities, but John knew himself enough to suspect that he was determined to like Frederick to atone for the many months of unfounded resentment he harbored against him.
John was deep into his reverie, staring far away into space, a smile on his lips, when Williams returned from an errand John had sent him on. Embarrassed at intruding into his master's obviously pleasant reverie, he mumbled a greeting and handed him a large envelope.
"Did you need me for anything more this morning, master? If not. I have an errand to run for myself."
"Can you come back late this afternoon, perhaps around three?"
"Yes, master."
As soon as Williams left, John opened the envelope and studied its contents. It was an accounting from the bank of the current status of the loan on the mill. He spent much of the morning perusing it and making notes, preparing for a noon meeting with his banker. He was poised to take the first step towards reviving the mill.
**************
That afternoon, John joined Margaret for their first tea at home since their return. Dixon had prepared some special tea cakes and finger sandwiches and John could not help smiling at the spread before them. "This must be how it is done in fashionable circles in London. Dixon seems determined to elevate my tastes."
Margaret laughed. "Dixon takes great pleasure in food and will try different kinds of dishes. Generally, her cooking is quite good. Every once in a while, however, even an adventuresome eater might find it too exotic."
"Was tea at Harley Street always this elaborate?"
"Not really. Only on some occasions and when certain friends of my aunt came. This is Dixon's way of welcoming us back. I wouldn't be surprised if she also prepares our favorite dishes for dinner."
John picked up a sandwich and ate it in two bites. He grinned, "Hmm. I can gobble these up." He did not, however, take another piece. Instead, he put his teacup down and opened his mouth as if he was about to speak but he closed it again and, instead, regarded his wife thoughtfully.
Margaret arched an eyebrow at him when, after some minutes, he still had not spoken. She was reluctant to intrude into his thoughts, however, and continued to sip her tea.
John got up from his chair, picked it up and deposited it next to Margaret's. "Have I ever explained why I had to give up the mill?"
"No but I assumed it was because you could not pay the bank loan on account of the strike."
"The strike certainly made all the difference. It caused production delays and some orders could not be completed on schedule. That meant, in turn, that I did not receive payments when I expected them. But I cannot blame the strike solely for what happened. The market was on a downturn and some clients whose orders were filled could not pay what they owed me because they had difficulty selling their merchandise."
She nodded and he continued after a short pause. "The bank loan is not a terribly huge amount and is actually the only outstanding debt on the mill. I had set the payroll funds aside so the workers were paid. I had borrowed money against the mill to get new machinery and materials when our orders doubled and, of course. I needed to pay the bank by a certain time, but I could not do so without payments from my clients."
John scowled and compressed his lips as he talked and Margaret heard the regret and sadness in his voice. She wanted to say something to ease his guilt, if not his sadness, but she was afraid of sounding condescending and insensitive. Instead, she reached out and clasped his hand with both of hers. She knew that any other man would not have agonized over why he lost his fortune once married to a woman with a sizable inheritance; he would have merely considered himself lucky that his problem had been so conveniently solved.
"On that glorious day at the train station, you offered me a loan for a small interest so I could reopen the mill." The shadow on his brow lifted as he recalled that day and he smiled at her tenderly.
She smiled warmly back, "That money is now at your disposal to use as you see fit."
"That may be. But I prefer to still consider the money a loan that would be paid with interest out of mill profits. I don't know. Perhaps, my pride or my principles demand that I rise from this failure mostly on my own resources. But I also worry about the ups and downs in this business and am loath to place you and the children we will have in the state of insecurity my mother had gone through."
He paused and Margaret waited, gazing at his countenance which once again wore his worries on the knitted brow. "For now, I will only need a few hundred pounds to pay off the interest and a portion of the debt and the mill's credit would be restored by the bank. I would use that credit to continue operating and if the mill is successful, of which I am confident or at least I will do everything I can to make it so, then I would like to return the amount taken from your account and possibly invest in something relatively stable to serve as a hedge in the event of another collapse."
Margaret listened, touched by the nobility of his intent, and when he finished, she was speechless for a few moments. When she spoke, her voice was soft and her tone, almost humbled. "I came into this wealth reluctantly. Perhaps because it had been too easy to acquire, a big portion of it had not really meant that much. It is not that I was not grateful. I was very much aware of how fortunate I was, at least for the inheritance Mr. Bell gene
rously bestowed on me. That alone gave me security as well as the luxury of living well. I could live as I wanted and my choices were multiplied. It was an incredible feeling, realizing that I only had my conscience to consult in deciding how to live my life."
She got up and put her arms around him. He lay his face against her bosom and clasped her close. "But at that train station, I did not really make a choice. I merely went along with the inevitable, happy consequence of clearly realizing that what I wanted was a life with you, whatever its ups and downs."
She paused, laying her cheek on top of his head before she continued, "What I have is yours. I trust you completely to decide what to do with all that I have inherited including the money gained from Watson's speculative venture. I have learned a little about managing this wealth and know that it is wise to shelter some of it. But use part of it for some of the projects you wanted to do for the mill or to improve working conditions, whatever you see fit. I have all I want in my life with you."
She stroked his hair softly and he glanced up at her with smiling eyes, his countenance tranquil once more. He nestled his head more snugly against her chest, listening calmly to the regular beating of her heart. After some minutes, she spoke again. "There is only one matter I would like some say on. Your plans to do more for workers seem, to me, too worthwhile to delay. Workers are not much different from you or me, with the same basic rights, so we should give them what they are due as human beings when we can. There is still a considerable disposable amount in the inheritance even after the bank loan is paid so I see no reason to put off measures to improve their plight."
He did not disagree with her remark but its boldness startled him nonetheless. Having only begun, in the months since he had known Nicholas Higgins, to value an open honest relationship with his workers, he was dismayed to hear his wife stating, with certainty, notions that were still being formed in his mind. He raised his face up at her, the faint suggestion of a scowl coming back to cloud his eyes.
Margaret returned his look, a momentary flash of defiance dilating her pupils. Were the differences in their views about workers going to become a matter of contention between them? She knew that in the beginning of their acquaintance, he had been of a similar mind as his mother. They assumed that people merely got what they deserved and if they got the shorter end of the stick, it had been by their action or choice. Yet, he had reached out to Nicholas Higgins and she had heard him talk about discovering much good in his character, much that he learned from their interactions so that he wanted to pursue a similar approach with more workers.
Margaret had no desire for confrontation so early in their married life and she said in a conciliatory tone, "I know you have done more than anyone else about improving working conditions at the mill."
He acknowledged her remark with a nod but dropped his arms from around her waist and made a motion to stand up. She stepped back to give him space but she could not help feeling letdown. He stood up and ran his hand tenderly down her back before he walked towards the fireplace. The caressing touch down her back mollified her somewhat and she sat down on the chair he vacated, her eyes following his movement, waiting, wanting to be wooed back to those tender moments before she made her bold declaration.
John was as loath as Margaret to start any conflict between them but he was also cautious not to acquiesce too readily until he was certain where he stood in his changing views about workers. He was aware that, in his plans, he was treading on unknown territory that could prove to be more complicated and, therefore, difficult to manage. After the recent problems with the mill, he was more anxious about maintaining control of his business. He was determined to be as frank as he could, however. "I admit that you and I disagreed in the past in our views pertaining to workers. I do have plans more in line with your thinking but I need to work them out further."
"I realize this is your province and I do not have any intention of directly intruding in it. I was merely stating a principle that I myself would live by."
"I am not concerned about your intrusion. My mother went to the mill regularly and dealt with workers. I believe her visits allowed her to see things I could not and she made suggestions for running the mill that were quite helpful."
"Yes but she knows the mill more than I ever could."
"You could learn." He approached her with a gentle conciliatory smile, grasped her hands and pulled her up from the chair and into his arms.
"Perhaps," she replied, gazing up at him and brushing the back of her hand against his cheek.
He enclosed the hand she had on his cheeks with his and pressed it to his lips. "Anyway, I do know your sentiments about workers and your generous heart that must do something to help those in need. You have a mind of your own which I respect and have no desire to suppress."
She did not reply but kissed the hand that held hers.
With soft smiling eyes, he murmured, "I must go. Williams is at the mill, waiting for instructions from me to run some errands. I will see you this evening, my love." He kissed her once more and left.
**************
Mrs. Thornton was expected back in two weeks from her long visit with Fanny. Margaret was thankful for this time alone with John and, with a touch of mortification, she admitted to herself that she was relieved to have the house to themselves a little while longer. Although she was now the mistress of this household, she could not quite reconcile herself to the role of being in charge of a home that did not bear much relationship to who she was, that had been set up and adorned in a manner quite opposite to her notion of a warm cozy home. Yet, she must adjust to it. Still, she thought wryly, reaching some level of ease and familiarity with the house and its household would probably be easier than courting Mrs. Thornton's good opinion.
Becoming companionable with Mrs. Thornton was proving more difficult than Margaret had anticipated and she conjectured that Mrs. Thornton herself probably doubted just as much that they were capable of reaching some level of comfort with each other. Their time together had so far been brief and they had not had much chance yet to get to know each other intimately but Margaret suspected that their differences might be too fundamental to overcome. Sometimes, she thought the situation impossible because neither of them was ever likely to change what they believed in. But her anxieties went beyond concerns about differences in how she and her mother-in-law saw the world and human nature. She could deal with those, despite the uneasiness they inevitably occasioned. It was the intricacies of emotions that perplexed her and she felt hopeless about influencing them, much less changing them in Mrs. Thornton whose dislike of her was all too obvious. Still, Margaret told herself that she did have the advantage over her mother-in-law in being the primary object of John's affections and she had no cause to resent or dislike her, that doing so would make life in the Thornton household unbearable. Anyway, Margaret believed it was her obligation to nurture good relations with the mother of her husband.
But how could she court the good graces of the strong-minded Mrs. Thornton who was not only resolute in her beliefs but also zealous in her concerns? Those concerns gave direction to her life, consuming her energy, dictating her interests and inclinations, and structuring her time. Their principal object had been her son probably all those past thirty-some years—a rather long time in anybody's life—and in turn, she had been certain of having been first in his regard. John's marriage to Margaret had upset Mrs. Thornton's ordered complacent world, the focus of her life taken away by a woman she did not think worthy and who, after causing her son so much unhappiness, returned to claim him. Margaret sadly acknowledged that, for all those, Mrs. Thornton probably had cause enough to resent her.
Once in a while, Margaret found herself shuddering at what life with Mrs. Thornton held for her, fearful of her mother-in-law's unbending nature. Much more at ease with directness and pure sentiments, Mrs. Thornton either hated or loved, admired or felt contempt and she did all those intensely. She formed her opinions very quickly and fou
nd no reason to complicate her life by analyzing them. Such an approach to life had served her well within the realm of an extensive experience full of hard-fought triumphs she was justly proud of. Mrs. Thornton had no cause to regret anything she had done.
Margaret's sheltered life in both London and Helstone, with loved ones and friends of generous, easygoing temperaments, had not prepared her for someone like her mother-in-law. Her limited experience allowed her only to try to be on some tolerable, if not pleasant, footing with Mrs. Thornton but she knew she must also accept the certainty of discord. Could she be blamed if, from time to time and for a few moments, she longed for the mellow, relatively carefree life she had at Harley Street? Those moments did not last, in any case, since she always reminded herself that it was with John that she was happiest and life seemed most fulfilling. Had she not already convinced herself that she was prepared to endure the discomfort and irritations she and Mrs. Thornton were likely to suffer in company with each other and the contempt they might each occasionally feel about the other's views?
**************
Mrs. Thornton's feelings about Margaret were about as complicated as Margaret's were towards her mother-in-law. Mrs. Thornton continued to be wary about Margaret, suspicious and mocking of all that she represented—her airs, graces, book knowledge, and other southern sensibilities—and jealous of the obvious changes she had wrought in John. Her son had confided much in her before he married about problems at the mill and, when he fell in love, about his uncertainties that Margaret would accept him. Mrs. Thornton could not imagine any woman rejecting her son and had encouraged him to propose. Although Mrs. Thornton disagreed, from the beginning, with his opinion of Margaret and believed her unworthy of him, she knew it was useless to dissuade him from offering his hand, particularly after the riot. He had too keen a sense of honor not to do right by the woman who saved him from the rioters. But Margaret rejected him and Mrs. Thornton breathed with relief, secretly glad that she was still first in her son's affections. Ironically, what brought her relief caused her son much unhappiness. She blamed Margaret, her disdain for the young woman turning into hatred that she blurted out to her son. But she was taken aback; instead of hating Margaret as he ought to have, John confessed loving her even more. They never talked about Margaret again after that.