Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  A tray with cups, a carafe of mulled wine, and a plate of decorated biscuits had been laid on the table, waiting to be served. John sat on an armchair by the fireplace, reading a newspaper. Margaret took the armchair opposite, the same one where weeks ago she had shed copious tears. She felt at peace this Christmas night. The events of the day had lifted her spirits and had seemed to her the rewarding conclusion of the cleansing process that started with her tears.

  Her face was aglow from the fire burning in the hearth and her eyes were lighted from within as she gazed at her husband. She waited for a few moments until he looked up from the paper. He regarded her for a long moment, captivated by her beauty the way he had been on their first night together and on other nights thereafter. She looked at him with eyes large and brilliant from barely subdued agitation and sensuous lips parted tremulously from anticipation—he wanted to believe—of his kisses. He laid his paper aside beside the tray and smiled one of those smiles that brightened his eyes.

  "I can see you are ready for a drink," she said smiling back at him, her voice quivering a little. She got up and poured mulled wine into one cup. She was conscious that he watched her closely and she could feel his eyes on her very skin. A wave of warmth coursed through her bosom and down her whole body, infusing her cheeks with a rosy blush. She averted her eyes when they met his as she handed him a cup. She was momentarily confused, then amused at her confusion. They had been married nearly two years and he still had the power to make her blush deeply when he looked at her like that.

  She was about to turn around to return to her seat when she felt his hand gently clasp her wrist. He had taken the cup she offered him with his other hand and set it back on the coffee table. Then, he kissed the inside of her wrist. Margaret gasped at the burning sensation his lips left on her skin but before she could take another deep breath, she found herself cradled on his lap while his lips pressed against hers, first lightly and then more deeply. He muttered against her cheek, "It has been a while since we have had a quiet moment like this together."

  Margaret thought that it was hardly a quiet moment when she felt herself trembling deliciously inside. She wound her arms around his neck and with her face against his, she answered in a low voice, talking a little too rapidly and, she thought, a little too much. "Not since before our first party here. It seems so much has been going on with preparations for the party and, not too long after, for Christmas at the mill. This was the first big celebration I have ever organized almost single-handedly. I helped my parents a little during festive occasions at my father's parish but there were not half so many people there and different families helped with preparations and brought in dishes to share. Then there was Edith's elaborate wedding but that was all about dainty and pretty feminine touches I was not as familiar with as Edith was and all I had to do was faithfully follow her directions."

  "I would say from the looks of it that your first attempts at organizing a big affair met with much success and left many with good memories and, I hope, some goodwill for the mill as well."

  John's relatively neutral tone took the edge off of her agitation and, looking at him, she asked with almost naive enthusiasm, "Do you think so? The goodwill part, especially?"

  John frowned thoughtfully. "We cannot really know. But I hope so. When we masters talk about what to do to prevent strikes, none of us ever considers the value of developing good relations with workers. Not friendly necessarily but at least one that allows for and even encourages talking among masters and workers. I do think that what you did tonight made that more possible."

  Margaret smiled broadly and kissed the tip of his nose lightheartedly, "I am glad I can help you. Strikes are quite unfortunate, miserable for workers and a big headache for masters."

  "I am afraid they are inevitable even if they can be forestalled for some time. We cannot control markets appreciably and workers are becoming more enlightened about their rights. Still, I think that we can prevent acrimonious strikes before they happen or, at least, make them less bitter when they do happen if we can get masters and hands talking to each other even about matters outside of those that concern the mill."

  "If this Christmas celebration made it more likely that masters and hands talk seriously and calmly about work at the mill, do you think other things we do for workers and their families might help too?"

  "Do you have something else in mind?" He smiled at her enthusiasm.

  "I might but I need to think about it some more. It might cost some money to do but we have hardly used that money gained from Mr. Bell's investment in Watson's speculation."

  "Ah!"

  "Is that acceptable to you? I am still not certain how you feel about money earned from risky ventures."

  "I have moral objections to investing in such ventures if the capital is not my own or it rightly belongs to others who could be hurt by failed schemes."

  "Mr. Bell had more wealth than he could use and he invested some into Watson's schemes. Surely if we used such profits to help others, that would be a good thing, would it not?"

  "It would seem so." He answered warily. "But I cannot shake off the thought that I have no right to the money and therefore have no right to spend it even for charitable purposes."

  Margaret nodded, got up and picked up his cup. "It is getting cold. Do you still want it?"

  He took the cup from her and took a sip of the wine, now lukewarm but still infused with enough spirit that it tingled as he swallowed it. "Still good."

  She poured herself a cup, replenished his and returned to her chair. They sat for some minutes, sipping their wine. She broke the silence. "You have told me at least once before that you were uneasy about using the money I inherited although, legally, it is yours now, as well. I thought that I understood why but now I think there must be some other reason."

  He looked at her a long moment before he answered. "Yes. Mr. Bell."

  She exclaimed, puzzled, "Mr. Bell! I don't understand." Then, a suspicion percolated in her mind. "Well, maybe I do. He did ask me in his indirect way not too long after my father died. My response did not surprise him. I think he had always known, maybe even before I admitted it to myself, that I was in love with you."

  "I believe he did what he could to drive a wedge between us. He was subtle and underhanded about it. So, yes, I resented him and I wanted to punch his face more than once." He smiled in a self-mocking way before adding, "But, of course, I could not. He was my landlord."

  "I thought you liked him."

  "I did. In many ways, I liked him. He was one of the cleverest men I knew and it was a delight talking to him. I had no quarrel with him before you came. After that, he lost no chance to provoke me in your presence."

  "You mean such as that incident at your mother's last annual dinner? When he pointed out that Boucher worked at Marlborough Mills after I said his children were starving? He did succeed in provoking you then. You studiously avoided talking to me for the rest of the evening."

  He nodded, "Yes! Just when you began to think better of me."

  They were both silent, sipping their wine thoughtfully. At length, he said, "My sense of pride will allow me to take money from your inheritance only as a loan to be paid back with interest. I do mean what I said about the challenge of rising on my own resources. But I am a practical businessman as well so I know one needs capital to do business and, if he does not have it, he borrows it. You—on the other hand—you were given this inheritance. I have no qualms about you using it for your projects. I trust your judgment."

  "Are you saying that I can go ahead with whatever plans I might come up with and use profits from the speculation?"

  He smiled, "I suppose I am saying that. Go ahead and use it any way you wish and show me your plans and cost calculations only if you want my opinion or you need my advice."

  "Well, I must say the challenge of doing all that is exciting but scary as well. And, of course I cannot do without your opinion or your advice and I do need you to go over
any cost estimates I make."

  "I can teach you a thing or two about handling money that I am sure Henry Lennox did not." He said in a teasing tone but she did not reply, merely nodded and smiled.

  They sat for some time, sipping more wine, nibbling on Christmas biscuits, occasionally gazing at each other. Soon, however, John remarked in a matter-of-fact tone that had a hint of wistful sadness he could not hide from her. "This is the first Christmas I am spending without both my mother and sister."

  She replied casually, "It is my third without my parents."

  He looked at her, a mixture of surprise and solicitude on his countenance, "I am sorry. It was thoughtless of me to forget."

  "I am a little more used to my family's absence than you are to yours although I admit it sometimes makes me quite sad on holidays like this." Margaret answered with a rueful smile. "My mother was a great believer in Christmas and always insisted on baskets tied with large gay ribbons and filled with staples for those in my father's parish who were less fortunate. I used to go around with her a week or two before Christmas, gathering together contributions from families able and willing to share. It was the one time in the year when our home became truly colorful. We had traditional dinners that seemed more elaborate when she and my father were going through trying times." Her voice trailed to a melancholic softness and she stared pensively into space.

  That was all the incentive John needed to resume the loving advances he had started earlier before talk about strikes interrupted him. He got up, kneeled on the floor by her feet, and clasped her in his arms. She entwined her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. He whispered, "I suppose I did not think about your parents because I thought your daughter and me are now your family. We will always be here with you."

  She rubbed her cheek against his then murmured against his neck, "And Elise and I, with you."

  After a long moment, she slid down on the floor and sat down next to him. He had not anticipated her action but he was quick to adapt to it and he dropped effortlessly to the floor next to her, placed an arm around her shoulders, and leaned against the chair. She turned to gaze at him and, with the back of her fingers, caressed his cheeks. Then, she kissed him, took off his cravat, flung it on the chair, and slowly unbuttoned, first his vest, then the top part of his shirt. He sat immobile, charmed, fascinated, excited, wondering what she was going to do next. She nestled her cool cheeks against his bare neck, warm, pulsing with the steady beat of his heart, and exuding a faint agreeable smell of soap, sweat and, probably cotton dust that she associated with him. She wound her arms around his chest and he held her closer to him.

  She thought that these were some of her favorite moments—neither of them needing words and luxuriating in the warmth and feel of their bodies close together, keenly conscious of each other's presence. He relaxed and laid his head lightly on her hair, as content as she was to stay in this attitude. He held her for a long time, occasionally pressing his lips against her hair or her cheeks. Neither of them spoke nor noticed and minded the hard floor underneath the rug they sat on and it was not until the clock struck midnight that they budged.

  "Merry Christmas, my love," he murmured against her cheek.

  She lifted her face up for his kiss before answering, her lips brushing his, "Merry Christmas, my darling. It has been a long, frenzied, wonderful day, has it not?"

  "Yes and you must be tired." He said softly as he pressed his lips to hers again.

  "Quite. And so, to bed?" She got up on her feet in one lithe movement, belying her claim to tiredness. As John stood up, she added, "We'll have a quiet cozy Christmas day to ourselves."

  He raised an amused eyebrow at her and sharing the same thought, they chuckled in unison. She said flippantly, "Well, as peaceful, anyway, as unintelligible chatter and occasional crying allow."

  **************

  They descended to the drawing room late Christmas morning, with John carrying Elise and Margaret walking behind them. The large Christmas tree towered over everything in the room and the candles adorning it were already lighted. Those of the household who had not gone home for the holidays were gathered around the tree ushered there by Dixon when she heard the Thorntons coming down the stairs. A new piano stood on one corner of the room. A large sheet, thrown over it was unsuccessful in its attempt to hide or disguise it. It had not been there the day before and Margaret, guessing it was to be a surprise, said nothing and proceeded as she had planned.

  She had bought gifts for the servants and she gave them out after Elise, with much help from her mother, tore open the ones she had received. John said nothing about the piano until everyone began to pile into the kitchen for a late Christmas breakfast that had been laid out on the large dining table there. Margaret, suspecting that the servants would be uncomfortable in the dining room, had told Dixon to serve everyone there including the master and mistress of the house.

  "That piano is too big to hide," he said wryly.

  She beamed at him. "Yes. I am deeply touched. Thank you." She hesitated and then added, "But I have never been good at playing."

  "Perhaps. But I had more pleasure listening to you than I did to Edith despite her superior skills and since that evening I heard you, I have imagined having that pleasure repeated. Besides, Elise would have to learn when she is old enough."

  That was all that was said about the new piano. Margaret returned to it that afternoon when the household bustle had died down, Elise napped, and John sat reading a newspaper in the adjoining conservatory. She took off the sheet and folded it neatly, laying it on a table nearby. She sat on the bench, opened the cover noiselessly and placed her fingers gingerly on the keys—not to play them, only to reacquaint her fingers with their springy smoothness.

  Music that was well-executed gave her great pleasure and it was for that reason she did not deign to play. She never thought her playing good enough and was content to listen to those, like her cousin Edith, who had real mastery of the instrument. Perhaps, Elise would learn to play better than she did but that was not for a few years yet. Meantime, she felt she could not neglect the new piano. She would have to try it out, if only in gratitude at her husband's generous gift. She did not think she could ever play as well as Edith but she was certain she could do much better with practice. If her playing gave John pleasure, she thought that incentive enough to spend some time practicing on the instrument. Besides, she thought, music did give her pleasure and calmed her spirit when she was alone playing the piano. Above all, she wanted her children to grow up learning to love music. For that, she needed to bring music into her home and until Elise was able to play, she would have to be its main source.

  XXIV. Growth

  Snow fell profusely for weeks after Christmas and the Thorntons spent much of January indoors. Margaret had anticipated the need for something green and vibrant in the bleakness of a northern winter and, in late October, ordered a few pots of plants and flowers brought in from the garden. She had them placed all around the edge of the vast space of the conservatory. Dixon, taking her cue from Margaret, began cultivating new pots with herbs and salad greens. Soon after, Margaret planted more pots with colorful pansies, poppies and tulips and scattered them among the greenery. By December, the conservatory was a lush indoor garden that became—with the addition of a couple of stoves at each end—the coziest and most inviting common space in the house where the family preferred to spend an afternoon. To accommodate preoccupations other than reading and conversations, Margaret replaced two large armchairs and a settee from the old house, with two new sets of four ample wicker chairs and a table. A large trunk at one corner was filled with woolen blankets and shawls that could be brought out when extra warmth was needed.

  On weekends, John sometimes took home business correspondence and accounting books from the mill and worked on them at one table while Margaret wrote letters or planned and reviewed household expenses at the other. On sunny Sundays, they had long, leisurely breakfasts there wh
ile Elise played. Except on particularly cold winter days when doors to it had to be closed, the conservatory substituted for the garden. A small space between the groupings of chairs was laid with thick rugs and secured with a small fence so that Elise would have a place in which to play. There, her tearful and happy struggles and her little antics frequently provided distraction to her parents while they rested, had breakfast or tea, or went about their work.

  Elise was learning new skills and had attempted to walk by pulling herself up to a standing position and taking steps. On her first attempt, she fell on her behind and cried. Mary ran to help her but Margaret, watching from her seat by the table where she worked, told Mary to leave her alone unless she fell on any other part of her body but her buttocks. After she fell down several times, Elise stopped trying. A week or so later, Elise tried walking again, fell, and waited for someone to pick her up. When no one did, she crawled towards Mary, pulled herself up and tried again.

  Now that her daughter was on the brink of growing into a more independent toddler, impatient to do things on her own, Margaret was thankful that she could summon up her experience helping Edith take care of her son, Sholto. It had taught Margaret enough about young children that she could take Elise's failed attempts in stride. She watched Elise closely but left her alone, allowing her to fail without much of a fuss, confident that Elise would try again once she was ready.

  Margaret, who had been listless at the frequent dinner parties and other indulgences of social life with her cousin and aunt in London, settled into a full busy life in Milton. She devoted her day to taking care of Elise, managing the household, and painting in her studio. Elise was, now, more active by the day and, although Mary's main task was to take care of her, Margaret spent some play time with Elise everyday and attended to her needs in the morning and at bedtime.