by EJourney
Margaret's thoughts were interrupted when she heard John come in. He smiled brightly and gave her a peck on the lips. "I knew you were coming today but I did not see you at all today. Until now. Did you talk to Nicholas?"
"Yes, briefly; it did not take much to convince him but he was anxious not to have his family singled out."
"You did tell him you intended to send others, if you can find them."
"Yes, of course. Now, I have to concentrate on selecting a boarding school and making all the preparations for sending him off."
"I am glad. Thomas has a much better future ahead of him than all these other children here."
"You think something is special about him, don't you?"
John replied, smiling as he reminisced. "As a matter of fact, I do. I first saw him sitting outside my office, reading and waiting for Nicholas one evening after work. Higgins told me later that you had been teaching Thomas to read. In my mind, at the time, he was the son you and I would never have so I suppose I wanted him to have the opportunities my own son would have."
She laughed at his revelation. John looked at her, puzzled, and had her laugh not been so spontaneous, it would have irritated him as well. "You find humor in that?"
"Well, yes. You know Edith's son Sholto. When I moved to London, I was the only one who could subdue his temperamental outbursts. I used to take him into his nursery, close the door, and he and I would have a battle of wills that always ended with him hugging me with tearful, puffy eyes, quite exhausted. I developed an attachment to him and he, to me."
"I fail to see what that has to do with my fondness for Thomas."
"I will tell you. Sholto was very sweet and trusting in his affection but I confess mine sprang partly from a sad awareness that it was the closest I would ever come to being a mother. So, you see, I played pretend as well."
Mollified by her explanation, he smiled broadly and asked, teasing, "but Henry Lennox?"
She arched an eyebrow at him and considered whether she should answer a question to which he already knew the response. Then, in a moment of insight, she realized that her husband never tired of hearing her reassurances of love and he likewise took pleasure in giving her the same in both words and actions. They gazed at each other for a long minute during which he waited in anticipation and she softened into tenderness.
Margaret, matching his tone, replied jauntily in French with an elaborate shrug, "aucune chance!" She added with a twinkle in her eyes, "My mind and my heart were too full of this tall dark charmer from a dirty bustling city in the north. How could a bland Londoner, clever and sophisticated he may be, compete with that?"
They sat smiling at each other across his desk. At length, he returned to the matter of schooling. "Now that I have become better acquainted with my workers and have my own daughter, I understand better why you are trying to bring schooling to these children. We take it for granted Elise will receive instruction, the parents of these children take it for granted they will not; yet many know that some education is essential to rise out of just doing factory work."
"Well, it may be like breaking an ingrained habit. If you grew up in a family in which no one went to school, you might never think of it as a choice you could make. But I am a hopeful person and I believe there are, perhaps, a few parents among your workers who may be convinced to send their children to school if they see what Thomas can do."
"But how do we come across another Thomas? Should I look out for another child sitting and reading just outside my office?" He teased again.
Margaret smiled indulgently but opted to reply seriously. "I actually taught all the Boucher children to read but only Thomas showed an eagerness to learn and was the only one who really persevered. If we had classes, we might discover another child like him."
"Why, yes, of course. So, why can we not get those classes started?"
"For many reasons—where to hold them, for one. The bigger problem is how to get children to come. Those two things are, of course, related. I talked to the rector of the church closest to the mill, hoping to get his advice on how to convince parents but also prepared to just offer the parochial school financial help to pay more teachers to take more children. But his school is having trouble with attendance. As I suspected, parents see no need for school and he is helpless about it. For the few that see some value in it, their small children find the school too far to walk."
"If the classes were held in my old office, then parents can just drop off their children before going into the mill. Is the office too small?"
"It can only hold 10 to 12 children. I cannot estimate the number who would actually come but I suspect, not many. We also need to hire teachers. I can do some teaching, at least in the beginning, but I do not have time to teach everyday and, I must confess, neither do I want to. I am not the most patient person with a roomful of children."
John and Margaret did not arrive at solutions that day. Mary came down with Elise from Mrs. Thornton's apartment to tell them that the cab was there to take them all home.
**************
Eventually, Margaret decided to start some basic reading and writing classes when Catherine offered to help her teach. On her first visit to the clinic, she mentioned to Catherine her wish to start a school for the children of the mill and Catherine apparently gave the idea much thought. She sought John out at the mill to tell him she might be able to help. The offshoot was her first invitation to tea at the Thornton house, set on a Sunday afternoon.
Catherine arrived promptly, eager but also intimidated into shyness by the unexpected invitation from her employers. But she found her apprehensions allayed by the informality with which they received her. Tea was served in the garden-like atmosphere of the conservatory and the Thorntons' daughter was there, sitting on a rug on the floor among her toys, nibbling on a biscuit. Mary Higgins was taking care of her and Margaret had poured her a cup of tea as well. The conversation meandered into many topics and both Thorntons made some effort to ask her opinion on every one of them. When tea was over, Margaret led Catherine into the privacy of the drawing room, leaving John and Elise in the conservatory.
Margaret began, "John told me of your interest in my plans for the children's school."
"Well, yes. I informed you when you interviewed me for the clinic position that I was trained as a governess. I was thinking that I could help with teaching."
"What about the clinic?"
"Afternoons at the clinic are not as busy for me as mornings except when Dr. Hartley is in. Sometimes, no one comes at all. I thought that, perhaps, my time would be better used at the school on the Wednesdays and Fridays that the doctor is not in. If there is an emergency, I will be around." Catherine paused and looked down, disconcerted by Margaret's intent gaze while she spoke. "I am merely making a suggestion, of course, if you would not mind closing the clinic for nursing care on those afternoons."
Margaret smiled engagingly. "Your suggestion makes a lot of sense to me if, as you say, the clinic is not busy some afternoons. How long has it been that way?"
"Actually, since we opened. When they have a complaint, the workers come in the morning. Mondays are usually busy all day probably because of ailments that start on the weekend."
Margaret nodded, "Let me think about it. Frankly, your suggestion came as a surprise. Your offer to teach has made it more likely for the classes to happen but it is also making me ask myself how committed I really am. If I go ahead, the classes will take me away from home those afternoons I take over teaching."
Catherine's offer of her services did clinch Margaret's decision to go ahead. After a few more afternoon teas, she and Catherine agreed on what to offer, where, and when. Classes would be open to both children and adults, and were to take place Monday through Thursday afternoons in the master's old office. Margaret would teach two days and Catherine, the other two. The space was small but Margaret had not expected too many children to come and she thought she could solve the problem of space later if the cl
asses attracted more children than the room could hold. Margaret subsequently went to a workers' meeting to talk about the availability of reading and writing lessons that were free to all. Except for her impulsive outburst during the strikers' riot, she had never addressed a big group of workers and she was apprehensive at the prospect of doing so. She had expected John to make the announcement as he had done for the clinic but he insisted that this was something she must do.
The realization of Margaret's wish of a school for workers children was off to a modest start. She thought scaling down her ambitions proved to be the right decision when, on the first week, only six children and no adult came. The following weeks did not bring in too many more children and for a long time, the classes often only had ten or fewer pupils.
XXVII. Friendship
Sharing the task of teaching threw Margaret and Catherine into company often and a true friendship blossomed between the two women. Margaret knew early on that she and Catherine shared more interests and had more similar dispositions than the other two young women her age who had been her friends and companion. Certainly more than she did with Bessy. Though bright and, like her, doted on by a loving father, Bessy had neither the education nor exposure to ideas that Margaret acquired from her father. Needless to say, Bessy did not have the refinements or the skills that Margaret and Edith were compelled to learn. Edith, of course, was like a sister to Margaret and she would always be dearer to her than any other young woman could ever be but Margaret thought that she and Catherine could never become what Edith was.
Fortunate to have had a father rich enough to indulge her with all the silks, laces, flowers, dinner parties and other fashionable pursuits she desired, Edith had grown into a great many young men's ideal of a woman—lovely, feminine, with all the grace, manner, and preoccupations expected of a lady. Margaret would always be grateful to Edith and her aunt for their solicitous care and attention at a time when she needed those most. But, once recovered from her sorrows and deep malaise, Margaret thought the life she shared in London with Edith and her husband too languid and too dull. When relatively free of care, she preferred to devote her time to the sort of exertions she had taken on as a parson's daughter and that now absorbed her time in Milton. Catherine understood such preoccupations. She, herself, was engaged in them, not only from a necessity to earn a living but also from a belief—borne out of her Catholic upbringing—that she should work for something that could be of use to others.
Much acquainted with Margaret's superior attributes—rich, uncommonly lovely, with a lively mind, a perceptiveness that, she had to admit, was keener than hers, and happily married to a man who clearly adored her—Catherine could not help feeling some envy. But, she was grateful, as well. Margaret had not only given her a job but treated her as a friend, an equal whose skills Margaret respected. She deferred to Catherine's judgment on many matters concerning the reading and writing classes because Margaret believed her to have had proper training and more experience. Margaret invited her to dinners she gave for small parties of friends; thus, opening up her world and exposing her to a society that would otherwise have been indifferent to her. She lent her books that they later talked about and told her stories of places she and Mr. Thornton had visited and of people they had met.
Even Dr. Hartley, who talked to her only about matters pertaining to work, began to show more curiosity about her, inquiring minutely about her interests and her family. It seemed he enjoyed their conversations as much as she did and, indeed, he expressed admiration for the breadth of topics she could talk intelligently about. Catherine wondered, then, whether she could nurture his curiosity into a genuine interest in her.
She had been infatuated with him from the time he was pointed out to her as the young doctor from America. But she never imagined, much less hoped, that he would pay her any attention, especially when young women of beauty and means were vying for his favors. Resigned to admiring him from a distance, she seized the chance, when it came, to work with him. She told herself that she could pretend he was hers for those few hours they worked together.
When Dr. Hartley paid her more attention, Catherine was elated. Then, he began to ask in detail about Catherine's friendship with the young Mrs. Thornton, what they talked about, the books they read together, what kind of a friend she was, and how frequently they met. At first, Catherine thought his questions sprang from natural curiosity. Margaret, after all, attracted much talk because of who she was and what she did. Later, however, his inquiries became much more about Margaret than about herself and her opinions. Catherine knew then that Dr. Hartley's interest in Mr. Thornton's wife transcended mere curiosity.
She resolved to observe him closely when all three of them were together and she contrived an excuse to have Margaret come to the clinic on a day when Dr. Hartley was doing consultations. Her suspicions were confirmed. The doctor could not seem to take his eyes off Margaret and he hung on every word she uttered. But it was also plain to Catherine that Margaret, easy but business-like in her manner towards the doctor, was quite indifferent to his attention. Even so, Catherine was depressed to learn that the doctor was captivated by someone she could not hope to compete with, someone who was her friend. Used to disappointments, Catherine had learned to be philosophical. She talked herself into believing that she never expected Dr. Hartley to reciprocate her feelings and that she was privileged to have seen into his heart whereas all those other women vying for his attention pined in vain for him and did not know his heart was taken.
All her equivocations did not satisfy Catherine, however, and one Saturday afternoon while she and Margaret were in Mr. Thornton's study talking about reading lessons, she asked, "May I tell you something that may sound impertinent to you?"
Margaret smiled, amused at such a request. "Perhaps, you had better not. In such a case, I might prefer to be ignorant."
Catherine took Margaret's blithe reply seriously and her eyelids drooped in disappointment, "Of course, I am sorry."
"Come, come, it must be important or you would not risk asking me, if it were indeed impertinent. We are friends, after all, in addition to being colleagues so we can be frank without fearing to be misunderstood. Do tell."
Catherine looked at her for a long moment, hesitant, wondering if she could lose a valued friend. In the end, she trusted in Margaret's good sense and reasoned that if the latter did not care for Dr. Hartley, she would not take offense. Catherine boldly proceeded, "Were you aware that Dr. Hartley has deep feelings for you?"
Margaret was caught off guard by the question but she recovered quickly and stared at Catherine, studying the expression on her face. "Yes, I am and, if I had failed to notice, at least two people made sure I knew it."
"Mr. Thornton?"
"Yes, and I doubt that anybody else noticed except those with some interest in the matter." Margaret answered irritably. In fact, she had been at least a little offended by the question although she was not certain exactly why. Perhaps, she did feel that Catherine was too intrusive and that the matter was too private for someone she had only known a few months to pry into.
Catherine blushed deeply and lowered her eyes. They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, Catherine with her eyes cast down and Margaret, trying to concentrate on a book in order to give Catherine time to compose herself.
After a few minutes, Margaret looked up from her book, saw both misery and regret on her friend's face and, somewhat contrite, said more mildly. "I have no interest in Dr. Hartley except in his capacity as a doctor in a clinic I am invested in and as my daughter's physician. I love my husband very much, everyone can see that."
Catherine stayed silent, studying her hands, unable to look at Margaret who, seeing Catherine too overcome to talk, attempted some levity in her next remark. "We must get the good doctor to notice the pretty face behind those freckles. Perhaps, he would then see the good mind behind the face and the warm heart that beats within that chest."
Dropping her face on her hands,
Catherine began to sob although hardly any sound came out of her and her body quivered almost imperceptibly. Margaret, flabbergasted at what she had wrought in her friend, sat and watched her for a few moments. Then, unable to bear her suffering, she pulled her chair next to Catherine's and placed an arm around her shoulders. "I think that Dr. Hartley has not been tempted by any of those pretty young women who invite him into their parlors, rich though they are, because he requires a good mind and an energetic spirit—precisely what you have and what most of those other women do not. He is himself heir to a fortune in America so he is very likely indifferent to wealth."
Margaret was uneasy speculating in this manner to Catherine but what else could she say? She had suspected, for some time, that Catherine harbored tender sentiments for the doctor but she did not realize, until now, how strongly Catherine felt. She understood, at that moment, why Catherine was compelled to probe into how she regarded Dr. Hartley. Having known hopelessness, herself—even for the relatively short period that she believed John no longer cared for her—she could empathize with Catherine's misery. She wished she could lift her out of it but she could not summon other words that would help. All she could do was wait for Catherine to regain her composure.
Catherine soon calmed down and dried her face thoroughly with a handkerchief she pulled out of a pocket in her skirt. She turned to Margaret, "I am sorry. Now you have seen my heart which I did not really mean to reveal to you. You will not tell anyone about this?"