Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  Thornton arched a brow, not quite reciprocating. “Good evening, Miss Hamilton. Please give your family my compliments.”

  Genevieve bade her farewells to Mrs Thornton and Fanny, promising to walk again with Fanny after services on Sunday.

  After her departure, Fanny sent the box with its haphazardly packed contents up to her room. Suddenly the much coveted item had lost all appeal for her, as her audience had vanished. Thornton took the seat the box had occupied, grateful to finally be off his feet.

  “I declare, John, you could have been nicer to her!” Fanny pouted.

  “Fanny!” Mrs Thornton scolded.

  “No, let me hear this,” he leaned forward over the table, an opportunistic half smile on his face. “How is it, Fanny, that you think my manners must be improved? I could do with a little entertainment.”

  “You never even moved to take her hand! She was quite ready to offer it, you know. You have the manners of a boor!”

  “If you mean that I did not make her a formal greeting, perhaps I could have done better, but it is far past the normal hours for calling and I was quite off my guard.”

  “Well, it’s certain she was not. Did you see the elegant way she bade us farewell, Mother? That, Brother, is how it is done by all of the fine ladies of London.”

  Thornton cast his eyes up and to the right for a second in thought. “No… no, it is not. Surely I would have noticed before.”

  “Well!” Fanny at last took a chair, plucking restlessly at her sleeves. “I think her quite sophisticated, and I shall endeavour to learn the trick myself.”

  “It is ostentatious; moreover, it is immodest with such a low neckline as she wore. Does the lady not prefer a wrap at this time of the year?”

  Next to him, his mother stifled a chuckle, turning her face away rapidly.

  “Oh, what can you know?” Fanny huffed. “You are impossible, John! Emmeline was right about you; you will never find a wife!”

  “Emmeline…” he shifted his eyes to his mother, who had not yet recovered from her mirth.

  “Sullivan- or rather Draper now!” Fanny cried. “My dearest old friend from school- aside from Gen. You remember, we were at her wedding last month! I declare, John, you forget everything but the mill!”

  “Oh, that one,” he rolled his eyes. “I am glad to hear she had such a high opinion of my prospects.”

  “She was right, John. Why, you did not speak a dozen words to Miss Hamilton!”

  “Surely I spoke at least that. Am I right, Mother?” He made a show of ticking off the number with his fingers, causing his mother’s dark eyes to sparkle with merriment. It was worth goading Fanny once in a while just to see his mother smile so.

  “And you really could have taken more notice of my gown.” Fanny whined, her arms crossed like a child.

  “My pocketbook took quite enough notice of it, I imagine,” he answered drily. “Tell me, how much extra did you offer to have it finished so quickly?” he asked, rubbing his tired eyes and beginning to think it time to put an end to the discussion.

  “You did not even remember the dinner party until poor Genevieve had to remind you! I cannot say how embarrassed….”

  “Fanny,” Mrs Thornton warned. “That is quite enough.”

  “Hmmf,” she pointedly looked away from him. “It really is no wonder,” she mumbled, just loudly enough to be heard clearly.

  Thornton could not help himself. It was both aggravating and amusing to let her go on. “What is, Fanny?”

  She turned her head back, staring frostily. “You are no gentleman, John! How can you ever hope to get some woman to look twice at you? The only one I ever saw was that Margaret Hale-”

  “Fanny!” Mrs Thornton interrupted. “Go to your room this minute!”

  “No!” John held up a hand to his mother, his face ashen. “Let me handle this, Mother.” He turned back to his sister, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, Fanny?”

  “Oh! She would have given her right eye if you would have married her John, but you were right not to offer for her. So brown and coarse, and poor in the bargain! To be sure, I never saw any great beauty in her, though she does put on such airs. You could do so much better- like Emmeline! You could have had her if you had only pulled your head out of the factory long enough to court her, John. She liked you well enough, you know, though I cannot fathom why. Gen seems to find you tolerable, though. You really oughtn’t to let her slip away.”

  He was shaking. He put a white hand to his face and swallowed hard, trying to compose himself. His pulse thudded in his ears. Fanny was entirely wrong- she had to be! - but she had hit very near his heart.

  “Fanny,” his mother’s sternest voice echoed from far away, “leave him be. Go to your room.”

  “No!” he rose abruptly. “No, stay. Forgive me Mother, I will not be taking supper. I… have much work to do.”

  “John!” His mother came quickly to him, worry inscribed in her features.

  He sighed heavily. “It is nothing, Mother. Truly, I am well.”

  She raised a brow, unconvinced.

  He looked away, catching his sister’s eye. “Fanny, we will address your outburst at a later date.”

  Fanny twitched her mouth, crossing her arms in defiance. John had never yet taken her to task, and she did not believe he was about to start now.

  “I will bring a tray up, John,” his mother promised.

  “No, nothing, I beg you, Mother. Thank you.” He tried to smile, failed, and made his escape.

  Chapter Nine

  Thornton had finally collapsed into his bed in the small hours of the morning, but even then he had been tormented by wild, incomprehensible dreams. Fanny’s words, Mr Hale’s inexplicable melancholy, and Margaret’s hesitant welcome captured even his unconscious thoughts.

  Was it possible… No! Of course it was not. Margaret could never care for him. She had told him so! She simply needed a friend, and he was the only one at hand.

  His common sense warned him to leave well enough alone- that there were young ladies enough in the city to fill that void without risking her respectability. Heavens, she did not even like him! Then the more valiant part of his soul would whisper again his fears for her.

  What would become of her if Mr Hale’s health were to fail? Had she anyone to turn to who could provide the assistance she would need? Certainly she would not trust in him unless he had first taken the time to befriend her. He could only hope that some part of her would not reject his olive branch.

  That was his greatest fear. His heart was in agony that she would reject him again, even in so simple a thing. He tossed in his bed, tangling himself in the blankets until it was late enough to rise without disturbing the household. How would she respond? He could not wait even a single day to find out.

  Unfortunately, it was midafternoon before he was able to escape from the mill. He had, he thought, a plausible excuse for his call, and he walked the three miles to Crampton with a light but nervous heart. It beat to a crescendo as he knocked upon her door, and nearly burst in relief and joy when Margaret herself answered.

  “Mr Thornton!” she offered him a bashful smile. “We did not expect the pleasure today. Do, please come in.”

  This was better than he had hoped! His errand could have been accomplished from the doorstep, but he gratefully doffed his hat and followed her into the house.

  Margaret was surreptitiously glancing at the hat rack and the little side table near the door, perhaps expecting him to say he had left some article and had come to retrieve it. “It is a pleasure to see you again so soon, sir. I am afraid my father is with a pupil at present, but I am certain he would not mind….”

  “No, thank you, Miss, Hale, I do not wish to interrupt. I only came to bring him this.” He extended a small brown box, which she took hesitantly.

  “Tobacco?” she asked, her forehead dimpled.

  “Uh… yes, it was given me. It is a very fine ar
omatic blend… if I am not mistaken it is of the kind your father prefers, but I do not smoke.”

  Those clear, bright eyes searched him curiously. “I think you are the first gentleman of my acquaintance who does not! I thought all gentlemen did so, at least occasionally.”

  Her use of the word ‘gentleman’ brought an immediate light to his face. Here was something of note! Perhaps his was not a hopeless effort. So great was his pleasure that he was a little slow to respond. “I… I never cared for either the odour or the expense, Miss Hale.”

  A genuine smile warmed her features, drawing his eye to a delicate little dimple below her cheekbone- just the right size to be kissed. “I suppose,” her words stole his attention back where it belonged, “that is the reason my father so seldom indulges. He does not often purchase luxuries for himself.”

  She waited for some response, but Thornton merely gazed back in hypnotized silence.

  “I… I do not mind this sweet pipe tobacco,” she continued uncomfortably, “but I find cigar smoke most objectionable.”

  Thornton blinked back to reality. “Indeed, Miss Hale, I quite agree. Unfortunately, most of the gentlemen in Milton do not share your opinion. My jacket, when I come home from our monthly masters’ dinners, can testify to that fact. My mother forbids me to sit in her furniture until I have removed it.”

  Margaret’s taper fingers flew to her mouth and the most glorious laugh he had ever heard bubbled forth. Her eyes sparkled and she looked more at ease in his company than he had ever seen. He could not help a pleased chuckle of his own. He had made her laugh! By Jove, this was going to work!

  Margaret quieted, still smiling. “Mrs Thornton is not a woman I would like to annoy. I imagine you do not often dare to do so!”

  He shook his head. “Not if I wish for anything but porridge for dinner, Miss Hale.”

  Margaret laughed lightly again- not as freely as before, but neither did she hide that beautiful smile behind her fingers. He gazed on in rapt adoration. Mission of mercy though this might be, it would surely be the most rewarding labour of his life.

  Margaret glanced down and cleared her throat gently, composing herself. “I am sure my father thanks you, Mr Thornton.”

  He drew a long, satisfied breath. “Certainly he is most welcome, Miss Hale. I am afraid I must get back to the mill.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. It was good of you to call.” They exchanged real smiles once more- smiles of camaraderie which warmed the cheeks and touched the eyes. Perhaps the spell of awkwardness between them had at last been broken.

  Thornton started for the door, but Margaret’s hesitant voice stopped him just before he reached it. “Sir… if I may….” He turned back, blue eyes twinkling, and watched her open a small drawer in the little entry table. She drew out a pair of thick leather gloves which struck him at once as agonizingly familiar.

  Biting her lip, she came forward, her fingers smoothing over the gloves. “You left these here once,” she murmured softly, extending them within his reach. “I am afraid I… forgot to return them.”

  He blinked several times, his euphoria crashing down. He took them from her hand and dropped his gaze. “Thank you, Miss Hale. I would not have had you go out of your way…” his mouth tugged into a vulnerable, sorrowful expression. “I believe you had cares enough at the time. I ought not to have troubled you.”

  His eyes still down, he stroked the rich leather, then looked curiously back up to her. “Have these been oiled? As I recall, I had been out in a rainstorm only the evening before… the… the riots, you remember.” His voice was low and miserable.

  Margaret was nodding, her eyes too still on the gloves. “They were stiff… it was no trouble, my father’s gloves required the same treatment.”

  He took a significant step closer to her, forcing her to tip her head up. He gazed long into those brilliant eyes, softened now with humility. “Thank you, Miss Hale. I have missed these gloves.” How he longed to say more! The only expressions he possessed were those of the heart and not the tongue. He could only hope she could read his contrition, his gratitude, and his joy at reconciliation.

  Margaret’s lashes fluttered and her lips quivered once more into a tender smile. “You are welcome, Mr Thornton.” There was a shift in her posture, and then her hand was extended to him- not palm down, in the fashion of fine ladies, but forward and strong, as he was accustomed to greeting his equals.

  He took it with a crooked grin, marveling at the strength in her slim fingers. He grasped her hand as long as he dared, still holding her steady gaze. “Good day then, Miss Hale,” he spoke huskily. She dipped her head graciously in reply as he released her hand.

  Fearing what he might say or do if he stayed longer, he reached immediately for the door and closed it behind himself. He did not see the door crack open again as he descended the steps, nor did he sense the watchful eyes which followed him as he strode briskly up the street.

  ~

  On Friday, Margaret returned Miss Hamilton’s call. She stood before the ornate front door, reflecting that this was the first Milton house she had seen which truly aspired to aesthetics as well as function. Her father believed the family to be quite well-to-do, and it appeared he was correct.

  Tilting her head, she surveyed the elaborate stonework at the entry. She could not help comparing it to the stark utilitarian façade of the first fine Milton home she had visited. Now why, she asked herself, can I not go even to a new place without thinking of Mr Thornton? She put the thoughts roughly out of her mind as she lifted the knocker.

  A liveried butler led her to the parlour, where Genevieve and her mother sat with their needlework. “Miss Hale, I am so glad you could come!” Genevieve rose to greet her, then offered her a seat. Mrs Hamilton inclined her head in greeting, but a note brought by the butler only a moment later called her away.

  Genevieve seemed relieved to have her guest all to herself. She seated herself a little closer. “I was just saying to Mama how I hoped you would be able to come to dinner next week. Will your father be well enough, do you think?”

  Margaret accepted a cup of tea from the maid with a smile, then turned to her hostess. “Yes, that was part of the reason for my call. I hope it is not too late to accept your invitation?”

  “Not at all, to be sure! Oh, I do hope you will enjoy it. Mama has brought in a famous violinist from London to entertain us after dinner. I do so love music, and Rupert had heard this one play before, so it was his idea. Of course we shall open the piano afterward. Do you play, Miss Hale?”

  “I am afraid not well. It has been some while since I have even sat at an instrument.”

  “Oh, you must not let that stop you! Surely you had a master in London, did you not?”

  “Yes, of course,” Margaret admitted. “I was a marginal student, though at least I took more pleasure in playing than in dancing. However, I am quite out of practice. The last time I played was well over a year ago at my cousin’s wedding. I should hate to disappoint your guests with my very uninspiring performance!”

  “Oh, pish posh, Miss Hale. I am sure nothing you could do would disappoint! But there, you promised you would tell me something of Hampshire. Is it much warmer there in the winter, Miss Hale?”

  “Warmer, yes, but the country has its own unique challenges,” Margaret smiled, reminiscing. “The roads are often impassable when it has rained much, but the spring roses are quite enough reward for putting up with the soggy terrain.”

  “It is decided, then! In the spring, you and I shall take a tour. Would you be my guide, Miss Hale?”

  Margaret winced, wishing to accept with alacrity but knowing that her reality might make it impossible. “I shall try, Miss Hamilton,” she promised.

  “Oh, do not let us go on so. May we not simply call one another Margaret and Genevieve?”

  They continued on amicably for a quarter of an hour before Margaret began to feel it the proper time to take her leave. As she was b
eginning to rise, another caller was announced. Genevieve seemed greatly pleased at the new arrival, and Margaret stepped back slightly.

  A stunning blonde beauty was ushered into the room. She extended her arms jubilantly. “Gen, darling! I heard you had come back, and I had to see for myself. How did you find Paris?” The pair exchanged school girl greetings and Margaret felt herself edged out.

  “Emmeline! I heard of your wedding. You beast, you ought to have waited for me to come back! I did so have my heart set on being a bridesmaid, you know.”

  “Yes, well, Randall simply would not wait, and Italy was completely marvelous, darling.” Emmeline extended a hand to pull at her gloves and began to search for a seat when she finally noticed Margaret. “Oh! I did not know you already had company. I do not believe I have had the pleasure, Miss…?”

  “Do you not know one another? Oh, how dreadful of me! Emmeline- Draper, fancy that, darling! This is my new friend Margaret Hale.” Genevieve gestured for Margaret to come forward, and the two exchanged courtesies.

  “Margaret Hale…” Emmeline tilted her head slightly. “Are you the same Miss Hale who is acquainted with Fanny Thornton? I believe she has mentioned you once or twice.”

  “Why, it was she who introduced us, is that not right, Margaret?” Genevieve put in.

  “Yes, indeed,” Margaret agreed. “I am very honoured to meet you, Mrs Draper. May I congratulate you on your marriage?”

  Emmeline smiled slowly. “Thank you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Hale.”

  Genevieve put her hand to Margaret’s arm. “Margaret, dear, do you remember the charity I spoke to you of? The founder I wished to introduce you to is none other than Randall Draper, Emmeline’s new husband! Is that not a happy coincidence?”

  Margaret turned back to the blonde woman, eyes wide with appreciation. “It is! Tell me, Mrs Draper, is there any capacity in which my services might be useful? I have few enough skills to offer, but they are at your disposal. I should like to do what I can for those less fortunate.”