Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  Emmeline tipped her chin up. “Mrs Hamper was just telling me that your Margaret Hale makes a habit of taking baskets to the strikers, and that she is even intimate with some of the Union leaders! I say, Fanny, what does Mr Thornton think of that?”

  “Oh, he thinks her quite the fool, I assure you! There, did you see the looks they gave one another as he passed by her again just now? It is just as I said, they can scarcely stand in the same room without some quarrel.”

  “Well, darlings, I wish I could stay and chat,” Genevieve grinned smugly. “However, the dinner bell will be rung soon, and I see a very lonely man over there who will need a companion.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Margaret almost enjoyed the meal immensely. The young Mr Hamilton was excessively attentive, giving her a good many reasons to smile. Unfortunately, every time she looked up from her plate, the glowering presence across the table distracted her.

  He looked for all purposes to be intently engaged in conversations with everyone else, including Genevieve. The dark cloud he cast, however, was for her alone. Margaret sighed and looked instead to her father, who sat at her left. Mrs Thornton was just beyond him, and the cold gaze that woman flicked her way made it a less than desirable direction to turn her attention.

  That left Rupert Hamilton as the only pleasant outlet for conversation. He had a penchant for turning from the heavier topics favoured by the man across the table, which suited Margaret well. The less John Thornton spoke, the less she was obliged to look in his direction. The more irritated he became at being cut off, however, the more regret she felt.

  “London!” Rupert announced with a laugh. “That is where all of the future is, Miss Hale. These fellows,” he raised a glass in the general direction of Thornton and Hamper, “they may be the gears, but the crank is in the hands of the fine ladies of Grosvenor Square. It is a wise gentleman, is it not, Miss Hale, who looks well to his business affairs so that his lady might be kept in comforts?”

  “That is hardly a man’s only worthy aspiration,” put in Thornton’s low voice.

  Margaret’s eyes shifted quickly in his direction, and he coldly met her gaze before she could look away.

  “But it is the most important!” insisted Rupert. “Did not Socrates once write that it was better to live in the corner of a roof than with a, er, dissatisfied wife?”

  “I believe that was Solomon,” Margaret smiled. From the edge of her field of view, she saw Thornton scowl, his jaw set, as he turned back to Miss Hamilton.

  “Someone wise, then.” Rupert lifted his glass in a small salute. “I jest, of course, Miss Hale, but there is truth to it, you know. London drives the economy of the free world, and none have more power over the purse than the ladies. It is to their superior sensibilities that the purveyors of fine textiles must cater.”

  “Not entirely,” Margaret corrected him. “Milton has made its name in the manufacture of steel as well as textiles. Many of my acquaintances in London do not find cotton a fashionable enough fabric for their tastes. It is a highly serviceable, as well as economical material, and I doubt not that its ready supply has done much to lower the price on my cousin’s favorite linens.” This was met with a small chuckle from her companion. “Cotton is a consequential product indeed,” she continued, “but I do not think that market is driven exactly as you claim.” She did not miss the quick glance her direction from across the table, but she ignored it.

  “You do have a point, of course,” he admitted, somewhat surprised at finding himself bested by a young lady with a logical turn of mind. “But let us talk of other things, Miss Hale. I tire of talk of business during dinner parties. Time enough during the day for that, I say. Now, Miss Hale, my sister tells me you spent much time in London. May I ask where?”

  “My Aunt Shaw resides in Harley Street. I lived with her a great deal, and my cousin and I took lessons together as children.”

  His brows rose. “Shaw? Why, then, your cousin must be… let me see, what was the lady’s name? Oh, that is it, Edith Lennox! Her brother-in-law, Henry and I were at University together.”

  Margaret felt her cheeks warm. “You know Henry Lennox?”

  “Oh, quite well! He introduced me to his brother the Captain at the club. They invited me to dinner, just before his marriage- to your cousin, correct?”

  “Y-yes,” she admitted. Her forehead creased. She risked a quick glance across the table, but Thornton’s attention was on Mr Smith. She spoke lowly, “Have you seen him lately? Henry Lennox, I mean- is he well?”

  “Last month, I think it was. Yes, it must have been. I was having a party before I came back to Milton for good. Saw him in passing and tried to get him to join, but he claimed he was too busy. The fellow is all work, Miss Hale. A lot like some others I know,” he jerked his head with a grin toward the others at the table. He looked to Margaret, expecting a sympathetic smile, but her face had turned thoughtful.

  ~

  Thornton tried remembering half of what was said at dinner, but within minutes of the ladies parting from their company, he found all that he could remember was what he had overheard between Margaret and Rupert Hamilton. As a matter of fact, he realized, he was staring hard at the younger man this very minute.

  He grimaced and turned to Mr Smith again, seated at his right. He would never make any headway toward building the business relationships he desired if he could not get his mind off Margaret Hale. Smith was busy shaking his head with the elder Hamilton over the dreadful reports of the battle at Balaclava.

  “I told you,” Smith repeated, “did I not? It was a disaster! Aberdeen is finished, that is what I am hearing. Are we now simply to stand by as the Tsar marches right through our lines?”

  “They’ve stopped him up at Sevastopol,” Hamilton objected. “They’ll be set up for the winter there. More time, that’s what our boys need. A good English soldier is worth four Slavs, eh, Thornton?”

  “You would keep sending our boys up against that, with such incompetent leadership?” Smith interrupted before Thornton could respond.

  “How else is Her Majesty supposed to keep the best Navy in the world?” Hamper laughed, looping his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat.

  “Aye, now that’s what it’s all about!” agreed Watson, lighting a cigar. “The way I see it….”

  Thornton sighed and rose from the table. The war dominated every conversation of late. He was, in truth, vitally interested in developments in the Baltic- not only as a businessman, but also as a fellow man. He could never imagine the brutality that young boys on both sides were living in every day. However, his nerves were already frayed this evening. He could little bear more of such useless talk between men wholly unconnected with the business.

  He began to help himself to a drink from the sideboard, but thought better of it and took coffee instead. He had only just turned round again when Rupert Hamilton appeared at his side.

  “Bleeding awful, that,” the younger man nodded toward the others.

  Thornton agreed with an inarticulate noise as he swallowed his hot coffee.

  “I hear,” Rupert added, pouring his own drink, “that shipping costs are up because of all that mess.”

  “Naturally,” Thornton replied.

  “Does that not cut rather substantially into your profits? I shouldn’t wonder that everyone is worried.”

  “I think of those who suffer for the war, I have possibly the least to complain about.”

  Rupert lifted his glass. “Ever the gentleman, Thornton. I applaud you; it is refreshing to talk to a businessman who is not crying loudly about his losses.”

  Thornton merely gazed back with a raised brow.

  Rupert cleared his throat and tried another subject. “I say, how well do you know Miss Hale?”

  “Her father is a dear friend of mine,” Thornton answered slowly. “He was sitting just opposite you.”

  “To be sure, I met the gentleman. It was the lady I inqu
ired about. Surely you have become acquainted with her, if you know her father so well.”

  Thornton lifted his cup and drank long before responding. “Rather well,” he said at last, “although we are not good friends.”

  “You don’t say!” Rupert laughed. “I could see that. I was wondering if you could tell me any particulars about the lady.”

  “Perhaps you would do better to let Miss Hale speak for herself,” Thornton started to turn away. “I doubt not that I would be mistaken about a great many points.”

  “You are very little help, my friend,” Rupert stopped him. “Ah, I see, you are annoyed that I paid so little attention to your sister this evening!”

  “Not at all. I do not make it my business to arrange suitors for my sister.”

  “For good reason,” Rupert answered smoothly. “Miss Thornton is a fine young woman, and worthy of any man’s regard.”

  “But not yours?” Thornton tested.

  “Well, Thornton… you know, a man likes to look about himself before settling. If he sees a pretty face, why should he not please himself by taking a second look?”

  Thornton narrowed his eyes dangerously. “I will warn you only once, Rupert. My sister does not exist for your amusement, and neither does Miss Hale!”

  Rupert drew back slightly, hands held before him. “Now, see here, Thornton! I have done nothing out of line, and have given neither any reason for disappointment. I ought to be saying as much to you in defence of my own sister, but I let Gen handle her own affairs! If she has her mind set on you when she could do better elsewhere, why, that is her concern, but….”

  Thornton set his empty cup down with a bang. “The conversation is over, Hamilton.”

  He turned sharply and moved again toward the table. Mr Hale smiled at his approach, and he took an empty seat between his friend and the elder Hamilton. Here, at least, he would be certain of more constructive discourse.

  ~

  Margaret found the half hour immediately after dinner excessively uncomfortable. She felt herself completely shunned by Mrs Thornton and Fanny. The former occupied herself in conversation with Mrs Smith and Mrs Hamilton. Fanny, however, flitted about the same circle of young ladies which also sought to include Margaret.

  She was flattered that her company seemed to be so coveted, but found the banalities of their chatter bored her rather quickly. With a wistful glance over her shoulder, she longed to feel welcomed in the motherly group behind her. It looked to her as though the older women, particularly Mrs Thornton, had better things to talk of than lace and sleeve fashions.

  She was infinitely relieved when the door to the drawing room opened and the gentlemen began to pour in. Her father came first to her, offering a pale smile.

  “Father, are you well?” she murmured in concern.

  “Oh, do not worry my dear,” he assured her, patting her hand. “I am only a little weary.”

  She glanced about the room. “We may leave early if you wish, Father. I do not think….”

  “No, my dear!” he objected. “It is nothing a nice long rest on the morrow will not mend. I am sure it will do me good to hear the music this evening.” He smiled and turned his attention to Mrs Hamilton’s violinist as he was introduced.

  The musician played exquisitely. It had been a very long time since Margaret had been able to enjoy such a performance, and she thoroughly relished it. Closing her eyes, she allowed the sweet melodies to soak into her soul. This was one of the few things she still missed about London. Her breath slowed and deepened as her entire being relaxed.

  Thornton, standing in an opposite corner, was able to observe her delight without attracting anyone’s notice. Merciful heavens, but she was lovely! Her thick lashes fluttered over dusty cheeks, and whether she realized it or not, her shoulders swayed almost imperceptibly to the music. He felt as though he had been offered a glimpse into her private feelings, and he did not know whether he ought to think himself privileged or ashamed at gazing on without her leave.

  A faint jostle at his shoulder returned his attention to the lady nearest him. Genevieve had just turned about to smile at him, but he could not return her goodwill without a sinking feeling. His enjoyment chilled. There seemed to be nothing terribly offensive about the beautiful woman at his side, but she was not Margaret Hale. No amount of cajoling would ever be able to convince his heart that she could take the other’s place. Whatever ideas he might have ever had to the contrary were dismissed in that moment.

  The soloist played for well over half an hour. Thornton continued to steal glances at Margaret, but only very briefly. It would not do for his distraction to be noticed again by the highly attentive young woman at his side, and he really did need to learn to live without gazing raptly at Margaret at every turn.

  After the London musician had finished his last selection and buttoned his instrument away, Mr and Mrs Hamilton stepped to the front of the room. A pair of young men passed quietly through the room with champagne for all.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Hamilton began, “my wife and I wish to thank you for helping us celebrate the return of both our son and daughter to Milton. You all know, of course, that Rupert had been busy making his mark in London- and doing his best to upstage his dear old Papa- since he finished his studies. At the same time, Genevieve has been touring all over Europe, living in high style at my expense.” Mild titters broke out in the room.

  Hamilton held up a hand, smiling. “A man ought rightly to be pleased to have his children once again under his own roof. They return only briefly, however; I’ve no doubt that in time they shall both fly again. I hope you will join me in wishing them both well. To my son and daughter- may fortune smile upon them as they seek their futures.”

  Hamilton lifted his drink in the direction of his daughter, and Thornton suddenly felt the eyes of the room turned his way. Miss Hamilton beamed and smiled up at him as her father toasted her, causing more than a little speculation by the onlookers. The curious gazes were awkward enough, but when he saw Margaret looking at him with that raised brow, he began to sweat. He quickly gulped his champagne.

  It was Mrs Hamilton’s turn to speak now. “I hope that everyone has enjoyed the music this evening. I pray you will indulge a proud mother and listen to a little more.” General murmurs of approval rose from those assembled. “To that end, I have asked some of our own Milton ladies to open the piano. Genevieve, darling, will you play first?”

  Thornton began to sigh in relief that the young woman would at last be leaving his side, putting an end to their social association for the evening, when she turned to him with an arch smile. “Mr Thornton, might I trouble you to turn the pages for me?”

  He paled and it was three full seconds before he could utter his excuses. “I… I beg your pardon, Miss Hamilton, but I fear my own lack of musical knowledge prohibits me. I would be very much distressed if I were the one to mar your lovely performance.”

  Her face betrayed her disappointment, but Rupert stepped up quickly. “I can sit with you Gen,” he grinned, casting a long glance at Thornton as he led his sister away. “It will be just like old times, will it not?”

  Thornton closed his eyes and bit his upper lip. That had been too close. His mother was right. He needed to put a stop to all of this idle conjecturing regarding himself and Genevieve Hamilton, or he might find himself an unwilling sacrifice at the altar.

  He opened his eyes just in time to catch Margaret’s sombre glance in his direction. It pained him that others were whispering and suggesting such things in her presence. Blast it all, she did not think… she could not think him inconstant!

  He blew out a silent breath as the piano began its first notes. What would it matter if she did think that of him? She had refused him! It would make her think less of his honour, however, if he were so rapidly to appear to switch his loyalties after once threatening to continue in his love for her. A man who could pursue another after so passionately proclaiming his
undying devotion to her alone would be unworthy, in every sense of the word. Margaret would surely be thinking the same thing.

  Growling inwardly, he crossed his arms and forced himself to appear to attend the music. His mind turned furiously. There had to be some way of tactfully avoiding the daughter without alienating the father.

  Genevieve was in time succeeded at the piano stool by the new Mrs Draper, who currently held the reputation as Milton’s finest pianist. She chose an evoking, intricate piece which displayed her talents well, but Thornton scarcely noticed. He was staring at Margaret again. Her intense enjoyment of music was truly captivating to behold. Just as Genevieve had done, Mrs Draper happily performed an encore for her admiring audience. She was in time followed by Mrs Hamper, who played creditably well.

  Fanny eagerly took her turn at the keys, causing her brother to grimace. His sister’s skill was somewhat lacking after the sterling performances of the others. He had hired the finest master available and she practiced diligently, but Fanny was simply not a natural musician. His mother, sitting near, was pressing her lips tightly, but gave no other sign of her opinion.

  Rupert Hamilton, he noticed, listened to Fanny’s performance with a thoroughly nonplussed expression. Mr Hale went so far as to quit the room, though with one glance at the older man’s pale face, Thornton felt sure that his friend’s rudeness had little to do with Fanny’s performance. The one party who truly did seem to enjoy Fanny’s playing was Watson, who had leapt at the chance to turn the pages for her. Thornton’s forehead puckered. He had never noticed any connection there, but any sensible man wishing to indulge his sister would be worth remembering.

  Fanny finished her piece and paused, expecting the gathering to plead for another, but Genevieve Hamilton stepped quickly forward. “Margaret, dear, would you play for us next?”

  Thornton straightened in interest, but Margaret was turning white and shaking her head. “Oh, no, Genevieve, please!” she begged. “Surely no one here can wish to hear….”