Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Fanny Thornton prepared to quit the house only half an hour after she had gained it. She had absolutely no desire to spend a dull afternoon reading with her mother, and even less to watch John mooning about the house; pacing, pretending to read his paper, pacing some more.... He was never more irritating than when he had nothing to do. He had never had any idea how to take his leisure, but he had been even worse of late.

  Fanny sniffed to herself as she pulled her kid gloves back over her delicate white hands. There was a certain cure for John’s boredom and restlessness- if he would only work up the courage to speak to Genevieve Hamilton! The other girl quite plainly wanted him, and her family obviously desired the match as well. What more was he waiting for? Certainly not Margaret Hale, as her mother believed! No, she knew her brother too well for that. Miss Hamilton it certainly was who had caught his eye.

  He is a coward! she thought smugly to herself. The mighty John Thornton, the Union’s revered adversary and the most dominant manufacturer in all of Milton, quaking in his boots over a woman! She would have laughed out loud, had she not been fearful that her mother would hear and discover her intentions to escape the house.

  Perhaps there was more she herself could do to smooth the way for that hopeless couple- as well as for herself! She could see, if her brother could not, the many advantages to maintaining genial relations with that family. Her mother had expressly forbidden her to seek out either Genevieve or Rupert Hamilton, but she had said nothing about taking a leisurely stroll on a Sunday afternoon, had she? Walking was good for the health, after all. Surely there could be no objections!

  It seemed, however, that the fates were against her. She had scarcely set foot out of her door when a remarkable downpour washed over Marlborough Street. Her cloak soaked after only a few seconds, she darted back into the house, glaring at the heavens for their failure to cooperate with her plans.

  Angrily she jerked the gloves from her fingertips. Tomorrow, she decided. She would walk out tomorrow. As she began to peel her cloak from her clinging gown, a novel idea struck her. Perhaps she was in the wrong to be seeking out Genevieve. Perhaps she would fall more naturally into her friend’s path- and avoid her mother’s ire- by instead calling on Emmeline Draper.

  A self-satisfied grin formed over her milky features. Tomorrow.

  ~

  John had indeed been pacing the drawing room once more. His mother managed to disguise her own irritation- sensing, perhaps, that it would only agitate him further. Heaven bless his wise, patient mother and her poor abused carpets!

  He had ruled out the possibility of calling on the Hales that evening. It just seemed awkward, particularly after assuming she had quite likely been monopolized by Genevieve Hamilton for much of her afternoon. The other woman’s ulterior motives just after service that morning had been rather obvious, at least to him. How could he have ever- even briefly- thought her possibly a woman of Margaret’s caliber?

  He vacillated all afternoon, trying to decide what he ought to do. There was no choice but to speak to Mr Hale, and promptly, too. Mr Hale may have previously been oblivious to his interest, but his sudden intimacy with Margaret had been rather plain. He pondered for a moment about the tea set, and wondered if Mr Hale were even yet aware of its existence. If he were, the man would be doubly concerned about his intentions.

  His own private desire was to announce himself at their door early in the day, speak privately with both of them, and to at last secure his future happiness. His spirits took ecstatic flights of fancy as he imagined her final surrender. Would she nestle in his arms, resting her soft cheeks against his chest and allowing him to bury his face in her hair? He tingled with joy and wonder at the prospect.

  What breathtaking beauty was man’s to behold in the form of woman! As one who had never indulged such natural inclinations, he still held the touch of a woman- his woman, if he could be so bold- in breathless awe. The comfort of her sweet companionship could be rivaled only by her delicious softness and- dare he imagine it?- her welcoming embrace.

  John Thornton found himself, for the first time in his life, truly allowing himself to contemplate the profound mystery of man’s strength and woman’s grace. How such opposites perfectly joined and complemented one another was a marvel to him, and likely always would be. Happy was the man bestowed with the whole of a woman’s heart and affections! Margaret- his Margaret… no greater joy had he ever known than when he ventured to imagine that possessive description before her name.

  His buoyant hopes sank again when he reflected upon the very proper confession he would have to make to her father. He had no longer the assurance of relative financial security. He would be asking her to face uncertainty and very probable hardship with him. What sensible father would grant his blessing to such a union?

  He narrowed his eyes as he paced. Margaret was well acquainted with the rise and fall of a man’s circumstances, was she not? Would she truly object to his present lack of security? Ah, but while her father was no longer as respectably off as he had once been, neither was he likely to sink any lower. John chewed his lip in frustration. There was no telling what his own future would be.

  He wrestled for the remainder of the evening and well into the night. As he lay back upon his pillow, just before restless slumber claimed him, he at last decided upon the perfect guide for his steps. Had he not always learnt that self-denial and adherence to duty reaped the greatest rewards? Yes, he groaned silently. If so, where was his duty in this case?

  Margaret’s reputation was in no danger, of that he felt rather safe. Had she been compromised in the slightest, he would have presented himself at her doorstep at midnight in a pouring rain to make his proper addresses. Mr Hale might be troubled by his recent familiarity with Margaret, but perhaps the gentleman’s mind might be eased if he did not press matters for a few days…. Perhaps if he could instead spend that time searching out options he had not yet explored….

  Aha! He could have cursed himself for having been so blind before. He knew the perfect man to approach! Perhaps there was hope after all. This was the last thought which slipped through his mind before he blissfully imagined kissing Margaret good night and reclined his head with a serene smile upon his lips.

  ~

  “Mrs Draper, how pleased I am that you could call,” Margaret greeted her morning guest. “Please, do be seated!”

  “Good morning, Miss Hale,” the other woman inclined her head generously as she entered the house. “I trust you are well?”

  “Very well, indeed, Mrs Draper.” Margaret flashed a quick look to Dixon as the maid withdrew, and Dixon sniffed in understanding. She would return shortly with tea for their guest, and fortunately Martha had finally returned to help her.

  “Well, Miss Hale, how did you find your task of penning letters?” Emmeline Draper poised herself daintily upon the furniture, as though she were afraid of soiling her walking suit. Her eyes flicked about the familiar room once more, perhaps assuring herself that she had indeed assessed the house properly upon her first visit.

  Margaret forced a cheerful smile. “Rather enjoyable, I assure you.” She retrieved a thick folder and presented it to the other woman. “I hope Mr Draper is able to secure the support he requires.”

  Emmeline’s golden brow lifted serenely. “I am certain he will. He has the endorsement of Dr Bronson Douglas, you know, which is certain to carry much influence.”

  Margaret’s brow furrowed in mute confusion.

  “Why, surely, you have heard of him, Miss Hale!” Emmeline ejaculated. “He was formerly a student and partner to William Farr himself!”

  “I am familiar with Mr Farr’s name,” Margaret confessed. “He has done much to reveal the causes of disease, if I am not mistaken, but….” Her voice trailed off reluctantly.

  “Well, Miss Hale, Dr Douglas is without his equal, I assure you, and he has great plans for our new Milton hospital,” the other woman
pronounced firmly.

  “I think you mistake me,” Margaret reacted in surprise. “I have indeed heard of Dr Douglas, but…” her voice dropped hesitantly, “was he not disgraced?”

  “Disgraced?” Emmeline frowned. “You must be speaking of that little tiff last year, after the cholera outbreak. Why, t’was nothing, Miss Hale, but a spiteful attack! Dr Snow has always had it out for him, you know,” she informed her confidentially.

  “Oh,” Margaret leaned back in her seat uncomfortably. “I… I am glad you told me as much. I would not wish to hold unfair prejudices against an innocent man, and a truly good doctor.”

  “Naturally,” Emmeline favoured her with a sticky smile as Dixon arrived with the tea tray. She turned her eyes toward it with interest. “Oh! Why, I declare, Miss Hale, what an exquisite pattern!”

  Margaret flushed briefly, but it was not certain whether her guest had perceived her slight shock. She recovered admirably. “Thank you, Mrs Draper,” she managed smoothly.

  Emmeline could scarcely disguise her admiration as Dixon served her out of the pristine new china. She lifted the cup and saucer daintily, raising that golden brow again. The perfectly elegant setting seemed rather too lavish for the modest surroundings of the little Crampton house. Rather than commenting on that observation, however, she attempted to conceal her rather indelicate interest. “Roses,” she managed carefully at last. “Most lovely, Miss Hale.”

  Margaret swallowed nervously. “My mother was fond of them,” she offered lamely.

  “Naturally,” the other woman agreed, then swiftly changed the subject once more. “Now, we were speaking of Dr Douglas. Pray, Miss Hale, what had you heard of the man? It will not do for false reports to circulate, you know.”

  “I would circulate no such ill reports without good foundation,” Margaret objected. “However, I had read in the London papers that his theories and remedies were all proven wrong!”

  “Wrong! What can you mean, my dear?” Mrs Draper leaned forward with a patronizing look of concern on her face which Margaret did not quite fancy.

  “Why, his old-fashioned belief in miasmas has been thoroughly ridiculed by more modern doctors, and new discoveries are finding that the purgatives and bleedings that he still espouses only serve to weaken the patient.”

  Emmeline Draper waved her hand with a bemused, dismissive air. “Rubbish, Miss Hale! Dr Douglas has treated so many with success! Good fresh air and healthful exercise do wonders for the constitution, do they not? And you must know, Miss Hale, that they also foster a more even temperament, which Dr Douglas says nearly always guarantees protection against cholera.”

  Margaret’s eyes widened and her mouth verily gaped in awe at the woman’s willful ignorance. “M-Mrs Draper,” she stammered, “Have you at all read any of Dr Snow’s reports on contagions in water?”

  Emmeline fairly bristled. “My husband has, Miss Hale,” she returned somewhat frostily. “Of course one cannot refute such evidence. Dr Douglas has proposed incorporating all of the modern treatments in the hospital, naturally, as well as the more traditional remedies.”

  Margaret let out a somewhat relieved breath. “I am glad to hear it, Mrs Draper. So many of the mill workers I have seen need real medicine. I am most grateful for your husband’s efforts to bring such an opportunity to Milton.”

  Emmeline frowned. “I am sorry, Miss Hale, but you appear to have misunderstood. We cannot possibly open this hospital to all manner of rabble! Why, all of this new medicine costs a great deal, you know, to say nothing of the new facility my husband has designed! Who is to pay for all of it, Miss Hale, but the patients?”

  Margaret swallowed hard. “Do you mean that the poorer residents must still do without?”

  “Well,” Emmeline sniffed, “I do not see why we should bring more contagion into our new hospital. Why, we would be no better than the hospitals in London, who bring in all manner of folk simply to die there, while people who can afford all of these new medicines must wait for the doctors to visit their homes! Better, I say, for the reverse to be the case. The working class will not be the poorer for it, as they shall be no worse off than now, but for people like us, Miss Hale, we shall have much to look forward to.”

  Margaret blanched. “Mrs Draper, by far the greatest need in the city is the poorer families, who cannot afford such luxuries!”

  Emmeline shrugged lightly as she rose to her feet. “If they work hard enough and save their money, perhaps one day they can. Besides, Dr Douglas will still offer his advice and guidance where there is a true need. The newer remedies are rather dear, of course, but the tried and true methods, I always say, are the most reliable anyway.”

  Margaret felt sick. She watched with uneasy eyes as Mrs Draper prepared to take her leave. A hospital for only the wealthy! A presiding doctor who espoused outdated medical dogma! Where was the good in that? Her stomach churned nauseatingly as she realized that John Thornton’s prediction had come true. She felt sorry that she had had anything whatever to do with it.

  “I am certain my husband is most grateful for all of your assistance to our cause. May we count on you in the future, Miss Hale? Surely, some of your connections in London would prove most valuable.”

  Margaret’s hand hovered unconsciously near her stomach. “I… I do not think I will be able to lend any further aid,” she replied with the very greatest discomfort. She allowed her statement to hang there, resisting the temptation to use her father’s fragile health as an excuse. Had she desired it, she would have made a way- but she simply could have nothing else to do with this endeavour.

  Emmeline Draper coolly lifted a brow and sniffed down her nose. “More is the pity. Well, I shall bid you a very good-day, Miss Hale!”

  Margaret, reeling and faint from her disgust, saw her guest out of the door, then leaned against it. Her face she covered in her hands. What would John say when he learnt of her humiliation? Her breathing slowed only a little as she assured herself that he would comfort rather than chide her.

  It was Nicholas’ family, and all of the others she had met, who took her concern next. It was the memory of her dear friend Bessie! She had been so hopeful on their account, that her efforts, small though they were, might help plant the seeds of something far greater- something which would reach down through the generations to speak of the progress Milton was making. It seemed to her now that she had only been an instrument of the elite in their pride and condescension.

  All at once, her hands dropped from her face and she blinked her eyes free of their prickling mist. A new determination glinted from them as she lifted her chin, defiant now. Others might do as they pleased, but Margaret Hale need wait for no one to turn from insult to kindness.

  Quickly she retrieved her purse, counting out the remaining coins which made up her monthly spending allotment. Smiling, she clenched them in her fist. There was a little girl of her acquaintance who might go on to make anything of herself, but just now, that little girl could use a new frock for school.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Thornton! About time, old chap!” James Watson beamed jovially and pumped John’s hand as he showed him into his study. “I have been meaning to call on you.”

  “Then my visit is most fortuitous. I regret that I missed last Friday’s Master’s dinner, but it could not be helped.”

  Watson grunted good-naturedly. “We heard you had been seen earlier that evening walking with that Higgins fellow. Hamper suspected you of spying on your hands- said some Union trouble was starting up again at your mill.”

  “One disgruntled former worker hardly qualifies as trouble,” Thornton chuckled lightly. “And I certainly am not engaging in the sort of espionage Hamper suspects.”

  “Do tell! What other cause might you have to spend an entire evening with a Union leader?”

  “It was not all spent with him,” Thornton smiled, a distant light in his eye causing Watson some suspicion. “But more to the point, Higgins is
a better chap than I had known. I have learned a deal from him.”

  Watson laughed heartily, shaking his head. “Don’t let him charm you, Thornton. You’ll never be able to look Hamper in the eye when that rascal turns on you- a bleeding fool, that’s what Hamper will call you.”

  Thornton sighed. “He may call me what he wishes. I did not come to speak to you about Higgins, Watson.”

  “Aye,” Watson stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You’ve heard about that rail speculation and you finally want a piece of it. Am I right?”

  “I had heard of it, but no, thank you. You know where I stand, Watson.”

  Watson shrugged. “Your loss, man. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”

  Thornton took a tight, nervous breath and released it slowly. Courage, man! It galled his pride to have to come to Watson, who only a year ago had been by far his inferior in consequence and status. Watson was forever dreaming up financial schemes and wheedling others into investing with him. He was no charlatan, but he knew how to use other men’s money to his own advantage during the time it was in his hands. The practice left a bitter taste in John’s mouth, but if Watson was willing to use his resources to breathe life back into Marlborough Mills, perhaps it was worth setting aside his own vanity for a time. After all, he consoled himself, Margaret was the prize.

  He tapped his fingers upon his knee and at last blurted out what he had come to say. “I came to ask about a loan, Watson.”

  Watson gazed back, silent and shrewd. It was a full minute before he responded. “How much, Thornton?”